Work Text:
Raindrops patter, chasing after each other in their hurry, quickening to a deluge.
Alphonse breathes in. He had forgotten the scent of rain, the softness and the richness of it. Water drenches his hair, drips from its ends. Droplets spatter againgst his skin and cling to his eyelashes before he blinks them away. Alphonse laughs and turns in a circle, feet splashing in puddles and wet clothes clinging to his body. To have a body is a glorious, utterly glorious thing, and the joy of it fills him up to bursting.
”Come back inside, you idiot,” Winry calls, “Or at least grab an umbrella. You won’t be so happy about having a body when you catch cold.”