Fic: Volition
It's been a long time since I've posted anything... but I come bearing fic, which I hope you will enjoy!
Volition
by WhiteRabbit1613
R (swearing, solo!Ed)
Al/Ed with a side of Al H.
Mild movie spoilers
I'm sorry, Alfons wanted to say, but everytime he almost got there, it stuck in his throat and almost choked him. He would cough violently enough to have to sit down, but the two words wouldn't come out. They weren't for him to say.
Ed wasn't sorry, so he couldn't just make the first move and put them both out of their misery. Even if he knew - however reluctantly - that his roommate was dying. Even if he cried everytime he thought about it. It wasn't fair, but then few things in his life were, if he was completely honest. He thought unfairness was something he had gotten over years ago, but apparently not.
"It's not so bad," Al whispered, voice still strangely tinny and reverberating. Ed hadn't said a word, both boys pretending to sleep, but for different reasons. "I mean, I don't feel cold anymore. Or tired. It's like I'm infinitely powerful."
His brother tried not to think about the Seal. The armor's one weakness. A soul, he knew, was just barely attached, even to a real body. To this false form it would barely cling, and certainly not of its own volition. There were stories of dying people whose souls simply wouldn't let go, and so they didn't die. But Al's armor would have no such qualms.
"Try not to think about it," Al pleaded. "Just go to sleep. You need the rest."
Ed tried not to think about it. But everything he did - every breath he took, every book he read, every scrape he endured - was a reminder of it. Was a reminder of his sin, of his foolishness. Every part of him was For Al. Every action was For Al. There was nothing left to do but live for his little brother. This is how attachments are born, his brain says now, but at that time, there was no warning. There was no way for him to avoid the inevitable.
It shouldn't have been surprising when he found himself alone in the dorm showers at Central, and was suddenly braced in the tiled corner, whimpering Al's name as he roughly took himself between his mismatched hands. Cold water tried to sooth and slick, but even with gallons of it sluicing over his hands, it could do nothing to stop the pain of metal on delicate skin. The one part of himself he hated the most. Lust muddled minds, made him dull.
But he gave in, anyway. Life wasn't fair, which made this all alright.
He did it again, years later, which is why Alfons was so damn sorry and coughing all the time. It was All Ed's Fault. It always was - he just fucked things up wherever he went. Which was fine. Better to be the cause than the scapegoat.
He was in the shower, alone, and he couldn't stop it. Ed couldn't take it anymore - there were tears in his eyes and a sob in his throat. One second more, and he could cry his release to the cold, watching walls.
And one more observer, apparently, startled out of his search for a bar of soap for the kitchen. Alfons - AL! - stood as pale as a ghost, looking just as panicked as Ed felt, and Ed couldn't blame him, trying to imagine the shock that would result from walking in on his roommate, apparently in the midst of a fantasy starring himself. He couldn't picture it; it had yet to happen.
I'm sorry, Alfons tried to say, and tried to feel, but all he could do was cough wetly and then run from the room, feeling slightly overwhelmed, no soap in sight.
Ed brought the soap with him, later, and they ate dinner in perfect silence.
Al wouldn't have been sorry. He would have blushed bright red and maybe, with just a touch of horror and oh my god brother, he would have scolded his sibling into guilt. But he wouldn't have been sorry. And that's what made life so unfair, because part of Ed always wanted Alfons to be Alphonse, and part of Alfons knew that, and part of Alphonse would have liked to know that Ed said his name in the shower.
But in Munich, Ed found himself trying to explain, a few times. And every time, Alfons walked out of the room. He couldn't stand to hear it. Ed couldn't blame him.
Love was all Ed had. And now he didn't have that, except for the one thought that burned so brightly and painfully inside him.
I LOVE YOU AL. I LOVE YOU AL. I LOVE YOU AL. He wanted to shout it from the tops of mountains, but he could barely whisper it in the secret of his heart. He cried himself to sleep thinking it. He dreamed thinking it. Every nut and bolt brought him a step closer to living it - at least, that's what he had to believe, no other choice save for going insane.
Alfons coughed more now, but they were still silent as ghosts when they were alone together. There was still that terrible weight of I'm sorry lingering in the air, and neither of them knew how to shake it.
Volition
by WhiteRabbit1613
R (swearing, solo!Ed)
Al/Ed with a side of Al H.
Mild movie spoilers
I'm sorry, Alfons wanted to say, but everytime he almost got there, it stuck in his throat and almost choked him. He would cough violently enough to have to sit down, but the two words wouldn't come out. They weren't for him to say.
Ed wasn't sorry, so he couldn't just make the first move and put them both out of their misery. Even if he knew - however reluctantly - that his roommate was dying. Even if he cried everytime he thought about it. It wasn't fair, but then few things in his life were, if he was completely honest. He thought unfairness was something he had gotten over years ago, but apparently not.
"It's not so bad," Al whispered, voice still strangely tinny and reverberating. Ed hadn't said a word, both boys pretending to sleep, but for different reasons. "I mean, I don't feel cold anymore. Or tired. It's like I'm infinitely powerful."
His brother tried not to think about the Seal. The armor's one weakness. A soul, he knew, was just barely attached, even to a real body. To this false form it would barely cling, and certainly not of its own volition. There were stories of dying people whose souls simply wouldn't let go, and so they didn't die. But Al's armor would have no such qualms.
"Try not to think about it," Al pleaded. "Just go to sleep. You need the rest."
Ed tried not to think about it. But everything he did - every breath he took, every book he read, every scrape he endured - was a reminder of it. Was a reminder of his sin, of his foolishness. Every part of him was For Al. Every action was For Al. There was nothing left to do but live for his little brother. This is how attachments are born, his brain says now, but at that time, there was no warning. There was no way for him to avoid the inevitable.
It shouldn't have been surprising when he found himself alone in the dorm showers at Central, and was suddenly braced in the tiled corner, whimpering Al's name as he roughly took himself between his mismatched hands. Cold water tried to sooth and slick, but even with gallons of it sluicing over his hands, it could do nothing to stop the pain of metal on delicate skin. The one part of himself he hated the most. Lust muddled minds, made him dull.
But he gave in, anyway. Life wasn't fair, which made this all alright.
He did it again, years later, which is why Alfons was so damn sorry and coughing all the time. It was All Ed's Fault. It always was - he just fucked things up wherever he went. Which was fine. Better to be the cause than the scapegoat.
He was in the shower, alone, and he couldn't stop it. Ed couldn't take it anymore - there were tears in his eyes and a sob in his throat. One second more, and he could cry his release to the cold, watching walls.
And one more observer, apparently, startled out of his search for a bar of soap for the kitchen. Alfons - AL! - stood as pale as a ghost, looking just as panicked as Ed felt, and Ed couldn't blame him, trying to imagine the shock that would result from walking in on his roommate, apparently in the midst of a fantasy starring himself. He couldn't picture it; it had yet to happen.
I'm sorry, Alfons tried to say, and tried to feel, but all he could do was cough wetly and then run from the room, feeling slightly overwhelmed, no soap in sight.
Ed brought the soap with him, later, and they ate dinner in perfect silence.
Al wouldn't have been sorry. He would have blushed bright red and maybe, with just a touch of horror and oh my god brother, he would have scolded his sibling into guilt. But he wouldn't have been sorry. And that's what made life so unfair, because part of Ed always wanted Alfons to be Alphonse, and part of Alfons knew that, and part of Alphonse would have liked to know that Ed said his name in the shower.
But in Munich, Ed found himself trying to explain, a few times. And every time, Alfons walked out of the room. He couldn't stand to hear it. Ed couldn't blame him.
Love was all Ed had. And now he didn't have that, except for the one thought that burned so brightly and painfully inside him.
I LOVE YOU AL. I LOVE YOU AL. I LOVE YOU AL. He wanted to shout it from the tops of mountains, but he could barely whisper it in the secret of his heart. He cried himself to sleep thinking it. He dreamed thinking it. Every nut and bolt brought him a step closer to living it - at least, that's what he had to believe, no other choice save for going insane.
Alfons coughed more now, but they were still silent as ghosts when they were alone together. There was still that terrible weight of I'm sorry lingering in the air, and neither of them knew how to shake it.