alfons/edward - wake up
"Edward? Edward- wake up..."
Al? For a second you wonder if it was all a dream, if you're really home and everything is normal and that's really Alphonse's hand on your shoulder, shaking you awake.
But it's blue eyes, not gold, you see when yours open, a dull gray skyline outside instead of the familiar view from your bedroom window.
"'S too early..." you mutter, closing your eyes again and pulling the blankets closer around you. Just a few minutes more - a few hours - you could sleep for days, years even, if it would let you forget, pretend that none of this was real... but that's not how it works.
"Edward, you have to wake up." He tries to pull the covers off you, gently, of course, just a light tug, but you're determined.
"Edward!" He's almost exasperated now, or as close as he can get when it comes to you. "You're going to be late, you know."
"Late for what?" you mutter into the pillow. "Another nine hours of pointless reading?"
"It's not pointle- - just get up, please?"
He doesn't understand, you think - but that's a little unfair, because why do you expect him to? Why should you expect him to understand how this feels, being the only sane one in this crazy world-
Or maybe you're the one that's crazy.
"Look, Edward-" he sits down at the edge of the bed with a sigh- "You- you really can't just sleep forever. It doesn't work like that."
There are so many things you want to tell him, whenever he gets that calm, understanding look on his face. You want to tell him how much you miss Al and Winry and everyone you knew, everything you knew. How much it hurts when you think you see a face in the crowded street that you could swear you know - but there's no hint of recognition in their eyes, no sign that it's really them at all. You want to tell him how sometimes when he smiles and slightly tilts his head just so you want to grab him by the front of his shirt and kiss him until you don't remember anymore-
but you couldn't.
"Please, just- get up. You don't have to go anywhere or - enjoy it - or anything, but..."
He looks so scared for you. So goddamn sympathetic, and what right do you have to let someone feel that way about you? You're not worth it. Any of it.
"I'm sorry." You turn to face him, just the slightest bit, just enough so you can look at him through one tired eye.
"You don't have to be-" He sighs, again, and, to your surprise, lies down next to you, not even bothering to take his shoes off first. "I just worry about you."
"I'm-" fine, you almost say, but you're sick of lying. "Don't. I'm really not worth worrying about, anyway."
And you try to smile, but he sees through it (he always does) and the next thing you know his face is buried between your neck and shoulder and he's telling you it'll be okay - and it's not, it won't ever be, and you know he knows it, but you go along with it anyway, awkwardly stroking his hair and - it's only a bit of a surprise when he kisses you, and-
He's late to work that day, of course.