Just a writing urge.
Anyway, it didn't matter which world they were in-- together, they were always in their own world, even (especially) in the heat of things: golden eyes always watching the other's back, peripheral vision straining to encompass his other half. In the first month, their fierce joy was so intense that even they noticed: for Al, the startling cool of Ed's steel on his arm; Ed, the incredible smile and eyes he always imagined Al to have- photoflash blinding in the memory-ache of their days. Everywhere, every breath a quick gasp of incredulity, everything, anything- he was here, he is here, they were together at last- at last.
Later, the novelty wore off but still the pleasure remained, like the hum of a sweet lullaby lingering in the throat. Rizembool, Rizembool, and Winry; alchemy and Mustang and war- oh, the bitter undertaste, but what was anything (everything) when compared to two years, when compared to the heady silence of being---
-- together, together. Dear brother, mirror-soul, we, us.
They had never known how to miss each other properly; they were never really individuals to begin with.