by Edmondia Dantes
Disclaimer: FMA is not mine.
AN: AU for the end of the series. Requested by Misty.
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He first woke in a pool of his own blood, his last memories lost in a swirling mass of light and Knowledge and the sound of his soul ripping to shreds. And then heat, and coolness, and shadows, and calling, screaming without words, and when he levered himself up, blinking and confused, he caught his breath and remembered Joy.
Sobbing and laughter and warmth and sweetness, and now he lies curled against his brother, flesh to flesh to not, and does not know what to think, or how to think, so he doesn't think, just slides his hands through thick golden hair and watches him wordlessly, because there is nothing to say.
Sweet and secret and safe together, and all he breathes is his brother. Alphonse watches him with bright, brilliant eyes in the moments between the flutter of thick lashes and soft lips against his skin, and if he's crying again, it doesn't matter, because Al is fascinated by the taste of his tears.
He tilts his head, nosing at his hair, his cheek, his throat, the delicate curve of an ear, and is rewarded with Alphonse's laughter, warm and rich and real and vibrant, thrumming against his chest. Too-soft skin under his fingertips, far too pale and fragile, and his brother squirms against the weight of his jacket, new and foreign to one so long deprived, and it's all he can do to keep from crushing close enough to squeeze all of the breath out of him. But he has to be careful, be gentle, because if he doesn't he'll break, shatter into a million pieces and weep for a thousand years.
So they tumble softly together, cuddling and caressing and murmuring wordlessly to each other, and when they're finally discovered hours later, they stay wrapped together, and they don't let go as they're interrogated. They don't let go as they're hauled off to be examined, and they don't let go as they're shoved into a bath and they don't let go as they're finally hustled off to bed hours later, when the sun is high in the sky and a clear day has passed since they first were found.
The world melts into a blur of softness and damp skin and golden hair, and they lie on the same bed and curl fingers and bodies together, content at last.
When they finally sleep, they lock tightly enough together that none of the concerned medics can separate them.
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