Good idea you keep me waiting around. I'll just wait here until you decide to come back to town. You don't call, that's alright; you send me a postcard.
After the fall of King Bradley, the rebuilding of Amestris had been problematic. Though Alphonse and Edward offered what little time they could to the cause, Alphonse's condition forced him to remove himself from the situation and live elsewhere. It was the first time the boys had been apart by choice since the unfortunate accident in 1904. Though the choice remained difficult, Edward reluctantly left his brother in the loving hands of Winry back in Resembool. Perhaps that would be all it took to make the difference in his recovery.
Alphonse had grown weaker in that time, constantly striving to get better, pushing his limits to grow stronger. But there was nothing he could to to change the fact he'd been lying dormant somewhere for the better part of ten years. All that time in the gate; all that knowledge, and he couldn't fix this problem. While frustrating to the enth degree, Al refused to give up hope just yet. After all, there was a lovely little girl in Xing that was waiting to see him again, and he wasn't going to let her down.
When the fighting had ceased, the damage was done, and the dust had cleared, everyone had parted ways. Except one young soul that couldn't quite bring herself to leaving. The tiny girl stood on the platform of the train station, awkwardly shuffling from side to side, standing with her eldest half-brother, hands fidgeting with the bow of her jacket. Alphonse remembered that look clearly, though he had only offered a sidelong glance at her petite frame, he never expected to be saying goodbye after all they had been through. The duo swore that they would write letters to each other, however, and share notes on what they learn in their travels...assuming that either one of them returned to their travels.
The first night he had managed to sleep, he was awoken by a nightmare involving that night. He had watched her get onto the train, only for the train to be sucked into a black abyss created by Pride. His heart had beat a million miles a minute, he'd stayed in bed for days and refused to work on his physical therapy, much to the dismay of Winry. This was, of course, until the first letter arrived from Xing. It was tied neatly with a thin blue silk, sprayed once with her eloquent perfume. He loved that scent; had grown so used to it, he couldn't shake it from his head. Poppy? Lavender? What on earth was it? He'd have to ask in his letter.
Each letter was longer than the last, sometimes containing little trinkets she found and thought of him. One of them had a small folded envelope of exotic tea in it, which he brewed and used for his studying, only to find it helped keep his nerves calm. The next letter after that contained a coin; the price of a train ticket, she had commented. Beyond that, and the pile of luxurious silk ribbons that were accumulating on his desk, Alphonse had a box of letters to a girl he could never get off his mind, and apparently she felt the same.
That wasn't to say that Alphonse wasn't neglecting a few things. Winry often left a list of chores to be done, simple housekeeping things he could do while she was in town. He would often use these chores as inspiration for his letters, things to writ and comment on. He once wrote a letter to Mei explaining that he had found a poor bird with a broken wing while painting the fence. He took it in and fixed it up, naming it Hutch. Though he didn't know why he picked that name, it still elicited a response from her.
Mei would often comment on the simple things he wrote about, finding amusement in the way he wrote, or the simple dialect he used. He wasn't so eloquent with words as he was with speech, but that didn't bother her one bit. The letters continued to come, so he never assumed that was the case.
Eventually, he had the mail route down to a science. He knew how many days to calculate for letters, when to mail them to arrive on holidays; when to expect delays, how long it took for them to travel between Resembool and Xing, which postal carrier would take the longest, and what weather conditions to prepare for. He had spent so much time studying all of this, that he hadn't even realized his own physical body deteriorating.
In a fit of rage, Winry confiscated the box of letters and hid it away. She would often meet the mail carrier before Alphonse could, and would hide away the letters, saying that it was cruel, but he could have them back after he did certain things. His physical therapy was far more important than letters, and she didn't know how to get him to realize that. While he continued to push himself harder and harder, he continued to write and write - in a journal this time.
He didn't know when he would be allowed to write back to his love, or how many of her letters had now gone unanswered because of his negligence, but he knew that keeping a journal was the best thing he could do to solve the problem. Hopefully one day the tiny princess could read what he was writing to her. All these lovely stories and notes he'd left behind; the things that brought smiles and the things that made it rain. Maybe she would feel the same as he had.
As he got better, started standing on his own two feet, Winry allowed him to start writing again. To his dismay, the letters had stopped several months prior. Not because of his lack of writing, but because the Emperor had discovered her writing to a man in another country and felt like she was betraying her own. This upset Alphonse; greatly. How could anyone assume he was a bad person after he helped save a country?
"Winry!" Alphonse shouted, wandering through the home. His arm braced against the wall for support, slender and malnourished form seeking out the blonde in the long hallways. Usually he could look for the light on in the distance and find her working, but today she wasn't working. Today she was sitting at her desk, reading a letter. A letter tied with a blue ribbon that was all-too familiar to him. "Winry...isn't that mine?"
The blonde looked up at him, tears in her eyes. She clutched the letter to her chest for a moment while she caught her breath, then handed it over to him. "Alphonse, I...don't think you want to read this one. It's...going to hurt."
Winry was right in every sense of the word. It hurt. It hurt like his soul being ripped from his body; like his heart being plucked from his chest, or the gate of truth being thrust upon him. It hurt like nothing else he had felt before. There, written in her lovely penmanship was the words he never wanted to read. The hope he'd gleaned was now lost and buried. No longer braced against the wall, he felt his body sliding down to the floor in a heap of a mess. "She...doesn't love me?"
"Alphonse, I'm sorry." Winry commented quietly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Alphonse pulled away, causing her to flinch. "I don't...understand it much myself."
He read and reread the letter over and over again, scanning for a secret code, hoping for a message. Maybe somewhere in that mess of jumbled up letters he was seeing, he could find an excuse that made sense. Why had she wasted so long on him, saying she would wait for him, if she was lying? Did she love someone else? He bit down hard on his lip and looked up at Winry. "I…" He coughed and closed his eyes. "I don't understand. She told me she loved me. Ten of the letters even say it...what happened? Why did she stop? Can people just stop?"
"Alphonse, if I knew, I would give you the answers, but I don't. I can barely even make heads or tails of my own relationship." The elder girl reached down to retrieve the letter, holding it in her hands. Sealed with the same stamp, same ribbon, same perfume...even using her handwriting. The girl studied the note carefully for any kind of tampering, but she found nothing. "I'm so sorry, Alphonse. I know it doesn't help, it doesn't change what happened, but she might still come around again. Didn't she say she was eagerly awaiting your visit?"
Alphonse rarely cried, rarely showed emotions such as anger and pity. But tonight, the chaos swarming in his mind was weighing heavy on his heart. He whimpered and brought his knees to his chest. That was all the hope he had left in his recovery. He'd spent all this time searching for his body, for answers and a solution; fell in love, and then had it taken away. Was this what his father felt like when their mother died? Did Hoenheim even feel anything at all in his last years? "I...want to be alone."
"Do you need help going back to your room?" Winry inquired, reaching out to examine his leg under her prodding fingertips. He still looked emaciated, like he was thin and not eating, but that would be like that for a while. For now, she knew he needed a haircut, a smile, and maybe a kitten - but not in that order.
Chapters will be shorter than usual, too many complaints about them being long.