A/N: I really shouldn't be starting a new story right now, but like many other authors out there, I couldn't help it, and since there aren't enough fanfics out there for this pairing, I thought I should write one of my own, so here you go. It is kind of cheesy though, so I warn you.
Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist.
Kiss
What is a kiss? To caress with the lips in affection or greeting. This is the defntion of kiss if you were to look it up in a handheld dictionary. To me, a kiss was something my brother and I would do, thinking it was a smart way of expressing our 'brotherly love' for each other. Seeing mommies and dadies doing it, we thought it must be normal for people who love each other. Mom thought it was cute at first, having such a strong bond. That was when I was four. Then I turned eight, and Mother suddenly changed her mind and told us that's not what brothers do. She hadn't exactly said it was wrong, but we knew something about it wasnt right.
We did stop. For like, a month. We didn't see any reason for us not to continue, as long as we didn't get caught doing it. It wasn't like we would go too far anyway, just a quick brush of our lips. It wasn't until fifth grade did Brother come home one day, wanting to try something 'new'. It hadn't been our usual peck on the lips that often didn't last very long. Instead it was lips over mine, then a tongue slipping in between. You can guess that when I felt a slimy wet muscle that wasn't my own invade my mouth, I freaked. I didn't know what I was doing, and honestly, I'm sure Brother didn't either.
I always wondered where he went, or what he saw to actually want to try that. Brother wasn't a very social person and his only friends were our neighbors, and even that wasn't a lot considering how far we lived away from town. We had always felt that we didn't need anybody else, just each other. It was more than enough for us. Mother took a habit of lecturing us about it, explaining that it was good to have friends and we weren't always going to be there for each other. I remember later asking, "Why not?" Why weren't we going to be there for each other? The more I thought about what she said, the more scared I became. Was Brother going to leave me like Father left Mother? They used to kiss too. Did that have something to do with it?
Even after five years, the thought had still scared me. It seemed childish, and you would think I'd know better, but even at sixteen years old, I was still haunted by nightmares of my only brother leaving me all alone in this big world to fend for myself. After the first nightmare, I turned into a leech, never leaving my brother's side. That was a difficult task for me since he was in middle school when I was a fifth grader. He didn't seem to mind though. When I finally was going to the same school, he actually didn't want me to leave his side. Brother suddenly became very protective over me. I didn't know if I should have been flattered, or insulted. It wasn't too bad, not to the point where I couldn't have my own friends. Really, that was the first year where I actually even had friends.
Now, I ask myself, what are friends? A person one knows well and likes. Either this definition is a lie, or I was not friends with the people I hung out with. In all honestly, no matter how brutal it is, I did not enjoy my so-called 'friends' and I most certainly didn't know anything about them, other than their names. If you were to ask me who my best friends were though, I would still answer with those names. I didn't like them, but I still trusted them and that was good enough for me. So good, in fact, that I allowed one of them to kiss me. Now this is where I bring back the definition of kiss.
It claims that it occurs in affection or greeting, but is that really true? When I kissed my friend, it was merely out of spite, nothing more. Now I've defied two facts. I kissed someone with spite and I dislike my friends. We can't always follow what we were taught. If we only ever did what we were told, then we'd be nothing but little robots. This was the reasoning I took to make myself beieve that what Brother and I did was okay. It made perfect sense to me at the time, but now I'm starting to question my logic and just how dense I really was. I do admit, I'm very naive; I barely learned what it means to pop the cherry a year ago, and apparently it was weird that a guy my age doesn't-well, you know. I never felt the urge to do it in the first place, or atleast not until Brother and I tried something 'new'.
That somehow turned into a big thing with Brother. Every so often he'd come home, drag me to his room, and ask if it was okay to try something 'new'. I never objected to the idea. I more or less welcomed it. I trusted Brother with all my body and soul and if he suggested it, then I was all up for it. I have to say, I was never disappointed. Our first kiss, our first touch... they were all perfect. Brother was always so gentle and caring, it was almost annoying how much he would treat me like a porclein doll; a fragile being that you had to handle with care, something so easily breakable. Break. Such a funny word. Even in this little dictionary I hold with me now, there are so many defintions for that one word, all meaning so many different things. I look at these meanings, and I don't want to be labled with any of them. If only Brother knew. I wasn't breakable-if anything, I wanted to be broken.
Masochism, self-loathing, call it what you will, it didn't matter how you looked at it, it was what it was. I didn't necessarily take pleasure in the idea of being in pain, but I did want something more aggressive, something that I wasn't use to getting. Brother was always making sure I wasn't hurting, whether it be from a scratch on the knee or a depressed thought plaguing my mine, it didn't matter; he was always there for me. When I think back I feel so selfish. He did so much for me while I-what? What did I ever do for him that could equal up to all he's done, all he's risked, for a pathetic human like me that's probably damned for the rest of his life anyway. What did I ever do?
I remember how it all ended. My birhtday was coming up, too. It was a normal day for me, maybe not so much for Brother, considering he was attacked by a stray dog on the way home from school, but overall a typical day. As soon as I opened the front door to our house though, I knew somthing was wrong. My answers waited for me in the living room where I found Mom and Dad, a calm mask placed over their faces, but I could see it all in their eyes. The solemn truth lied within those pairs of crystal orbs, laced with stress, sorrow, guilt. I remember how rational they sounded, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They made it sound like something that was easy to accept, like we would understand the reasons for what we thought was a stupid and unnecessary course of action. Why were Mom and Dad splitting up? Why couldn't they just stay togther? It was something beyond our control, a will that we couldn't bend to our own desires.
I was so angry. I wanted to scream, cry out, let out my desperate urge to throw around punches, yell out obsineties to my parents' faces, just anything that would let out my growing rage. But I was more put together than that. I knew how to hold it in, to deal with it internally-and it turned out I didn't have to do any of that, because Brother did it for me. He threw his own temper tantrum, cursing out our parents, breaking some vases, and when all was said and done, he grabbed my wrist, dragged me out of the house, over a few hills, and then we just sat. Not particularly anywhere, we just sat. And then, we cried.
That one night completely ruined my life. It literally mashed it up, massacred my mind, currupted my emotions, tossed out anything important to me, and worst of all... the one thing that took apart my whole being, shredded me apart, just so ruefully destroyed me so easily and so quickly, like snapping a toothpick...
After having the audacity of-here it is, my favorite word-breaking me to mere shards, into little fragments, the fateful day came where I no longer had a whole family anymore. His goodbye to us was in the form of an arguement. An arguement that I didn't believe should have ever existed. The result was horrifying, not because we parted on bad terms, but because the only thing I got out of that war was losing more of my life. My one and only everything was taken away from me, the one thing that meant the most to me in the world. Just like that, he wasn't mine anymore.
Edward was no longer there for me. Like Father left Mother, Edward left me. What hurts me the most is how I saw it coming, and selfish me decides I can't let myself get hurt. After that night, the night we cried, I pushed him away. After one day, I was able to treat him so differently, so coldly. It hurt so much. How could I have done that? He did so much for me and that's how I repay him. With a cold shoulder and heated glares. That's how it went on, up until the moment when my father took Edward with him, and it hit me like a million knives peircing my heart. It wasn't worth it, pushing Ed away. I only felt worse.
My life went downhill from there. Father took Ed to some other city and three years later, Mother grew ill. This illness is what led me to sit in this very seat, in this very train, waiting to finally arrive at the destination already set out for me, with nothing but clothes in one luggage, and a backpack stuffed with as many belongings that would fit in, including a kitten that's not allowed on the train. All because Mother was sick. And all because Mother didn't make it.
Dead. "Not living. Dull; inactive." Hn, that much was obvious. A small sigh escaped my lips as my eyes traveled to the other side of the page. "What's the difference...?" I quietly wondered aloud. "A dying or being de-" A loud horn went off as I felt the train start to slow. 'Here already?' I looked out the window and was met with tall buildings, busy streets with cars speeding through it, lights flashing. I was really in the city now. No more grassy hills or rivers running by, or fresh clean air to fill my lungs. The freedom to just run through vast fields of land, gone. All taken away.
There didn't seem to be much to do in a city. You couldn't just run around outside because you were more or less going to get run over. If not ran over, then kidnapped, beat up in an alley, or robbed on the sidewalk. The dangers didn't end there. The possiblities were endless and the worse part was, it didn't always just have to be on the streets. Cities were big, therefore schools were big, and that meant lots of kids. Even at school, it would be just as bad. There were a such thing as bullies, and even gangs existing inside of schools, not to mention all the evil teachers and loads of drama that comes with all those eager freshmen and sophmores. Do you really think a guy like me, someone who has lived out in the country away from all the lights, big apartments, and masses of kids that are more than likely going to treat me like a freak, can live in an enviroment like that? I'm lucky if I'm still alive after a week.
It was a lot to take in, and in such a short amount of time, too. When the train pulled into the station and finally came to a stop, a felt my heartbeat pick up, anxious, yet dreading for what was about to come. When the train doors opened and people started to pile out with their suitcases in hand, I noticed that the majority of these people all had excited looks on their faces. Unlike me, they didn't take a train here against their will. These people came to find better homes, get a paying job, and start a new life. A good life, one they wanted. I came to live in a replacement home, learn at a foreign school, and start another life. I didn't want this, not like these people did.
My legs were shaking, and I struggled not to start hypervenilating as my feet stepped off the train and onto the platform. I took a nervous breath when I realized just how many people were there. How was I supposed to find my way in this mess?
When I looked around the crowd I couldn't find any familiar faces. I was keeping an eye out for any sign of blond hair and gold eyes. I had no idea if Ed still looked the same as he did four years ago, but I was sure my father still had his long hair and beard; he shouldn't be that difficult to spot. The real question was, would he recognize me? I don't think I've changed much, but I did grow out my hair, if that really makes a difference. For a moment I was hoping he wouldn't recognize me, that maybe he would never find me and just give up. I don't know what it was, but for some reason I didn't want to live with my father. Even if it meant not seeing Ed again, I didn't want to go through the trouble of making a new life for myself. I thought about it for a while, and I almost did leave the station until I heard a voice call my name.
"Alphonse." I jumped at the sudden voice and quickly spun around to find my father staring back at me. It took me awhile to gather my senses and come to face the fact that my father was really standing in front of me, and it finally clicked in my head that this was the first form of contact I've had with him since he left Mom and me. I should feel quilty, but I couldn't bring myself to feel sorry-or atleast, not to him. He's just as much at fault here, not just for having no connections with his youngest son, but also for just not being there. If he hadn't gone so far away, or would atleast let us visit each other, I could have still had some kind of relations with Ed. It's been so long since I've seen him, it almost feels like I don't even know who he is anymore.
The sudden thought of Ed and knowing I was about to see him real soon got me excited, and I found myself smiling up at my father. He blinked and slowly smiled back, though it looked tired and slightly forced, but there was contentment in his eyes, making me feel welcomed none the less. When I realized I hadn't said anything and we were just standing there I started to feel uncomfortable and awkward, so I tried to break the silence.
"H-hi, Dad." I stuttered out.
"Hello Alphonse. It's, nice to see you, again." He replied. I internally sighed at the formality of it; he still called me Alphonse. Breaking this ice was going to take a long time. "Here, let me get those for you." He reached over to take my bags from me and gestured for me to follow him as we made our way through the crowd. There was a lot of pushing and squeezing as we maneuvered through the throngs of people. We were almost out of there when some man crashed into my father, then out of nowhere there was a mewling sound. I quickly made a noise to try and cover it up, but only succeeded in embarassing myself when it came out as a cross between a squeal and a whimper. My father turned back to give me a strange look.
"S-someone stepped on my foot!" I blurted out, very unconvincingly. What can I say, I'm a terrible liar. My father just nodded his head before continuing our little journey through smelly, rude, overweight people.
I sighed in relief when we finally left the station and my father led me to his car, which I have to say was very nice. It looked brand new, like he bought it just that day, fresh out of the lot. No scraches or blemishes of the like could be seen on the sleek, black surface that shined in the the sunlight. Even the inside was kept nice and tidy, with its leather seats and touch screen radio. I was on the verge of a headache just sitting in there because of the 'new car' smell it still seemed to possess. This luxury car could only mean my father had a lot of money, being able to not only afford such a vehicle, but aslo keeping it in such good shape for who knows how long.
I decided to sit in the back instead of up front with my father. I still wasn't comfortable enough yet to sit next to him, and I'm sure he would've felt just as awkward. During the ride I stared out the window, watching everything speed by. I coudn't believe how fast everything was in the city, and I don't just mean the cars. The people were just as quick, and even the time went by faster, but maybe that was a good thing since my father said it was a thirty minute drive to get to his house.
I had been looking up another word in my dictionary when my eyes started to feel heavy as the soft vibrating of the car and the music from my iPod started to lull me to sleep. The words I read blended togehter and nothing made sense anymore, so I put my book aside and leaned back in my seat as my eyes closed, and just like that, I was gone.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Al!"
"Yeah, bye, Winry!" I waved goodbye as the blond and I parted ways for the day.
I hurried down the dirt path lined with fences that led to my house, wanting to go home and see my mother as soon as possible. Her fever had been unusually high that morning, but she wouldn't let me stay home to care for her. All day I was worrying about her, and I couldn't consentrate in class, earning me a few lectures from my teachers. They didn't know about her. How Mother was sick. No one did.
When my house came into view, I sighed in relief, running the rest of the way to the front door and yanking it open. I didn't stop to realize the door was unlocked when it usually wasn't. I entered the house, throwing my backpack in the corner and slipping off my shoes.
"Mom! I'm home!" I called out. I came into the living room and was surprised to see the televisoin on, white and static noise pouring out while the snowy screen raged on. Did Mother come downstairs? She wasn't supposed to, she knew that. I reached for the remote sitting on the coffee table and pressed the power button, still unnerved that it was on. I didn't bother to check the rest of the house, quickly making my way upstairs to my mother's room.
I peaked in and was met with an empty bed which was neatly made, like it hadn't been touched. I frowned, feeling a wave of panic wash over me. I took a deep breath to try to stay calm and left the room to search for her. I checked the bathroom, back downstairs in the kitchen, outside in the garden, but still no sign of her. Then I realized I hadn't even bothered to check the other bedrooms upstairs. I rushed over and went to my room first, reaching over to turn the handle-it was locked! I jiggled it some more to no avail. She must be in there! Why else would it be locked?
Before I could do anything, something slammed from behind me, making me jump up and quickly spin around. Down the hallway, a door was gently swaying, slowing to a stop when the hinges wouldn't allow it to move anymore. My heart still pounding, I cautiously crept to the room, wanting so badly to just run out of this house, but I knew that wasn't an option; I had to find Mother. I promised to take care of her.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of walking, I was in front of the room, and as I gazed inside I realized this use to be Brother's room. Something about it was different though. All of Brother's possesion were still in the here, right where he had them arranged when he and Father still lived here. I hadn't noticed my feet moving until I found myself standing in the middle of the room. I walked around the room observing everything, recognizing the posters on the walls, the books on the shelves, smiling at the teddy bear innocently sitting on the bed. The smile dropped though when I turned to his nightstand where a picture in a little frame stood. I knew what the picture was supposed to be, but it was wrong. The background was intact, but the two people in the photo weren't. I carefully picked up the photo and something inside me chilled. Edward and I could no longer be seen, instead just our silhouettes.
My spine tingled when the chill came again and the hair on my neck stood up. Suddenly the picture changed right in front of me, everything turning white, only leaving Brother's figure. Then a wide, white, grin stretched across the silhouette's face. I gasped, dropping the photo and backing away to the door, when I felt something grip at my arms and face, pulling and yanking me. As I fought against the tight hold, breathing heavy, and tears freely springing from my eyes, I let out a peircing cr-
I jumped up in my seat when a loud sound jolted me awake. I looked over to see my father silently cursing and I realized that the sound was coming from someone honking their car horn. Another reason to hate the city: more cars meant more loud and unnecessary noises. It was so much harder to get around with all these crowded areas, and to think, all these people went through this everyday. It must get annoying-I mean, I'm already annoyed and I've only been here for about twenty minutes. I couldn't wait to finally get ho- to my father's house. A bed sounded really nice right now.
"Alphonse." My father called me. I looked over curiously, not sure if I should be dreading whatever he was about to tell me. It was a little weird for him to be talking to me, especially the way he started it out. It was obvious he was about to inform me about something, not just start small talk. I admit, it did made me nervous.
"Hm?"
"I think I should tell you now, your brother wont be there when we get there." Something inside me died a little hearing that.
"O-oh. Why not?" I tried not to sound too disappointed, but that was difficult to do when I felt, well, beyond disappointed.
"He's on some kind of school trip out of the city. It was a once in a lifetime chance and I just, didn't have the heart to ruin that for him."
"Oh. T-that's alright. I'm sure, Mom would have wanted him to enjoy it." When I said it, I tried to say it with understanding, to convince my father that I really was alright with it, then I realized, I was actually trying to convince myself. I felt like bursting to tears at that moment, but I knew I coudn't do that. Atleast, not in front of my father. "Do you know when he's coming back?" I didn't want to sound desperate, but I had to know.
"Don't worry, he'll be back on Wednesday. Just a few more days." I still felt like I couldn't wait a few more days, but I still clung to that little bit of comfort knowing I would see him again soon. That dejected feeling still lingered, and I knew it wouldn't go away until I saw Brother, so I tried to ignore it as best as I could. Not even an hour has passed since I've been here and already I'm off to a bad start. The only thing that kept me sane through this whole ordeal, the only reason I was even willing to come out and live here in the city with my father, was now not going to be here, when I most needed him.
My theory on having a rich father was only further proven correct when we pulled up into his house. Yes, it was very big, but that's not why I say my father must be rich. Just seeing the structure and paint of this house was convincing enough. And just to boggle my mind even more, there was a man working on the front lawn, which too, was very carefully crafted and kept. It was ridiculous! Now I was afraid to see what the inside would look like.
As I stepped out of the car, I gawked up at the house that was towering over me. I vaguely wondered if I would die if I were to stand on the very top and jump off. I started when I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked to the side at my father who was lightly smiling down at me. "Welcome home, Alphonse." He said softly. Hearing those words made my mind go blank, and I started to get a hollow feeling that spread thoughout my being as I absently stared off into nothing. Home. This was my new home. "Why don't you go ahead and step inside. I'll get your bags." Still staring, I merely nodded and before I knew it, my feet were moving, taking me to the front door and inside my new 'home'. I finally snapped out of my stupor after seeing the interior of the house, and instead of that hollowness, I felt anger.
There were vases and sculptures, end tables, paintings, fancy rugs and carpeting with frilly curtains to match. Paint stuck to the walls neatly, like they were born with the colors. A flatscreen, a stereo, surround sound. If you were to look up, you'd find a chandlier dangling above you. Expensive furniture innoccently sat there as it showed off it's stain free material. Where the hell did my father get the money to afford all this? If he could really waste his money on shit like this, then why didn't he help us? Give his money to a good cause, maybe think about someone other than himself for once. If he had just donated a little portion of his savings, then maybe Mom still might be here. We could've paid for her medical care, put her in a hospital. She atleast could've had a chance.
The more I took in the decor of the house, the more my resentment grew. I briefly glanced over at the staircase and scoffed as I realized it was probably the only normal thing in the house, and then I did a double take when a flash of gold caught my eye, and then the staircase wasn't so normal anymore. I looked back over and found what caught my attention. Pictures in fancy frames lined the wall at the staircase, and though most of them were paintings, I still found photographs that were able to catch my attention. I walked over to the decorated wall and stood in front of one frame in particular. I gazed at it for a long while, to either savour it or just hope it would come to life, or probably both, I wasn't sure.
It was a picture of my father and Ed. I knew it was taken a while back, when they had barely left Mother and I. Ed still looked thirteen there, not to mention that's how I remember him, and I was sure he didn't look exactly the same as he did when I last saw him. Something about the picture though was off. Ed looked different, not himself. You could see it in his eyes, and the way his lips tilted down, not his usual frown. What he was feeling at that moment was much deeper than just ordinary sadness. I faintly wondered if he still looked like that now. Would his eyes have that same dark hollowness to them? Would he have an everlastling frown set on his lips? Would he really just look-dare I say-dead?
Or would his eyes shine with brilliance, with upturned lips that proved he's had a wonderful life with no strings attached? For some reason, I didn't like the thought. I know it must be wrong to not want my brother to feel happiness, but I still felt a sense of betrayal at the idea of him living a happy life while Mom and I had to suffer and endure on our own. I know it's selfish, but I couldn't help it. It just wasn't fair to me if Brother was living a good life while I suffered everyday from stress and loneliness. From the moment Mother grew ill I dedicated my whole life to making her better. I took care of everything in that house. I did all the cooking and cleaning, making sure Mother stayed in bed and didn't do anything to over exert herself. I got a job at the only place that would hire me-the grocery store-to keep food in the house, buy Mother's medication and pay for bills, all the while struggling to keep up with school. It was, to say the least, a terrible way to live at such a young age. I had to grow up faster than I normally would have, and learn things that I shouldn't have to know about for another three or four years.
I turned away from the picture, not wanting anymore bad thoughts to invade my mind. Not to mention, the more I stared at it, the more it reminded me of the picture in my dream. Ha! Dream, it was more like a nightmare! A stupid stress induced twist of my imagination that refused to leave me alone. It was always there, even when I wasn't sleeping. It still lurked in the depths of my mind, where all the dark fears and truths lied when I was simply the innocent Alphonse Elric who was sympathized by the foolish. Only when I was alone and in the safety and privacy of my own mind did those fears and truths leak out, no longer innocent Alphonse, but the currupted one surrounded by fakes and liars who didn't understand. I sometimes wondered if anyone really cared, or if it was just a well practiced facade they put on for show.
I didn't want their sympathy either way, whether it was real or fake. No matter what, it still felt like nothing but pity, and pity was something for the weak and pathetic. I refused to be classified as something a person would feel obliged to feel sorry for just because they've never been through the same experiences. If they really felt sorry they would get up off their asses to do something about it, not just stand by and watch.
It never mattered to me either way. The only opinion that ever mattered in my life was Mother's. It was her happiness and graditude that assured me everyday that everything was alright, and it was all going to be okay in the end. With her there, I felt I didn't need anyone else. I was content with the way things were, not bothering to complain or whine when the going got tough, because if this is the way God wanted us to live, then so be it.
Of course, this was the lie I conjured up for myself to have some grasp of faith that not everything in my life was over. For awhile, after my father and Ed left, I really did look to God for some kind of guidance, praying every night and asking for a miracle. That ended after Winry's parents passed away, and when Mother grew ill. This never stopped Mother's belief though, if anything it strengthened it. When I told her, she was disappointed knowing I no longer believed in any kind of God, but she openly accepted it, even going as far to tell me how my father never did either. Instead, he believed in science.
Being good in science seemed to run in the family. I use to always get straight A's in it and Ed loved it even more than Winry's apple pie-or atleast he did. How much did Ed really change? Did he still enjoy the same things? Will I even know who he is when he returns? Some people have told me that I've changed. I didn't see it before, but when I finally took the time to sit down and just think, I realized they were right. The first noticable difference would have to be my grades. At one point I was even failing my science class, and my teacher even took time out of her day to confront me about it. I coudn't help it. How do you expect me to consentrate on a subject that reminds me of all the times Brother and I snuck into my father's office to look at all his notes and research? It was like showing a woman a picture of her deceased husband dead and bloodied right after the crime took place.
I know I might be exaggerating this, I mean I can't be the only kid who's been through this, but it just hurt so much. Brother and I were so close. When he first left, it was so hard for me to accept that he was was really gone. For two whole weeks, I stopped eating, sleeping, doing school work, and chores, I even stopped speaking to Mother. I was dwelling in this never ending sorrow, caught in my own self-pity, letting it eat away at me slowly. I knew what I was doing, that I was not only hurting myself, but the others around me as well. Still, I didn't care. If I had to suffer then why shouldn't they? It was like they didn't even feel the hurt and lost I felt, like they didn't care.
In the end it was Winry who pulled me out of my pit of depression. A good screaming and bonk on the head with a wrench finally brought me back to my senses and made me realize how selfish I was being. Though I still ached, I tried to cover it up as best as I could, and continued to act as my normal, happy, go-lucky Alphonse self. But that's all it really is: an act. Just like all the people around me, I put up my own facade everyday just to please those I cared about. I hated having to pretend, to make everyone believe that nothing was wrong with me. I think what I hated more was how no one saw through it. No one noticed the lying mask I put up to trick everyone into thinking I was still the same old Alphonse.
A liar. I wasn't the only one, right? Were Father and Mother liars? What about Winry, and Aunt Pinako?
Was Ed a liar?
It makes sense if he is, I mean if I turned into one, why wouldn't Ed? Maybe he put on his own act just like I did. It woudn't surprise me. Like I said before, what if he changed just like I had? I guess I would just have to wait and find out. For some reason though, I think I'm better off not knowing at all.
"Well, Alphonse, why don't I give you the grand tour?" I jumped slightly hearing my father's voice. That seems to be happening to me a lot lately. He had a reassuring smile on his face when I gazed over at him. I smiled politely and nodded as an answer.
The kitchen and living room were downstairs. There was also a dining room and a den, along with a bathroom, a laundry room-it contained a laundry shoot and I ended up freaking out because I had never seen one before-an office, and even a game room. There was a sliding door connected to the dining room that led to the backyard, and though it wasn't the vast feilds back at home, it sure was something. There was a tall tree that was planted in the middle, giving plenty of shade. A cute bench sat under it and off to the side was a little pond filled with lillipads and fish, with stepping stones leading to it. There was a rock wall bordering the yard, and along that were colorful plants that seemed to attract birds and bees. The grass was lush and even, and it looked so soft I wanted to just lay in it all day. When I looked to my left, I was amazed to find a swimming pool there as well. The only swimmimg pool I ever had was the river back at home. I didn't have time to look at the rest though when my father ushered me back inside to show me upstairs.
Of course uptairs was just as big as downstairs. My father briefly showed me the master bedroom first, informing me it was his room and the only time anyone but himself was allowed in there was if something was wrong with the other bathrooms and the one in his room was needed. I wondered why no one alse was allowed in, but I didn't ponder on it too long. I was too busy awing over the library. There was a room dedicated to just musical instruments too! It had everything! I tried not to look so excited, but this was just too cool. It was such a big change from my old home, I was still struggling to process it all.
Next were the bedrooms. There were originally two guest bedrooms, but now one was my room. I was able to choose which one I wanted, so I went with the one closest to the bathroom. It just seemed more convienent. It also happaned to be right next to Ed's, and that was the last room my father had to show me. Of course I wanted to see what Brother's room looked like, but I didn't get a chance because my father thought it would be a good idea to situate all my belongings in my room while he prepared dinner. So that's what I did.
I was in the process of emptying my bags when I heard a loud whine coming from backpack. I gasped and quickly unzipped it, chuckling when a white kitten with orange and black blotches sprang out. He wobbled around for awhile, not recognizing his suroundings. I gently pet him along his back before he found my hand and decided to cling onto it with his claws while he bit down on my skin. Smiling to myself, I played along and made a claw of my own, gripping onto him and slightly shaking my "claw" while he kicked me with his hind legs. That was always the one thing I disliked about kittens. They were extremely playful. Sure they were fun and cute, but it sometimes got annoying when you weren't in the mood, or when you were sleeping.
His name was Arthur. Winry named him for me. Besides Winry, he was pretty much my best friend. Kind of sad having a cat as a best friend, huh? I didn't mind though. There were so many benefits to having a cat as a friend. You can tell them anything and they can't judge you, they're great listeners, there always going to be there for you, and once they get to know you, they'll love you forever. To me, it was so much easier to be friends with an animal than a human. The only difference was having to feed them everyday and actually take care of them.
Speaking of feeding, I wonder what my father is making for dinner. I didn't even know he cooked. I picked up Arthur and sat him down on my bed, making sure to close my door on the way out. I went downstairs into the kitchen to find my father struggling to keep everything from burning while noodles cooked in boiled water and shrimp and vegetables sizzled in seperate pans. I grinned behind my hand and tried to contain my laughter at how ridiculous my father looked. Did he really now how to cook, or was this really one of the few events where he did? Maybe he really was just bad at it.
I walked over, grabbing a spatula along the way. "Here, let me help." I went over to the pans filled with shrimp and vegetables and tossed them all around for a bit. I looked over to my father, smiling while he stared at me with a tired but thankful look. I turned away and instead gazed at the food I was stirring around. "So, fettuccine, huh?"
"Yes, well, I thought I'd make something nice." He replied.
"It is nice. The last time I had any was for my fourteenth birthday. Of course, that was..." When we still had money.
"That was, what?" My father asked. 'Now you've done it' I scolded myself. I'm so stupid. I'm not supposed to be holding any grudges, I should be thankful I'm allowed to stay here. What am I supposed to say now? Anything I thought of to finish that was rude, and as much as I would love to just tell him off and make him feel like the most awful and selfish person in the world-
"Was when Mother was still able to leave the house." Damn it, it wasn't supposed to come out like that. My father sighed from his place.
"Look, Alphonse, I'm so-"
"N-no! I didn't mean it like that! It's okay, really. Let's just, finish cooking, okay?" My father looked at me with slight confusion, but none the less did as I asked. Seconds passed before he spoke up again.
"I didn't know you knew how to cook." 'There's a lot of things you don't know about me'
"Heh, I kinda had to learn with Mother being bedridden and all. I wouldn't allow her to cook or clean, so I did it all. I always enjoyed cooking though. I thought it was fun and I liked experimenting with different foods. It was like, science, except it tasted good." My father chuckled at that. I swelled up with pride at being able to make him laugh, if only a little. Maybe this wasn't going to so bad after all.
When the food was done and we were finally sitting at the table, I had a permanent smile plastered to my face. At the first bite my father showered me with thanks and compliments at how good the food came out, which only blew up my sense of pride even more. I was so surprised but never the less relieved at how well we got along, even after all those years of never seeing each other. I almost didn't want to finish my food because I knew that would mean heading off for bed. It had to come to an end eventually though and sleeping didn't actually sound that bad right now.
We cleaned up the table, and I offered to wash the dishes, being use to it by now, but Father sternly declined. We said our goodnights and as we made our way to our rooms, he stopped me on the way there, calling out my name. He told me how Mother raised me well, and how I was turning out to be a fine young man. I blushed while thanking him, glad it was too dark for him to see, and quickly rushed into my room.
I contemplated going straight to sleep but decided to change and set up a little before I did. I stripped down to my boxers and was about to dig through my bag for my night clothes until I decided to just sleep in boxers, being too tired and lazy to go through the trouble of finding the clothes and putting them on. I was about to dive onto the bed, ready to cuddle into those inviting not yet slept in sheets when I felt something furry brush against my leg, then I heard purring. I sighed, realizing I not only had to buy cat food, but a litter box as well. Too tired to put much thought into it, I gingerly picked up Arthur and carried him with me to the bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out cold.
I gasped, arching my back when a pair of lips nibbled at my ear, then trailed down to my neck. I tilted my head and leaned into it as they began to suckle and nibble on the hollow of my throat. My fingers were tangled in blond strands desperately tugging while my legs clung to a toned torso, firmly pressing clothed members together. Smooth hands ran across my body, putting pressure on certain areas and lingering a little longer than necessary on others. They slipped under thin fabric, riding it up over my abdomen all the way to my chest, revealing pert nipples. I cried out and squeezed my eyes shut when those hands found them and began pressing and rolling fingers against the swollen nubs
The lips on my throat pulled away and I whimpered at the lost of contact. Opening my eyes, I was met with lust clouded gold orbs and bruised, plump lips, a light dusting of pink across their cheeks. The lips turned upwards and gave a slight grin before leaning over and placing them over mine. I returned the kiss eagerly, mewling when a wet muscle slipped in and moaning when the kiss was deepened. Hands snaked up my arms to grasp my wrists and bring them down over my head, then lacing our fingers together. Their hips rolled against mine and it made me even more breathless than I was before. As we pulled away for air, they nuzzled into the junction between my neck and shoulder, licking and kissing it softly as their hips put even more pressure on my groin. There was a tightening feeling in my lower abdomen and we both desperately ground into each other. I moaned out his name-
I shot up in bed when a loud clap startled me awake. I was panting, a thin layer of sweat coating my bear skin, my blankets no longer wrapped around me but pushed away at the bottom of my bed. My loose hair clung to my skin uncomfortably, as well as my boxers, which weren't wet with just sweat. As I hesitantly glanced down, I groaned in frustration. There was a bulge but it seemed to be slowly diminishing, and I was only wet with precum. I sighed in relief that I hadn't actually came, yet I still didn't feel relieved. Something on my face tickled as I felt it roll down my cheeks, stopping midway. I reached up and gasped when I realized the tears were there. I quickly went to rid of them, harshly swiping at the unwanted droplets. They only caused more pain.
I took three deep breathes to try and calm myself down, just like Mother taught me, but on the last one it caught in my throat when there was a bright light and a loud rumble following after. I could hear the pitter patter of rain drops hitting the window, accompanied by dirt and leaves. I wasn't expecting there to be a thunderstorm.
I looked to my left to find Arthur curled up with his eyes wide open, staring at the window. I reached over to pet him, knowing it was the only way I was allowed to cuddle with him and right now, I really needed some comfort.
There was a flash of light that came from the window and I braced myself for the boom that would follow, tensing up as I counted, "One, one thousand, two, one thousand..." I reached four and covered my ears when the sound still did not come. "Six, one thousand, seven one thou-" The deep rumble didn't start off as bad as I expected, but then the sound grew louder, and longer, lasting as long as it took to come. I didn't notice my whimpering until the drumming in the sky started to fade away. I tried to stop myself from crying, but I just couldn't do it! I just couldn't take all this growing anxiety anymore and I was tired of trying to keep it all bottled up!
For years now, I've been trying to hide it just to please others, but in the process it was only making me feel worse. I was unintentionally making myself sick and it was just too much for me to handle. It was only nights like these where I just couldn't hold it in anymore that I'd let it all out. Nights when something too big for me to handle was just dropped on my shoulders. I hated it. I hated death, and thunderstorms, and being alone. I hated that feeling of dread I got everyday when I walked home, the thought that something was missing, the depressing aura that lingered in my home. Most of all I hated the dreams.
Whether it be a nightmare or filled with pleasure, it didn't matter; I always woke up feeling the same. They reminded me of what is and what could have been. What I want my life to be, but can't have and what my life is, even though I don't want it. No dream was ever nuetral anymore and as the years went on, they grew more and more intense. It went as far as me dying in them all. The first one to make me cry was still the worst, because it was the first time I woke up from a nightmare and Brother wasn't there to comfort me. Though I don't think I would enjoy telling him that he was the one to kill me in my dream.
As much as I hated the ones where Brother hurt me, I couldn't stand the ones where Brother pleasured me either. Those brought out a whole different onslaught of emotions, emotions I tried to hide more than others. No one had to know about the incestuous relationship we once had. We were still too young to fully understand that society didn't except such "sinful" acts. Like everything in my life though, that didn't matter anymore. It was over now. All the hugs and touches, the sweet "I love yous" that always meant so much more to us, the looks he gave me that always had me feeling so special and loved. None of that existed anymore.
To kiss means to caress with the lips in affection or greeting. To me, it was something Brother and I used to do as a way to show our brotherly love for each other. But, when did it stop being brotherly?
A/N: Please tell me whether or not I should continue. You have no idea how nervous I am about this. I have no idea why though, I feel like it shouldn't matter. Anyway, reviews would be great. :)