A/N: So I got bored. And when I get bored, I get Ideas. Guaranteeing that I would never finish anything ever again, I looked up 100 rocketry-related terms and listed them in no particular order. So here's this thing: 100 Ed/Hei ficlets based on those terms.

Well. It'll be 100 when I'm finished. Updates will be sporadic at best and nonexistent at worst, because I'm a high school senior and thus busybusybusy. Some ficlets are standalones, and some are connected to other ficlets; continuity will be stated in the header along with the genre and rating.

Here's the first one I wrote, and more will follow soon as I get around to writing them. Note that never again will the A/N be this horrendously long – each following "chapter" will just have the header. Apologies for the teal deer, especially because this is winding up almost as long as the first ficlet :P

Feedback is seven different flavors of love! (Strawberry, orange, lemon, lime, blueberry, boysenberry, and grape, for the curious. And now I'm hungry.)

#39. Thermal Conductivity: A measure of the ability of a substance to conduct heat.
Genre: Fluff, sap, and UST
Rating: T for profanity
Continuity: Side story to #30. Engine
Notes: Thanks to the Beta Posse member Fated-Shadows for the feedback and support. She is awesome and Puzzletastic and doesn't afraid of anything.

They had not left the bed, because it was cold and the furnace was broken. Their breaths crystallized and hung in the shared air in front of their faces. Edward had grudgingly removed his prosthetics, because they leached heat and the cold hurt his joints, but the metal ports where they connected were deathly cold and had to be wrapped up in scarves.

The cold hurt his lungs, but Edward was snuggling up to him and Alfons had an excuse to wrap one arm around his waist and hold him close when he shivered, so he didn't mind

No university, no work, and nothing to do all holiday long other than curl up together under the covers. Alfons was fine with that.

If only Edward felt the same way.

"It's fucking cold," the man in question mumbled, burrowing into the down quilt and, consequently, closer to Alfons. He hunkered down until all that could be seen was that ridiculous gravity-defying cowlick antenna, and even that seemed to shrink away from the cold.

Despite his complaints, he felt warm pressed against Alfons's side. Unthinkingly, Alfons gripped Edward closer against himself. It took more of a conscious effort to twine their legs together, and he did this too. Edward mumbled a questioning noise into a mouthful of Alfons's sweater, but said nothing.

"It is cold," Alfons said, "But I'm not so sure about the 'fucking' part."

"Shaddup," he grumbled, nuzzling his face further into the sweater, and did he not realize the implications of this? Was he even aware that he was resting his head on Alfons's chest, and clutching at his sleeve?

Tentatively, with fragile hope, Alfons used his free hand to disentangle Edward's from his sleeve and hold it in his own. Edward looked up at him and had the nerve to look confused. "…Your hand looked cold," he explained sheepishly, giving it a soft squeeze; Edward blinked once, grunted the equivalent of a shrug, and planted his face right back in Alfons's shirt.

Something flip-flopped inside Alfons's chest, and he could almost swear that Edward was doing this on purpose…but he didn't want to risk it, not now, when he was already this close.

For now, this was enough.