There's never been equivalency in this world. If anyone, I should know, for my brother deserves the world and beyond. If something so innocent, so naïve belongs at the very bottom of this never-ending spiral, then I refuse to believe. Perhaps karma is following him down that very same spiral, all the way out into an open sky, beckoning grassy hills, and our mother's expectant gaze, as though this was all some silly work of fiction.

The day she passed, still awaiting my deadbeat father's return, curses and vows cracked their way into my skull. A realization that the only person Alphonse could return to now was myself, and our mother was never coming back. I allowed him to come to terms with this in his own time, and eventually it wasn't an issue for us anymore. We could be a family again, and although the painful memories still prodded at my mind more often than I would let him know, that's exactly what we became.

Living on our own was precious to the both of us, and every day I woke to the smell of a breakfast creation. If alchemy was mine, cooking definitely belonged to Al. Perfectly fried eggs and crispy bacon strips greeted me in the kitchen, and always a glass of orange juice, opposed to his usual two cups of milk. He resembled a housewife, the way he worked. It was completely unnecessary, but he always insisted that the jobs were his to complete. The most unfavorable addition to this routine, however, was that he always wore mother's apron while he did so. The expression he presented was cheerful, and content, but –and perhaps it was just my own undisclosed depression reflecting in his eyes- I had always believed he was hiding his true emotion for the same reason I hid mine, for the sake of my protection.