Disclaimer: Nah, I don't own Hagaren at all.
Warning: Spoilers for episode 51 of the anime.
A/N: I've never done anything on Al before. So, this is a little thing about Al. When I say little, I mean little. This is short. As usual, constructive crit. would be appreciated.
"Brother, what color were my eyes?"
"Huh? Your eyes…It depended. When you were sad, your eyes were as dull a gray as this pavement. When you were happy, your eyes shone as silver as the pure element itself. Why do you ask?"
"No reason, brother. I was just curious."
Armor had no eyes. They did not have skin let alone eyelids. They possessed no pupils let alone eyeballs. Armor was a supposed inanimate object. Alphonse was one of those few exceptions to the rule. He never asked for it, but being an exception taught him quite a bit about the ways of the world.
In his dreams, he would be standing in front of a plain, round mirror. A boy would be looking back at him. A boy with goldenrod locks and warm, silver eyes would be waving at him through the mirror. He would place his gauntlet against the reflection of the human hand. And then he would wake up and find himself back in the reality of his condition.
He could barely remember the things he did with his brother when they were younger. The memories were fuzzy, blocked. He could only rely on what his brother told him, and even those memories weren't completely reliable.
Alphonse remembered telling many people about the color of his eyes, only because they were curious. He remembered telling Hawkeye on the train to West City once because she asked on a whim. "Silver," he said, his sight darting between the ever attentive Hawkeye and the dozing Mustang.
"Silver? That sounds about right."
"What do you mean?"
Mustang did not seem to be in the mood to elaborate. Shaking his head at the question directed at him, he allowed his head to loll as he fell into a slumber. Fortunately for Al, Hawkeye decided to interpret in his place.
"You and your brother are opposites. It's the people around you that note how different the both of you are. Your brother's eyes are gold, are they not?" As the empty helmet bowed up and down, Hawkeye continued. "Silver is the opposite of Gold. Think about the qualities of the two." She left it at that and picked up a book.
Alphonse considered those words. The characteristics of gold were shiny, flashy. Flashy. That was a good word to describe his brother. The graceful movements, the alchemic techniques, and of course his lively grins fit that word perfectly. Shiny was a good temporary word to describe him. His automail was shiny…But after it's first few dents in battle, it was never the same again.
Rarity was another word that fit well. His brother was most definitely unique. Shortest prodigy in history. Seriously, he had a certain radiant abundance of energy that was all his own. Sensitivity. Gold was a soft metal, easily dented and easily manipulated. His brother was sensitive. The sensitivity was so blatantly obvious at times that it hurt Alphonse to watch his brother deal with it, stubbornly declining help most of the time.
The characteristics of silver weren't very different. Shiny, yet not as flashy. The metal glowed, much like Alphonse's optimistic and bright nature. It was stronger than gold, a much better material for support beams than pure gold could ever be. That was what Al was; a support beam. He supported his older brother and held him up every time he crumpled.
Alphonse never got the chance to thank Hawkeye for her indirect advice. Then again, that didn't matter because in exchange for his body, he gave up four years worth of memories.
He didn't remember that train ride anyway.
XxX
In the mornings, Alphonse found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror with curious speculation. Mirrors always gave him an odd sense of déjà vu since the recovery of his body. The bathroom mirror in his teacher's house was no different. His reflection brought him a sense of fulfillment and loss that he could never pinpoint. It had nothing to do with his brother or his restored body. There was just something strange about the reflection.
The frustration of patched memories often wore him down, dulling the optimism others were so used to from him. It hurt not remembering the people that were once people he cared for the well-being of very much.
Two people stopped by the butcher shop to visit one day. The man was strangely silent except for the "hello"; his dark bangs hid his left eye while the other eye seemed empty, devoid of life like his expression. The man was missing something, but Al couldn't put his finger on it. The woman did more of the talking; she seemed to be searching for a hint of familiarity in Al's eyes. There was something missing about the woman as well.
Al felt that he should have known these people. The odd feeling of familiarity seemed to radiate off them. There was something especially about the woman that he felt he should know. He felt as if he should've said something to her, something important, something already planned. In the end, he said nothing aside from small talk. Although, he knew he would see them again and at that time, he would be the one looking for them.
Alphonse hardly ever had a good night's sleep since the restoration of his flesh body.
In his dreams, he would always be standing in front of a plain, round mirror. The reflection of a towering suit of armor stared him down with it's eyes oddly filled with the glow of life. He placed his flesh hand against the reflection of the gauntlet. The dream would end with that simple gesture.
And Alphonse would wake up sweating and panting with the lingering aura of déjà vu all over again.
A/N: So, tell me what you think.