Disclaimer: I do not own FMA.
In the Way
When Alphonse arrived in Xing some years after he recovered his body, Mei still thought of him as a knight in gleaming armour, a residue of her childish infatuation with him in Amestris.
It did not take her long, however, to realise that she had not really been smitten with Alphonse, but with his image. He had served as a contrast to his brother's unruliness, a chivalrous boy with a tragic past, and Mei had thought he would shine like the rays of the sun, that people would love and adore him as a leader and a hero. To be sure, they loved and adored him, but not in the way Mei thought they would. Alphonse may have been a hero, but this was seldom acknowledged; most of the attention focused on his older brother. Mei had assumed his diffidence would disappear once he was restored to human form, that his nature was moulded by the ungainly suit of armour his soul was once attached to. That he acted as his brother's shadow because he was depressed.
How wrong she was.
Alphonse was, much to her initial surprise, a quiet person. He was as gentlemanly and kind as ever, but now that Mei was not utterly besotted with him, she saw that perhaps she could never really want him. She was a loud, outgoing person who lived extravagantly, taking and giving in equal amounts, never slacking off on her duties or neglecting her friends. Alphonse was also hard-working, but he preferred the dappled sunlight on his face while sitting under a tree to read to the noisy marketplaces of Xing.
He occupied very little space in a large world.
Mei walked with him in the dusty streets, pedlars and hawkers pressing their trinkets on them, old women offering to read their palms, beggars and vagabonds showering them with sickly sweet compliments about how they made such a wonderful couple. But now that she saw him only as a good friend, she didn't blush or stutter every time he glanced at her, didn't tremble when he laughed like a rose, didn't quaver at the thought of sitting alone with him in the city's ancient library, teaching him the art of Alkahestry.
She gladly offered him a chamber in her own house, a sprawling mansion with neat, trimmed gardens and fish-filled ponds. Alphonse gave a wan smile and took one of the smallest rooms near the back of the building. "I don't want to trouble you or the servants," he said. "And I may be here as a guest, but first and foremost I'm just a student." Mei had shrugged, asked him if he was sure, and retreated to her room. She was happy to have him stay with her. Not gleefully happy, not with the giddy, stupid happiness that accompanies puppy love, but the content joy of having an old friend over.
This was fine. As a Xingese princess, Mei would have an arranged marriage with some wealthy lord, bear his children, and live thusly. It was a fact she had gotten accustomed to over the years. If her infatuation with Alphonse had worn off, all the better.
He would only get in the way.
Life went on, and she taught him Eastern Alchemy as best as she could, and he turned out to be an eager, intelligent learner. He would master it quickly.
Mei spent a lot of her time with him – she had to – and they became closer than ever in the next few years. Alphonse was a friendly, easy person to be around, who rarely let his temper get the better of him; it was easy to grow fond of him.
When Alphonse, to her surprise, showed great ire at some rowdy boys who were clearly drunk and who insulted her liberally, Mei placed a hand on his sleeve and told him that anger did not suit his eyes. His eyes, she mused, like hardened amber flecked with green, like sunlight through fading leaves. Yes, such eyes should only show gentleness.
Mei thought this was ironic. A few years ago she would have been overjoyed at this burst of short-temper, born from overprotectiveness; now, she was telling him it did not suit him. She wondered if this was truly the case, or if she had just become so accustomed to his placidity it was slightly unnerving to see him almost beside himself.
Alphonse nevertheless calmed at her touch, said he was sorry, and offered her his elbow, which she took, and together they continued their way to the library.
Whenever Alphonse slept off due to fatigue in the middle of their studies, Mei was aware of his breathing. She would watch him, watch the rise and fall of his chest, the quiver of his lashes, the small shifts of his shoulder and neck. She realised how comely he was; he had not been lying when he hotly stated how attractive he was, back in Amestris.
She thought of the way girls stared at him in the streets with arched brows and flushed cheeks, the appreciative looks he sometimes drew from women contently married. The way his eyes would gleam when he smiled, always emotive, rarely insincere. The way his supple mouth would bend like the finest of bows.
And she laughed and told herself she was not one of those silly girls with childish hearts.
When she caught him solemnly gazing at a faded photo of his mother, she asked him what was wrong, because he looked struck with grief. He clenched his fist and replied it was Trisha's death anniversary. Mei had wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her cheek against his warm back, and he had held her hand loosely. She understood then his fragility, that despite his unshakable loyalty and strength of will, he was as brittle as the satin petals of the water-lily, and she felt a surge of affection and protectiveness for him, and held him tighter.
When, some weeks later, Alphonse offered to plait her hair one starlit evening, she thought little of it, and sat with folded knees on the floor while he brushed and parted her hair, humming a tune. Without moving her head, she asked him which song it was, and he laughed softly and told her it was a lullaby his mother used to sing to him. She was silent after that, closing her eyes whenever she felt the not unpleasant touches of his fingers against her neck. When he was done, he took a blue ribbon from a drawer and tied it to secure her braid, and held up a mirror for her to see. Their eyes met in the silver glass, and Alphonse averted his gaze, and Mei could swear there was a tinge in his cheeks.
When she was out for a stroll in the gardens one afternoon, the heavens opened and it started to pour heavily, and she ran towards a copse of trees to find Alphonse kneeling by some wildflowers in the rain. She asked him what he was doing, and he smiled and said he liked to watch the droplets slide off the flowers. His tunic and waistcoat were drenched and his hair dripping, darkened by the rain, and drops of water gathered on his chin. Mei knelt down and reached out to wipe them away with a finger, and he caught her wrist, and her breath stuttered at his firm yet gentle hold.
Tiny beads of rain rested on his lashes, and when he inclined his head to press his lips against hers she felt the soft, short hairs against her brow. Fire and lightning jolted through her body, wheeling in her belly, and she drew him closer so that their knees touched.
When Alphonse opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, she let him, and when he leant over so that they were lying in the wet grass, she ran her fingers through his hair, feeling his comfortable weight atop her, feeling his hands ripple over her body, and she could think only of him, of his sweet, warm lips, of his scent, of the desire that coursed through her veins.
And when his lips moved to find her neck, trailing kisses from the back of her ear to her collarbone, she sighed and half-opened the eyes she hadn't realised she'd closed, and breathed, "Alphonse," so softly it may have been a whisper. He stopped then, and drew a shaky breath, and rested his brow against hers. The thunder crashed. She gazed into his eyes and felt their breaths mingle, and placed a hand on his cheek. He blinked once, slowly, like a silent sigh, and Mei realised the folly of how deeply she had fallen in love with him.
She knew she could not have him. So she sat up abruptly and gritted her teeth, and gently pushed him away. "Mei?" There was a heartbreaking confusion in his gaze, and she couldn't bear it; she got to her feet and ran back to the house, ignoring his call.
When the servants noticed that Mei did not speak to Alphonse, and that the boy would cast her helpless looks, tongues began to wag, and Mei had to hold a meeting with them to inform them that, should anyone spread any rumour about her and the Amestrian guest, they would have their tongues ripped out. That quietened them.
When Alphonse stated that he would have to return to Amestris to meet his brother, who was soon to be a father, Mei struggled to keep a straight face, and began to weep when he said he would be back in a few months. Alphonse had dropped the coat he was holding and pulled her into a tight embrace. "It's all right," he said. "I understand." That only made it worse, and she clutched his shirt as if for dear life.
When Alphonse left, Mei went to her chambers and brushed her hair, and held up a mirror, the way he had done before, and contemplated her face. It was still round, but no longer childish, and possessed a sultry, womanish beauty. It made no matter. "Alphonse Elric," she thought with a bitter smile, "you got in the way, you hopeless fool."
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