So. My first time writing anything FMA.
Anyway. I have a few drabbles in the works, and I hope to post more, soon. ^^
Although several years had passed, nights were still always… long. Alphonse had measured them out exactly.
Ed would bid him good night, and then pass out in bed. (Seriously, his brother could fall asleep within seconds - and sleep anywhere, for that matter.)
Alphonse preferred to sit by the window.
At about midnight, people would finally begin turning in for the night, lights fading from windows, one by one, and then some of the last drunk stragglers would stumble home along the sidewalks, below.
The earliest hours - two to three - were the quietest - the moon moved slowly across the star-filled, deep blue sky, casting shadows through the window across the wooden floors.
At times, it felt as though he were the only living being in the world.
Sometimes, to fill the silence, he would read books - on alchemy, different sciences, biographies, histories, or just stories. He supposed he might as well make use of the time.
He'd gotten in a lot of reading within the past three years.
At about four-thirty, the birds outside began chirping, and he would listen to the ticking of the clock as the minutes inched closer to five a.m.
About that time, he'd hear the distant barking of dogs, and he would, with practiced precision, flip through another page of his book with a glove finger - not really reading, now.
Then he'd hear the revving of car engines in the street, and half-heard bits of laughter or loud conversations, and the creaking and slamming of doors down the hallway of apartments they were staying in.
Ed would stir in his sleep - sprawled out on his stomach beneath his tangled sheets, and maybe mumble something unintelligible, his normal arm hanging over the side of the bed.
The shops across the street would begin opening, and children could be seen running up the streets, bags in tow, trying to make it to school on time.
Ed would then wake up at some point during this time, groggy and complaining about not getting enough sleep, and that his mattress was too uncomfortable.
He'd tie his messy hair back into a plait without bothering to comb it, and throw on his jacket and slacks, and say something along the lines of "Well, what should we grab for breakfast, today, Al?" (Although they both knew only one of them was really capable of eating said breakfast.)
Alphonse would finally stand up, working the slightly creaky joint of his left knee, and if he could have, he would have smiled. "'Morning, Brother."
Ed was almost a master of reading his emotions, now, though, and he would smile back - gold eyes full of determination.
"Good morning to you, too, Bro."