Author's Note: At first I was clueless. What in the world could I write for this theme? The obvious first impression (to me, anyway) of the theme is "matching things", so I decided to look at it a different way. What could the Elric brothers do with matches? Well, that's easy. They burned their bloody house, didn't they? Oh, and this has to be mangaverse, because in the manga they burn the house after Ed becomes a State Alchemist, whereas in the anime they burn their house before that.

Timeline: Shortly after Ed becomes a State Alchemist

Theme 37: Match

Edward Elric stood in the center of his old room, the bedroom he had shared with his little brother ever since Alphonse had been born. Many months had passed since he had set foot in here; now the whole house had a dreadful, musty smell that was so unfamiliar it was almost frightening. When their mother had been alive, the whole house had smelled fresh and airy, like a bouquet of flowers. Even after he and Alphonse had left it empty for their alchemy training, it hadn't smelled this bad. The house had never really been aired out since they returned from training; they had been too busy with their research notes and theorems. And then, after the incident, Edward had been bedridden and everyone had been too preoccupied with him and his automail surgery to bother about airing out a house no one lived in.

Edward looked around the room one last time, taking in their unmade beds, the clothes strewn about the floor, the toys they hadn't touched in years hidden away out of sight in the toy chest. He glanced again at the clothes on the floor and felt a pang as he recognized Alphonse's dancing cow pajamas. They were the last ones Alphonse had ever worn, thrown off in haste as the brothers rushed back to their research, nearly completed. Edward had always thought dancing cows were the dumbest things anyone could put on pajamas, but now he wished he could just see Alphonse in those tatty pajamas again.

Finally Edward managed to wrench himself away from the room, and proceeded down the stairs. They had made up their minds to do this, but Edward had insisted on looking through the whole house one more time, to cement its image permanently in their minds. Edward was sure that he wanted to burn their house to the ground so they would have nothing to come back to. But he wanted to hold this day in his memory for as long as he lived.

At the foot of the stairs, Edward turned around slowly. Where hadn't he gone yet? He had already gone through the kitchen, the living room, even the tiny bathroom with only space enough for a toilet…. Then he bit his lip as dread welled up inside him. There was one room he hadn't visited yet. One he hadn't entered in over a year. Steeling his resolve, he walked down the hallway and opened the door at the very end.

The smell of blood and decay accosted his nostrils before his eyes had even adjusted to the gloom of the darkened room. Edward took a faltering step inside, but then his eyes alighted on a huge dark stain on the floor and his legs gave out. He slumped to the floor on hands and knees, trembling all over and breathing in that horrible scent. His mind whirled, and for a moment or two he thought he was back again to that terrifying night. He felt the pain biting at his arm and leg, felt the guilt stabbing at his gut, felt the desperation hammering at his heart.

The ghosts of his cries wafted back to his ears: This wasn't supposed to.... Give him back.... My leg, my arms, my heart.... Just give him back....

"He's my brother," Edward whispered. "The only little brother I've got. I'll trade anything and everything I've got, if he can just be whole again...." He desperately gulped in air, trying to calm his racing heart. They were going to be all right. They would find a way to restore their bodies. They had to.

Slowly, Edward picked himself off the floor and passed a hand over his face. He couldn't tell whether the moisture was sweat or tears. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he squared his shoulders and made his way outside. The sun was setting the distant hills on fire, reminding Edward of the task he had set his little brother. Looking around, he easily located the gigantic suit of armor, hunched over on his knees close to the front door.

Edward drew nearer, wondering why Alphonse hadn't lit the torch yet, but when he came closer he understood. Alphonse held the tiny box of matches in his enormous gauntlets, valiantly trying to grasp one with his clumsy fingers. Match after broken match lay strewn about him, evidence of his many failed attempts. Even as Edward watched, Alphonse held a match carefully in his fingers and tried to draw it across the scratchy side of the box, but it snapped in his hands.

As Alphonse doggedly went for another one, Edward realized that he was making tiny sniffling sounds, as if he was crying. Edward bit his lip, torn to see his little brother so desperately trying to cry out his frustration. And it wasn't just the frustration at not being able to light a match, he knew. It was everything that had happened since that awful night a year ago, all the tears he would have shed had he been able to – tears of pain and fear and loneliness, tears of worry over his brother, tears of terror that he might have to stay like that forever and ever. But he couldn't shed those tears bottled up inside him. He could only pretend.

Wordlessly, Edward knelt down and laid his automail hand on Alphonse's frustrated fingers grasping a matchstick. Alphonse froze and stopped making the crying sounds. Edward gently eased the match out of his little brother's hand and struck it against the side of the box; it flared to life, and he swiftly lit the torch before it went out. Then he stepped forward and set fire to their house. The flames licked hungrily up the sides, eating away at the house as if it was made of gingerbread.

When the flames were high and steady, Edward stepped back to his brother's side. The two of them stood watching their house, their one and only home, burn away with fiery abandon. He couldn't be sure over the crackling of the flames, but Edward thought he heard the sniffling sound again. Keeping his eyes on the fire, Edward reached over and put his hand on Alphonse's helmet, rubbing it comfortingly as he had always done.

In his mind, he was already etching the words into the face of his pocketwatch: Don't Forget 3 Oct. 10.