The Summer temperatures hit their peak as the end of August rolled around. Al had been counting the days away like a prisoner.
That night of explosive passion was the last Al had seen of Ed. He hadn't spotted any current flyers for his band. They never exchanged phone numbers. He didn't even know his last name.
But he did know where he lived.
So on a muggy Friday night, Al called Winry.
"So," she began from the driver's seat, "Who is it?" She flashed a sly grin.
Al should have figured that when he asked Winry to drive him to some random house miles away in the dead of night, she would know the point of the adventure had nothing to do with propriety.
He took his bottom lip between his teeth and cleared his throat nervously.
"That band we saw...the singer," he mumbled.
Winry screamed so loudly, Al had to clap his hands over his ears.
"NO WAY! Al, you stud!" She gave him a wink and backhanded him on the thigh.
"Yeah, sure," he said, rolling his eyes. "A real stud would probably get a phone call. Or a second date or something." He heaved a heavy sigh. "I haven't heard from him in weeks."
"So what are you gonna' say to him when you get there?" she asked.
Al had a few different options there. But whether Ed told him to get lost, suckerpunched him square in the face, or swept him up in his arms, all he really wanted was to see him. That's all he'd been wanting since he first laid eyes on Ed. He was drawn to him in a way that was so visceral, but so inexplicable, so deep in his soul. He felt it was more than physical attraction, or even the unknown mythos surrounding him.
"I don't know," Al replied.
As they pulled up the driveway, Al saw that Ed was sitting on his front step, shoulders hunched, arms atop his thighs, a cigarette resting between his fingers. He looked up, but somehow didn't appear the least bit surprised to see company arriving at such an ungodly hour.
Winry put the car in park.
"You gonna' be okay?" she asked gently.
"I think so," Al said.
She didn't say anything else, just placed her hand on his and gave him a small smile.
Al stepped out of the car, keeping his back to Winry as she quickly became just a small pair of red tail-lights in the distance.
He puffed out a nervous breath and trudged onward toward Ed, toward uncertainty.
As Al approached, Ed dabbed his cigarette out against the gravel at his feet, leaving its bent, wrinkled carcass there.
"I was wondering when you'd show up," Ed said gruffly, which Al didn't know how to take. He picked up on a hint of sarcasm, but that wasn't the sole connotation he sensed. Ed certainly didn't look happy to see him, but this kind of sentiment usually denoted a fulfillment to longing, a joyous reunion from absense.
Al couldn't even muster up a response. Ed hoisted himself up, pushed open the door, and stood aside to let Al in.
It looked as if a hurricane had blown through his house. There were books strewn across every surface; the floor, the couch, the table, and it didn't appear that they landed where they had purposely or carefully. The only light was a grouping of various sized candles burning in the far corner, their dancing flames casting flickering shadows across the room.
Al took a few steps inside. Ed lingered by the door for a minute, then pulled it closed and walked in. He shuffled past Al and took a seat on the couch, promptly hunching over, chin in his palm, elbow propped up on his knee.
Al watched him deflate before joining him on the couch.
With his other hand, Ed slid a small rectangle of paper across the table to Al.
Al picked it up. It was a photograph. No, it was a drawing that looked like a photograph. In the center of the composition were two smiling boys, their arms around each others' shoulders. He could pick out Ed instantly. He was several years younger, maybe around 17, but his hair was styled in the same braid, same curtain of fringe. He looked happy.
His heart skipped a beat when he inspected the other figure. It was another smiling boy of roughly the same age. His face was a bit fuller than Ed's, soft but still retaining the angles of masculinity. His hair was cropped short on the sides, longer top and fringe parted to the right.
It was as if Al was looking into a mirror. His resemblance to the boy was more than uncanny; they were identical.
He handed the paper back to Ed, confusion marring his face.
"Artist's recreation," Ed said. "I couldn't bring the photograph with me."
He struggled for a moment. Even in the dim candlelight, Al could see Ed's eyes shining with moisture.
"It was the last photograph we took together before he... died." A tear swelled from his eye and dripped onto his leg.
"I'm so sorry," Al offered. His stomach lurched. Ed's grief felt tangible, seemed to envelope the whole room.
Al waffled for a moment, but the question finally flew from his mouth.
"Why do I look exactly like him?"
Ed looked deep in thought then. What he was doing was carefully considering his words. He was sure that by the time tonight was over, Al would write him off as a raving lunatic. But Ed had no other way of phrasing it. As crazy as it sounded, it was the truth.
"Because you are him."
Ed figured Al hadn't heard him, because he didn't go running off screaming. He did, though, look at Ed with a crooked smile, one eyebrow raised high into his forehead.
"What does that mean?" he chuckled, cocking his head.
Ed corrected himself. "Not him him. His... alternate."
Al was dumbfounded and it showed on his face. He shook his head like Ed was speaking to him in a foreign language.
"Alternate universes? Multiverse Theory? Ring any bells?" Ed asked, lifting his head from his hand and turning his body to face Al. He folded one leg under him, stretching his other one out from the couch.
"Yeah, but those are just theories, right?" Al replied.
"When I told you I wasn't from here, I wasn't being coy," Ed said, cocking an eyebrow. "So he does have a sense of humor," Al thought to himself.
"I came to your world about ten years ago." Ed was shocked to see Al still sitting, and not only sitting but listening intently, not cracking up hysterically or anything.
So he regaled Al with the full, tragic history of the Elric brothers. From the abandonment of their father, the premature death of their mother, his stint in the military, even trying as best he could to explain the workings of alchemy, their travels, their temporary separation, reuniting in a different universe, then Al's death and Ed's accidental time-jump here.
One question was still nagging at Al. "If I'm your brother's alternate, then why did we..." he trailed off. Behind his eyes, their passionate encounter replayed.
"Were you in love with him?"
Ed welled with shame. What they shared, even in their own universe, was a sinful taboo.
He hung his head. "It's... complicated."
And Al supposed it was. He didn't need an explanation. The look on Ed's face told him that he probably wouldn't get one even if he asked. Al reached over and placed his hand on top of Ed's. "It's okay."
But Ed wrenched his hand away as if Al's skin was on fire. He stood abruptly, walking away from the couch toward his makeshift library. Al couldn't see the tears beginning to stream down his face with his back turned.
"I lost Alphonse. I'm not going to lo-..." Ed stopped mid-sentence.
Suddenly, it all made sense to Al. Assuming everything he told him was true, and who would tell such a fantastical lie, being thrust into a whole other foreign universe must have taken its own toll. But on top of that, it was obvious that the loss of his brother had broken Ed. Al had the same face, and by Ed's calculations, was more or less his brother's copy. Everything Ed did, every cruel word, every angry glare, his avoidance, was meant to not only keep Al away, but keep himself away. He was motivated by fear; fear of having to lose the person he loved most twice.
Al stood and moved toward Ed, who had never looked more fragile until now. His body was wracked with sobs, splayed fingers covering his face. All at once, his bottled grief came flooding out like a deluge. Al wrapped his arms around him tight. Ed relented and did the same, cheek pressed against Al's shoulder and for the first time he allowed himself to release the guilt, the pain, the agony.
When it seemed like Ed was calming down, hysterical sobs easing into small hitches of breath, Al guided him back to the couch.
Ed's release seemed to break down his walls a little. He mashed an open palm against his face to wipe his tears and flopped down, one foot on the floor, the other on the cushion, knee bent. His posture read as more relaxed.
"Sorry to lay all that on you at once. I know it's a lot," he croaked through his raw throat.
"It is a lot," Al said, but he was smiling. "A lot." He laughed. And he kept laughing. He laughed so hard his eyes started watering. It wasn't long before Ed caught onto his infectious laughter and was laughing along with him.
And it wasn't Al laughing at him. Sure, Ed's origin story was a tad... unconventional, but he was happy to hear it; happy to know that he trusted him enough to tell it, happy to know more about Ed, happy to have his questions answered. Mostly, he was happy to see Ed happy.
Al decided right then and there that he wanted to be the one to make Ed happy.
Al knew they were connected, not only by some wild, undiscovered law of quantum physics, but he felt it deep down in his soul. And he knew Ed felt it, too.
Ed propped an elbow against the back of the couch, cheek in his palm. "So what now?"
They made love all night.