Every Sin

The glare of the streetlights on the rain drenched Munich sidewalk seared his brain. He must be drunk after all, he thought.

The man's jet black eyes burned in his recent memory, the feeling of their bodies pressed together making him shudder. The hungry look on the man's face was like, and yet so unlike the one time he had seen that look on the Colonel's. Back then, years ago, he had been too young, too nervous, but here, in this miserable excuse for a world, he knew his nervousness was nothing a glass or two of brandy wouldn't take care of.

He had committed sins the people of this world couldn't even conceive of. What difference could this one make, he had argued to himself. But the act had been empty, as empty as he had found everything in this strange world. Now that he would rather return to his imaginings of what things would have been like with the Colonel, his mind was clouded with the memories of this stranger.

Everyone in his own world had a double here, he knew. The man's name was even Roy, just like Alphonse was called Alphonse. But this Roy was no more his Roy than Al was his Al.

His Roy. Ed stomped a puddle with his good foot, letting the water splash up his pantleg. There had never been a "his Roy." There had never really even been a Roy and him. It was only Colonel Mustang, his commanding officer in a life long gone.

Ed had tried to ignore the way the man did not notice his reactions, did not seem to care if he was hurting him or if he was comfortable. He tried to ignore the man's disgust when he pulled off his shirt, revealing his mechanical arm and scarred body. His eyes traced the cracks in the walls, the patterns on the sheets, refusing to settle on the man who was not Roy. He said nothing when the man silently dressed, covering up that lean, pale body and running a hand through his dark hair in the one gesture that did seem to match his counterpart. "So long, kid," had been his only words out the door.

It would not have been like that with the real Roy. He would not have needed to be drunk to do what he did with the real Roy.

The light was on, he saw, when he opened the door. Alphonse, but not his Alphonse, had been waiting up for him.

Al rose when he heard the door open, and gazed solemnly at his friend. "Ed, were you crying?"

He dragged his hand across his face, flinging raindrops onto the wall next to the door, and shook his head, not yet trusting his voice.

"Are you all right?" came the concerned voice, the same voice as his brother's, coming from the same face.

Ed nodded. "Fine," he whispered, dropping onto the couch.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" his friend asked, his voice heavy with concern, "That man you've been seeing?" here Alphonse blushed and looked away.

He shook his head. "I'm not seeing him any more," he said quietly.

Al slipped his arm around his friend's thin body, pulling him in towards his side. When Ed did not pull away he rested his chin on Ed's shoulder. "I'm glad," he murmured.

Ed turned slightly to face him, raising his eyebrows at Alphonse.

His friend blushed. "You deserve better," he said simply. "You deserve someone who appreciates you. Some one who will take care of you." Alphonse looked away then. He had not meant to say it like that. He hoped Ed had not taken it the wrong way.

"Al, you take care of me," came his friend's soft voice.

Edward was very quiet about his personal life. He told Alphonse only the barest details of his past: he did not get along with his father, and he had been separated from his younger brother, who he missed very much. He had spent the two years before they met searching for him, with no results. He was interested in science and gradually became obsessed with sending a rocket into space. That was about all Alphonse knew.

Despite the little that he knew, he found himself falling for his friend. It had happened before. His older brother had once teased him that he loved everything either completely or not at all; as soon as he decided someone was worthy of friendship, he fell in love with them. His brother had been teasing him, but Alphonse often thought he was right. And he had always kept his crushes to himself, fearing it would end his friendships.

"You're right, Al, he didn't care about me," he murmured, flicking lint off the knee of his pants. "It's not… he wasn't… it wasn't what I thought it would be. I'm just so lonely here. I miss… everyone."

He could feel Al's heart pounding in his chest. "Ed, don't be lonely." He turned to gaze into his friend's golden eyes. "I'm here."

Ed sighed. "Not the same," he muttered, giving Al an apologetic look.

Al drew his knees up on the couch. "Why isn't it the same?" he asked quietly. "I love you, Ed. I know I'm not handsome and mysterious and charming and dashing and all that stuff you go for, but I love you. Isn't that enough?"

To his surprise Ed laughed. His flesh hand reached up to lightly trace the line of his cheek. "Who told you you weren't handsome and charming, Al?"

Alphonse shrugged. "I know what I look like. I'm not your type."

Ed shook his head. "I don't know what my type is any more," he said miserably, pushing his hand through his soaked bangs. His odd colored eyes fixed on his friend once again. "I think you look perfect, Al."

The younger boy blushed.

Ed winced and rubbed his shoulder. "God, I hate the rain," he said to the ceiling, changing the subject abruptly. "It makes my arm ache," and Al silently moved to sit behind him and rub his sore muscles.