Written for the FMA_60min challenge on Twitter! The prompt for this week was "Let it out."
Here I am, a day behind and up far too late posting this, but I needed to write this. That being said, it was written in under an hour and is rather unpolished, so please be gentle! I wouldn't share if I weren't proud of it, though.
In the weeks after his restoration, Al finds himself moved to tears by the smallest of things. The softness of a blanket. The bite of the cold floor tile. The smell of boiled vegetables.
He blinks them away. It isn't right to cry. To mourn.
He's back. He's happy.
That should be it.
Ed brings a wriggling lump into Al's hospital room, hidden under his coat.
"The front desk lady let me borrow it," he explains. "When I said how much you loved them, she went on and on about how her tabby loves people." He rolls his eyes as if he can't possibly understand blabbing about what you love.
As if he hasn't made every well-meaning visitor of theirs painfully aware of how much he loves Al—and how protective he is over his newly fragile body.
Al's gotten good at shoving away his tears. Flicking away the ones that get loose, holding in the ones that haven't escaped yet. Turning his quivering lip into a smile.
Ed doesn't need any of that.
But when Ed dumps the curious ball of fur onto his crossed legs, Al cannot hold back.
It's little more than a kitten, still baby-faced but steady on its feet and eager to explore. It shoves its face into Al's stomach, basking in the warmth there.
The living thing curled warm and soft and alive on his lap opens a floodgate.
Al's hands go to his face, to brush away the incriminating moisture, but it's too late. Tears run in a steady stream down his cheeks, choking him and hitching his breath into stutters.
"What—" Ed's arms immediately go around his shoulders. "Is it—"
"N—" Al tries, but it turns into a sob. "I—I'm sorry. It's not—I'm happy. Really."
And he is. He is.
He's so grateful to brother for bringing him back, for staying by his side all those years, and staying now as well. He's grateful for the patience, the helping hands, the arms around him at night, the lips on his that promise a never-ending future of bliss. Just the two of them.
And yet.
He will never get those five years back. He will never know what it is like to be twelve, experiencing growing pains. He will never be thirteen, sweating in the sun and wincing at the sharp, unpleasant scent from his body. The soft animal whose purrs steadied him through the night of his fourteenth birthday will never be felt by him. He'll never be able to feel its warmth against his face. He'll never run his fingers through its fur—was it soft, or coarse?
He doesn't like to focus on what he's lost. That's how he and Ed have moved forward.
"I haven't—" he hiccups. "I haven't—in so long."
Ed's hands turn heavy. He sits next to Al on the bed. "I know." His words are quiet.
Guilty.
"Please," Al begs, throat thick with desperation. "It's not—I'm not…you don't have to."
He's not sure if Ed does understand. But his brother's thumbs are on his cheeks, skimming the tears across his skin in a cool, thin line. His lips are soft on Al's cheek, and Al can taste the salt when he touches them to the corner of Al's mouth.
"It's okay," he murmurs. Voice steady, even. If a bit hollow. "Let it go, Al. Let it all out."
And Al does.
He sobs. He sobs for every sunrise that didn't warm his skin. He cries for every meal he missed. He mourns every kitten he didn't get to feel.
He cries for every embrace Ed didn't get to give him. Every kiss. Every touch.
He'll make it all up. He's sure. He has his whole life.
He has Ed's whole life.
When he finally draws a shaky breath that doesn't catch on a new sob, he feels drained and exhausted. And better.
The kitten in his lap mews, sounding more than a little concerned.
Al laughs. Or cries a bit more.
Thank you for reading! As always, let me know what you think - comments feed my SOUL. I'm on tumblr too, hop over and say hi!