Recovered a few days later, Al was still bustling about Sheska's apartment, unsure of what to do with himself. He kept things tidy for her while she worked, and often did little jobs for her like run errands, though he found it impossibly easy to get lost meandering around a huge city that he had no recollection of.

About five days into his stay with her—she hadn't made a single comment to ask him where he planned on going, what he planned to do, a kindness that Al found himself greatly appreciating—Alphonse decided that he had two things to do. The first was to telephone the Rockbells, and tell them that he was all right, currently in Central with Sheska. The other was to make Sheska a nice dinner, since she had been so nice to him.

The telephone call to Winry went far better than he had expected. She was infuriated at first, beside herself with worry, and she made sure that he was aware of it. But her anger dissipated when he said that he was staying with Sheska, and that he was having a good time helping her around her apartment. As if Winry knew something that he didn't, she just told him to take care of himself, and to keep in touch. Then she hung up on him.

He stopped at the grocery store, getting a few items for a nice dinner. It was getting chilly out again, and he thought soup would be a nice dinner. A dinner that was nice, warm, and that he couldn't possibly ruin.

Passing the florist shop, he paused, debating whether or not to get Sheska flowers. She had been so nice to him, for a reason that he couldn't quite place spare pity or guilt. Neither of those seemed to explain her behavior, though, she he left it at that. Entering the florists, he looked around nervously. He had picked flowers for Winry and Auntie Pinako a few times, usually transmuting them into a decoration. He didn't want to do that for Sheska. It didn't seem the same.

The owner of the shop was staring at him, he was sure of it because he could feel her eyes on the back of his head. Finally, she approached him.

"I've been trying to place your face for quite a while," the woman said brightly. "Is that you, Alphonse?"

The boy looked at her, puzzled. "Yeah…but…?"

"Oh, that's right," she murmured, smiling sadly. "I forgot. Sheska told me what Miss Winry had said, that you don't remember much of what you did with your brother. I'm Gracia Hughes, you and your brother spent a lot of time with myself, my husband, and our daughter, Elysia. In fact, you were there when she was born." The woman crossed her arms, following his gaze, as he was staring at a bouquet of flowers.

"You look a lot like your brother, if you didn't I would've never known it was you. Are you here to get some flowers?"

Al nodded. "I've been staying with a friend since I arrived in Central, and she's been so kind. I'm going to make dinner for her, and I was passing the shop when I was headed back, and thought maybe flowers would be nice."

Gracia laughed, "that's a lovely idea. Planning on telling me who the lucky lady is?"

Al could feel a blush crawl across his cheeks, but tried to ease his way out of the situation. "Sheska, I ran into her at the library."

Gracia nodded, turning to the flowers as if she hadn't noticed that he was blushing at all. "So, you two are just friends? Or maybe something more?"

Al stiffened, and turned back to Gracia, golden eyes wide with shock.

"Relax, Alphonse—I was just teasing. But flowers can have meanings behind them, they can say more than words will. I wouldn't want to give you a dozen roses if you were just trying to be friendly, then you'd be giving her the wrong impression." Gracia reached up, fingering one of the blood-red roses sitting in a vase in front of them.

For a moment, he stared, and then he swallowed, feeling a lump settling in his throat. "The roses are very beautiful," he said nervously.

Taking the hint, Gracia clapped her hands together, "all right! I'll get them put together for you, give me a couple of minutes!" The woman immediately went to work, gathering up the roses and arranging them in a way that only a florist could understand, before presenting him with a bouquet of a dozen roses, sprinkles of baby's breath in them, wrapped in green.

"H…how much is that, Mrs. Hughes?"

Gracia waved a hand at him, "don't worry about it, Alphonse. I just hope she likes those flowers."


As of dinnertime, he had made the food successfully. Sheska usually returned to the apartment by six o'clock, and it was exactly ten minutes till. He was stirring the soup, having stopped to check the recipe for what felt like the thousandth time, though it was a pointless effort since it was far too late to fix any mistakes he had already made. Alphonse continually reminded himself that he could cook, but he was just nervous.

Though he wasn't sure at all why he'd be nervous.

The front door swung open, and Sheska came in, yawning, a few books tucked under her arms. She put them on the small side table in the living room. "Hey, Al? Are you here?"

"I'm in the kitchen, Sheska," he said, swallowing thickly. She was back, and there was no turning back now. He just hoped that his soup didn't taste like poison.

Standing in the doorway of the small kitchen, Sheska flushed a deep crimson, "A…Al, what is all this?"

He turned from the stove, grinning sheepishly. "Well…you've been so nice, letting me stay here, and helping me get over that cold, I thought that I should do something nice for you."

She eyeballed the table, looking at the fact that he had already set it, and though the spoons didn't match and the plates had different patterns, and though the tablecloth had a small stain in the corner, she couldn't help but feel her heart flutter nervously in her chest.

Suddenly, she felt something being pressed under her nose, and her eyes widened when she saw that he was handing her a bouquet of flowers. He was positively beaming at her, though the flush on his face revealed that he was far more nervous than he wanted her to realize.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble, Al," she said quietly, taking the flowers from him.

He laughed, as though beyond proud of himself for his handiwork. "I wanted to."

Sheska couldn't help but notice that he didn't fall behind his usual 'you've been so kind to me, I should return the favor' mantra, and found that the flush on her cheeks deepened. It was then that she looked at the flowers, pausing to admire their beauty. They were long, red roses. A dozen red roses. Her eyes widened. Hadn't she read somewhere that…

"Soup's ready!" Al exclaimed suddenly, serving two bowls for them both and placing them on the tabletop, before taking a small loaf of bread and placing that on the table as well. He paused to offer her a vase so the flowers wouldn't wilt, and helped her place them in just the right corner of the table so they could still talk while they ate. Alphonse insisted upon pulling the chair out for her, and letting her serve herself first. He was such a gentleman, she mused, finding that she was staring blankly at him, and he was staring right back at her.

"Thank you," Sheska finally stammered nervously, "the flowers are beautiful, the soup is great."

He was beaming at her, but he didn't say anything in response, eyes glued to her, seemingly more interested in the fact that she was enjoying dinner than tasting how his cooking had come out.

The whole meal proceeded like that, an indecent amount of staring, the both of them a bundle of nerves for reasons neither could grasp, and eventually, he started clearing the table. The conversation had been nice, and it was getting late. If he remembered correctly, Sheska had work early in the morning.

"Hey, Al?" she asked quietly as she watched him scrub the dirt from the dishes.

"Hm?" He turned only slightly, his eyes smiling at her.

The only response he got was the jarring feeling of her pulling him away from the sink, wrapping both arms around his shoulders awkwardly, green eyes full of tears, as she held him tight to her in the hug, resting her head against his shoulder.