Yay, I'm actually coming out with a chapter when I promised! Although this one was almost completely written already... I wish I could say you can expect quick updates like this all the time, but knowing me... Anyway, here's chapter 2! Enjoy!

Special thanks to Fire From Above, Yveltal45 (I appreciate the encouragement!), Anarion Star-Dragon, and TheMistOfThePast(your wish is my command, it would seem!).

Texting reminder:
Winry
Ed
Al
Paninya

3:02 PM: hahahaha you texted that to a stranger?

3:03 PM: Kindly kill me now.

3:05 PM: no way, I wanna see how this plays out

3:07 PM: You're cruel. I doubt whoever it was will text me any more though.

3:09 PM: you should text him back

3:10 PM: What makes you think it was a him?

3:12 PM: true. just wishful thinking I guess

3:13 PM: I definitely want to meet this beautiful faced boy you speak of though

3:15 PM: please tell me you didn't make his automail cooler than mine

3:18 PM: Well I mean I am improving every time..

3:19 PM: NO. that's it you're making my automail all fancy and upgraded when I get there

3:20 PM: Sure thing dear. Just make sure you can foot the bill.

3:23 PM: dang. is pretty boy rich?

3:25 PM: I mean, I didn't make his automail fancy or anything, just highly functional. But probably.

3:26 PM: And get yourself over here if you want to meet him. He's leaving soon.

3:26 PM: dang

3:27 PM: He can be annoying though so maybe it's no big loss if you don't.

3:31 PM: I guess I'll have to see for myself

"Any appointments for today?" Winry asked her granny as they sat at the breakfast table. Ed was upstairs packing and Al was due soon to come pick him up. She wasn't sure how she felt about the fact that Ed was leaving. While he could be stubborn and annoying, she'd gotten accustomed to his presence in the house and wasn't really looking forward to it being almost empty again.

"None, unless that girl Paninya comes by. Business has been light lately, hm? It's almost as if we're compensating for the booming business in the north."

Winry drew her eyebrows together. "Soldiers?"

Her grandmother nodded. "Losing limbs left and right. They're coming up with more and more combat-oriented designs every day."

The blonde stood up from the table, taking her granny's dishes and her own to the sink. "The war seems so far away, it's easy to forget about. Is Amestris really doing all right?"

"We've got nothing to worry about," Edward assured, coming in through the door and making himself comfortable on the edge of the table. He was wearing a white button down shirt and dark pants, a brown overcoat slung over his arm. Traveling clothes. "At least as far as winning the war is concerned. Drachma's got nothing on our technology."

"So many fights won through superior technology," Granny muttered.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Ed glanced at the old lady sidelong.

"It's good for us," she said.

"Yeah, well, we can't really afford to concern ourselves with what's good for the enemy," he chuckled.

"Ed," Winry cut in with a concerned glance at her grandmother and a small shake of her head. "Don't."

Ed frowned in confusion. "Wha–"

"No, he's right," Granny leaned against the counter, folding her hands in front of her. "You're too young to remember much about Ishval, I suppose."

He raised an eyebrow. "I know it's the reason alchemists were banned from the battlefield."

Granny nodded. "And for good reason, too. Our military undoubtedly held the technological advantage, so much so that it couldn't even fairly be called a war even if you didn't take the state alchemists into account. Winry's parents were doctors and helped treat the wounded on the front lines. They treated anyone, Amestrians and Ishvalans alike. And they were killed. The official report is that they were murdered by one of their Ishvalan patients. There was also a rumor that our military saw their impartiality in choosing their patients as a nuisance and issued an order to have them killed." Her deathly calm eyes found Ed's troubled ones. "Either way, you're right. My son and his wife paid the price for concerning themselves with what's good for the enemy."

Ed's knuckles on his left hand were white from gripping the edge of the table.

"Winry? I believe you were about to do the dishes. And Ed, don't sit on the table like it's a chair."

Winry pulled herself together and stopped gawking at her grandmother. She hadn't heard the woman talk about her parents' death in a long time. "Right!" She took up the plate again.

Ed pushed himself off roughly from the table and was out of the room in an instant.

Winry's brow furrowed as she turned to look after his retreating back. She was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that although he had been living with them for nearly a month, she had learned next to nothing about Ed's life.

Al arrived shortly after noon. Winry was down working in the shop and was unaware of his arrival until she heard yelling outside and came up to see what all the racket was about.

Ed and Al were sparring in the front yard, which seemed to be a favorite activity of theirs whenever Al came to visit. Ed lost every time, but to his credit it took Al longer and longer to pin his older (yet slightly smaller, even if Ed would rather be force fed sour milk than admit it) brother down each time he came to visit. Winry was always concerned that Ed would overexert himself, but he seemed to consider fighting as the best indication of how well his recovery was progressing. And it wouldn't have anything to do with that little challenge she'd issued him earlier, would it? At the time challenging him to beat his little brother in a fight had just been a way to knock his ego down a notch. She almost regretted that little victory now as she cringed every time one of Al's attacks came anywhere near her beloved automail.

The agility and skill of both brothers never failed to impress her, and she wondered where they'd learned to fight like that. One time she'd asked and had only been rewarded with dark, shuddering mutters of Sensei... on Ed's part and Al giving his brother a look Winry didn't know how to interpret. She hadn't been able to get anything else out of them and had grudgingly accepted the fact that the brothers did not like talking about their pasts.

Ed was currently dodging Al's onslaught with everything he had, twisting, ducking, even flipping to avoid him, though Winry noted gratefully that he seemed to be putting most of the weight of his landings on his flesh leg. Al's fist flew past Ed's face, barely missing it, and this time Ed grabbed his brother's elbow. A moment later he had maneuvered him into a headlock and looked like he was about to proudly crow victory when Al hooked his foot around the back of Ed's metal knee and jerked, sending them both sprawling to the ground. Al wasted no time and had his brother pinned in a moment.

He checked his watch as Ed grumbled underneath him. "That was a whole minute longer than last time."

"What's the point in having metal limbs if they're just gonna give out on you so easily..."

"Don't blame my automail for not supporting you when you don't even give yourself proper recovery time," Winry called from the doorway.

"This is how I recover!"

Al rolled off his brother and flopped onto the grass. "Are we really gonna have to wait three years before this is a fair fight again? I mean," he added quickly, "not that I mind, you need to take your time–"

"Three years! Ha!" Ed pulled himself to his feet. "That won't do. I'll give it a year at most."

Winry smiled softly and retreated into the house, glad that whatever had happened that morning, Ed was back to acting his old self.

A few minutes later the boys were inside and Ed was toting his brown leather suitcase down the stairs.

Granny emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron. "I hope you don't think you're leaving without lunch."

Ed grinned charmingly. "Don't worry yourself, Granny, we have a long drive ahead of us so we should get started as soon as possible. Besides, I've already imposed on you enough for a month–"

"So it won't make much difference whether you impose once more. Honestly, if you wanted an early start you should have left this morning and not waited so close to lunch time," Granny reasoned, turning back towards the kitchen. "It's almost like you planned it so that I'd invite you to stay for lunch, you freeloading boy."

"Well, if you insist, I guess I'm in no place to refuse," Ed cheerfully sat himself down at the table, shortly followed by Al and Winry.

Lunch passed in generally good spirits. Ed seemed to be eagerly looking forward to being home, and Winry reminded him that he still wasn't fully recovered and he needed to take it easy at home. She did wonder to herself, however, at what remarkable progress he had made in such a short time.

Eventually the time came for the brothers to leave. Al gave a scratch behind the ears to Den and a hug to both Granny and Winry, surprising the latter. Ed stood with his automail arm close to his chest and his other hand scratching an itch just under his ponytail.

"You remember what I showed you about proper oiling?" She asked, fist on the mechanic's jumpsuit tied around her waist.

"Yeah, yeah," he waved her off, face turned down and flushed.

"And Al, remember, don't let him do anything stupid and reckless. And both of you keep up with your studies!"

The two brothers shared a look that, aggravatingly, she couldn't read.

"Well, I'll be seeing you eventually when you come in for an overhaul," she moved on. "And you better not come to me sooner with a busted up automail!"

"Tch. Yeah, I definitely won't be missing this place," Ed scoffed, looking off to the side.

Winry scowled. She should have expected something like that from him, so why did those stupid, rude words from a stupid, rude boy manage to sting like that?

"Brother!" Al reproved the older blond and gave Winry an apologetic look. "Thank you again for everything you've done for my brother."

"Yeah..." Ed's hand was back to working on that itch. "We'll see you around."

Winry couldn't hold back a small chuckle even in her irritation, interpreting that 'yeah' as the closest thing to a 'thank you' she was going to get. "Yeah," she echoed.

And with that, they were gone.

Ed dropped his brown leather suitcase on the bed and peeled off his coat, taking in the minimal but sufficient furnishings of the bedroom. How long had it been since he last slept here for more than a night or two at a time? At least four months. It smelled more like Al's disinfectant than anything else now.

"Are you gonna visit the Colonel tomorrow?" Al asked from the doorway.

"Is he here?" Ed responded, surprised.

"Yeah, hasn't he been keeping you updated?" He looked confused.

"Well," the older blond chuckled. "He doesn't have my cell phone number and I didn't exactly tell him where I was going..."

"Brother! Why doesn't he have your phone number?"

"He'd abuse it. I don't want him to be able to keep tabs on me all the time."

"He is your commanding officer."

"So? I don't need him bothering me." Ed perched on the end of his bed. "Did he say why he's here and not in the north?"

"His whole team got transferred back East," his brother looked a bit uneasy. "At least for now."

Ed narrowed his eyes at Al's fidgeting. "Do you know why?"

His brother sighed. "I haven't talked to him, but I have an idea..."

"Has something happened since I was in the hospital? Or did we..." A small ball of dread was beginning to form in the pit of his stomach.

"Get caught helping my team?" Al sighed again. "I don't know for sure, it's just an idea. I've been wanting to ask him about it, but I haven't seen him since the team first arrived on the train, and I don't think they saw me. I was just getting back from Resembool."

Ed nodded, letting himself flop backwards onto the bed. "I'll go see what's up tomorrow."

Winry opened the front door dazedly, having been roused from her basement by insistent knocking.

"Reporting for overhaul, sir." Paninya stood on the porch, hand raised in a mock salute.

"At ease," Winry rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. "Come on in, Paninya."

"So where is he?" Her friend went past her and into the hall.

"Ah, you just missed him by, oh, twenty minutes or so."

"Aw man," Paninya pouted then inspected her friend with a critical eye. "Is that why you look like that?"

"Like what?" Winry asked defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't know, like your puppy just ran away or something."

"I do not!"

"Do you have a picture?"

Winry's face morphed from scowling to confused. "Of?"

"Pretty boy! What's his name, anyway?"

"Oh, Ed? No, why would I take a picture of him?"

"Because he's pretty!" Paninya burst like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I don't have a camera, anyway."

"No? Shame," the brunette followed her hostess up the stairs and into her room, settling herself on the bed. "You know they have phones that have cameras in them now? I really want one."

Winry's eyes widened in interest. "How does that work?"

Paninya shrugged. "You're the technology expert, not me."

"If you get one–"

"Sure, you can take it apart," she conceded with a heavy sigh.

"I knew I made friends with you for a reason," Winry chirped, pulling her hair back in a green bandana. "Now let me take your legs off."

"And that is why I made friends with you." Paninya dangled her legs over the end of the bed. "You don't shy away from blurting out creepy things in the name of science."

"Yeah, yeah, you know you just want me for my skills," Winry crouched down and released the catches on her automail. Hearing her friend's cry of pain, she decided to try and keep her talking until it subsided. "Wonderfully, you're not the first person to call me creepy this week."

The brunette laughed weakly. "That person who misdialed you?"

"Mhm."

"You're still thinking about that?"

"Well, you reminded me. It was embarrassing!"

Paninya hummed and fell backwards on the bed, wiggling her stump legs in the air. "Am I cute yet?"

"Mm, so attractive." Winry hauled the automail up on her desk and began inspecting it.

The brunette rolled over on her side. "So since I'm stuck here on your bed, helpless and disabled, you might as well entertain me. Tell me about him."

"Who?" The mechanic asked with feigned innocence. She smiled mischievously, glad her back was to her friend.

"The führer," Paninya deadpanned. "Who do you think? Ed!"

"I thought I already did. He's cute, rude... End of story."

"How long was he here?"

"Almost a month."

"That long, and you don't have anything else to say?" Winry could almost see the disbelieving look her friend must be sending her way.

"Well, he kept to himself," Winry said as she checked a screw. "Pretty evasive about his past. Honestly I don't know much about him."

"Ooh, the mysterious type."

"More like the overly touchy type. But I guess it amounts to the same result: basically all I can tell is he goes through books like toilet paper, makes my trips to the market feel like I'm stocking up supplies for a bomb shelter, and is pretty highly trained in martial arts."

"Now we're getting somewhere. Sounds like there's a little more to pretty boy than just cute and rude."

"Maybe you should date him, 'Ninya," Winry suggested, amused.

"Yeah. We could bond over our lack of leg."

"Not the worst basis for a relationship I've ever heard."

The water in the pot started to boil, and Alphonse stirred the noodles a bit. He'd had the idea to cook something really special for his brother as a sort of welcome home, before he remembered his cooking repertoire was rather limited. But Ed wasn't a gourmet (the only thing Al could remember him ever turning his nose up at was milk) and Al figured he'd like noodles as much as anything else, so noodles it was.

"Anything I can help with?"

Ed stood in the entryway to the kitchen. Al jerked his chin toward the cupboard closest to the sink.

"You could get bowls and glasses."

Al could hear his brother's metal foot clink against the tile floor as he moved behind him. The clink stopped for a moment before it was replaced with an earsplitting crash.

After he was confident that his heart had resumed beating, Al turned to see his brother staring down at the shattered remains of what must have been a drinking glass. In his left hand he held two plates.

Ed raised his eyes from the glass to his metal right arm and then up to his brother's face. A sheepish smile crept over his own.

"I can throw a punch, but apparently not hold a glass."

Al chuckled. "Don't worry about it. Holding a glass takes finer motor skills than throwing a punch. You remember where the broom is, right?"

Ed stared blankly. "We have a broom?"

"In the closet leaning against the wall," Al said with a shake of his head, turning back to the noodles.

The dull clanking behind him started again, faded, and came back. At least while Ed had his shoes off, he would be easy to keep track of.

"I can't feel it."

Al turned his head questioningly. Ed wasn't looking at him; he was concentrating on sweeping up the shards.

"I can't feel the fingers touching things, so it makes it difficult to gauge how much pressure to use when holding objects. It's taking longer than I thought to get used to."

"It's only been a month. Winry said–"

"I know what Winry said." The broom's sweeps became a tad more vigorous. "I can't lose that much time."

"You almost sound like you want to go back and fight in the war. That's not how it seemed when you first got your orders."

Ed huffed. "I don't want to not fight just because I got injured. When we were helping your team, that was worth something. And it's not just the war. Hopefully that will be over soon."

He swept and Al stirred in silence for a moment before Ed spoke again.

"What about you? What are you going to do after your class is done?"

Al considered his words carefully. "Most of the team stayed up there. Mei keeps saying she wants me to go back..."

"Whatever you decide, don't stay here for my sake."

Al turned and leaned back on the stove.

"But–"

"Don't." His older brother fixed him with a look that Al knew would be pointless to argue with. He then looked down at his little pile of broken glass. "We should really invest in a dustpan."

Al hummed in agreement as Ed set to work improvising, grabbing a paper towel and sweeping the glass onto it before carefully depositing it into the trash. He got a second drinking glass, this time using his left hand.

Once the noodles finished cooking and were seasoned, the brothers ate, between them consuming a serving size recommended for a whole family. If anyone else had been present they likely would have gawked at the two boys' appetites, much like Winry and her grandmother had the first time the two boys had eaten with them, but to the brothers this was normal routine and there was no one there to cast their judgement.

They didn't resume their previous conversation, but as Al rinsed out his bowl he couldn't help thinking about it. Thoughts of the war and his team led him to recollecting the cause of his brother's mutilation, nearly two months earlier. It had not been, as he'd told Winry, a car accident, and while he still felt a twinge of guilt about that lie, he knew it had been for the best.

Approximately two months earlier

Alphonse Elric handed an elixir to the doctor on his right, who quickly applied it to the soldier's wound. In a moment the bleeding slowed, but the wound in the man's side was too severe to be completely deterred that easily. The rest would be left to the capable hands of this doctor. Al was confident that the man would be okay.

He moved on, offering aid where needed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mei Chang applying markers around the points of the purification circle she'd drawn on the floor. The man lying in the middle had a dangerous looking wound in his throat and was staring fearfully up at Mei. Al knew most of Amestris' soldiers were unfamiliar with Alkahestry and so his apprehension was understandable, but he also knew the man was in no position to refuse the help.

Al rubbed his hands together before cupping them in front of his face and blowing. The effect wasn't very satisfying considering he was wearing surgical gloves. Keeping warm for those unaccustomed to the harsh Drachman climate was no easy task. He peeled the gloves off and replaced them with fresh ones.

The two of them, Al and Mei, were part of a small group of Alkahestry students who had decided to come north to aid in the war effort. Even though they were merely students, once they had demonstrated to the medics who had set up their clinics near the battlefield how useful their art could be, they had been welcomed by some of them. However, there were still many who were unwilling to accept assistance from nonprofessionals of a dubious practice, so those who had been willing to let them help had set up a separate medical tent and the students were now working exclusively with them in that clinic.

While Mei's technique was more hands-on and direct, Al's greatest strength in the art lay in concocting elixirs. His knowledge of alchemy proved quite useful in the chemical aspect of the science, and he felt more comfortable offering solutions that he had already carefully tested in a lab to the hurt soldiers, rather than relying on reading the dragon's pulse in their bodies and acting accordingly under pressure, an ability that Mei was excellent at but that the young Amestrian had less confidence in.

The tent flap was opened to admit another patient. Al caught a glimpse of his brother standing outside with his arms crossed over his chest, keeping watch. After hearing increasing reports of the Drachmans targeting medical units, Colonel Mustang had decided to station his men as guards of the various medical tents in the area. Naturally, Ed insisted on being assigned to this one.

The plan was for the Colonel to gather his subordinates and escort the team of medical students to safety at the end of the day. He was currently on an assignment to reduce the enemy's stock of supplies. He knew that should be a piece of cake for the Flame Alchemist, but Al couldn't help but be slightly worried. Everything about the secretive assignments the state alchemists had been issued in the war put him on edge.

Officially, after what had happened in Ishval came to light and caused outrage and dissent among a small but loud organization of citizens of Amestris, the führer had made a promise to his people to keep the state alchemists off the battlefield and only use them for their regular peacetime missions. While Al agreed with the general sentiment of the outspoken protestors that using alchemy against a mostly defenseless people group that shunned the art was cruel, he doubted that most Amestrian citizens would be against the use of alchemists in battle if they thought they would lose without them. The protest and the resulting promise of the führer were largely political, an attempt to appear as though the country was making an effort to reconcile with the people group they had so thoroughly wronged.

As it turned out, those in the military had known all along the führer never meant to keep his public promise, but the civilian population was kept carefully in the dark.

That was why when the state alchemists had been ordered to the battlefield of the current war with Drachma, it was understood that everything they did must be hidden from the citizens of their own country. The führer had no desire to break the trust of his citizens by appearing to go back on his word, even if most of the population probably couldn't care less whether state alchemists were involved or not.

A gust of wind had caught the tent flap, keeping it standing open and letting in an unwelcome blast of cold. Ed moved to close it before he suddenly stood up straight, his posture tensing. A moment later he was out of Al's limited view. Al pushed the bubble of alarm forming in his gut down and approached the still-open entrance.

By the time he could tell what was going on, Ed was already in the middle of a fight with two Drachman soldiers. They must have initially had guns, but Ed had quickly disarmed one and somehow had managed to redirect the other's so that he shot himself in the foot. Al knew Ed was armed with his own gun, but the likelihood of him actually pulling it out to use was slim.

The first man ignored the pained yell of his comrade and lunged for Ed, but the blond quickly dropped to the ground, hands together, before placing them on the rocky terrain. A crackle of energy, and then a slab of rock rose up from the ground and slammed into the man's side, knocking him flat.

And then Ed noticed his brother standing in the tent's entrance. He gave him a cocky, reassuring grin, knowing the younger was ready to step in at any sign that Ed was in danger of losing this fight.

"I've got it, Al!" As he said the words he sent a kick to the stomach of the man who'd shot his foot. "Go–" A quick punch. "–take care of your patients!"

Indeed, it did look like the situation was under control. Al couldn't help but be concerned though, where had the men come from and why were there only two? Maybe they had heard this unit was only guarded by one man, and thought it would be easy pickings, not knowing that soldier was a skilled alchemist and martial artist. He hesitated, wanting to make sure the men were taken care of before he went back inside, but changed his mind at a voice from within the tent.

"Alphonse! Could I get some help here?"

"Right!" He had his own job to do here, so he would let his brother do his. He turned to go back inside, his mind back on Alkahestry, when he was flooded with a sudden, acute awareness, an occurrence that he had been struggling with accustoming himself to over the past few years. To Mei he knew the feeling was a calm constant, something she could pay attention to or not at will, but for him the awareness still came in unexpected waves.

Alkahestry–the dragon's pulse–With his mind on that subject, he could feel the life energy of the people in the tent before him, moving in a conglomeration of individual pulses. The sensation was stronger than he usually could manage to conjure even with concentration. Behind him, he felt the vibrant energy of his brother struggling with two others, the three moving in a tangled dance.

And a fourth, rapidly moving towards the other three.

Before he could turn, before he could form the beginnings of a warning in his throat, Al's ears were accosted with a deafening explosion.

The shouts of surprise and alarm from within the tent were completely lost to the younger brother, his head still ringing from the bang and his mind completely elsewhere. His feet moved of their own accord, propelling him towards the source of the sound, the source of the danger, but he couldn't care less about that because his brother was there.

He tripped on the uneven ground, scraping his hand as he broke his fall, but the stinging didn't register as he stared at the scene in front of him.

Three bodies lay on the ground, their blood mingling and rapidly forming a pool around them.

"Drachman soldiers," a voice drawled, and Al was dimly conscious of a tall man standing over the other three, but not so near as to sully his white shoes with their blood. "They've been taken care of; your little medical unit has no need to worry."

Al wanted to get up, wanted to get closer, wanted to get farther away, wanted to punch the tall man in the face, wanted to scream, That's not a Drachman soldier, you idiot, that's my brother!

He stayed half sprawled on the ground, staring at what lay in front of him and shaking so violently his teeth chattered, only this time it wasn't from the cold.

A blond braid dipped in crimson.

A tanned arm lying closer to Alphonse than to its owner.

Al retched.

Present

Paninya clenched her teeth, a muffled cry escaping as her leg involuntarily jerked at the reconnection of the nerves. Winry winced sympathetically. This evitable part of overhaul was never fun.

Thankfully it didn't last too long, and after a little recovery Paninya was back on her feet, hurriedly wiping a rogue tear that has escaped her eye. She took a few experimental steps around the room and grinned.

"Thank you! Even though you didn't add the carbine we talked about..." She pouted at Winry.

"Winry knows I'd have her head if she touched any of my weapons without my permission," Granny said as she tidied up the room.

"So do you give your permission?" The dark-haired teen asked brightly.

"No."

The two girls sighed forlornly.

"What's the point of being both a weaponsmith and an automail surgeon if you won't combine the two?" Paninya whined. "So many opportunities missed..."

"What would a teenage girl want with firearms in her legs?" Granny muttered before shooing them both out of the clinic.

"Are you staying?" Winry asked her friend, leading them back into the living room.

"Mm. Train to Rush Valley doesn't come by until the day after tomorrow."

"I'll go make up the guest room, then!"

Upstairs, she entered Ed's–the guest room–and surveyed what needed to be done.

She gathered the books that had been strewn across the room with a shake of her head and a small smile, putting the stack on the end of the dresser. Next she stripped the bed of its sheets and balled them up.

She started to shake the pillow out of its pillowcase when a stain caught her eye. It was a bit faded, like someone had tried to get it out but hadn't quite succeeded. It was brown and looked like...

Dried blood.

Winry frowned. The pillowcase had been clean before she put it out for Ed, hadn't it? So the stain must have come from him. Maybe his shoulder wound had opened back when he first got here. She balled the case up along with the rest of the bedding, reminding herself to find some bleach and wash it separately.

9:03 PM: so tell me more about this patient that's caught your interest

9:09 PM: Oh my gosh.

9:10 PM: Are you actually going to keep this texting thing going?

9:12 PM: recent events have made it so that I don't have much else to do

9:13 PM: I never said he caught my interest, just his automail.

9:13 PM: and his face

9:14 PM: Yeah, okay, his face is pretty gorgeous.

9:16 PM: Okay, maybe he has caught my interest a teeny bit.

9:16 PM: I could do without his attitude, though.

9:17 PM: Why am I even telling you this? I don't know a single thing about you. You could be a 60 year old man sitting in your creepy basement.

9:20 PM: ouch

9:21 PM: Actually I take that back, considering I'm currently sitting in the basement and there are limbs literally hanging on the walls.

9:22 PM: the first step is admitting you have a problem

9:22 PM: This is my job, I swear!

9:36 PM: I'm actually a 17 year old boy, does that help?

9:40 PM: A bit.

9:42 PM: I am too. 17, I mean. But a girl.

9:42 PM: I could have sworn you were a 60 year old sicko doctor dissecting patients in your creepy basement

9:43 PM: You're not gonna let that go, are you? Why did you text me again if you thought I was a creepy old doctor, hm?

9:45 PM: just to add a healthy level of risk to my grey and dreary life. wouldn't wanna get too comfortable. and I told you, I really don't have many other options of how to spend my time right now

9:45 PM: And why's that?

9:48 PM: doctor's orders. you wouldn't deny an invalid his only diversion, would you? I might even be dying

9:52 PM: Wait, that's a joke, right? You're not really dying, are you?

9:59 PM: all right, you got me.

10:00 PM: Don't do that!

"Al, do I have an attitude?"

"Is that a serious question? Hey–ow! See, this is what people mean, Brother."

Reviews will always and forever be more than welcome.

Cheers,

Alice