I can feel you calling me. I can see the cracks between these walls. But this pain, I choke on the words as they rise in me. To survive, I lock down.- by Amy Lee, Lock Down.


(I can feel you calling me.)

(Alphonse)

Anger—it spreads with startling speed, like wildfire on a dry field. It consumes everything, burning hot in Alphonse's chest, igniting all in its wake.

Edward's betrayal is distilled to a single piece of paper. Alphonse's hands tremble, his breath labored. Emotion winds into his fists, the paper crumbling under his grasp. The madness in his chest, vivid and raw, leeches away all that is good and tender within him, leaving only ugly, charred, tar-like emotions.

"Why didn't he…" Alphonse utters, the tremors in his hands worsening. His voice is wet and weak. Ire lances through his system in multiple directions.

"Who does Ed think he is? Why would he do this?"

Alphonse's entire face burns, the blistering heat making his head spin and his body feel heavy. He can't even straighten his thoughts into a cohesive string.

He is devastated. He is angry.

"W-why didn't he just tell me…" Alphonse's words dissolved into watery silence as he collapsed into the desk chair. He fought back the marshy, stinging sensation in his throat, rubbed his face, and sniffled against the sudden rush of tears.

'I will not cry,' Alphonse vowed to himself.

This is where Reese found him—on the verge of tears, grappling with spiraling helplessness. Reese and Alphonse were still in the early stages of their relationship. Reese had never seen this side of his young boyfriend. But neither had Alphonse—this rage was a freshly discovered emotion. Exceptional for a person who had spent a majority of his life as a soul residing in a suit of armor, feeling nothing but the subtle caress of emotions.

Alphonse had never outright lied to Reese about his past; he had merely omitted the truth. Most of Alphonse's former life sounded like a fairy tale or an even weirder sci-fi movie. Some of the things were so far-fetched that, looking back on them, Alphonse couldn't be sure if he remembered it all correctly.

It all sounded so fictional, almost magical. How could he explain to someone disconnected from that world? How could Alphonse begin to unravel the mysteries of his old life?

Alphonse paused, licking his lips, as he attempted to articulate the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind.

What could he express—how to convey that deep yearning to return to his true home; to Resembool, to the warm embrace of Winry and Granny? His profound remorse is palpable, yet not a word can traverse the swelling tightness in his throat.

He gestures weakly towards the desk, then lets his hands fall limply into his lap. Alphonse can't bring himself to speak. He swallows hard, trying to clear the lump in his throat, and wipes away the tears that betray his turmoil. Reese picks up the crumpled paper and starts to read. "M-my brother… h-he," Alphonse's voice breaks on the word 'brother,' a term that now feels alien in his mouth.

Reese emits a sound of discontent. "What has he done this time?" Reese's scowl deepens, flinging the paper onto the desk with clear annoyance at the mention of Edward. Edward is, without a doubt, a contentious subject for Reese.

"I suppose we're not truly brothers. He's not my blood brother…" Alphonse whispers, a fracture forming within as he acknowledges the truth aloud, shattering the fragile hold on his heart.

Eyes clenched shut, Alphonse tries to dispel the encroaching dread. Suddenly, he's enveloped in a comforting embrace, pulled close to a reassuring presence. He inhales deeply, finding solace in Reese's scent. Gentle lips meet his, patiently urging Alphonse's mouth to respond. The kiss deepens, tender and explorative, before Reese slowly retreats, gazing into Alphonse's eyes with care.

"You're better off without him," Reese murmurs, a vow in his voice. A warm hand cradles Al's jaw, his thumb tenderly wiping away tears from the smaller male's cheek.

Alphonse's breath catches, uneven from the warmth of Reese's palm against his skin, the intensity of his green eyes on Alphonse's tear-stained face. "I-I-I can't…"

"You already have," Reese asserts, holding Al's face with conviction, lifting his chin to ensure their eyes meet.

A knot of worry forms in Alphonse's stomach, alarm bells ringing loudly in his mind.

His instincts cry out to defend his family, yet something feels amiss… Edward is no longer his brother, not according to the piece of paper on the desk, the secret Ed had kept from him. Alphonse's anger is justified, swelling rapidly, coloring his world with vivid shades of indignation. "You are right…" Alphonse concedes softly, locking eyes with Reese's bright green ones. A smile blooms across Reese's face in response.


(I can see the cracks between these walls)

Alphonse groans with the curl of Reese's hand on his hip, feels the warmth of his palm through his boxers, and the hard press of the other male at his back. Wet kisses behind his ear, sucking on the soft skin before moving on and starting the process anew.

Alphonse rolls his hips back, arching his spine and moaning when Reese's thumbs hitches in Al's underwear, dragging it downwards and away from his body.

The morning air is sharp and crisp on Al's sensitive flesh. Reese warm hand wraps around Alphonse, chasing away the brisk feeling, stroking the flesh up and then back down; revealing the wet tip from it's foreskin. Al swallows with his breath hitching, his heart pattering in his chest.

They're so close. Reese's back is pressed tight against Alphonse. Al can feel Reese urgent at his lower back. Feels the heat of his body all over. Feels the subtle roll of the other males hips, and the groan that follows.

Reese hooks his chin over Alphonse shoulder as he lazily watches his hand stroking his boyfriend.

"Does it feel good, Al?" Reese rouses into his ear. Adding a twist to the end stroke, making Al whine while trusting into the warm, but rough confines of Reese's hand.

"D-don't s-stop."

Reese huffs a laugh, "wasn't in the plan, sunshine."

"Ree~se," Alphonse whines, throwing his hand back to cup the back on the brunettes neck, needing something to anchor himself too.

"Alphonse, I want..." Reese starts, his hips flexing against the natural curve of Al's plump ass. "- I-I want to... I want to fuck you." Reese's voice is a hushed whisper, tracing the curve of Alphonse's ear. The warmth of his breath, speaking words so close, sends a shiver through Al, drawing him nearer to the solid chest at his back. "Do you want that, Al?" Reese hums, pressing his harden length against the clef of Al's ass again. "Would you like that, love," he says wickedly, nibbling on the younger males ear again. Never slowing the motion of his hand on Al's crotch.

Heat irradiates from Alphonse stomach, hearing Reese filthy mouth. Alphonse does not know how his heart feels about the situation, his dick on the other hand, his dick was on board for whatever; as long as it feels good and he gets off.

Somehow the sensations, as strong as they are, the feeling are still dull. Like a radio at half-volume. It feels good, unbelievably good, but 'it isn't as good as it had been with Edward…' whines a voice in the back of Al's mind.

Alphonse stomach's drops. A bucket of ice cold water pouring over his libido. 'No, don't think about him…' he scolds himself, trying to push the thought away. 'He doesn't have power over me.'

The itch is already under his skin.

'Edward…' It's enough to wake from the fog.

"Stop..." Alphonse abruptly says. His voice sounds wet, and quivery, even to his own ears. Pushing Reese's hands away, making his wobbly legs to stand from the bed.

Reese's reaches for the crumbling male, Alphonse snaps his hand out, smacking his boyfriends comforting touch away. It's an unkind thing to do, but Alphonse heart is in his throat. His stomach on the floor. –And Edward in his mind. He can't have Reese hands on him.

"Leave it." He snaps. Pulling his boxer back into place, having gone completely flaccid and just wants to escape with some dignity in tacked.

"Sweet-heart- wait-" Reese starts, making the smaller male visibly flinch.

"Al." He says again, this time with a sweet lulling undertow. "Come back to bed. This is ridiculous."

The morning air is chilly, Alphonse moves over to his dresser pulling out his green hoodie, and sweat pants.

"I can't..." The guilt was palpable.

Rustling behind him, the sheets being rearranged. "Yes, you can. Look," Reese says with calming ease. "No strings attached." A reassuring gesture, making Alphonse peek over his shoulder.

"I just want to hold you," Reese says so genuine. The sheets pulled back, with a spot clear for Alphonse to fit in beside the other males sleep-warm body and dreamy eyes. All traces of lust and desire vanished from the depths of the too-green stare.

It's a siren's call. A warm and cozy- siren's call.

'Edward holds no power over me.' He thinks, before he even realizes his body is already crawling back into the warmth of their shared space. Back into Reese arms for stolen comfort.

'I am my own person. I don't need Ed. I am happy here.'


(But this pain, I choke on the words as they rise in me.)

It's precarious the second time the feeling strikes.

Reese is buried two fingers deep, and is simulating Al's prostate. Alphonse is bent over on his knees, his arms bracing against the wooden headboard.

Al feels lost. Things escalated quickly once they arrived home from Reese's friends house. Alphonse barley had time to process what was happening, before he knew Reese had his pants down and was pushing him over the edge of the bed.

The two glasses of red wine Al had consumed at dinner was not helping the matter.

'How did I end up like this?' Amidst these thoughts, Edward's disappointing face infiltrates Al's drunk mind.

Ice sears up Alphonse's spine.

"you alright, Al?" Reese breaths out, his fingers twisting, twisting, a spark of pleasure into the smaller males groin. Al groans, it feels -fucking- wonderful. The guilt and shame shunts the pleasure. It makes him feel awful. As if Alphonse had committed a sin. It is such a confusing set of emotions. Pleasure rips through him, making his face hot from embarrassment. Al feels himself recoil from Reese's touch. Reese must have noticed. "Sweetheart, Al…"

Tears stain the smaller male's face, something Al barely realizes before Reese sees them.

"Shit," the other male vocalizes with concern, withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on the sheets below. Turning Alphonse over, Reese gathers him into his arms, rocking him as Al feels the tears sliding down his face, unsolicited.

He feels uncharacteristically numb.

"Why didn't you tell me I was hurting you, love?"

"You weren't," Al says fluently, even with tears streaming down his cheeks. His eyes stare at the white wall, unseeing anything.

Reese scoffs, "Obviously I was. Otherwise, you wouldn't be crying…"

Alphonse does not have an answer. Only, Reese hadn't been hurting him. Not in the way he thought. This is not about Reese.

Alphonse rubs his cheeks, sniffling due to the overwhelming rush in his nose. "I promise. This…" he motions toward himself with a sweeping hand, "isn't because you've hurt me or anything you've done," he asserts, gently pushing Reese away. Standing up, he feels the urgent need to be alone and untangle his emotions.

"Alphonse, wait!" Reese calls out, his voice laden with worry.

A tightness grips Alphonse, his throat constricting, making it hard to swallow. Memories flood in—Edward walking away, leaving him behind.

Bending down, Alphonse grabs his pants and underwear from beside the bed, tears streaming down unchecked, unstoppable.

"I-I-I need to go," he stammers, the words barely escaping through his emotional upheaval.

"God, damn it, Alphonse. Stop."

Alphonse's reaction is immediate—a flinch, a falter in his step—but he pushes through, opening the door to flee down the hallway to the sanctuary of the bathroom.

Reese's voice chases after him, a plea laced with frustration. "You can't keep running from the problem, Alphonse." Collapsing against the bathroom wall, Alphonse cradles his head in his knees. The sounds of movement and heavy footsteps echo from the other side, growing louder.

"I'm leaving," Reese announces, his voice piercing through the door. The weight of his words, the heavy sigh, sends a jolt through Alphonse. "I can't be here right now," Reese continues, his voice trailing off, filled with an emotion that twists Alphonse's gut. "When you've figured your shit out, call me. I'll be with Melderic." And then, silence, save for the fading sound of Reese's departure and Alphonse's own unchecked tears.

In this moment, Alphonse is awash with a sense of failure. He feels cowardly, foolish, misinterpreting Reese's concern for anger, or worse, believing Alphonse doesn't desire his presence. Within Alphonse, something feels irreparably damaged, a vital piece twisted by past traumas. His love feels like a poison, corroding everything it touches. Perhaps a fragment of his being was misaligned when his soul was woven back into flesh—a cruel jest from the alchemist's gate. Alphonse remains on the bathroom floor, besieged by tears he cannot stem. Eventually, he finds the strength to rise, to cleanse himself in the shower, though his heart remains laden with guilt and remorse.


(To survive, I lock down.)

Alphonse and Reese never talk about it—their fight. Or how Reese left for hours, only to return at dawn, entirely drunk and smelling of stale cigarettes and perfume.

It's all wrapped up neatly, tied with a pretty little bow, and swept under the carpet for no one to see or speak of.

The false sense of peace settles in around the apartment. They both continue their relationship as if nothing has ever been wrong; idle touches and shared spaces persist, but sex remains off the table since that day.

Until one day, Reese tries again.

Al is standing in the kitchen at the stove, boiling water for a cup of tea, when Reese enters the room. A towel is draped over his bare shoulder, and water still drips down his skin from the shower. A smile plays on his lips. Al's stomach flips, and not in a good way. Whenever Reese tries to initiate any form of intimacy, guilt and shame squeeze Al's nerves. The larger male sauntering up and Reese placed his hands on Al's narrow waist, covered in his gray sweat pants. He places a sweet kiss on Alphonse's neck, "Making something to eat?"

Alphonse barely catches the outwardly flinch as Reese's lips touch his skin.

"No, making tea."

Reese steps forward, and pressing back on Al's lower stomach with his wide palm. Their bodies align with a tight press. Reese makes a noncommittal noise in his throat, his fingers finding the seems of Al's shirt to play with the sensitive flesh found there. It makes Al's skin craw, he shrugs off Reese's advances. "Stop," Al says, slipping out from Reese's grasp.

It's like a switch being flipped to the 'on' position. Alphonse watches the anger light up in Reese. The sigh, and the motion of the other male dropping his head to his chest, is enough for it to be obvious.

"Are we still avoiding this?"

Anger balls up in Alphonse's throat like hot coals swallowed. Reese's tone sounds as if he's accusing Al of the awkwardness between them. "E-Excuse me?"

Reese sighs again, his annoyance already evident. He turns to Alphonse, who is now standing on the other side of the kitchen, near the fridge.

"Al, you've been–." Whatever Reese had been about to say is cut off by the shrill ring of the phone.

They both turn toward the phone cradled in the adjacent room. It rings four times before the answering machine picks up. Al's recorded voice fills the room: "You've reached Alphonse, -and Reese- we aren't in right now. If you please, leave your name and phone number, and we'll return your call as soon as possible. Thank you. ~beep~"

"Alphonse." Edward's gruff voice sluices into the room like warm water. Shivers rake down Al's spine at the sound of familiarity. 'Too long,' rushes through his mind, 'it's been too long.' Alphonse has nearly forgotten what Edward sounds like.

In his anger toward his elder brother, he's been actively ignoring all incoming calls and messages. Instead, he opted to delete all stored content. He didn't even want to hear Edward's voice; he'd been so angry. Now, he just wants to wrap himself inside that voice, like a warm, warm blanket on a cold winter night.

"You haven't returned any of my calls." There is a pause as Ed sighs into the mouthpiece. "I'm worried." Ed's words hang in the air, static filling the phone line. "–Please call me. Al? I-I… I miss you." And then the call abruptly ends.

The room is silent.

Alphonse feels physically sick. Reese is standing and staring at Al. He makes an ugly noise in his throat as he starts towards the hallway. Alphonse takes a deep breath. He feels like he's just resurfaced from being held underwater. Al realizes Reese is talking, but his ears feel full of cotton, and his brain hasn't fully realigned. "...Doesn't understand why he's still calling. I thought you told him to leave you alone."

"I don't know," Al manages to say. His mouth feels numb. The words taste of ash.

The kettle sounds its whistle. Al makes his way over to remove it from the burner, thankful for the excuse to walk away.

Reese is talking again, and Alphonse finds himself tuning the taller male out. Thinking of Edward, and how broken his voice seemed. 'He sounded so lost…' Al thinks, pouring the hot water into his mug and dropping the tea bag down into it to steep.

Reese growls. "Are you even listening?" he questions, reaching out to grip Alphonse's upper arm to get his attention. It works. This is what finally gets Al to look, and he quickly realizes Reese is mad. Really, really mad.

"Seriously?" Reese exclaims, narrowing his eyes as he throws his hands up into the air in agitation. "You haven't even been listening!"

"I'm sorry?"

Exhaling harshly with a half-formed answer, Reese drops his hands to his sides and stomps away.

"I have to go to work," he grumbles over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway and into his room. The door clicking shut is terribly loud in the otherwise quiet apartment.

The regret is instant. It seeps inward quickly and wraps around Alphonse in vines of guilt and blame. Then Reese is gathering his keys and jacket, walking towards the front door, ignoring Alphonse, and haphazardly throws over his shoulder, "Don't wait up for me," before he's just gone, without so much as a glance behind.

Alphonse feels terrible.

On one side, he's relieved that Reese has left the apartment. It's a respite from the constant effort to present a facade. He's aware of his own avoidance, maintaining a distance to fend off unease. The thought of Reese's intrusive touch sparks fear in him. Alphonse finds a certain peace in solitude, a freedom to breathe without his partner's presence. He recognizes the absurdity of the situation, the clear sign of an unhealthy bond. Perhaps it's time to let go. Yet, therein lies the dilemma, wrapped in sweet justifications and intricate rationalizations. For on the other side, Alphonse's feelings for Reese run too deep, compelling him to hold on and attempt to mend what's broken.

The tendrils of guilt twist and tighten around Alphonse, ensnaring him in their relentless grip. His stomach clenches with anxiety, a knot that tightens with each passing moment. He descends, plummeting into the familiar abyss—the cursed cycle that repeats without mercy, from inception to conclusion. Anger flares, a desperate denial of the inevitable, a futile attempt to sidestep the truth. But guilt follows closely, shame weaving its insidious threads. Denial persists, a stubborn refusal to acknowledge the underlying reality. And then, the moment of clarity—a fleeting realization that pierces through the fog of emotions. Yet, like a pendulum, anger swings back into play, perpetuating the cycle. Hopelessness settles upon him, heavy and suffocating. Alphonse grapples with questions that remain unanswered, seeking solace in a maze of contradictions. And in this tangled web, he feels utterly useless.


(I can feel you calling me)

Late into the night, Alphonse occupies the living room, defying Reese's explicit request to do otherwise. His gaze is fixated on the apartment window, the clock ticking past 2 a.m., as he waits for his boyfriend's return.

Reese's shift at the club concluded well over an hour ago, and the drive home should have been swift. Yet, there's no sign of him. The tendrils of worry take root in Alphonse's stomach, twisting with each passing minute. Alphonse attempts to rationalize it, attributing Reese's absence to their recent argument and lingering anger. Perhaps Reese is deliberately dragging his feet on the way home. However, as the hours pass, Alphonse's concern grows.

No phone call from Reese, no sign of his return. He dials the club's number, but it rings incessantly without an answer. Reese's cellphone, too, remains stubbornly silent, diverting all calls to voicemail. By 3 a.m., Alphonse is on the verge of panic. He slips on his shoes and jacket, ready to search for Reese, when the phone pierces the silence with a shrill ring. Alphonse scrambles to the receiver, picking up the phone on the fourth ring.

"Hello? Reese?" He sounds frantic as he answers.

"Hello. This is a nurse at Carlton Memorial Hospital." A woman's voice filters through the phone. Al's stomach drops to the floor upon recognizing who he is speaking with. "Is this Alphonse Elric?"

"Yes. Yes. This is He."

"Mr. Elric, do you know a Reese Godrick?"

"Yes, god, yes. He my boyfriend. Is he alright?" Al gasp into the phone, his hand white knuckling the plastic device.

"Mr. Elric, we have Mr. Godrick in our care, and we are wondering if you could please come down to the Carlton Memorial Hospital."

"Okay. Okay. Is he alright?"

"I cannot divulge such information over the phone. Please come down and everything will be explain. Thank you."

No sooner has the phone call ended is Alphonse out the front door.

As Alphonse rushes into the hospital, his mind churns with panic. Visions of Reese—frail, battered, tubes snaking from his nose and veins—haunt him. Yet, midst the chaos, Alphonse's thoughts circle back to their last conversation—the heated exchange, the anger that hung heavy in the air.

Regret gnaws at him, twisting his insides until he feels physically ill. Room 231 looms ahead, and as Alphonse rounds the corner, his heart leaps. There, in that sterile space, lies Reese—the person he both fears losing and can't bear to give up. The warmth that floods his chest is a mix of relief and longing, a fragile hope that perhaps they can mend what's broken. But for now, all he can do is be there, by Reese's side, waiting for the dawn to bring clarity and healing.

Alive and well… filters through Al's mind as his body moves forward without even being told to move. He flings his arms around Reese's neck, as the other male sits on the gurney with an ugly-green dressing gown on. His arm is bandaged in a splint, his left eye swollen shut.

"Whoa…" Reese barks out, hissing as he drags his wounded arm closer to his body.

"Oh," Al gasps, slinking backward and muttering an apology. "I've been so worried about you," Alphonse whispers, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. "The nurse on the phone wouldn't tell me anything. She just said you'd been injured. What happened? Are you okay?"

Reese laughs bitterly as he tries to rearrange himself on the hospital gurney. "Your brother."

Alphonse's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Edward?" he repeats, trying to make sense of the situation.

Reese's voice is strained as he explains, "He came to my job and assaulted me."

Alphonse's shock is palpable. "He did what?!"

"Yeah," Reese confirms, wincing in pain as he attempts to shift his injured arm. He tucks it protectively against his side. "He showed up at the bar, started hurling accusations, and then threw a punch."

"That… that sounds nothing like Edward. He would never–"

Reese's green eyes narrow. "Are you defending him?"

"No- that's not what I said." Al backpedals, dumbfounded by the accusation. It sounds nothing like Edward.

"Then what? Am I lying?" Reese says with an infuriated frown. "Alphonse, he got me fired. Do you think I would lie about something to that extreme?"

Alphonse stammers, grappling with disbelief. "I-I-I… no. I just can't believe he'd do something like this without a reason." His mind races, trying to comprehend the situation. "Edward, he's a very detail-oriented person. He doesn't just—just attack without a reason."

Reese's voice carries hurt. "You're accusing me?"

The words tighten the guilt around Alphonse's throat. "No, Reese, I am not," Al tries to explain, but the right words elude him in his moment of need. "I'm just confused… Edward, he's not…"

"He's not what? Finish that sentence, Alphonse." Reese's anger flares, and the situation teeters on the edge of chaos.

Alphonse hesitates, choosing his words with care. "Edward—he's not one to lash out without a valid reason. That's not who he is. I know my brother well."

Reese's glare intensifies. "Does it help?" His mouth forms a resolute line.

Alphonse's stomach plummets. "Does what help?" he stammers, caught in the tempest of emotions and accusations.

Does it help to say it out loud? You sound delusional. He's not even your brother, and he's willing to lie to you about that. Why not this?"

The room hangs heavy with silence as both men lock eyes. Alphonse senses the tension, and Reese's anger simmers. It's a critical moment—now or never. Alphonse must act swiftly to mend what's fractured between them. "Let me get this sorted out," Alphonse starts, making his way towards the door. "I'm going to go call him—"

Reese interrupts with a beguiling smile. "—You can't. He's been arrested; I'm pressing charges."

"—and figure this out…" Ice lances through Alphonse's system. "Reese! You can't do that!" Alphonse stresses, his concern etched into his expression.

The indifference Reese shows is troubling; his vindictiveness is clear—he seeks to inflict pain. Alphonse, witnessing the harm Edward has caused to Reese's face, feels a pang of understanding. The history of Edward's actions towards Alphonse only deepens this sentiment.

"Watch me," Reese threatens, his eyes going dark with intent. "He came into my work and got me fired. He deserves to have charges brought against him."

The surmounting worry in Alphonse begins to overflow. "Reese, please listen. You can't do that."

The taller male continues to merely look at Alphonse, as if to say he is not going to change his mind. It's like an invisible brick wall has slammed down between the two of them.

"Are you serious?" Alphonse questions, his heart in his stomach.

Reese nods his head. "Yes."

Alphonse suddenly feels very alone in the world, standing there with the gorge of space between Reese and himself. He curls his lips over his teeth and presses down, allowing himself a moment to process what he's about to say.

"Then I-I-I'm going to have to ask you to move out. We… I-I c-can't do this with you."

Anger is evident upon Reese's expression. "Are you going to choose him, that guy who's done nothing but hurt you, over and over again, over me?"

Alphonse doesn't reply; instead, he looks at the sickly colored linoleum of the hospital floor and nods his head.

"Your stalker-ass brother, over your caring, loving boyfriend?"

Indignation surges through Alphonse as he growls outright, "He's family!"

"No, he isn't!" Reese shouts back, sitting up further in the hospital bed. "He's not even related to you, Alphonse!"

"I need to leave."

"Alphonse. Wait. God damn it. Just wait a fucking second, Alphonse!"

"What?" Alphonse halts in the doorway, his gut churning with so many emotions.

"I'll drop all the charges…"

Relief floods through Alphonse's system. "Reese–"

"–on one condition."

And like a wave, the feeling of dread washes back over him. Alphonse raises his eyebrow as if to say, "And that is?" because his words failed him in the moment. Alphonse eyes go round upon hearing Reese's suggestion.


(I can taste the poison in your heart
But these dreams)

As Alphonse heads to the police station, the exchange he had with Reese echoes in his thoughts, incessantly looping like a record stuck on replay.

\Flashback\"Stop talking to Edward—" Reese's eyes burn with a wild fervor, his gaze piercingly green and unwavering.

Alphonse grasps for his voice, a wave of relief flooding him upon hearing Reese's proposition. "—and you'll dismiss all the charges?"

"Yes," Reese asserts. "But you must sever all ties with him, Al. Completely."\end\

A leaden weight settles in Al's stomach. He had agreed before thinking it all through entirely. The memory replays in his head, and as the distance grows from the hospital's chaos, reality descends upon him with crushing force. He has agreed to Reese's terms.

Al pushes open the glass doors to the large gray building. The only sign confirming his location is a small, yellowing sign that reads "Police Station Holding." Inside, there is a curious blend of stern efficiency and subdued tension. The air smells faintly of aged paperwork, urine, and moldy bleach. The walls, painted in a dull shade of gray, seem to absorb both secrets and anxieties. The fluorescent lighting casts a stark glow on the linoleum floor, revealing scuff marks from countless footsteps. Despite the formal decorum, there's an unspoken understanding that this place holds stories—some mundane, others harrowing—and that within these walls, justice and human frailty intersect.

"May I assist you, sir?" The unexpected voice to his left jolts Alphonse. Seated behind a transparent barrier, a robust woman peers out. The small circular window in the glass slides open, allowing her voice to filter through.

"Hello," Alphonse responds courteously, his hands nestled in his pockets.

The woman offers nothing but an impassive gaze, her expression unchanging save for a single eyebrow ascending toward her hairline.

Gathering his courage, Alphonse forges ahead, his words faltering slightly with anxiety. "I've come to collect Edward Elric… E-L-R-I-C."

"One moment, please." She scans the records, her longer nails clicking on her keyboard. "It appears he's already in the process of being released."

"Already released?"

"Yes, sir, that is correct."

"Can you tell me by whom?"

"I am not at liberty to divulge information. If you'd like to wait in the sitting area, they'll be releasing the detainee shortly." The glass window slams closed, finalizing the conversation.

Alphonse backpedals the way he came, taking the first seat in the dingy waiting room. It's a simple room, with metal benches lining the walls like pews in a church. A mounted CRT television hangs from the corner of the ceiling. Tables are scattered around the room, with out-of-date magazines resting on the surfaces. Alphonse happens to be one of the few people lingering in the waiting room, a tall man with a crooked eye. He sits with a fair-haired woman asleep in the corner of the room. With a begrudging sigh, Alphonse sits down in the nearest seat to the exit. His leg instantly starts to bounce as he continues to wait, the rhythmic tapping a silent countdown to the moment he'd face the consequences of his choices. The room's starkness only amplifies the turmoil within him, each metallic echo a reminder of the sterile reality of what he just agreed to at the hospital.

The television flickers, casting a pale glow that does little to warm the cold ambiance of the jailhouse waiting room. Alphonse's gaze drifts to the fair-haired woman, her breaths steady in sleep, a stark contrast to his own erratic heartbeat. He wonders if she, too, is here to help a loved one in their time of need or merely seeking solace in the quietude of the waiting room. Time seems to stretch and compress, each second as unpredictable as the last. The tall man with the crooked eye catches Alphonse's attention, his presence an unspoken question mark in the otherwise unremarkable room."

'Why am I still here?' The question slithers into Al's mind like snakes on their bellies. Edward has already been released; he didn't need Alphonse to rescue him. So why was Al still here, sitting in this dingy waiting room? Is he sick in the head? Rising to his feet, he strides toward the double glass doors. There's no reason for him to stay. He could depart now, before Edward even realizes he's been there, allowing Al to continue disregarding his existence, as if this night had never happened.

Yet, as Alphonse steps outside, the brisk morning air embraces him. His legs turn to lead as he attempts to descend the stairs. It dawns on him that this might be his final opportunity to confront his elder brother directly. Would he really let this moment pass? The answer is a resolute no. Resigned, he settles on the uppermost step to wait. He needn't linger for long. The doors swing open behind him, and approaching footsteps catch his attention.

"Alphonse?" The familiar gruff tone utters his name. Al's stomach flutters with excitement, and he swivels to face his older brother's rich golden eyes. But instead of the warm reunion he anticipated, he's met with Edward's bruised, confused face. Alphonse opens his mouth to speak, but his gaze is inexorably drawn to Edward's metal arm, then to the hand that clasps that of the small blonde woman—the same woman he'd glimpsed in the waiting room.

His eyes flick back towards Edward, and he lets go of the petite woman's hand. Alphonse observes Edward protectively shifting her behind him, as if he was worried Alphonse would hurt her. The assumption angers him to his very core.

Edward had replaced him. And the woman by his side was precisely the type Alphonse had always imagined Ed would end up with. The pain was unbearable because it could never be him. How could he expect Ed to settle for the lesser model, to be content without children, when he could choose her and have little blonde babes?

The mental images churn Alphonse's stomach, leaving him sickened and heartbroken.

"Al…" Edward calls out to him, and it breaks Alphonse's composure. He surges forward and pushes his older brother back against the wall of the police station, his hands fisting the front of his black dress shirt.

"You bastard," Alphonse's voice quivers, a crescendo of fury building within him. His sight blurs, eyes brimming but not yet spilling over. "How could you…"

The lack of response from Ed only fuels his ire, and in a swift motion, Alphonse yanks him forward by the shirt lapels, pressing him hard against the unyielding concrete. He seeks any flicker of acknowledgment, any sign of remorse, but is met with silence. Alphonse's scream reverberates in Edward's face, a torrent of pent-up emotions unleashed. He accuses Ed of allowing things to happen, of how Reese had been there when Ed had not.

""I know," Ed finally acknowledges, his yellow gaze avoiding Alphonse's.

"What did you just say?" Alphonse presses.

"I said, I know! Alright?!" Ed's response is terse, laden with an unspoken weight.

Alphonse's laughter follows, but it's laced with bitterness. "You know what, you're some piece of work… but you already realize that, too, brother? Don't you?" The words hang heavy in the air, a fractured bond between siblings.

Edward's tight shut of his eyes and a slight nod sends a surge of resentment through Alphonse. A hollow laugh escapes him, masking the tears he's fighting back.

"Did Reese tell you what happened?" Edward inquires, seemingly unfazed by Al's tightening grip.

"He did," Alphonse replies, his voice edged with bitterness. "At the hospital, while he was being fitted for a splint. You attacked him unprovoked at his job. And now, thanks to you, Reese has been fired."

Edward knocks Alphonse's hands away from his shirt. "Attacked unprovoked!" He pauses to collect himself. "You think I intentionally walked into his job to attack him? To get him fired maliciously?"

"Yes." Al's says with such conviction.

"He's cheating on you, Alphonse," Edward speaks quickly, his words on the verge of manic. He reaches out to grab Al by his upper arms. "I saw him with my own eyes."

Al's face goes red, and he rips away from Edward's calloused hands. "I-I don't believe you," he says, with tears sliding down his cheeks. It's the first thing that comes to mind. He needs to leave, so he starts to back away, getting as far as three steps.

"Al… Listen…" Ed reaches for him again.

"No," Alphonse says, sidestepping Edward's grasp. Al starts shaking his head back and forth. "I'm not listening. I'm not waiting. I'm…" He says in a single breath, sounding completely over it all. "I'm just done," he sighs out.

"Alphonse. Please," Edward all but cries out, his metal hand clasping around Al's wrist.

"Why—why should I? After everything you've done. Why?" The younger male says, ripping out of his tight hold.

"—Because, I…"

"No," Alphonse screams, stumbling away a few steps. Edward doesn't get to say he loves Al. Not when the word has been twisted and tarnished. "You don't get to explain yourself anymore."

Edward practically begs his younger sibling. "Al, please. Let's talk this through…"

Alphonse's indifference to Edward's near-desperate plea is palpable. With a firm shake of his head, he turns his back, stepping away from the confrontation. As he reaches the edge of the parking lot, Edward's cries pierce the quiet of the early morning, the words ringing out stark and undeniable: "You can't ignore the truth, Alphonse—Reese is cheating on you!"

But Alphonse halts in his tracks. His gradual pivot back toward Edward reveals the internal struggle he faces. His clenched jaw speaks volumes, as if suppressing a torrent of emotions—or words he wants to express. The charged atmosphere hangs heavy, leaving both men suspended in a moment of conflict and uncertainty. Unspoken words reverberate, threatening to unravel the fragile threads that bind them together.

In swift, measured strides, Alphonse closes the distance between them, surging back into Edward's face. Ed, anticipating physical retaliation, is taken aback when none comes. Instead, Al stops abruptly, standing right before Ed. His expression is etched with raw hurt, haunting and undeniable. The unspoken pain hangs heavily in the charged air, leaving both men suspended in a moment of profound vulnerability.

Alphonse locks eyes with Edward. "You stay away from mine," he hisses, glancing behind Ed where the blonde woman still stands, bewildered by the unfolding scene. "And I'll stay away from yours," Al's voice trembles as he speaks, hazel eyes shifting back to Edward in a final, silent admonition before he turns to leave. He means it as a threat. It comes off as menacing. Good. "Don't come looking for me." And just as quickly as Alphonse appeared, he's gone again. The tension lingers, unresolved, in the early morning light.


(Blurring the line between war and peace)

As Alphonse steps back into his flat, the scene unfolds before him. Reese lies sprawled on the couch, unconscious. The hospital's drugs likely still course through his system, numbing the pain from his broken bones. Alphonse hesitates, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, torn between concern and frustration.

His gaze drifts downward, settling on Reese's slumbering form. Reese's broken glasses rest on the coffee table, a testament to the recent chaos. Keys lie nearby. And there, half-hidden by the couch's edge, Reese's phone rests in his good hand—the lifeline that connects him even in this fractured moment. Alphonse's heart aches, torn between love and betrayal, as he contemplates the shattered pieces of their relationship scattered across the room.

Alphonse, typically one to shy away from prying into others' belongings, finds himself at a moral crossroads. The breadcrumbs of suspicion have already been laid out before him, tempting him to follow. Yet, he resists. "No. I will not," he murmurs to himself, his resolve firm.

As he lifts the phone with the intention of setting it aside, it vibrates with the arrival of a new message. Instinctively, he glances at the screen. The sender's name, Becky, is clear, but the message itself is truncated, only the beginning visible to prying eyes. To read further would mean crossing a line—a line Alphonse hesitates to cross, despite the gnawing doubts and the lure.

Caught in a moment of indecision, Alphonse holds the phone, its screen still glowing with Becky's half-revealed message. 'No, I need—' and it cuts off.

The phone buzzes again. The weight of his choices presses upon him. He closes his eyes and unlocks his boyfriend's phone. The messaging app opens, and slowly, Al opens his eyes to reveal a lewd picture of Becky.

With a surge of emotion, he hurls the phone away in disgust; a wave of heat rushes to his cheeks, the sting of betrayal still raw like a bloodied wound. Vision blurred by tears, he retreats from the silent figure of his partner, seeking refuge in the recesses of the house.

Bursting into Reese's room, Alphonse makes a beeline for the closet. His hands, driven by blind fury, yank at the garments, amassing a mound of fabric in the room's heart. Hangers clatter to the ground, echoing the turmoil within as he unleashes his grief, tears streaming unabated.

In a determined stride, Alphonse marches into his bedroom, retrieving the extra cardboard boxes stashed beneath his bed. Returning to Reese's room, he meticulously tapes up the six boxes, each one a vessel for memories and fragments of their shared life. With a mix of sorrow and resolve, Alphonse begins to methodically pack Reese's belongings into the waiting containers, sealing away the remnants of their once-intertwined existence.

Once the task is finished, a pang of heartache grips Alphonse, but the sharp memory of Reese's betrayal steels his resolve. He hoists the boxes, heavy with the weight of a fractured bond, and carries them through the front door, down the corridor. With the deed done, Alphonse allows himself a moment's grief, his sniffles breaking the silence. He returns inside to find Reese awakening, oblivious to the change. "Morning, love," Reese murmurs, unaware of the storm he's walking into.

Alphonse's hands tremble slightly as he pours water into the kettle, the familiar routine disrupted by Reese's intrusion. The silence hangs heavy, broken only by the soft gurgle of water. Reese's voice pierces the quiet, and Alphonse's jaw tightens. "Did you manage to take care of it…" The words linger, innocent on the surface but laden with meaning.

Alphonse turns, his gaze meeting Reese's. His voice is steady, though his heart races. "Who's Becky?" he demands, the weight of suspicion and hurt coloring each syllable. The answer, whatever it may be, will shape their fractured reality. But Alphonse already knows that innocence is a fragile illusion, easily shattered by the truth.

Reese's eyes widen, a flicker of panic crossing his features before he composes himself. He takes a step closer, his voice a blend of confusion and caution. "Becky? She's just a friend from my chem class, Alphonse. Why? What's wrong?" His attempt at nonchalance is betrayed by the slight quiver in his voice, the subtle shift in his stance. Reese searches Alphonse's face for clues, trying to gauge the depth of the waters he's found himself in.

Alphonse's voice trembles, the weight of his decision pressing upon him. "I'm going to need you to leave my house; your belongings are already down in the lobby waiting for you," he says, blinking back tears. The room feels smaller, suffocating, as if the walls themselves bear witness to their unraveling.

Reese's easy smile falters, replaced by confusion. His handsome features twist in disbelief. "What… Wait, Al. What is this all about?" His words hang in the air, a plea for understanding. But Alphonse's heart remains resolute, the shards of trust irreparably fractured.

The truth, painful and raw, lingers between them—a betrayal that can no longer be ignored. And as Reese searches his eyes, Alphonse knows that some wounds cut too deep for forgiveness.

"Alphonse," Reese breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper. He extends his unbroken hand toward the quivering figure before him.

Alphonse recoils, his voice laced with a firm resolve. "No!" he commands, a shudder running through him. "Please. Just go."

Reese's confusion deepens, his brow furrowing. "Does this have to do with what you talked to Edward about?"

Alphonse's eyes harden, a cold finality settling in his tone. "No. But it has everything to do with the naked pictures of 'Becky' on your phone." The words cut through the air, a stark revelation that leaves no room for doubt.

Reese's expression shifts from confusion to a mix of guilt and desperation. His eyes dart between Alphonse's face and the floor, as if searching for an escape route. The accusation hangs heavy in the air, and he stammers, "Alphonse, I… It's not what you think. Becky is just a friend. Those pictures—"

But Alphonse cuts him off, his voice brittle. "Enough." The pain etched on his features is palpable. "I trusted you, Reese. And you betrayed that trust." His trembling hand points toward the door. "Leave."

Reese's shoulders slump, defeated. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the sound of their fractured hearts. As he turns to go, Reese glances back once, his eyes filled with regret. But Alphonse's resolve remains unyielding. The door closes behind Reese, sealing their shattered bond, and Alphonse is left alone with the wreckage of love and betrayal.

He slides down to the kitchen floor, the quiet sound of the house encroaching. He's alone. Their is no one coming to save him from his awful feeling.

The epiphany strikes harshly, a raw visceral noise erupts from him. He stifles it quickly with the back of his hand, preventing another sob from breaking free. Solitude envelops him—a terrifying realization indeed.

(To survive, I lock down.)


I don't know what to say. It's been far too long since I last posted. I am not dead, just really burnt out on life. This story only has two more chapters before it's done. Hopefully, I can get them out before another five years pass. Hah.

This is not beta read at all. Hopefully I didn't botch it up too much.