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He stares at the face returning his gaze. Taking a longing glance at the picture beside him, he notes that it's still not enough. There is something missing. Insecure, he wipes the mirror gently with his forefinger, as if that will erase whatever mark is keeping him from attaining his goal.
His goal, for so long... Two years he had worked on this image. Two years he had perfected the alchemy and the personality and the sarcasm until he was almost unrecognizable. But now, even now, it is unattainable. Angrily, he almost mutilates the picture frame trying to pull out the photograph sealed within and fervently presses the offending object against the glass, comparing himself and his brother. There's something, just one thing, that isn't right. And he can't figure out what it could possibly be! He almost chuckles at how he's "inherited" even his temper, if it isn't for the stinging annoyance buzzing about in his brain.
Is it only because he looks up to him? Is it only because he strives so hard to bring him back one day? Is it only because he misses his presence so much he has succumbed to duplicating it? All of those reasons would make sense, yes. And yet, he knows in his heart those aren't the only reasons. He wants Edward back so badly, but in the shade of his mind he knows there is a truth he is adamant not to acknowledge, like a jester mocking him within himself. Is it really only for Edward that he became him? He knows, he KNOWS it isn't. Yet, he won't let himself accept that truth, and he also won't let himself deny it. It is too palpable a feeling, too concrete a truth that it cannot be accepted nor denied. To do either would be to ruin all he'd worked toward, everything he'd hidden.
"Alphonse! Get your butt in here! This is the FOURTH TIME I've called! I SWEAR, if you come late to eat ONE MORE TIME..." The rest is lost to the sound of rummaging in a drawer.
That voice. That voice draws the truth out to slap him in the face, though he still claims ignorance. No, it isn't only because of Edward, although that's what he's led Grandma and Roy and Riza and even her to believe. He's led them by not denying it. It's what they thought, though he had never acknowledged whether those are his reasons or not for the new him he had created. The new him he had re-created, of course.
He lets the picture drop to the floor, floating down to swoop beneath his feet, and leaving him staring at the unknown wrong reflected in that mirror once more. There is no way he can be him. No way he can live up to the title and the memories that are still lost to him. He sees it every time he looks into her eyes. You will never be him, they say. You can never be him. And yet he still strives and strives to copy what she longs for.
He's almost tricked her a few times. Even yesterday he had walked through the door after working hard at his alchemy, looking down at his hands for no reason and she had raced up to him. In surprise, he'd glanced up just as she'd thrown her arms around him and when she'd met his eyes her face immediately changed and she had backed away, flushing furiously before running out in shame. He had known she hadn't meant to hurt him: she is only hurting herself. But it had burned. He hadn't been able to look her in the eye the rest of the day, for he had known what they'd hold. The same thing they always held: disappointment.
She knows what it is that is wrong. There is something he can never duplicate of his brother's. And though he cannot grasp what it is, she already has. And it tears him apart. He only longs to see her smile again, but no matter how hard he works, he can't provide the one thing she wants most...
He almost doesn't dodge the wrench that comes whirling at his head, accompanied by a chorus of screeches about boys never listening when they're spoken to. "You're almost as bad as Ed!" she adds before immediately clapping her hand over her mouth, an unfathomable sadness brimming in her eyes. She's realized the mistake. She can't meet his eyes again.
Slowly, Alphonse turns and chuckles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Almost like old times, huh?" He's only trying to break the tension that has suddenly enveloped the room, but he knows what he's said is wrong by the soft whimper that is almost inaudible. Mechanically, she strides over to retrieve the wrench beside the mirror and unfortunately laying near the discarded picture. Her eyes say everything she can't as she swipes up both, only sparing him a longing glance before passively storming in her own way out of the room.
Dinner is silent other than Grandma Pinako edging in a comment here and there about her day or how idiotic the former Colonel and should-be Fuhrer is. Usually the telling of her escapades into town is an enjoyable time, but not tonight. Al can see by the way Winry pokes at her food and spares a glance down now and then. He will always be Ed's shadow, never his equal. he will never be the same in her eyes and the more he tries to be what she wants, the more he will push her away.
"I'm going to find him," is all he mutters sternly, abruptly standing and sending his chair shrieking backward. I'm going to make this right.
The bootfalls are so familiar, yet even he acknowledges that they're wrong. There is no reason. They are just wrong. And if it ever deserves a reason, only one word suffices: him.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

He stares at the face returning his gaze. Taking a longing glance at the picture beside him, he notes that it's still not enough. There is something missing. Insecure, he wipes the mirror gently with his forefinger, as if that will erase whatever mark is keeping him from attaining his goal.
His goal, for so long... Two years he had worked on this image. Two years he had perfected the alchemy and the personality and the sarcasm until he was almost unrecognizable. But now, even now, it is unattainable. Angrily, he almost mutilates the picture frame trying to pull out the photograph sealed within and fervently presses the offending object against the glass, comparing himself and his brother. There's something, just one thing, that isn't right. And he can't figure out what it could possibly be! He almost chuckles at how he's "inherited" even his temper, if it isn't for the stinging annoyance buzzing about in his brain.
Is it only because he looks up to him? Is it only because he strives so hard to bring him back one day? Is it only because he misses his presence so much he has succumbed to duplicating it? All of those reasons would make sense, yes. And yet, he knows in his heart those aren't the only reasons. He wants Edward back so badly, but in the shade of his mind he knows there is a truth he is adamant not to acknowledge, like a jester mocking him within himself. Is it really only for Edward that he became him? He knows, he KNOWS it isn't. Yet, he won't let himself accept that truth, and he also won't let himself deny it. It is too palpable a feeling, too concrete a truth that it cannot be accepted nor denied. To do either would be to ruin all he'd worked toward, everything he'd hidden.
"Alphonse! Get your butt in here! This is the FOURTH TIME I've called! I SWEAR, if you come late to eat ONE MORE TIME..." The rest is lost to the sound of rummaging in a drawer.
That voice. That voice draws the truth out to slap him in the face, though he still claims ignorance. No, it isn't only because of Edward, although that's what he's led Grandma and Roy and Riza and even her to believe. He's led them by not denying it. It's what they thought, though he had never acknowledged whether those are his reasons or not for the new him he had created. The new him he had re-created, of course.
He lets the picture drop to the floor, floating down to swoop beneath his feet, and leaving him staring at the unknown wrong reflected in that mirror once more. There is no way he can be him. No way he can live up to the title and the memories that are still lost to him. He sees it every time he looks into her eyes. You will never be him, they say. You can never be him. And yet he still strives and strives to copy what she longs for.
He's almost tricked her a few times. Even yesterday he had walked through the door after working hard at his alchemy, looking down at his hands for no reason and she had raced up to him. In surprise, he'd glanced up just as she'd thrown her arms around him and when she'd met his eyes her face immediately changed and she had backed away, flushing furiously before running out in shame. He had known she hadn't meant to hurt him: she is only hurting herself. But it had burned. He hadn't been able to look her in the eye the rest of the day, for he had known what they'd hold. The same thing they always held: disappointment.
She knows what it is that is wrong. There is something he can never duplicate of his brother's. And though he cannot grasp what it is, she already has. And it tears him apart. He only longs to see her smile again, but no matter how hard he works, he can't provide the one thing she wants most...
He almost doesn't dodge the wrench that comes whirling at his head, accompanied by a chorus of screeches about boys never listening when they're spoken to. "You're almost as bad as Ed!" she adds before immediately clapping her hand over her mouth, an unfathomable sadness brimming in her eyes. She's realized the mistake. She can't meet his eyes again.
Slowly, Alphonse turns and chuckles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Almost like old times, huh?" He's only trying to break the tension that has suddenly enveloped the room, but he knows what he's said is wrong by the soft whimper that is almost inaudible. Mechanically, she strides over to retrieve the wrench beside the mirror and unfortunately laying near the discarded picture. Her eyes say everything she can't as she swipes up both, only sparing him a longing glance before passively storming in her own way out of the room.
Dinner is silent other than Grandma Pinako edging in a comment here and there about her day or how idiotic the former Colonel and should-be Fuhrer is. Usually the telling of her escapades into town is an enjoyable time, but not tonight. Al can see by the way Winry pokes at her food and spares a glance down now and then. He will always be Ed's shadow, never his equal. he will never be the same in her eyes and the more he tries to be what she wants, the more he will push her away.
"I'm going to find him," is all he mutters sternly, abruptly standing and sending his chair shrieking backward. I'm going to make this right.
The bootfalls are so familiar, yet even he acknowledges that they're wrong. There is no reason. They are just wrong. And if it ever deserves a reason, only one word suffices: him.