ed being a worrywart
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Summary
“I know that, I just-” Ed cut off, before letting out a sigh sharp enough to slice stone. “It.. Reminds me of Mom, seeing you like this.”
Al thinned his lips, but didn’t speak, giving his brother room to elaborate.
“You have her face, you know. I’ve always been jealous of that, because I look more like the old bastard,” Ed commented under his breath. The flippant tone his voice carried juxtaposed his grimace, like coating a pill of cyanide in honey to make the process of eating it easier.
Al kept his own opinions locked up a moment more so he could give Ed the chance to get anything else he wanted to say out there. His brother seldom stayed vulnerable for long. He didn't want to interrupt.
As Al stared, waiting, Ed shrunk under his gaze. His expression walked the tightrope between guarded and thoughtful. It was as if he were trying to make his thoughts seem more like spit-balled ramblings than anxieties that had plagued him ever since Al emerged from The Gate with skin shades too pale and earthquakes rattling his frame with every feeble step.
Or; Al's recovery is slow, and that's a scary thing for a brother who's just barely gotten him back.