Work Text:
Alphonse often watched his brother try to scrub the old sheets, long after the two of them moved in. He didn’t just get rid of them, no, nor did he unceremoniously dump them on Al’s bed with the rest of the laundry. No, he saved that treatment for the new stuff, the things he bought to replace most of the old linens after he gave them away.
...but those?
That jacket and those sheets always stayed in the same spot next to his bed, folded neatly and looked after with an ever-present vigil.
Of course, his brother didn’t think he noticed the sideways glances, or the way he made sure they didn’t move from their place no matter how inconvenient it was when the two brothers were in that cramped room at the same time.
That is, until Edward pulled them out again to give them another scrub.
His prosthetics wore down, his fingers reddened with effort and pain, but he didn’t stop until he was satisfied with his work, looking upon the now fresh garment with pride.
…
Until he gave the soon-to-be-dry things a sniff.
Then he held onto them, growling German profanities and speaking a name that Al had the sinking feeling wasn’t his own.