Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

Author's Note: Wow, it's been a while, hasn't it, guys? Eh heh… sorry about that. I've been really busy over on the Skeletons LJ community. And there's been school/drama stuff, too… still, it's no excuse for neglecting y'all, so I apologize. (Unless you didn't care that I haven't posted—don't worry, not offended—in which case I just say HI! XD)

Anyhow, I guess I should explain something about this little piece before we get started— otherwise, I'm sure people will be asking me lots and lots of questions. So here we go: this one-shot is a collection of mini-ficlets all about psychology. Yup. Therefore, if a term or study or model name confuses you, please look it up! It's all quite interesting… :3

That said, please enjoy!

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Psych 101

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I. Case Study: Headache

Love as people know it is an illusion. It was as simple as that. There were no tiny pink sparkles, no cupids or arrows. There were no At First Sight glances or Happily Ever Afters. None at all. The emotion had nothing to do with souls or hearts; it was just a psychological occurrence… But nobody wants to draw squishy little brains on a Valentine.

With a faint cough, Edward Elric turned his head, watching his little brother from across the classroom. Subtly, of course: his head remained low, as if concentrating on his worksheet, but his eyes found and locked on Alphonse's face.

My brain likes your brain. There was no heartache or heartbreak or any such nonsense involved. Ed knew that.

But sometimes, he liked to believe in the magic, anyway.

"Ed?"

His gaze flicked sideways, suddenly cold. "What is it, Russell?"

The younger boy dismissed Edward's tone with an arched an eyebrow, tapping a pen rhythmically against his lower lip. "You okay? It's not like you to be caught gaping."

Dammit. Edward groaned softly, rubbing at his temples with a sigh. "…I've got a headache."

X

II. Case Study: Placebo

He said Al needed to get out more. He said Al needed to date. He said Al needed a girlfriend.

And if Ed said Al needed it, then Al must.

"Heeeeey! Alphonse!"

The tall brunette turned with a soft smile, fingers bending in imitation of a wave. "Hey, Winry," he greeted—not exactly enthusiastic, but in a kind, sweet way. Thrilled by the attention, Winry beamed, cheeks pinking; she took the hand he offered her. "How has your day been, so far?"

"Ugh, don't get me started," the girl snorted, brow furrowing in disgust. "Okay, my gym teacher—you know, Mr. Mustang? God, he was such a—"

Pay attention, Al's brain demanded; he mentally kicked himself for starting to drift off. Pay attention to her, she's your girlfriend.

Girlfriend… I don't want a girlfriend.

But he needed a girlfriend. Edward said so. It would help. It would. Just give it time; let the medicine course through my system.

Still, it was hard. If only her hair were gold, not platinum. It was so hard… And her eyes were amber, rather than sapphire.

Alphonse swallowed hard, tightening his hold on her hand.

The cure wasn't working.

X

III. Case Study: Reciprocity

Had it really been four months? The calendar said so… but it was easy enough to switch its pages.

As if to prove the ease of toying with time, Edward began flipping back and forth between the weeks, ignoring the cheery pictures of pumpkin patches and snowmen. Four months… and I thought things would have gotten better, not worse.

The door suddenly slammed; the blonde gave a jolt, whirling around. Please not—!

Too late.

Alphonse. Standing, startled, in the middle of the doorway; he sucked in a noiseless breath. Neither spoke a word… they rarely did, it seemed. Like the children they once were, they tried to ignore the other, as if that would destroy the problem.

Simultaneously, the brothers glanced away, disconcerted and alone. All alone. Mom, of course, was at the hospital… Dad was with her.

Alone.

"Hey, Brother," Al greeted hesitantly, forcing movement into his body. He kicked off his snow boots, lowered his knapsack. "Did you skip out early?"

"Yeah," Ed grunted, snatching an apple from the fruit bowl and rolling it between his hands. The glossy red sheen reflected the light of the stars outside; night came so quickly in the winter. Alone in the dark. "Sick of fuckin' English. The Scarlet Letter is a bore."

Al smiled. "I bet you'd like it more if you gave it a chance." As he spoke, Alphonse tread cautiously closer— silently sliding up next to his brother. Jeans; warm, green sweater; matching socks; the sweet scent of textbooks… Edward pretended he wasn't close enough to notice the details, pretended that he wasn't trapped between the counter and his younger sibling.

Completely alone in the dark.

He squeezed the ruby fruit, golden eyes flitting to the window. Outside, snow was beginning to fall… faster and faster: a blizzard. Even if he'd wanted to, Father wouldn't be able to get home in this weather. "I don't want to give it a chance," Ed grumbled, crunching into his snack. "I know what I like and I know what I don't."

An eyebrow arched; hazel eyes glittered with mild amusement. And to Edward's horror, the taller boy bent down and took a small bite of the fruit.

He glanced up at Ed with half-lidded, angry eyes.

"…So do I."

The blonde cringed, unable to hold the gaze. "Al, please—"

Alphonse shook his head, arms darting out to cage Edward in. Leaning forward, he ghosted his lips over his brother's throat. A gasp, a groan; Ed allowed himself to be eased backwards, until he was sprawled atop the frosty surface of the counter. "I love you, Brother."

You shouldn't— I shouldn't— We shouldn't…!

But they would anyway.

The apple slipped from his fingers with a forgotten thump.

X

IV. Case Study: Obsession

High school was the most time-consuming waste Alphonse could think of.

Notes, reading, problems, tests… nothing of which he found very challenging; nothing of which he'd use in later life; nothing of which could keep his mind off of Edward. Everything, everything was about him. It always had been—it probably always would be.

Why? Why, out of all the people in the world, did he have to love his only brother?

Why? Why, out of all the people in the world, did his brother have to love him back?

Four months—Four months of this! He'd thought it would get better after he'd told Ed, after he'd gotten it out of his system. But no; no, Edward had to go and feel the same way, and now look at the mess they were in!

I need him.

Alphonse chanced a glance in his brother's direction, across the psychology classroom. He was beautiful: forehead crinkled in thought, the tip of his red tongue peaking out from behind pearl-pink lips. Strands of hair, the color of burnished wheat, spilled from a messy braid; charcoal lashes hid eyes the color of topaz.

He forced himself to look away; Ed would be mad if he caught Al staring. Brothers don't stare at each other… brothers don't want each other… brothers don't make out on the kitchen counter.

So many things that brothers couldn't/shouldn't/wouldn't do... It didn't seem fair.

Sighing, Alphonse returned to his worksheet, trying to keep his eyes from drifting. But even if he succeeded at that—even if he never looked at Edward again—the breath-taking blonde would never be out of his thoughts.

And that, it seemed, would be their downfall.

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V. Case Study: Social Phobia

"It can't go on like this."

The quiet words echoed through the clinging shadows; Edward's luminous eyes cut through the darkness of Alphonse's bedroom. An old mobile squeaked, the bed shifted, the family's gray kitten rustled the papers on the boy's desk.

Alphonse frowned sadly, resting his cheek against Ed's bare stomach. "…I know."

"We can't do this… it's not fair to anyone. Not to us, not to Mom, not to Dad. It's wrong."

Al nodded mutely, tightening his hold around his older sibling's middle. Thin fingers pulled through his auburn hair: gentle, affectionate. The tender gesture was sharply contrasted by the harsh words.

Neither moved.

Outside, the world was white and empty. They were the only ones alive…

"Do you think Mom will be okay?" Alphonse asked abruptly, watching the wind play with a snowdrift. "I'd really like her to come home, soon."

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Ed assured, though his voice was low and uncertain. "Winry's mom and dad are taking care of her, and they're the best in the business. Speaking of—" Al groaned— "how are things with you and Winry?"

"I don't like her like that, Brother."

Ed scowled gruffly, tracing meaningless patterns up and down Al's back. "Why not?" he demanded. "She's pretty, isn't she? And sweet. And friendly. We've been friends with her since we were kids."

"I know, and I've tried, Ed," the brunette whispered, nuzzling closer and wetting dry lips. "I really did… but I don't want a girlfriend. I only want you."

Edward didn't reply. His fingers stilled; he turned his head away. Alphonse almost started to cry.

"Is it so very wrong, Brother?" he breathed, voice choked with fear and hurt and grief. "That I love you and only want to be with you? I know you don't want anyone to know—I know that you're scared of what people will say. But we don't have to make a big deal out of it. We don't have to tell anyone at all! Please… just stop trying to push me away!" Al swallowed weakly, pleading with his eyes. "…I love you."

Still, nothing.

Ed left the room in silence.

X

VI. Case Study: Latent Content

He didn't sleep well, the nights he spent in his own bed—it was too cold, too impersonal, too foreign. It no longer felt like his. It was just a bed: a hard, unfeeling slab where he tossed and turned and tried not to think about who he could be laying with.

The dreams didn't help: they were long and cruel, full of emptiness and heat. Sometimes he woke up screaming; sometimes, he woke up panting. Sometimes, the two were not mutually exclusive.

Sometimes, the two were not from fear.

Edward's subconscious was trying to tell him something; the hidden messages in the dreams were pounding against his skull, enraged by his foolishness. He began to hate the night.

I need my sleep. Even his textbook said so—right there, in bolded print. A paradox, it seemed, as he was reading the psych book to avoid slumber. The ashen light of his lamp spilled over the bedcovers and glossed pages, glowing through the gloom. I need to rest.

But could he take the dreams…?

The memories that his brain was trying to store were rattled, just as he was. His thoughts were jumbled; his secret desires were bursting through the metaphorical seams. Virus-ridden and broken… he was a damaged machine.

There really is something wrong with me.

There had to be— there had to. It was the only reason he could think of: he needed something to blame. Some reason, any reason—an excuse to quote when it came time to tell the world that he loved his brother, even though he'd tried not to… why he did the things he did, hissed Al's name in the shower… why he couldn't get the dreams to go away, no matter how hard he tried.

…though he knew, deep down, he wasn't trying very hard.

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VII. Case Study: Bereavement

The call came early on Wednesday morning, eight days before Christmas. They'd been running out the door, pausing only to grab some toast, when the phone rang. Edward had been the one to answer—but Al knew the news long before Ed had spoken a word.

"No…"

Yes.

For the first time in a week, Edward wrapped his arms around his brother: held him lovingly, tenderly. And Alphonse held him back—desperate, frightened—as tears began to fall: running like thick, wet rivers down his cheeks.

They didn't go to school that day.

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VIII. Case Study: Attachment

The weeks following their mother's death found the Elric brothers closer than ever. For though they didn't want to admit it, her death was, at its core, an excuse: a reason, a legitimate one, to cling to the other—to cuddle, to nestle, to console, to care. They didn't need to hide their affection; they didn't need to pretend.

In fact, their father praised their bond, told them to hold on to it. "It will help you through," he'd said.

And who were they to argue?

"I still can't believe she's gone."

Edward nodded soundlessly, pulling his brother to his chest. The warmth of skin on skin was electric, pulsating, and undeniable. Again, they were alone in the house. Again, the solitude was terrifying. And yet…

And yet…

Was it wrong to want to be alone together?

Al hummed pensively. "Do you think she's in Heaven, now, Ed?"

"If there is a Heaven," the blonde murmured, closing his eyes. "I can't think of anyone else who would deserve it more."

Alphonse considered this, rolling over so that he could stare directly into Edward's face. Part of it was hidden; they'd pulled the quilt up past their chins, like they'd done when they were children. "…do you think I'd go to Heaven, Brother?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation, no pause for consideration. There was only firm conviction. Ed's lashes fluttered as he graced Al with a flustered, fleeting glance. "Of course you would."

"What about you?"

The blonde grinned wryly, snorting in faint disgust. "It'd be a cold day in Hell before I did," he joked, though his voice was raw and husky. Alphonse glowered, appalled; he pushed himself up on his elbows and made an irritated noise.

"Why do you think so badly of yourself, Ed? You're a good person, no matter how you try to hide it. I know you are."

Edward shook his head jerkily, his cheeks a warm shade of magenta. "But I…"

"I wouldn't go without you, you know," Al whispered, leaning forward to brush noses. "It wouldn't be Heaven if you weren't there."

The words were spoken softly, sweetly, as if the words of a spell. And despite his wavering attempts at aloofness, Ed could feel their effect on him. He smiled—timid, almost shy— and brushed his lips against his brother's: a wordless agreement.

Through the tears in his eyes, Alphonse beamed.

X

IX. Case Study: Denial

High school was a chore—now more than ever. He dreaded the eight hours he had to spend there every day: answering questions about math, history, English, psychology, music, his mother. He hated their pitying stares; he hated the hand he had to hold throughout it all.

But most of all, he hated being ignored.

"Waa—?! Ouch! Fuck, Al!"

The door to the janitor's closet slammed shut with the speed of a snapping viper; inky blackness and the smell of ammonia enclosed the Elric pair. Ignoring Edward's hissed complaints, Alphonse took a deep breath, steeling himself. Pride before the fall.

"—nd for that matter, what the hell are you doing? We have class i—!"

"This is stupid, Brother."

Edward faltered, voice catching on a breath. For a moment, he seemed somewhat confused—lost, almost. Then he regained his composure with a glare. "What're you talking about, Al? Yanking me into a closet and pinning me against the wall? Yeah, that was pretty stup—"

"You know what I mean," Alphonse interrupted quietly, strangely calm. Again, Ed winced. "This whole situation: your callousness at school, your caution at home. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of being ignored by you; I'm sick of playing this stupid game. Do you really think if you just ignore it, these feelings will go away?"

His silence was as good as any answer.

Al swallowed thickly. "…well, maybe for you. But that won't work for me. I've tried it, Brother. For years before I told you, I tried to ignore these feelings, tried to suppress them. But I couldn't. And I can't now. And I'm tired of pretending that I can!" Frustrated, his fists met the wall with twin thuds; he caged Edward's head and body with his own.

Clearly uncomfortable, Ed fiddled with his fingers. Al waited for the words he could see forming in his brother's eyes, but they never came. The younger boy sighed, then went for the kill.

"…I broke up with Winry today."

Edward froze, eyes widening.

"I couldn't lie to her anymore. I couldn't stand toying with her feelings. I couldn't take it. I care about her too much to drag her through all of this shit. It's not her fault that we're…" Al paused; a dry smile graced his lips. "…that we're weird… she shouldn't have to suffer for it."

Silence.

Alphonse stared down at Edward, his gaze patient and piercing. In return, Ed wriggled, gulped, and grumbled…

Then surrendered.

X

X. Case Study: Triangle Model of Love

More worksheets. Edward suspected that the textbook companies made a killing off of worksheets, just for this class alone. Maybe Ms. Hawkeye gets a cut, or something. That would explain a lot…

Ah well. Best to finish now so that he had no homework.

As shown in figure 20.2, the worksheet read, the three components of "love"—according to Robert Sternberg— are intimacy, passion, and commitment. If one would combine the different components in different ways, they'd result in different kinds of love. Identify the different kinds of love according to their components.

Ed nearly gagged; he missed the simplicity of blaming the brain.

"Hey, Brother?"

What the—? Surprised, the older blonde straightened; Alphonse stood above him, head cocked. In the language of "body" psychology, this translated to: 'look at me, I'm adorable.'

Of course, Edward didn't need to be in psych to know that. "Yeah, Al?" he muttered, made nervous by Al's closeness. How can he look so composed? "What is it?"

"Want to be my partner?"

"…" He blinked, face blank and pink. "Huh?"

Chuckling and grinning widely, Alphonse jabbed a thumb behind him. Ed looked—everyone else was pairing up to finish the worksheet. Hmm… he must have missed the announcement while fantasizing about…

Flushing, he scrubbed absentmindedly at the back of his neck. "Oh… Yeah, sure, whatever. Pull up a desk, partner."

Al did so without another word, plopping next to his elder sibling and leaning closer; their foreheads brushed, the air between them heated. Ed rapped his pencil distractedly against his worksheet.

"First question…" Alphonse murmured. "Just intimacy is…" He flipped through the pages of the psych book, sliding a finger down 475. "Liking. Intimacy and passion make romantic love; intimacy and commitment make companionate love." Jotting it all down, the brunette shot his brother a flat look. "…I'm not going to do all of the work myself, Ed."

"Huh?" Edward started, once again shaken from his thoughts: thoughts of Al and a closet and this class, which they'd been late for. Of Winry, who he'd heard crying in the girl's bathroom; of guilt and want and morals and regret.

Of giving up and letting love take him wherever it was he was supposed to go…

He shook his head, clearing it, and opened his own textbook. "Sorry. All right, what else is there? Empty love, fatuous love, infatuation…is that it?"

"And consummate love," Al breathed, pointing to the word with the tip of his pen. "Intimacy, passion, and commitment. Best of all worlds, isn't it? Ideally. It'd be nice to have it."

It'd be…?

Casting Alphonse a brief, yet horrified glance, Ed began to worry his bottom lip. "…you don't have it all ready?"

Al arched an eyebrow. Edward turned scarlet, lowering his voice to a near-silent whisper. His little brother almost missed the correction over the din made by the other students.

"…we… don't have it already?"

The brunette shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "I don't know," he admitted nonchalantly, unusually detached. "Do we? I still haven't heard you say it."

Ed snarled, curling in upon himself; embarrassment radiated off of him in waves. "You know I do," he grumbled, turning and twisting in his seat. "I even… in the closet…"

"I want to hear you say the words."

Dead end. The elder continued to fidget as the brothers stared each other down, waiting for someone to cave. As always, they didn't have to wait long; as always, Ed couldn't deny Al anything. The blonde took a deep breath—shot careful glances left and right—then breathed the words:

"I love you."

Alphonse blushed cutely, dropping his chin in his hand with a beam. "That's all I needed to know."

Still bright red, Edward felt himself smile.

The dismissal bell rang.

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