Summary: Edward Elric, four different seasons, four different places, and four different reasons to live.

A/N: Random drabble based on FMA 2003 after a while of classical music ^^;; Especially to Vivaldi and his Four Seasons, hence the title. I'd recommend listening to it for each corresponding parts, but… Little warning for the fourth part… though not so much.

First time (ever) writing in present tense, and an entirely new style… I hope this comes out just right…? Correct any grammar or typos if you find them, yeah?

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, I'm just toying with her characters ^^

Teil Eins: Frühling

Sun shines up above the sky, no cloud whatsoever, Risembool with its usual afternoon routine; and the Elrics run merrily, bags swinging and crossing dirt track and avoiding puddles scattered along the way. Golden hair, joyous laughter, a greeting thrown once in a while. The school's finished, tomorrow's a holiday and what's better than spending the rest of the day with your momma and little brother?

Pause, then: a microsecond Edward stops that Alphonse wouldn't even notice that he did—or maybe he's imagining it. A bang, a scream but he pays no heed, it's all in his head anyway, because Risembool is not a part of a war and never has been. He turns back—

Reflection of his innocence, his childhood—he sees it on his brother's eyes, darker gold with very light brown to accentuate. One grin, two grins and off they start a race to get back to the house. Ed trips over a stone, manages to balance himself and Al just happen to follow, stumbling forward and grabbing Ed for support. Another laugh, another indignant yelp as the younger of the two propels himself forward.

Imagine Al's gonna take your food, Ed thinks, and it's a good motivation, food—his legs seem to agree, and he dashes past his brother, ignores the surprised squawk as their house comes into view. It's still bright; April has always been good, not much rain that they're not stuck inside the house, enough bright, sunny days to play outside, spring bless you.

No more stopping; there's his mom waving from the porch, smiling, calling their name. Al's voice gets louder, he must be nearing—Edward picks up speed, everything's no more than a blur now, ramming straight through the door and his mom, leaping onto the couch after getting his shoes out of the way and whirls, "I win! I win! Y'see, Al?" and settles for a wide grin as his mom and younger brother enter, the latter panting with every breath but no signs of fatigue in his eyes at all.

Good time, good dinner pass along with the ticking clock, chiming six times. Sky's turning, changing, fiery orange to a mysterious violet, dark blue, then black. Stars dot the sky, white amongst black—mom ushers him and Al into their shared bedroom. She reads a bedtime story, and his eyes feel increasingly heavy. Mom's clear voice eventually becomes a soft whisper, then quiet, soothing murmur that lulls him to sleep. A small smile and he's finally falling through the darkness; slowly, lightly, perfectly, like how a dandelion would to a bird's single feather. Nightmare does not come and visits at a time like this, and tomorrow's another day, flowers are still blossoming and gracing their life, Risembool, their family—Edward sleeps, embraces the night that prowls silently like a predator in a hunt.

That night, he dreams of a Gate.