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It was a cold day in Central as a figure clad in red walked slowly down the streets of the city. Despite the gaudy color of the coat he wore, Edward had his hood pulled up, obscuring his face. He knew that anyone who saw so much as the color of his coat or the patch on the back of it would know it was him, but that was exactly the problem; he didn’t want anyone to see the Fullmetal Alchemist like this.
His face was gaunt, his skin was deathly pale, his eyes hollow with deep purple circles beneath them. And got forbid if they saw how skinny he’d become. It was obvious he was sick, Ed knew that now, and he didn’t want anyone else knowing. His body was catching up with him. He couldn’t keep it a secret anymore.
His mind wandered to when he first found out he had the illness; he supposed he should’ve guessed from the beginning that something was wrong; the fatigue didn’t seem like anything new, he dealt with it all the time, but the constant nausea and on-and off fevers shouldn’t have been taken so lightly. He assumed that he was just working himself too hard, but even after a little prescribed bedrest, they came back in spurts. It was already bad enough finding out it was terminal, but then being told it was the same illness that killed his mother? His head was a constant swirl of negative emotions. The icing on the cake that day was him experiencing his first real coughing fit and having to duck into a nearby alleyway on the way back to Central until it was over. That was when he first started coughing up blood. It was all the beginning of the end, of this drawn out period where he knew he was dying and others were slowly finding out and he was powerless to do anything.
But it had just gotten a whole lot worse: Winry found out.
Honest to god it was an accident—well, more like a horrible coincidence; he experienced a coughing fit while on the phone with Winry and had to hand the phone to Al until he had finished. He tried to brush it off, but the damage had already been done. Winry heard everything.
He felt awful after the phone call ended. She was angry of course, but it was different. He knew what she was like when she was angry and it didn’t sound like she was angry enough to throw a wrench at his head. It was quiet but severe, her voice was shaking with tears but he could hear the subtle growl in her voice. She could barely even speak while choking back tears, she just said “I’m coming” and hung up the phone, leaving Ed to deal with the aftermath and the knowledge that his best friend since childhood now knew he was dying.
And now he was headed to the train station to pick her up. He could only imagine how their meeting would go and he wasn’t the least bit ready.
He was waiting in the train station just as her train arrived. Taking a deep breath, he pulled off his hood. He hated it, he felt so exposed showing off how sick he looked in this public area, despite it not being that crowded today, any eyes being on him right now was a bad thing. But he grit his teeth and hoped it would be over soon.
Just as he thought this, Winry stepped off the train, bag in hand. It didn’t take long for her to spot him, but when she did, Ed could practically hear her heart shatter from the way she looked at him.
The sight of Edward hit Winry hard; small skinny frame made even worse by the baggy coat he wore, tired eyes, pale skin and a gaunt face, all poorly hidden by a sad smile.
“Hi Winry.” Edward practically whispered, his voice soft and gentle, nothing like Winry had ever heard come from him before.
She couldn't hold it in anymore; she dropped her bag and began running towards him. Edward flinched, lowering his head and preparing for the inevitable ass-kicking he was about to receive, only to look up in surprise as Winry fell into his arms. She began sobbing, raising her fists and pounding weakly at his chest, trying to display some semblance of the anger she felt.
“You idiot!” She sobbed. “Why didn’t you say something?! You should’ve told me sooner! You idiot!”
“Winry..” Edward wheezed slightly, wrapping his arms around her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She sobbed harder. “Even if there wasn’t anything we could do, I would’ve wanted...you should’ve...I should’ve known...”
The two sunk to the floor, Edward holding his childhood friend as she clung to him helplessly.
“I know Winry. I should’ve told you and Al sooner, keeping it a secret wasn’t fair to you, I’m sorry. But...”
“But what, Edward?”
“I couldn’t do this to you. You and Al have both lost people you care about and I felt guilty adding to that list. And I didn’t want you to look at me and see a time limit, I wanted things to be the same as they always were.”
She was reduced to a shaking, sobbing ball in his lap, clinging to his jacket as he rubbed circles on her back.
“This is the last I’m ever gonna see if you. It’s not fair.”
That last sentence hit Edward like a ton of bricks; he choked as a lump formed in his throat and tears began to spill.
“I’m sorry Winry.” He whimpered, his voice breaking. “I’m so so sorry.”
Winry snuck quietly into the boys’s bedroom, shutting the creaky door as quietly as she could manage, before slumping to the floor by Edward’s bedside. Ed and Al were sleeping, it was some ungodly hour and she should’ve been sleeping too, but she just couldn’t. She felt the need to see him, she had to see him as often as possible before he...
From the bed in front of her, Edward let out a soft groan, sending a spear through Winry’s heart; he was in pain. He turned his head slightly, sleepily clenching his fists, before falling silent again. Winry could no longer tell if he was sleeping or not.
She slowly got up and silently walked to stand above his side of the bed. The lines on his gaunt face were illuminated harshly by the candlelight and the shadows it cast brought further attention to the dark bags under his eyes. He looked like a ghost.
Winry did her best to stifle a sob as tears rolled down her face. This was her best friend, and she was powerless to help him as he slowly faded away.