Chapter Text
They were kids, fragile, stupidly hopeful kids and they were in love.
Back then, Edward liked that she challenged him. Winry liked that he had her back. He lost, she lost. What little makeshift family there was left, it would have to do. He had Al, she her grandmother.
His arrogant curiosity costs him more than a king would bargain. Soon, the military rips more people from her side.
He never tells her to wait, not in the beginning. There is so much for him to do, such a broad world to ask the same question, over and over again –how, how, how. He blames himself, his idiocy and stands on the leg, fights with the hand she gave him. Alphonse says he should write home, every now and then. Edward jokes that they burnt ‘home’ down.
She waits. She tells herself – and Den, while rubbing his belly – that she knows they will be back. Truthfully, she doesn’t; all she has is hope. Some days she doesn’t leave the house because a few more minutes tinkering in the quiet of her room might teach her something new. Something she can give Ed, lighter, faster, stronger.
Ed doesn’t really question her presence, her role. It doesn’t occur to him that she might disappear, either. Unless it’s his fault again, which he concludes it is when slamming his fist on the table, right in front of the Fuhrer. On the same note, if he makes her hurt one more time, he’ll jump off a cliff. He did make her a promise.
Winry wonders if she does, indeed, have a working brain. She ends up at Briggs, concerned about his automail and learns the horrendous fact that she is, indeed, a hostage. A liability to both their safety and their cause. It doesn’t help that amidst it all, the one man who might’ve pushed her to kill before is there and she has yet to make a decision. In a hurry, her earrings are passed to Ed. All she has is hope.
It’s all a disastrous turn of events, Edward’s whereabouts are unknown and Winry is travelling onwards with the rest of the pack. Suddenly, there’s such a thing as a Promised Day. Suddenly, the Elric brothers have a father who shoulders about as many secrets as all of them do combined. Edward is recovering, Winry is assisting however she can.
Months pass without any contact and for weeks Ed has hid in the Rockbell house, back in Resembool. No other place feels quite as safe, quite as home. He thinks it’s quiet, never mind that he’s holed up in the basement with two chimeras. At times Pinako Rockbell can be heard doing whatever upstairs, the sound of her footsteps oddly relaxing. With few days left until the big showdown, Edward is eating in Winry’s room, a place so comforting and so quiet, still. When he thinks of her, the girl walks in.
It was never on her bucket list, but now would top her crazy-things-i-do-because-of-them one, to hide away in a dirty barrel on a train. Safety and all, Winry wonders if Al often has to bear through similar situations and when he jokingly mentions having been thrown in with sheep, it both amuses her and chips away at her heart. Her house, their home, however is probably the best place for her to be at the moment, what with her grandmother most likely losing her mind over their collective absence. The halls are silent, her room is dark and she is filthy. As her undershirt is rolled up, Winry takes note of the also silent intruder.
Although being handed to her in admittedly debatable ways, she decides that yes, her hope might not be all that stupid after all. Better get started on making some apple pies.
She’s not the first thing that weighs on his mind once they’re put in the hospital after that whole shitshow, probably because Alphonse can barely hold a glass and walk on his own. He doesn’t admit it to anyone else, but Ed thinks it’s also because one after the other, he takes joy in everyone’s little adventures and mishaps coming to an end and his… well, the best is saved for last. Soon, the brothers are climbing up that goddamn hill, more flesh and bone than they have been for years and somehow this sorry excuse of a life feels potentially worth it. Al said, when he was finally discharged, that maybe they should get in contact with their family – Ed replied by securing tickets for the first train he could find.
Now, standing before that house, that door, right where he last watched the light play in her strong, annoying eyes before leaving for battle and with his brother crushed by Den, he waits. Edward knows it’ll be a couple of moments before she’s out too, but man, did he ever think he would live to see this day. There were moments before, when he was less positive that they would return home, not that he ever really allowed himself to waver if it came to getting Al’s body back. It was Resembool, the family, the bonds that he was unsure of, once, but every time Winry made his breath catch in his throat – and there was no use counting – the aversion wore off a little. Oh, his mind goes blank, defaulting his face to a smug, wide smile as the door opens.
In pure, shameless honesty, Winry doesn’t remember exactly how old Den is. What she does know, though, is that there’s something in the way the dog barks, high-pitched as though squealing, and the particular way Alphonse’s voice reverberates through the walls. She – almost – doesn’t believe it. Ed asked multiple times if she had gears for brains and turns out she did, ticking away as her legs bring her to the entrance. It’s surreal, a picture straight out of a fever dream she’s had for years. They’re there, her boys, both of her boys are home and she’s rushing for dear life. It doesn’t matter that there’s flour in her hair, dough on her apron and that she probably smells of all sorts of oil.
Once they’re up, Winry throws herself at Al, one step away from knocking him down again and she’s crying, heaving, hugging his frail body. Neither of them makes any effort to end the moment and when she eventually pulls away, eyes almost hurting, she forces herself to burn this image in her memory. They’re laughing, loud and alive, when she turns to Edward who holds her gaze steadily, unusually unguarded. Her hand leaves her side, reaches for his and where before was hard-worked, painfully cold steel, flesh fingers grab hers. Only for a moment, though.
Al sniffs the air, “Is something… burning?”
Ed finds, a few months in, that not having to chase artificial humans and Philosopher’s stones leaves him with a whole lot of free time to think. Naturally, house chores and nursing his brother, much to Al’s dismay, make up most of his day, but thoughts creep in still.
The state of the country, his last encounter with Truth, Hohenheim’s passing, are all things that weigh on his mind during the day and dark, organic flashbacks sometimes follow him at night. Before, he relied on various iterations of the same excuse, but now, no crises to take care of, there’s doubt, there’s self-deprecation. The first time one of Winry’s desks breaks from the crazy weight of her pieces, he claps his hands reflexively and when, obviously, nothing happens, Edward laughs it off awkwardly.
He would never, ever regret giving away his Gate, though at times not being able to transmute at all makes him feel helpless and it only clouds his mind more.
One day in particular, he sits angrily on the workbench and complains about the joint pains he’s having. It’s been raining for weeks and floods once every few years are pretty common for Resembool. Both brothers head over to lend a hand to the working men and while quick-witted and strong, all Ed can do to help is pass along sacs and wood and pillars; Alphonse builds a dam almost instantly. Repeat the process and his metal leg begins to rust, move slower and hurt like hell.
Winry, kneeling beside him, tinkers at the structure quietly. Having nothing better to do, he watches her, her long tresses falling down her shoulders and following her every move, her colorful eyes, still in place, her rosy lips that part and press together as she thinks. He’s way too conscious of her presence – and it’s annoying – he sighs.
“You should’ve worn rubber boots,” she huffs, pulling away for a bit.
“Yeah,” he nods, accustomed to ignoring most advice on maintaining his automail.
His eyes move away from his leg and her gloved hands back to her focused face. There’s a trail of dark liquid on her already stained bandana.
“Hey Winry,”
The girl lifts her head, eyebrow raised and he bends forward, runs his thumb on the dirty fabric and down her face.
"Ed!” she squeals, dropping a screwdriver.
He bursts into laughter and only snorts louder when Winry tries to wipe away the liquid, but spreads it further with her greased gloves.
“You think this is funny,” she whines and as scary as she usually is, he thinks there’s not enough animosity in her tone this time.
Winry climbs on the bench and reaches for his hair, his face, anything to get him back. Amidst defending from her retaliation, her body presses against his, sending his heart hammering and his cheeks heat up.
Eventually, both covered in grease and laughing maniacally, they part and the girl resumes her work.
“You’re a jerk.” She says, eying him slyly and a smile still playing at her lips.
“And you’re psychotic.”
“On another note, maybe I should alter your leg. The composition, I mean.”
Ed leans back into the bench, thinking, “Make it more waterproof?”
She nods, “For the time being. Maybe another alloy,” her fingers glide across the metal, “What do you think?”
Winry never really asked for his opinion when it came to automail. Edward always thought it was equal parts her knowing infinitely more about the subject and him trusting her choices indefinitely. A few minutes go by with them discussing potential elements to add and/or remove and as she loosens a couple of screws, something catches his attention.
Her frame is small and despite the taut muscles heavy work rewarded her with, she probably weighed half as much as he did. Her hands, even enveloped, were considerably tinier than his and yet, even without help, they could do so much for so many people. Winry didn’t have things like alchemy to rely on, her battles were fought with patience and intellect and skill.
Watching his amazing mechanic do what she did best, Edward thinks he might be able to do that, too.
Winry likes to keep herself busy. She enjoys having things to do, places to go. While silence makes for better work environment, there’s something about a buzzing, loud home that keeps a smile on her face. Time and time before she’s heard her grandmother complain about ‘things getting quiet around there’ and she thinks she understands, she thinks she hasn’t been this happy in a long time.
The first few months are hectic. Winry bakes multiple times a week, eventually switches from the acclaimed apple pie to other desserts, some more popular than others. Orders keep coming in and she’s running back and forth between rooms, much to Ed’s amusement (he keeps provoking her one way or another to get her to stop working. She still does it late into the night if she has to.) Most weekdays consist of shouting, automail and various cooking experiments. Sometimes Edward joins her and her grandmother, but it rarely turns out well. Weekends are spent either playing board games or taking Al on all sorts of day trips, some more successful than others. They laze around the riverside and Winry watches her boys bicker, about what, she doesn’t care – it’s the perfect opportunity to enjoy the sun. When she pours herself a glass of lemonade, the loud sound of a splash and Ed’s shriek startle her.
Alphonse pushed him off the pier and now he tries to return the favor, only for his sibling to pull away.
“You said it yourself, brother. I’m not strong enough to swim yet!”
She sighs, “Don’t stay in too long, Ed,” he turns towards her, frowning, “Automail and dirty water don’t mix.”
“You think I don’t know that,” he yells, “And I didn’t - - this isn’t even my fault!”
The boy grabs onto the wooden structure by his brother’s side, but his left leg won’t lift.
“Fuck,” he shifts his hips, flexes his thighs, “I think it got stuck somewhere. Al, stop laughing!”
Warning him not to be so brash with her work, she joins at his side and carefully removes the rocks scratching his foot, despite his many, disconcerting protests.
“You’re such a baby,” she complains and he thanks by tripping her and with a yelp, Winry crashes face down into the water.
The situation evolves into a deafening, very competitive fight that dissolves when, after being trapped by the waist, her back on his chest, she manages to turn around and their noses bump, eyes locked into the other’s and faces dangerously close. On the way home, she wonders what would have happened if Al hadn’t been there – and hadn’t closely watched them, with that look on his face. She learns soon enough.
They’re at a barn dance that she somehow convinced Edward to tag along for, they’re catching up with old friends and neighbors, slightly tipsy and amused; Winry shows Al how to jive and spins around with him, her heart full of joy watching his bright smile and the light shifting in his lively eyes. It was worth it, the sweat, tears, all worth it for this moment where she could see this boy she’s known her entire life, once again have a body to feel everything with.
At some point, partners are switched and Alphonse passes her with a spin to another boy, one of her customers who, Winry supposes, enthusiastically compliments her, but the music makes it hard to tell. His hands also occasionally travel tentatively to her hips, which she does not appreciate and so, she pulls away farther at each turn. After the next switch, Edward slides in, securing one of her hands in his.
“I thought you didn’t want to dance,”
He almost smirks, a bit unsure, “I needed a good partner,” Ed twirls her and his other hand rests lightly on her back; she too smiles before he teases, “And someone who wouldn’t mind being stepped on with a metal foot.”
In turn, she kicks his flesh one and draws closer to his core. He’s warm, she thinks, he’s always been like that. Whenever he carried her as kids, or let her hug him, or fell asleep next to her on the sofa, on the bed, Ed was always warm. Her chest might tighten at times, with their bodies so close, but she loves it, loves his presence and snarky comments that she always pays him back for.
He’s not the smoothest dancer, neither is she, though everyone else fades slowly as they turn and step and jump; hesitantly, Edward lifts her off the ground by the waist for a few moments and she giggles, makes him grin too. Eventually, they lose form almost completely, swinging lazily and Winry searches for his eyes. There’s warmth there too, a rare sight but one her heart knows better than she thinks.
“I need some air,” she leans in to whisper and, hand still locked in his, leads them out of the barn.
Their palms are sweaty, they’re both holding their breath and the dark of the night hides his feelings from her. Ed pulls her closer and when he kisses her, shyly at first, Winry thinks she sees stars shine bright through her lids, so she returns the gesture tenfold.
It starts with shy, fleeting moments that leave Edward breathless and dumbfounded. Sometimes they make eyes at each other during mealtimes, or on the porch, or from across the room, both waiting for the right time and the right place to engage. Other times, there’s no precedent; he’ll be pinching her arm and she’ll kiss his cheek. She’ll be tripping him and in return, he’ll trap her between his arms.
They don’t talk about it, or put a name to it, which Ed is comfortable with. Seeing her all day every day and with so much time to just think , it got nigh impossible to ignore all of the feelings she triggered in him. When Winry smiled, brightly and stupidly pretty (one aspect of her he always, without missing a beat, would rebuke in a futile effort to deny the attraction) he occasionally forgot what he had to say. When she raged at him like a harpy, he returned in kind and they’d both be laughing after. When she cried, oh and she did, as she got more and more stories out of him, about his travels, his failures, his scars, he almost shut down completely. His arms would snake around her shoulders, pulling her in, holding her close (and together, if he could).
Ed won’t tell Al, or anyone for that matter – except Winry, because God knows she could make him – but, to some extent, it has always been like that. He couldn’t remember a time without her in his life. She was his childhood friend, though that moniker became his primary excuse when someone confronted him about his feelings – and people did, the bastards – and he instead referred to her as his ‘mechanic.’ That was hardly a term of endearment, but to Edward, it meant a way to both keep her close and where she wouldn’t distract from his goal.
But now, he’s home and there’s no one to save and he goes crazy when her body gives his the time of day. He kisses her, embraces her, plays with her hair, sneaks up on her when her back is stiff in concentration, only to loudly pick her up. Why, after everything he put her through, Winry is still willing to be affectionate with him, Ed doesn’t know. Maybe he’s just lucky, for once.
One day in late fall, she drops onto the couch next to him, breathing heavily. He ditches his book and instead starts running his fingers through her long, long locks. Sitting in comfortable silence, Ed shifts so that she can lie down on his lap; her eyes are grounded by dark, sunken skin and he knows it’s because Winry works for longer than she should. When she looks at him however, and reaches to bring his face down to hers, there’s a distant gasp.
Both of them turn towards the intruder, only to find Al with a piece of pie on a plate, his face a mixture of glee and embarrassment.
“Oh my God, finally,” he chirps and they pull away from each other instantly, flaring up, “I mean, I don’t want to see you do that,” he grins, “But finally.”
The first time Ed falls asleep in Winry’s room, she’s both too tired and unaffected to wake him up. It’s a harsh winter and snow is not the only thing that’s piling up mercilessly; customers are in need of maintenance, trips to the Rockbell house are harder and harder to make and Ed? He’s been trekking for groceries and supplies all day then shoveled away as much of the snow as possible with Al.
She meant to take a look at his leg, but her head started to throb, making it very hard to concentrate; well that, and Edward sleeping soundly. So, she climbs into bed next to him, gently tugging at the covers and settling close to his chest. Winry, enjoying the newfound warmth of his body, drifts away.
At some point, Edward jolts quickly, his movement shaking her awake. She searches the now dark room through half-lidded eyes, barely making out his sitting body; he gasps for air.
“Ed?” she whispers and for a few seconds, he doesn’t react. Winry settles her hand on his arm, rubbing with her thumb.
He exhales, a long, drawn out sigh and turns to her.
“Bad dream,” he lets out, almost unaffected; she remembers hearing hushed breaths echo through the walls before.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He shrugs, “Nah, it’s not a big deal. I should go back to my room,” he joins her hand with his, “Sorry I woke you.”
“You don’t have to,”
She tugs at his shirt, pulling him down, pulling him closer, “You can sleep here.”
He hesitates, mouth hanging open with some form of protest, but ends up giving in. Edward lies back down next to her, draping one arm over her body and she snuggles back into him.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
Ed moves his hand to pull back her hair, his rough fingers ticklish on her face. Winry waits.
“It happens sometimes,” he clears his throat, “But it’s the same dream, pretty much every time. It’s more like blurry flashbacks.”
She stretches, kisses his mouth softly. For all the things Edward had to go through, she’s thankful things aren’t worse. Her mind goes to the horrendous scar on his belly, which she knows extends to his back and her stomach twists, remembering the explanation he offered about it.
He’s strong, Winry thinks, stronger than he often needs to be, especially around her. He was a tiny boy once, selling his soul to the military and roaming the country doing their dirty work. He was a tiny boy and now he’s an average-sized man, his body a story told through numerous, distinct scars. The arm he now holds her with, that shoulder is calloused from where automail used to connect to skin. The hands he touches her with, they used to make lightning and everything out of anything. She kisses him hard, this time, cups his face. Edward is stupid, loud and foul-mouthed, he never shares his pain and blames himself more than any sane person would, he’s hopeless and determined to a fault, reckless and infuriating, worrying her to death and the idiot never cries, hates himself when he makes her do it and she just…
“I love you,” she breathes against his mouth, biting back tears.
His eyes open, searching for hers in the dark and his grip tightens on her waist.
“Love you too,” he whispers before moving in to kiss her again.
Inexplicably, Edward feels restless, almost like he’s running by, or away from, something. For what it’s worth, he’s reading, he’s training and he’s being present. Him and Al now tally their sparing, he runs errands and works on the house and still, he’s missing something. One night, both brothers lie awake and end up talking about alchemy, how it stretched way beyond what they knew. He starts thinking.
Sometimes, Winry wonders about Rush Valley; the thought just comes to her. Mr. Garfiel keeps in contact still and informs that no one has taken her spot. Sometimes, she admits she misses it, the chaos, the overwhelming amount of information, the challenge. While making stew, Pinako asks about what she wants to do, to which comes the reply that she’s already doing it. Winry doesn’t take it seriously when her grandmother mentions retirement.
When they’re alone, Ed studies her body eagerly, somewhat clothed still and she learns his reactions. Alphonse calls him gross whenever he comes to bed late into the night, or doesn’t come at all. Pinako won’t stop teasing her, especially when a new purplish mark joins the family.
As days and weeks and months go by, between tending the garden and running a business, the household agrees on a thorough renovation of the house; walls will need repainting, wooden structures might have to be replaced, the roof could use a little help. Edward decides that he wants to do it himself – well, most of it – with his bare hands. Winry smiles and lays the table.
At times, both of them feel that there’s something weighing on Alphonse’s mind. While she knows Al will undoubtedly talk about it at some point, his brother pesters him, asking about the Xingese scrolls they receive every now and again.
Edward finds, soon enough, that lugging around materials and actually putting them to use is a lot more tiring and time-consuming than understanding where each and every piece goes and willing them into place with one simple clap of the hands. Nevertheless, it keeps him busy, high-spirited and thinking. He hammers nails, some more crooked than others and measures planks, all while consulting Winry’s blueprints. Sometimes she’ll climb on the roof with him, if she has the time, others they paint the walls with Al, making complete messes out of one another. The substance washes out a lot harder than any of them thought so, when she tugs at his hair to get it out, they end up soundly making out in the bathroom, only to be interrupted by Alphonse’s displeased cries and knocks on the door.
Winry shows Ed how to operate most machinery available in the house, explains engines and pieces she’s built herself; there’s this sort of joy she can’t describe watching him listen, eyes focused and then put the information into practice. Edward, too, seems to be keeping something from her, but it doesn’t strike Winry as bad or life-threatening, so she waits until he’s ready. Instead, when the layers of fabric between the two become pretty much nonexistent, she decides that she is ready for some other activities. She doesn’t waste time implying and traps him close to her when both Alphonse and her grandmother are out.
Then, she’s all he knows; that also makes him think. Winry admits that there’s no one else she’d be with.
One day, Al climbs on the roof too. As it turns out, both of them have been thinking of largely the same thing. They’re alchemists, driven scientists who want to tackle the unknown workings of the world, but they’re also human, puny, weak, curious humans. They once stepped into God’s territory whereas now whatever they set their minds to, whatever they decide to chase, their hands, bodies and minds would have to do. Mostly, Ed thinks, the world is so vast and alive that he just wants to see it.
For obvious reasons, Alphonse will head east, while he will travel west, to Aerugo, perhaps even Creta. In hindsight, his going to countries Amestris is known to be in conflict with might not be a good idea, but it will, again, have to do (and he knows Al really wants to see Mei again.) Their plan comes with thrill, anticipation and no deadline – this time around, they will be apart for longer than they have ever been. Before telling Winry, Ed momentarily toys with the idea of asking her to come along, but dismisses it. She’s got work, for one; still, it boils down to the potential danger it would put her in. Fortunately, Winry smiles and kisses his temple when given the news (“I kind of expected something like that.”)
That leaves Edward with one more thing to take care of, one that has been on his mind for longer than he’ll ever admit and for the first time in forever, he decides not to tell his brother.
Ed waits for the right moment, when Pinako would be by herself, without the risk of having someone else walk in on what he’s about to do. It’s embarrassing enough as it is, still he thinks – this he will do right, for once.
“What do you want?” she asks, “You’ve been looming around all day.”
Edward sits at the table, brows furrowed so tightly together they might stick that way and face beet red.
“What?”
Fuck, he clears his throat, here we go.
“I, uh,” Ed looks away, “I want to… Yeah. I want to propose. To Winry.”
Kind of proud he got the sentence out with the least amount of stuttering possible, his jaw drops when the elderly woman freezes in place, almost dropping her wooden spoon. Her expression morphs from shock to a weird mixture of amusement and joy Edward isn’t quite sure he’s seen before.
“Really.” She half-whispers.
For a moment, he thinks there might be tears glinting through her glasses, but Pinako’s expression softens and she laughs.
Al leaves first. Winry and Ed see him off at the train station and there’s this weird feeling pooling in her chest, not quite sadness, not quite excitement. It’s the first she’s seeing of him go off on his own, no larger-than-life crisis to deal with. Edward’s hand makes its way to hers, for a change.
A few more days and she’ll be by herself again, tinkering with her grandmother, but things feel different this time around. More than anything, Winry understands. She understands that this is what they want to do, that this is who they are. Lately she thinks more and more about Rush Valley.
One rainy morning, she wakes at sunrise to kick start a long day.
“Winry,” Pinako sighs, “I need to tell you something.”
She giggles, “That sounds weirdly ominous, grandma.”
The woman sets her coffee aside and slowly wipes at her glasses; Winry thinks she looks even older than she knows her to be.
“As much as I hate it,” she scoffs, “I won’t be able to work for much longer.”
“What do you mean?”
Pinako smiles tiredly, “I’ll probably ease myself into retirement,”
For a moment, Winry’s brain ceases to function. Admittedly, she’s worried many a time before about her grandmother overworking herself at her age, but the image of a relaxed Pinako Rockbell never quite stuck. The woman was a force once – and is one still, she thinks – to the point where esteemed automail mechanics all over the country knew of her and her prowess; Winry was proud of her grandmother, the only family she had left after her parents’ passing. She remembered sneaking in her atelier and watching her tune and build and oil metal limbs for hours on end. Without Pinako, she wouldn’t have become who she was, wouldn’t know half the things she does. Sure, at some point down the line, Winry would take over the business, but it just never seemed so… soon.
She purses her lips and takes her grandmother’s hand in hers.
“I’ll take care of our shop,”
Pinako laughs, “I have no doubt you can, but is that what you want to do? Winry,” her voice is soft, so soft, “You’re young. You’re capable. I’ve already taught you everything I know.”
She inhales, torn, “I can’t just leave you alone.”
“I may be old,” the woman scoffs, “But I’m doing fine on my own. You watched Al go,” Winry bites her lip, listening quietly, “Don’t tell me you didn’t think of going out there yourself.”
There it is, the girl thinks, that feeling she had when Alphonse Elric boarded the train to Central, eyes fiery and smile wide. Something is flourishing inside and maybe this time she’ll trust it.
“Go, you have my blessing.”
Winry laughs, “It’s not like I’m getting married.”
Pinako smiles, almost as if unconvinced. Holding tightly onto her hand, Winry asks about stories of the good old times in Rush Valley and her widely known name. Pinako, almost tearing up, cackles and tells her granddaughter to go make one for herself.
The excitement of leaving on a new journey into the unknown lacks in comparison to the disappointment Ed feels. Winry is walking him to the station, it’ll only be a few minutes until Resembool blends into the scenery out the window and he has no idea where his guts are (if he has any when it comes to his ‘mechanic’.)
Winry can’t quite put a finger on it, but Edward has been acting strange the past few days; there’s something he has to say, she thinks. She, too, has something to say, something that has to do with packing her bags and setting out for ‘the holy land of automail’ as soon as next week.
Ed stalls, Winry chatters away about maintenance and appointments. He thinks it’s funny, she wonders why he’s so quiet now.
The train arrives loudly and he almost, almost boards it when the whole situation suddenly becomes so absurd. He’s wasting time looking for perfect timings and smooth, tear-jerking speeches he not only wouldn’t be able to pull off, but would feel so stupid doing. This is Winry Rockbell, the pretty mechanic who offered him a home. So Ed says what he can.
She accepts, loudly and proudly, he’s all out of words.
Winry watches his train leave, the high of the moment slowly wearing off. It doesn’t feel real, maybe it won’t for a while. There’s so much she wants to do with and tell the headstrong alchemist who stole her heart away. All in due time, she thinks. They’ve got the rest of their lives to see the world and find each other; the journey’s just beginning.