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Edward loved a girl with cornsilk hair and calloused palms, a girl who built others to build herself. How long had he loved her? He wasn’t sure. He spent so long denying it to himself and anyone sneaky enough to ask him about it, that it overtook him without notice. One day he awoke, breathed in deep, and admitted to himself:
I love Winry Rockbell.
But that didn’t mean he knew what the hell to do about it.
*
Midsummer in Resembool brought oppressive heat and a bright sun that felt ever present, even at night.
Al was still regaining his strength, but when he wasn’t napping or puttering around the kitchen, he was laying out in the backyard, face turned towards the sky.
“I like the feel of grass on my back,” he told Ed. “It’s itchy.”
Ed didn’t think an itchy back sounded fun but he kept that to himself. He didn’t want to take away the joy of sensation so quickly after it was returned.
“If you don’t want to be the grass, why don’t you go lay on the deck with Winry?” Al waggled his brows. Ed thought his grin was way too sneaky for a younger brother.
“I don’t…” he started saying, stopping himself midthought. Sure, he lied about his feelings towards Winry for years. But nothing was holding him back now except for himself.
“Yeah, sure?” Ed finally said, voice lilting at the end like he still wasn’t sure. “I will go sit with Winry.”
Al’s smile grew bigger, and his eyes twinkled.
“Go on then.”
*
The walk inside felt arduous. His automail leg felt like lead, the rest of his body following suit. Including his brain. While going up the stairs, he remembered some psychological self-help jargon he read in a book recently: fear protects us, but fear isn’t always correct. The things the body does to keep us safe can’t discern when we’re prey, and when we’re praying for something to happen. All the body knows is our heartbeat practically bouncing out our chest.
I’m fine, he whispered in his head. No threat.
His heartbeat stayed ramped, his breathing grew shallow, yet his feet trudged on.
The door to her room is cracked. He steps in, gently, hating that he feels like he’s sneaking around even though he pulls Winry out of her hovel at least twice a week for dinner and time away from her tools.
Said tools were currently scattered over her desk, along with springs and a schematic of new finger joints she had been working on. Ed could never have known them by sight, but she’d been working on them for weeks, and much of that time was him being annoying and peeking over her shoulder like he used to when the hands she created were for him. There were clothes spread over the bed– he quickly averted his eyes before he could see the specific items– and her bandana hung from her bed post.
He stopped in the middle of the room once he saw her on the balcony. The door outside was propped open. Winry was stretched out on an old cotton beach chair, eyes closed and face towards the sun. Messy stitches and new fabric patches were everywhere on the fabric, keeping it from completely falling apart. Her hair was french braided, the tail hanging over the top of the seat, waving in the breeze. One hand was resting on her belly. The other hung towards the deck tracing nonsense patterns in the air.
Her bikini was black. Ed tried not to think about it too hard. He failed.
He walked towards the deck, keeping his steps light so as not to disturb her. Was it weird that he hadn’t said her name already? He started to worry. Should he have yelled as soon as he entered her room? Will she kill him when she finds him staring at her, like some freak?
Plenty of times in his life he’d been brave. Surely he could do it at this moment too.
“Winry?”
His voice was neutral as could be, not whisper quiet but not screaming, but she jumped anyway.
“Edward! You scared me!”
“Didn’t mean to,” he said. “Just wanted to see what you were doing.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“So you didn’t scare me on purpose?”
“Of course not. Can I…sit with you?” He gestured to the empty space beside her on the deck.
Her face morphed into one of surprise. She was already a little sunburnt, tender red splashing over her cheeks and nose; hiding where she would blush, but somehow Ed knew it was there underneath the burn.
Winry laid back on the chair. She seemed uneasy for some reason…jumpy around him like he hadn’t seen before, but she swore she was fine with him hanging out with her. He chalked it up to their separation for so long. It’s hard to get used to seeing someone everyday again, taking up space in your home. In your life. She never said that it was difficult for them to be back, and even when they were fighting, he knew she cared.
But why else would she be weird?
He sat on the deck, leaning back against her seat, and looked out over the hills of Resembool.
“The view is so pretty up here,” he said, desperate to fill up the awkward silence.
“It is. Getting to take this room was the only consolation when Mom and Dad died.”
Ed felt her shift, turning her body on her side to face him before speaking again.
“Sometimes it’s like they're here though. When there’s no clouds and the sky feels close enough to touch. Like they could just appear out of nowhere and stand in the sun.”
Ed looked up. Winry was right; it was a cloudless day and it felt like there was nothing between him and the sun.
It was exactly how he felt when he looked at her.
They were quiet for a few minutes before he felt her hand slither into his ponytail. He twitched a little but didn’t pull away from her. It felt good to have his hair played with. Foreign, but good. For so long he’d brushed and braided and even trimmed his own hair. When he touched it, it felt normal. When she touched it, it felt magical. Electric even. A bit like creating something with alchemy.
Her hands made little braids and two strand twists, carefully combing them out with her fingertips, and then did it again. Ed felt himself lull. His shoulders fell and his jaw relaxed. Once she was bored with braids, she moved to his nape. Her thumb rubbed gentle circles into his skin.
He’d felt her hands, touched her, felt her own skin on his before but this felt different.
For one, it was not in a medical sense.
For another, it was gentle.
He would NOT say that to her face. Of course she could be gentle. She always treated him well when working on his automail, no matter how many times he made her want to swing a wrench into his face.
But this was a gentle that felt like something else. It felt like…
He tried not to freak out when he realized what it felt like.
It felt like love.
Could Winry love me in that way? Could she love me back?
After they returned to Resembool and his brother focused on recuperating his body, Ed tried to work on himself. On his self sabotage and self doubt. On his guilt. It would take a lifetime of work to erase those feelings, but he had gotten better.
They welled up in him now, telling him to run away and leave Winry again before he ruined her for good.
“Don’t leave,” she whispered. “This doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Her voice was soft, but it still shook him out of his head. She must have felt him stiffen and get ready to bolt.
“Do you want it to?” he answered. He kept his vow low like hers, like they were trading little secrets not even the wind was allowed to hear. He did not turn around to face her. That would have been too much.
“I do.”
She kept rubbing the back of his neck, voice falling silent. He stayed quiet too. The sun poured over both of them, bright and high in the sky. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. Winry was all around him, the slight apple scent of her shampoo, traces of oil she could never wash away, cardamom and clove lingering from her morning tea.
Maybe this was something he did deserve. He had helped save the world; now he wanted to live in it.