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The roses had already died. They’d been shipped in from fucking half a mile away and had cost a fucking fortune, and they had died within half a day. Fungus. Ed wouldn’t usually care about it; they were just roses, and he could put them on order for anyone who wanted them, except – a glance at the clock told him that it was only half an hour until she came in to draw them, and she’d specifically wanted roses last time she was there.
Ed rubbed his forehead and headed into the back room. He had to tell Al about this, because covering for things and finding solutions for things was Al’s forte. “The fuckin’ roses are already fuckin’ dead, Al.”
Alphonse stirred and delicately pinched an arrangement of hyacinths together with his fingers. “We’ll order more; as long as we have them before Mustang shows up again on Friday, we’ll be fine, right?”
Al didn’t understand – Ed had to have roses for her. “No, Al!” He gestured wildly. “Look at the time – she’ll be here soon – and she wanted roses last time!”
Alphonse sighed and, gaining a sturdy grip on the side table, pulled himself up to standing and grabbed his crutch. He’d adjusted well to it, considering, but still – Ed lunged forwards and swiped the bouquet of hyacinths from him, and together they headed onto the shop floor.
“You know, brother,” said Al. “I don’t really think that she comes just for the flowers.”
What a ridiculous remark. “Don’t be stupid, Al. She’s coming to a florist’s – of course she comes for the flowers.” He slotted the hyacinths into place next to an arrangement of daisies and leaned on the counter.
“She’ll be here in five,” said Ed. “Want me to bring the hydrangeas out front?”
Al nodded. “Please – can you bring out the thistle too?”
“Sure.” Ed made his way into the back, cursing the flower delivery guys, even as he hoisted a hydrangea plant into one arm and thistle into the other. It was entirely their fault that she was going to be upset, and there wasn’t a blessed thing that Ed could do about it. He dumped the flowers on the counter by Al – he’d long known to let Al do his thing with the flowers and leave it here – and stared across the road.
Paninya was going inside – which meant…
Sure enough, Winry came outside. She’d pulled her hair into a loose bun and she hadn’t changed out of her work trousers and tube top.
Fuck. Fuck – he didn’t have any roses for her.
“Al,” he said. “We need a substitute – what’s a substitute for roses?”
“Ed,” Alphonse sighed. “Just let her decide what she wants – she might not even want roses.”
Screw Al and his damn level-headedness.
Ed scampered towards the door and stood ready to greet her, ignoring Al’s comments about him being overeager – whatever that meant. “Hey, Winry,” he said as she stepped through the door. “We – uh – we don’t have any roses – I’m sorry.”
She turned to him and furrowed her brow, her tongue playing on her lip piercing so that the silver glinted every time it caught the light. “Who said I wanted roses?”
From behind the counter, Al snickered into the hydrangeas. Ed glared at him – just because he was right didn’t mean he had to rub it in.
“Oh,” said Ed stupidly. “Do you, uh, wanna check in the back room for something you want?”
Winry shook her head, already seating herself on a tiny wooden stool and producing her drawing materials from her bag. Ed stared at her arm; ever since he had met her, he had been enthralled by her tattoo. Not like a normal sleeve at all, layers of flower and ribbon seemed to wind through and around each other – in and out and in and out – with no clear beginning or end in sight.
Ed gripped his metal arm with his flesh hand. No room for tattoos on that one.
He began to bustle around, making sure that none of the other plants had the fungus and potting plants; he hardly noticed that Winry was staring at him until he turned around. She dipped her head down and scribbled furiously at her page. Weird.
“Hey,” said Ed.
She glanced up at him. “What?”
Ed rubbed the back of his neck. “Um – nothing; you were just… nothing.”
“Freak,” murmured Winry.
Ed clenched his fist. “That was uncalled for!”
“Oh,” said Winry. “Was it, now?”
“Yes!” shrieked Ed, his face glowing red. “You were the one gawping at me like I’m some kind of exhibit!”
He hardly noticed Al sneaking away from the scene to get himself a cup of tea.
“What gawping!? I wasn’t gawping!” She tossed a pen towards him. “You’re the one who’s always gawping at my tattoo!”
Ed sputtered. “I do not gawp at your tattoo!”
“Do so!”
“Do not!”
Winry huffed and let her pen meet the paper again, pointedly turning her sketchpad into her chest. Ed sidled over and stood above her.
“What are you hiding, inkhead?” He peered over her shoulder.
Winry squeezed the sketchpad against her body. Ed snatched at it.
“You always show me your work,” said Ed. “Let me see!”
“No! It isn’t finished yet.”
“If you let me see, I’ll give you 20% off the hibiscus bouquet.”
Winry glared up at him. “What would I do with a hibiscus bouquet?”
“You could brighten up that drab tattoo parlour.”
“Hey!” said Winry, brandishing her pen. “It is not drab! I decorated it myself to make sure that it wasn’t drab!” She drew her arm back, ready to launch the pen. Ed lunged forwards and swiped the sketchpad from under her other arm.
He turned away from her and stared down at it. For a moment, with the adrenaline from his petty victory coursing through his veins, he only saw an arm, and then… He breathed in deeply. On the page, only half shaded – but undoubtedly metal – was an arm. His arm – and his shoulder. The gnarled scar from where he had lost his flesh arm was poking out from his shoulder.
“What is this?”
“I – it’s not…” Winry reached up to take her sketchpad back, but Ed was intent on keeping a hold of it.
“Why are you drawing my arm?”
Winry said nothing, her face growing progressively pinker.
“Do you plan on putting this on someone else, as if it’s a – a good fucking thing to have a metal arm?”
Winry’s head snapped up, her eyes widening. “What? No!”
“Then what is this,” Ed growled.
“I – Ed…” Winry paused. “Please – look closer; I promise it isn’t a tattoo design.”
Ed squinted. “I can’t see shit.”
Winry huffed. “Sit down and give the sketchpad back to me.”
Hesitantly, Ed acquiesced. He dropped to his knees beside her, acutely aware of the clunk his leg made as it hit the floor. “This better be good.”
He watched as she placed her finger on the page and began to trace. Soon enough, he became aware of a very, very faint outline that must have been there long before she had begun to shade in his arm.
“Oh,” said Ed.
“Oh,” said Winry in a mocking tone.
“It’s me.” He paused. “Why the fuck did you draw me?”
“Why do you think?” said Winry.
She took the back of his head in her hand and pulled him into a firm kiss. For a moment, Ed did nothing. He didn’t understand; it felt good and right but he didn’t understand, and then –
Oh.
He kissed her back. Yes, this was right. This was definitely right.
“Oh, good,” came a cheery voice from behind them. “I did try telling him that you don’t come for the flowers, you know.”