Winry knows that she sees Edward much differently than most people. Where others see the result of a sad disfiguration, Winry sees beauty. She knows that part of it is because she built it, but to her, Edward's automail only makes him more handsome, like the way the stars compliment the moon. Winry can do this because Alphonse understands; when she raps gently on their bedroom door, Alphonse not only answers, he nods in understanding. She fathoms that Alphonse would be smiling if he had a mouth to smile with.
Winry locks the door behind Alphonse when he leaves. She's just finished Ed's new and improved automail, with even an extra inch added because he's grown. It's not as surprising as she likes to pretend. Edward's sprawled on his bed, still asleep, despite all of the noise that Alphonse makes when he moves. He must be used to it, Winry thinks as she sits on the bed next to him.
Tomorrow, Winry and Pinako will snap Edward's automail into place, and it'll hurt. She's never asked what Ed thinks about it, because she already knows how he feels. Winry knows that automail can feel good, but Edward doesn't. She wants him to know, wants to show him so badly.
Winry takes the small band off of her wrist and ties her hair back with it, before sliding her hand up Edward's thigh. The automail port is smooth and shiny, and Winry trails her fingers around the edges of it. Edward stirs a little, blinks. "Winry?" Edward says sleepily, His vision is slumber-blurred, so he rubs his eyes clear with his flesh hand.
"Just checking things out," Winry says, and Edward relaxes, closes his eyes.
"It's all okay, right?" he murmurs, feeling Winry slide her fingers across the junction where metal meets flesh. It's not uncomfortable, the pressure Winry's fingertips apply, but he still can't get used to someone else touching him there. People don't want to look at his automail, let alone touch it.
The only reply Edward gets is Winry's fingers dipping into the opening of his automail port, brushing lightly across nerve and wire intermingled. Raw sensation shoots up Edward's side, forcing his eyes open. He sucks in a startled breath and sits up, suddenly shaky. Winry's touches to his automail port are soft, but the effect on him is sharp, acute, like his skin has only been muddling his perception of touch his entire life.
"S-stop," Ed stutters out. "What are you trying to do?"
Winry's fingers still briefly and withdraw; the abrupt stop of sensation send minute tremors up Ed's spine.
"Does it hurt?" Winry says, not bothering to answer his question. She is looking at him plainly in that way she has, the look that makes him feel like she can see to the core of him no matter how much he hides from her.
"No, but..."
He doesn't have a name for what he felt.
"Then I'm not going to stop, Ed, because this," Winry interjects, stomping all over his train of thought. She presses her finger against the rim of the automail port again, traces the circular shape of it. "This can be more than pain. You need to know that before we reattach your leg tomorrow."
Edward exhales through the no-name sensation. He can deny Winry about as much as he can deny Alphonse - nothing at all.
"Okay," he says after a moment's pause. "Okay."