notes. in other words, I realized what the date was yesterday, and promptly did this at three in the morning. hopefully it's legible? also I am such an edwin shipper childhood friend-ships are my favorite ever. hope you enjoy!
. . .
She's out on her balcony, staring out into the slowly brightening sky. It's fall again, and Ed's still asleep, like usual. Unusual would be, as Edward is so fond of saying, being awake at a shitty time like this, where you can't even see your own eyes.
She can think alone, though, in this hazy between light and dark. And she doesn't need to see her own eyes to do that.
It's been around three years since Ed's confession at the train station. Countless cycles of waiting for him to break his automail and come back. In a couple months, he'll be waving goodbye again, going in search of a new adventure, wherever it leads him.
Winry can't blame him. As much as he loves her, Resembool has too many shadows for him, too many memories. It's hard for him, after all that he's done, to ignore the beginning of it all.
She watches the lengthening wisps of light appearing at the horizon, sweeping away the dark blue night. His automail is nearly fixed; there's only some final checks she has to do, and then it should be good to go. He's going to some sort of mountainous area, and he requested some sturdier automail for the trip.
"Why you up this early, Win?" Ed's sleepy voice drifts over from the bed, and she sighs, pushing herself off the railing, heading back inside.
"You were flailing around in your sleep, idiot," she scolds, settling herself on the bed. Ed's hair is sticking up again, and she fights the urge to laugh at the sight. The Fullmetal Alchemist, savior of the world, graced with the worst bedhair. "And besides, not everyone sleeps in til noon, Ed!"
He scowls. "That was once. Once! I'm up at this ungodly hour, aren't I? This isn't noon! I'm perfectly capable of getting u—" A huge yawn forces him to stop his rant, and Winry can't help but smile.
"Oh, Ed. You are ridiculous, you do know that?" She ruffles his hair fondly. He grimaces back, and she realizes too late that he has a glint in his eye.
Winry is doomed from the moment his hands catch her sides, and in seconds she can hardly breathe, tickled from all sides. She shrieks, scrambling to evade him, but he only grabs her and pulls her flush against his chest, unable to escape. The tickling stops, thankfully.
They're face-to-face, and she watches his expression go from mischievous to thoughtful.
"What is it, Ed?" she asks, and he seems to struggle with the question. He looks away.
"...Today. I think I'll stay today," he mumbles. Winry feels a rush of awakeness overtake her, as she realizes the date.
"...Mmm. Stay as long as you want, Ed." She places a kiss on his forehead, wraps her arms around him. They're like that for a while, the sun slowly creeping onto the bed.
This is the very least she can do for Ed. Fix his automail, let him stay over for the nights she needs to do so. Make him apple pies.
If she can't go on his adventures, she can at least give him a home to come back to.
. . .
Sometimes, he doesn't think that Winry knows how important she is to him.
His life is full of holes, unconstants, people that leave him sooner than he wants them to.
Winry's always been there. Winry never changes, with her wrench and her automail, with her nerdy machinery ideas and even just her presence.
If he had to pick, out of all the places he'd ever been, a home, a number one, a place he'd want to settle, he wouldn't be able to.
Home was not a place, for him. Home was a wrench in his face.
(Well, not quite. Her ever-present wrench was an unfortunate side-effect of being both her customer and her boyfriend.)
Home was, for him, Winry. And he wouldn't change it for the world.
October third was still important. He couldn't forget that day. But maybe, just maybe, it didn't have to be a mark of tragedy. It would have to be a reminder, and nothing more.
Right now, Winry beside him, he was home.