Winry is practically married to her work, Ed thinks. A scowl crosses his features.
It doesn't bother Edward that his wife is so productive and dedicated to her craft in the slightest. What bothers him is how she overworks herself, and how often she does so. He's almost jealous of it, wanting her cradled under his arm right about now instead of her fussing over greasy metal parts and whatnot.
An unnatural quiet settles over the tiny Resembool house. The lonely lavender hues of late evening have already been taken by the place of the comfort of a late summer night, the first of stars coming to view in a clear sky. Ed's lying on the couch with a book (he asks himself for a moment how long he's been reading the same page), tapping his foot impatiently, some itchy feeling in his gut willing it to do so. Still too quiet for his liking.
Something inside him wants to hear her laughter, the change in her voice when she makes her teasing little jabs at him, the way her voice cracks from their banter when she's getting louder. The awkward stutter that comes out when the blush she denies brightens her cheeks.
He finally stands up with a start, looking toward the door of Winry's workshop. Heavy feet on their creaky wood floors wouldn't be enough to disturb or distract the mechanic from her work but he tries it anyways. The door slams against the wall comically, his face scrunching up.
One very tired and very weak looking Winry slowly turns around to face him.
"Oh, hey, Ed. Is it lunchtime?"
"It's already way past dinner, gearhead," he barks. Fingers reach up to scratch the stubble on his chin. He has to bite back what he wants to say out of frustration.
"I… Oh."
Spinning back around just as slow, she reaches for her wrench, nearly spilling the half-empty cup of (cold by now no doubt) coffee next to her. Before she can even grab it she slumps over tiredly, yawning wide. Her ever stubborn husband crosses the threshold, reaches for a random tool (he doesn't care which one, probably couldn't give a name to it anyways, and didn't want to have his wife tease him over it) and taps it lightly on her head.
"Ow."
"Yo, automail princess."
Her face twists. There's no denying it's cute to him. "Hey—"
"It's time to sleep."
Feeding her cold dinner is another matter (he reminds himself to make her a bigger breakfast early in the morning) but he'd rather just take his wife with him to bed already. Before she can protest his bigger hands stroke hers and slip her gloves off to place them on the wooden table carefully. Next comes her bandana, placed lightly to the side, and then her ponytail, hair attempting to stay in place. Ed makes another mental note that he'll have to wash her hair for her tomorrow. Being just as familiar with the ache of overworked muscles as she is he knows she'll be needing a shoulder rub in the morning, too.
"I still have…"
"No." A hand squeezes her cheeks together, lips pouting against it stiffly. "Bedtime."
He lifts her up with ease, lets her head fall to his shoulder, brushes his lips against her head. Incoherent mumbles come from her. Winry often forgets her limits. That's something they have in common, he supposes. He'd like to think he knows he's reached his limit with work when he misses Winry so much he can't sleep, but that's been happening more and more frequently while on his travels.
Up the stairs he goes.
When he sets her down gently on the bed she's already slipping her jumpsuit off. Thumbs rub her cheeks sweetly. She hums, slipping on Ed's shirt from the morning—he wonders if she even knows that that's his shirt (for how big it is; then he remembers that he found that she loved wearing his oversized shirts), so he strips down to his boxers instead—and falls back, yanking her husband with her.
The smell of polishing oil, metal, summer sweat, and something like vanilla drive a chill up his spine. He's associated those smells with Winry for a long time.
He associates those smells with home.
Crickets whistle outside. A cool breeze comes in through the open window. Her lazy hand flops over his body to grab the thin sheet and pull it over them.
Winry breathes in deep, nuzzling her husband's broad chest, using him as her own personal pillow. The moment she found out that he loved having her use him for warmth was the moment she'd lost any fear of crossing personal space. She's most honest at times like this, all her difficult attitude and unwillingness buried under her exhaustion. Hands pull him close and she dots a kiss to his chest.
"'M in love with you, Ed."
The thought that the pounding in his ribs will never go away every time she says that warms him. "Go to sleep."
"Not until you say it back."
"No."
"Yes."
A much more awake Edward Elric stares down at his exhausted wife, whose eyes are blinking slowly, fighting off sleep so she can fight him. She passes out all but a few seconds later, protests still forming on her lips.
His eyes flutter shut and his arms pull her closer. "I've always been in love with you, Winry," he murmurs, grinning with his wife pressed against his chest.
Maybe she isn't so married to her work after all.
well, what a way to begin writing fanfics again! boy, i've missed this. i recently revived my love for fma and i had to bring this here. this was crossposted from my tumblr (bpdkarin) where you can leave me any cute ideas or requests - though there's no guarantee i'll do them or get to them right away! it's good to be back.
p.s. - there'll be lingfan coming soon~ it's already reached 8k!