Cast Off
AN: A silly little piece. The tense seems a little weird, though.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.
He wasn't sure when he noticed she'd stopped wearing her favourite tank top and miniskirt combination.
He never paid very close attention to her clothes, anyway (no, really!), but he slowly came to realize that she no longer wore the outfit he'd always associated with her. White top, black skirt, black jacket – it was almost her trademark, like his all-black outfit and red coat.
She always wore her coveralls when she worked now. He had no idea if she still wore that embarrassingly skimpy tube top anymore or not, but he didn't think so. Winry didn't look like a gangly, awkward teenager anymore. She was more confident, more self-assured, more mature. She wore collared shirts and neatly pressed pants and even a lacy blouse, occasionally. She dressed sensibly but attractively – and he noticed that she actually had a wardrobe to boast of.
She had pointed the same thing out to him a few days ago, commenting on his lack of black jacket and pants. He'd replied with obvious surprise – he hadn't even noticed that he didn't wear the same clothes anymore. Winry had merely smiled and told him he looked a lot more grown up now.
He asked her, one day. She was tightening the screws on the back of his hand after rebuilding the fingers, and he brought the question up casually. Her eyes widened in puzzlement, as if she wasn't sure what he was talking about. But slowly, realization crept into her expression, and she laughed.
"I'm not a little kid anymore, Ed," she replied affectionately. "And dressing like one seems silly, doesn't it?"
He nodded in agreement, and wished he knew the words to tell her how lovely she looked. She looked like a true woman, and although his cheeks warmed at the thought, he was surprised that he did not automatically deny the fact.
She looked like his woman, he thought, almost possessively.
Another day, he was rummaging through the closet in the guest bedroom when he came across a small box, sealed with duct tape. Curious as always, he opened it – by transmuting one finger into a handy little blade, of course – and peered inside. What he saw made him wonder.
A pile of tidily folded white tank tops, black skirts and a black jacket.
The Winry who had worn those clothes had been his childhood friend – the girl he had laughed with, played with and fought with. The Winry who had discarded those clothes was a true woman, finally all grown up. But the Winry who had thoughtfully stored away the mementos of her childhood – she was the woman he loved.
AN: Like I said, the tense seems weird. I tried writing it in present at first, but the last paragraph came out sounding REALLY weird! So I went back to simple past. I think it's all right, but if you see anything glaring, please let me know!
437 words.