"Hey."
"Neigh."
"Cute. You do realize, you're on the floor."
She scoffs, eyes remaining shut, her head still bobbing in time to the music blaring from the gawky headphones around her neck. Probably some shitty, underground pop punk band. Edward lilts forward, just barely, to hear better. Exactly some shitty, underground pop-punk band. Her expression seems to mimic that of the delivery of the allegedly angry lyrics. "Am I?"
He sits beside her, crossing one leg as to not disturb his prosthetic.
"You're kind of a freak."
The corners of Winry's lips turn up, into the faintest of smiles.
"And you're kind of still here."
