Doubts
One
Winry had always been a popular girl.
It was clear to him, since their first day of school, that the other boys in his class saw something more in his childhood playmate than he ever had. It sparked a strange feeling of curiosity inside of him and, uncharacteristically, he opted to keep his distance and watch quietly rather than to openly tell the boys to back off.
Some made it clear that they loved her. There was rarely a chair open next to her- Ed, being her best friend, had the seat to her right reserved, and no one dared to try and take his spot. However, every other available chair around her was always filled by some hopeful boy, praying to hold her attention, to make her laugh.
The way they were always jumping to lend her a crayon, or help her with her adding, or hold her feet so that she could reach the top shelf… the way that their fingers always lingered over her head for a moment too long before calling out "goose!" and running around the circle… it was all so obvious. Even an idiot could see that they all loved her.
Somehow, though, she remained oblivious. Somehow she didn't notice the way that they stared when her hair fanned out behind her on the swingset. Somehow she didn't notice the looks of disappointment that marred their faces when she turned down their invitations to birthday parties or playdates.
After a few weeks of watching this, Ed's initial feeling of curiosity morphed into a strange mix of disgust and superiority. How could these boys not accept the fact that she wasn't interested? He was proud of himself for not falling head over heels for her whenever their skin made contact, unlike the other boneheads in his class. He made a point of not feeling a tiny flutter in his heart when she smiled- it was there, sure, but he could ignore it. And that made him better than the others.
Over the course of his days at school, he analyzed and confirmed his theory: every boy in the class loved Winry. Some showed it differently than others- there were those who showered her with love and affection, and there were those who chased and tackled and teased her whenever they got the opportunity.
Ed was in a group all his own. He was the only boy who could really call himself Winry's friend. They played together after school every day. Every moment he spent running with her, or climbing trees, or splashing around in the creek, reaffirmed his feeling of pride. He was truly her friend- and he wasn't petty enough to fall in love with her.
When Winry went into long, irritated descriptions about how boys chased her around the schoolyard, trying to catch her, Ed's ego swelled. He, at least, was mature enough to keep his emotions in check.