This was fun to write. It feels like summer in my heart right now. This is in Winry's point of view, by the way.
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Summer was lavished with ripe berries, skies so much larger then us, and nights that lasted forever. We would loose track of time lying in the fresh grass, sheltered by that lone tree, and it was those days when he would prop himself up on a shoulder to kiss my cheek.
The river was our escape, prancing about and splashing together, then collapsing into fields of clover in a juvenile game of tickle war.
In the fall we would use each other as stools to collect the best apples, leaves of reds and oranges tickling our faces. When cut we would dip them in sugar, and I would sweep a bang from his eyes in thanks. He had seemed to memorize my reactions and understood.
Winter would start with our childish antics, snowball wars and sculptures and coos of the talent we had never had. But when the snow was too heavy, we would stare out of our windows and reflect on how our day would have been if the elements hadn't gotten in our way.
I had dreamt about him that night. He was staring down at me, then suddenly golden eyes opened wide with fear and blood was splattered in flecks over my hair and skirt. He lay in a crumpled mass, and tears had flowed from both of our eyes when I had realized he had neither arm nor leg. But it was just a dream, and I had forgotten it by the morning.
Spring was filled with showers of our love, for I would dance in the rain, feeling so content with his hand covering my own. Sometimes we would stay under that tree for it often poured, the days where he would lend me his coat and soothe my fears.
The birds could sing their replies to each other when it was over, and the sun would come out apologetically from its hiding place. He would smile when I offered him a flower, tucking it in my ear with a keen fondness acting as the only thought of love we carried.
Looking at this house, does he recall the seasons of our lives? I search for his face among blond hair, but he helps by turning to me. His hand tightens its grip, rendering mine so small, him probably enjoying the fact that he had just suppressed me in height. I leaned against his shoulder, eyes blinded by comfort, him nuzzling my hair.
He remembered.