A little fluff that came out of a wild imagination and a little bit of blueberry juice.
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Ever since the age Edward Elric had been able to reject milk, Winry had given him blueberry juice.
There were many untold explanations why Winry would pick such a drink for her childhood friend, starting from 'it was the only thing left in the fridge' to 'it's cheaper then juice, anyways'.
But the real reason lay beneath the similarities of the two. Both appeared tart, but once you tried the aftertaste was sweet. One glass of this vermilion liquid took many berries, much as Edward's life had been filled with sacrifices.
Not only that, but blueberries were small.
Of course, she had never told him this. He would just take her offering without looking up; he knew what was coming, and did not complain. This is how the years had passed.
There was one regret Winry had feeding him this – it was the color of blood. Crimson blood splattered, flecks licking pale skin and rolling back eyes to bear the whites.
Blueberries were blue for a reason, much as Winry hated to see Edward locked up in a silent depression.
Much like the berries were kept away in a thin layer of skin, underneath was a pulsing heart and raw flesh that would easily bruise. Neither showed it willfully, though.
And when Edward fell asleep, books of various titles sprawled out in front of him, stomach revealed, rising and lowering in a rhythm she had memorized, would she collect the empty bottle.
Winry drained the final drops on her finger, mixing with the essence of sweat and grim from a day of working on Ed's automail arm and the warmth of his lips, then pressed it to her own.
In an act of equivalent trade, she ran a fingernail down her arm, and forcing it down hard enough she drew out a bead of blood, touching it to his own lips.
Wherever her Dog of the Military ventured, the pain he carried would be shared. And she would continue to buy blueberry juice for him, till the day he would come home for good.