Yeah, I don't know what's up with me writing all of these stories involving letters. I don't do many stories from Ed's point of view in my opinion, so here's one for you all. Didn't take very long, I'm happy to report. I might do another chapter, though. Reviewers will go under my cool list (if I had one). And yes, I know my last stories have been a little more mushy then usual.
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"I'm sorry for not writing, Win. Things have been crazy in Central. All the tips we've received concerning the Philosopher's stone have been dead ends, and…"
The autumn's wind tickled the paper, a frown fixed on the young State Alchemist's forehead. It had been months since his last letter to his childhood mechanic, and he had done a pretty good job of avoiding it until now. The open window lent him to light to see, curtains caressing his face before turning and resuming their dance in the warm air.
"Al and I both miss you a lot."
No, that wasn't intimate enough. Winry could draw many ends, and he didn't want her thinking he didn't care.
This is why writing was so hard for him.
He could never plan what he was going to say to her until she was threatening him with a wrench, and even then it came out all wrong.
"Especially me."
That should make up for the last sentence.
He slipped into a comfortable position, his hand kneading through his golden bangs, and the sounding of his metal Military watch contrasting against wood almost a thought's mirage.
"We're thinking of stopping by in a few weeks. My automail could use a checkup, even though I've been careful to take care of it. So keep that wrench to yourself, 'kay Win?"
His eraser was too worn to scratch out that last comment, so he just left it.
It was good she was the only person he had to write to, as she was the only family he had. Sure, there was Hohenheim, but it would be a little harder to contact him.
No, Winry was his only sanctuary, and he had gotten used to her testy ways. Sometimes she would be his reality, and other times a dream in which he had committed to memory; every hue of her azure orbs, the texture of her lips, which reaction earned him a smile or a rant, the signification of each sigh when she would work.
One for when he was being a brat, one for when she was tired, one when she was busy, one when she was worried, one when she was content, one when she was wistful…
He could see past her ill-tempered exterior and knew the sacred blond that was only his.
"God, Winry, have I ever told you?
"I love you…
"Love, Edward Elric."