If there was one thing that had always puzzled Ed, it was physical contact. Not the flesh-against-flesh crystal-clarity of a fight, but the softer, kinder happiness of a touch from love. People were just atoms. Tiny vibrating particles of chemicals held together by intermolecular forces and bumping against those of another human being. Some would argue that actual contact never occurred, simply the slight melding of atoms. Even the warmth of a touch was explained by an excess of thermal energy being transferred from one object to another until they reached equilibrium. Physical contact was an illusion.
Of course, it probably didn't help that almost all pleasant physical contact had been cut out of his life at the same time as his mother. Granny Pinako was never very touchy-feely, and that had been just fine by Ed. He wasn't going to touch Winry, because girls were gross, and while he and Al occasionally fell asleep curled around each other, most of their contact came from the sparring matches Teacher taught them to love.
And then Al was trapped inside a suit of armor that was always either coldcoldcold or so hot in the sun that the imbalance of thermal energy was too much for Ed's atoms to handle, and he had to avoid any contact. That was during the time where his whole body was rebelling against the sudden addition of metal to his equation, and his nervous system was the system most deeply affected. So his skin was hypersensitive to the point that it felt like there was a swarm of bees buzzing just under the surface and ever touch was too much and the wind against his skin from his walks would leave him aching and exhausted until he tumbled into bed and slept.
Only to be awoken a few hours later by the buzzing.
And then, of course, came the army, which was a culture shock like nothing Ed had experienced before. He was constantly surrounded by men ten years older than him, at least. And they were, each and every one of them, obsessed with the idea of physical contact. With the ideas of kissing and holding and sex. Every moment spent in the mess, Ed was surrounded by a whirlwind of conversation, loaded down heavily with the implications of the sharing of intermolecular forces.
Four years of the whirlwind and implications. Four years where the only physical contact was hit-dodge-getup-fight-don'tyoudarestopnow and the occasional night when he would fly up in bed, shaking and sweating and probably crying and holding such an excess of thermal energy in his atoms that he would curl up in Al's lap and press his superheated forehead against the chest plate, waking up the next morning back under the covers but with a red divot in his forehead from metal edges.
And the few moments of heart-stopping-what'shappening when Hawkeye would let her hand come to a rest on the top of his head, or when the Bastard would walk past him in the hallway and drop a hand on his shoulder, for just a second, like a brand. And he let them do it, because it seemed to give them comfort and it only ever happened when they really needed comfort, but it still felt, for just a moment, like the bees had come back and were concentrated under that one point on his body.
It usually took one or two days for the sensitivity to completely fade.
But when Al was finally back, and Ed was finally allowed to think about something other than the desperate, constant beat of his heart saying fixitfixitfixit, something changed. Because the wind on his face as he walked up the road to Risembool was comforting and soft, in a way that he hadn't felt for years. His arm reaching out every now and again to steady his little brother, make sure he was still standing, make sure he was still there was warm with the imbalance of thermal energy but that didn't make sense because they were the same temperature now. And when Winry tackled him into a hug, he thought privately that his atomic structure seemed to take a particular liking to bouncing off hers.
When she cornered him a week later, when he was still in Risembool after seven days, the longest stretch since he was twelve, he pulled her into his arms, because what else was he supposed to do?. And he felt the blood start to rush to his cheeks, but why should he be having a physical reaction to an exchange of intermolecular forces?
And then she kissed him, and it started to make sense, in a way that didn't make sense at all. Because she was the same temperature as him but it felt like her hands on his face were burning and what had he been thinking for all those years, about atoms and thermal energy? He had forgotten, for years now, that humans were chemicals all their own. And apparently, Winry + Ed created an exothermic reaction when combined.
This would, of course, require further experimentation.
AN: Hey guys. So I'm really sorry that it took so long for me to write something, and I'm sorry that when I finally did, it wasn't part of Briareus, but I have been in a slump these past few weeks. Long story short, life sucked, my friend texted me last night, we had a huge fight to release the tension and anger of about a month and a half, we made up, and my writers block went away.
Still, I couldn't get this idea out of my head. So I thought I'd jot it down real quick. Sorry for the disjointed manner of the sentences, but I feel like Ed's head is a mess, so I try to write him like that.
My Ed is mostly taken from RainJoy, who writes Roy/Ed, but so scarily in character that I read it even though I don't ship it.