Two sharp knocks, and then, as usual, he strode in without waiting for a response. He was becoming more brazen of late. As though he had a right to barge into her room. It both irritated and excited her.
"Hey! Wait for me to tell you you can come in next time!"
He rolled his eyes. "Please, like you have anything to hide."
"Excuse me?!" Winry threw her wrench at him; he ducked it with ease, catching the tool in the process. "I could have been changing!"
The expression on his face wavered slightly. Her face grew hot. "Stop that, you pervert!"
He seemed to come to at that. "Me? A pervert? You're the one who's perverted! What kind of idiot changes her clothes without locking the door?"
"I could forget! I'm not exactly just sitting idly here like you, you know!"
"Automail geek!" he shouted, looking very much like his ten year old self as he pointed at her.
"Alchemy freak!" she yelled back.
They stood there glaring at each other for a while. Again, Winry began to notice the intense molten gold burning in his eyes. She seemed to be getting distracted much more often during their stare downs now that he was always around.
She suddenly realized he wasn't glaring anymore—just looking. That intensity was still in his eyes, though, as though he was taking her in for the first time; as though she were the centrepiece in an exhibition. Again, it both irritated and excited her.
She turned back to her desk with a huff, picking up labeled boxes of screws. "What do you want, anyway?"
"What are we having for dinner tonight?" he said from behind her.
"I don't know, ask Granny. I have two orders to work on over the weekend, so I'm busy."
"Why the hell do they make you work on weekends?"
She cocked her head to the side. "Who's 'they'?" He sat down on her bed as she turned to face him. "Besides, I don't seem to recall you taking vacations when you and Al were clanking away around Amestris." She was always careful to euphemise.
He scowled at her. "That was different! Al's body was in the gate! We were running out of time!"
"So you running around for Al is justified while me rushing to make limbs isn't?" She gave him a look. "It's really the same thing, if you think about it. You and I both, in different ways, trying to put someone's life back together."
"Except I was just fixing my own mistake." He sighed.
She pulled lightly on his ponytail. "Don't start with that crap again," she admonished.
"Hey!" he said, pushing her hand away, but without irritation. He got up and walked over to the mirror, stretching languidly in front of it like a cat. "I've grown taller, haven't I?" he said ostentatiously.
She smirked, secretly admiring the contours of his back. "Just make sure you stop before you're too tall to enter the house."
"Not a problem; when that begins to happen, just bog me down with some heavy automail." He grinned as she stuck her tongue out at him in the mirror.
"I should probably cut my hair now though," he said reflectively. "It's getting too long to handle."
"No!" she exclaimed before she could catch herself.
He turned to face her. "Why?"
She fumbled for an excuse. "Well, why didn't you cut it before?"
"It helped Al single me out when I was battling or when we were in crowds." He turned back to the mirror. "But I wasn't tall back then!" he gloated.
She rolled her eyes. "Careful with that puffy chest, it might hurt your spine."
He flippantly waved the back of his hand at her. "So how do you think I should cut it?"
It escaped her again. "Ed. Don't cut your hair."
He stopped, and then slowly turned to face her again with a knowing grin on his face.
"Why, do you like it?" he drawled. The cheeky grin contrasted sharply with the glimmer of hope in his eyes.
Her face flushed with embarrassment. She thought of telling him it was because it helped her find him when he was a distance from the house and the sunlight caught his hair. Or because she had always wondered what it would feel like entangled in her fingers.
"Yeah," she said simply.
He started, and stared at her. She looked questioningly back at him.
His shoulders dropped slightly.
"Alright then," he said. Her heart skipped a beat.
He headed for the door, stopped as he was turning the knob, and looked back at her.
"But only if you let your hair down more." Her heart thudded in her chest.
"That bandana makes you look like a man."
"Edward!" This time, the wrench hit the closing door, the thud accompanying his cackles as they floated away down the hall.
She had never waited at the train station for him. Usually he would just show up, like the whirlwind that he was, thunder around the house for a couple of days and then vanish right back.
Waiting. She suddenly realized she was still doing it. Waiting for him.
Somehow, it felt different now. Back then, it had made her feel useless. Now, if she had to explain, she would say it made her feel like—
"Hey." A warm hand plopped onto her head, then snaked down her hair.
Like a beacon.
She turned around, and there he was, golden gaze, suitcase slung lazily over his shoulder, grinning widely as ever. Her smile couldn't help escaping her.
"Edward." She drew herself languidly into his arms. He smelt like woods and trains. His hands felt like home.
"Been waiting too long?" She had never heard that tone in his voice before. She looked up at him, trying how to tell him that it was impossible for a beacon to put a time limit on waiting.
"No," she said simply.
"Oh." He paused. "My hair tie broke," he said sheepishly. "I was looking for something to put it back with."
It was only then she noticed the tresses hanging loose, the soft drape juxtaposed against the hard angles of his face.
"Oh. Well, I'd give you mine, but I don't have one," she said matter-of-factly.
His face broke into a small smile. "It's alright. Come on."
They walked home, talking about his trip. From time to time, she stole a glance at him. She hadn't seen him with his hair open in years, now that his lack of automail arm enabled him to shower in the bathroom. It was longer than ever, now, almost reaching his waist. It amazed her how he could have hair this beautiful and still look more like a man than ever.
He was looking at her, half-smiling, half embarrassed. Apparently, her preoccupation didn't go unnoticed.
"Don't tell me it looks that bad?" he said sheepishly, running his hand through his hair.
That did it. She walked in front of him, wrapped her arms around his neck, entwining her fingers in his locks. The suitcase fell to the ground.
"No," she stated simply, and kissed him.