Happy
Light blue is a nice colour on Winry.
Of course, her bare arm looked fine already, with a light tan and a smattering of freckles. Ed liked that just fine, and he also liked the smear of blue paint quite a bit. But of course, an artist was always biased towards their own work.
Winry had nearly leapt five feet into the air at the touch of the cold paintbrush, and she tugs at her tank top as she stretches to look at her shoulder.
"You didn't." she says, a note of disbelief in her voice, and Ed belts out a laugh.
"I did."
She glances up from where she was gripping the wet strap of her shirt. The paintbrush in her other hand had been forgotten until then, and Ed follows her gaze back to it.
His grin begins to die, and Ed only has a moment to react before she lunges.
They stumble backwards together and hit the newspapered floor with a thump. She scores a mark down the line of his throat, and Ed bursts into laughter at the cold. The paintbrush hits the paper as Winry tosses it aside, and she props herself up above him. She's joined him in his laughter by now, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty room. They continue like that for a few moments, content in their mirth. (They've barely finished one wall of their bedroom, but that doesn't seem to matter, not right now.)
The paint has half-dried against his skin by the time Ed reaches up to brush back the hair from Winry's face, letting his hands linger against her jaw.
"You know I love you, right?"
She smiles, and leans to drop a kiss on his nose. "Of course."