Title: Scent of smoke

Style: Drabble
Genre: General, Romance
Rating: PG

Last of these three drabbles and yes, this is a HavocWinry

"There are different types of people who smoke in the world," Winry announced to the stars, sitting on the park bench.

There were two groups they can go in, she thought.
There were those who didn't care that other people don't like smoking, who just blew the smoke into other people's faces as they walked around, who walked along swinging their pipe or cigarette, almost singeing you if you happened to be walking behind them.
They were arrogant and didn't seem to care about others around them, but unfortunately, the majority of those who chose to smoke were that type, giving the small group who weren't a bad name.

That small group of people who were thoughtful of other people, of those who didn't smoke. Maybe it was because out of all the people they knew, they were the only ones who smoked, or maybe it was because they were more compassionate.

Granny was a compassionate smoker, she let the smoke trickle out the corner of her mouth and never blew it into people's faces.
When all three of them first started school and Granny had walked them there and back, she always walked on the other side of the path, slightly behind, silently smoking and guarding them.
When Winry had baths when she was five or so and Granny had washed her, Granny had always placed the unlit pipe on the enameled sink.
She never smoked when attending a patient; she never did so while cooking, nor when she was attending a wedding or birthday, doing business or working at the automail.

There were so many times when Granny didn't smoke, wouldn't smoke, that maybe she shouldn't have smelled of tobbacco.

She did though, and whenever Winry thought of home, of Risimbool, she thought of the light dancing on the grass, warm sunlight and a soft pervasive scent of tobacco.

-

"Do you mind?" An enquiring voice near her head brought her back to Central.
Winry lifted her head up from their shoulder, looking at the blonde. "I don't."

"Then I won't. I know you; you don't mind, but you'd rather I didn't." He grinned and put the packet back into his pocket.
She smiled and nestled her head further into the angle between neck and shoulder, the scent of ciggarette smoke impregnated into his collar, skin and hair, humming a recognition of his statement.

"What was all that about different types of people who smoke? You were talking about it a few minutes ago." He peered up at the sky, the angle between shoulder and neck changing. She lifted her head from it, gazing past his face into a distance somewhat after it.

"There are two types of smokers in the world," he turned to face her voice, "those that love smoking and not people, and those that smoke and have people love them."

He bent his head down, their faces met each other, breathing each other in like scented smoke.