060. Spring

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Beyond the fields of open, wildflower-soaked meadows, Winry hears the hustle and bustle of the Resembool's annual Sheep Festival.

"Hey, um," she calls out, knocking briskly on her grandmother's bedroom door. Without thinking about it, Winry jiggles the door-handle, pushing it open, stepping in. "I found your missing pistol—"

Drenched in the blinding white sunlight, a topless Riza stiffly pulls up her ankle-length, woollen skirt.

Winry's eyes catch sight of the old, mottled burn-scars, healing over the thick and reddened tattoo lines. She's heard of flame alchemy from Edward, but never seen such a thing on someone's body.

"You should wait for someone to answer before barging in," Riza announces softly. She aims a careful, stern look as the other girl eeps.

Despite wanting to flee right on the spot, bury herself her modified, vastly improved automail parts she's been working on, Winry purses her lips and observes her, clutching the door-frame.

"… Did it hurt?"

A birdsong, high and sweet, drifts in through the window. Risa clasps up her shoulder-length, gold hair into a barrette, her expression now stoic.

"Yes," she says candidly, dully.

No more needs to be spoken. Winry's eyes moisten, but she squares her shoulders bravely, waiting in silence for Riza to finish dressing, her fingers hovering over and slipping together the fabric and the plain, white blouse buttons.

"Use lukewarm water to treat it… the next time, if there is a next time," Winry informs her, seeing Riza's lips part suddenly, her eyes widening by a fraction. "Not cold water. Wash first, then apply ointment. Anything else immediately on those kind of burns will trap the heat inside your skin."

It's not her business. She's just a gearhead according to everybody, in love with machinery, wearing nothing else these days except her house slippers and a variety of sweat-covered bandannas and an oversized, beige mechanic's jumpsuit unzipped down to her waist, exposing her ebony tube-top and her bellybutton.

Winry's greasy, bitten-down fingernails scratch over one of her platinum cuffstuds earrings in her cartilage, up to a loosened, small hoop.

"I will," Riza says, her mouth twitching into a rare, solemn smile. "Thank you, Winry." Relief and a flushing, lovely heat washes over her when Riza touches her arm, causing Winry's heart to skip a beat.

Or two.

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Fullmetal Alchemist isn't mine. I HAD GREAT TIMING! This is a very spring weather kind of theme fic for the first of April/Easter and anyway I hope everyone likes it! Thanks! Comments/thoughts appreciated! I know that I've been posting every day for the past 60 days but I stiiiiiiiiiiiiiill want encouragement, guys! x)