Ball of Thread

Edward sat at the window seat in Winry's attic, the window and his automail fogging up. The rain was pouring down outside, and traced unique patterns on the windowpane. Winry was cleaning out the dusty attic, and Edward was "helping". If by helping, that means sitting aimlessly watching Winry work. Edward sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, his hair sliding over his shoulders. His flesh hand was pressed against the cool window and a thoughtful expression was across his face. Winry paused in her ministrations, sitting back to wipe the hair from her face.

He glanced over to the handsome blonde and was about to make a comment about his workmanship (or lack thereof) when Edward said without glancing away from the window, "We're like balls of thread, did you know that?"

Winry quirked an eyebrow and said with a tone of incredulity, "…Huh? What are you talking about?"

Still looking contemplatively outside, Edward stated quietly, "Our souls are like loosely bound balls of thread. When something traumatic happens to us, it begins to unravel the ball. The more suffering we endure, the more the ball unravels and the closer we come to insanity. The end of our "rope". My thread is wearing thin, ya know? Or it was. But when we're together…it feels like an invisible hand is slowly rolling it back up."

Winry, confused at this sudden introspective mood, replied, "I understand what you mean, Edward."

Edward turned to him at this point and studied the blonde's face, trying to determine if she was telling the truth. He smiled sadly and said, "No, you don't. But that's okay. Thanks anyway, Win." And with that, he turned back towards the rain-soaked window. Winry stared at him for a few more seconds, wincing at the lonely tear sliding down his cheek.