"C'mon, Ed!" calls Winry, dropping her suitcase into the soft white sand. She gazes at the beach before her in awe, allowing herself a small smile before running to the water, to the sea of cool liquid that laps at her ankles. Ed manages to drag himself over the hill, still tired from the train ride, but stops to take in the scene. His girlfriend- no, his wife- spins in circles, eyes closed and lips smiling as the sunset frames her twirling body.
He grins, despite his exhaustion, because it's pure Winry and he's married and he's the luckiest guy in the world, dammit.
And his new bride isn't the only reason he counts himself so lucky. Another is his now flesh arm that grips the worn leather suitcase with practiced ease. His brother, out of cold metal and restored to warm flesh, is one more reason to live.
Winry stops her twirling to turn to her husband-husband!- holding her arms out in a silent plea for him to join her. He rolls his eyes but complies, dropping his suitcase next to hers and jogging to the water to grab her soft hands in his own.
She laughs, and he can't resist leaning in to kiss her, long and slow and warm like the sun that sets behind them. He breaks away and laughs, too, because he's slightly tipsy from the alcohol at the reception, because it feels so natural, because he hasn't felt so completely normal in years. Whatever the cause, he stops his laughter long enough to kiss her again, mind unable to think of anything but her mouth on his. They'll share the hopes later, the dreams and quiet worries and outright fears, lying in a hazy jumble and talking in quiet words as he unconsciously traces transmutation circles on her back. Time later to worry and think and remember. But for now, he's a typical lovesick newlywed, and burning gold sinks into shimmering blue.