#edwin503

Worry gnaws at her, relentless and obsessive, and on Saturday she finds herself outside of Edward’s apartment. She tries to be discrete—visiting the apartment of two bachelors was nothing short of scandalous in her aunt’s book—, but the street is mostly deserted this time of morning. Gracia, the landlady, greets her warmly and ushers her upstairs. When she reaches the door and knocks, Alfons is the one that answers. 

The look in his eyes is sad, almost pitying as he lets her in. It invites something cold and hard to form in the pit of her stomach. 

“Is he okay?” she asks, placing her handbag on the side table. 

Alfons presses his lips together. “More or less. How about I go get him? I need to step out anyway, then you two can . . . talk.”

Before she can answer, he’s disappeared around the corner. She carefully lifts the cloche hat from her head and smoothes her blonde coiffure as she does, trying not to eavesdrop, 

Alfons comes back into sight, saying a quick goodbye before escaping through the front door.

Then she is alone in the living room. 

It’s oddly silent now, the quietness only punctured by the occasional bump or thud in the other room. 

When Edward arrives, he doesn’t look well. 

Despite sensing this, Winry cannot pinpoint exactly what is wrong with him. His skin is pale, his thin undershirt sweat-soaked. He has a glossy look in his eyes, and his hair is down, spilling on either side of his face like curtains ready to be drawn. 

Her first instinct is to go to him, to hold him and tell him things will be alright, but the look on his face stops her. 

They stare at each other from across the room for long moment. 

Then Edward deflates, like the only thing that had kept his body upright was the air in his lungs. He slumps into a chair and gestures for her to do the same. 

Uncertain and unprepared, she does. 

And through the thin fabric of his undershirt, it’s the first time she’s noticed something is not quite right about his right arm. 

Edward looks at her, his gaze half resolved, half pleading. 

“I love you,” he finally says.

They’ve been seeing each other for over six months now, and it’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. He says it in other ways, mostly with his hands or eyes, but she likes the way it sounds in his voice.  

Still, something in his tone keeps her enthusiasm at bay. 

“I love you, too, Edward, but . . . what is this about?”

He looks at the floorboards, out the window at the tree scraping the glass, then sighs. 

“I want to tell you everything.”

XxXxX

The next chapter may or may not be on time . . . I have an audition on Saturday and they are requesting a classical monologue that I really haven't started, and I also have a chorale performance the same day, so obviously I'm strapped for creative outlets xD But anyways, hopefully I'll catch up the next day! 

Please drop a comment/reblog if you have the time (they keep me going :D) and I'll catch you next chapter!