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Winry's hair cascades from the loosening knot as she leans back, her bandanna having long slipped from her head. A contented sigh ends the silence between them.
"Thank you, I'm all done," she says, and brushes the sweat from her brows. Her smile is brighter than the struggling light of the oil lamp.
"That was quick," Ed says and cups her chin with his left hand, feels the warmth beneath his thumb pad and the moisture along her jawline. "You're getting better."
Winry beams and lifts his arm up to the lamp, watching the reflections dance on his new Automail.