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Scars write the history of his life across his body. Some are pale and silver, ever fading except when the right light catches them. Others are stained, like a spill of wine on his right shoulder and along his ribs under that arm, his left thigh and the star-shaped puncture wound on the lower left quadrant of his torso, smaller on his front side and exploding – a supernova – on his back. Those are the scars she knows how to tend; a hot compress, a massage, an analgesic.
It’s the scars inside his heart that she needs a tutorial for, though Winry thinks she’s learned what helps those too – a kiss when Ed’s least expecting it, soft words in his ear when he’s too lost in what might have beens. Loving him, even when he sometimes doesn’t think he deserves it.
It’s a long process, breaking up scar tissue so it will heal properly. Winry knows Ed heals fast, though; he’s too stubborn to do otherwise.
And she’s too stubborn to let him go on living in pain.
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