-Winry-

She loved how he kissed her.

Yes, she liked how he kissed her on her lips, but she loved how he kissed her on her cheeks. She knew he was just copying her at first, having been awkward in his motions and unsure of how he should do it, but after a while the gesture became as much his as it was hers. And later he moved in such a way that left her heart fluttering as he made the kiss his.

She would walk to him and loop her hands around his neck and he would snake his hands around her waist, and he'd lean in. It started just as she would normally do it. His cheek would press to hers, and she would feel his skin in hers – sometimes it was soft, sometimes rough and stubbly and tickling – and then she would feel his skin moving as his face turned into a smile she couldn't see, and he would let out a small sigh that tickled her ear, before he turned his head without breaking the skin contact and pressed his lips to her cheek. He would mumble something incoherent, but she liked to imagine that it was sweet things such as You look pretty; I'm glad we're married; Honey; Darling; Dear; Love. Then he'd pull away and she'd look into his eyes and stunned silent by the shining suns in his eyes.

Funny that he seemed to be stunned silent by her smile instead.

And while they smiled and talked, she would breathe in his scent and take in his view – the scent of old books and new papers, of ink and graphite and whatever chemical he decided to play with at the time. Of the sun in his clothes and the wind in his breath, and of the earth and grass and flowers he had stepped on wherever his feet took him. She'd stare at how a halo formed around his golden hair and the stars sparkled in his eyes, at how his features softened so whenever he smiled.

And she'd kiss him on the cheek, enjoying the proximity and the warmth of his skin as much as she knew he enjoyed hers, once again breathing the sun in his clothes and a whiff of aftershave, and she would feel the warmth of his hands, his arms, his chest, just as he would feel hers. And they'd talk about whatever was in their minds, so freely and seemingly without care to the world. She wondered, sometimes, why he even put up with her considering the amount of wrenches that had been thrown to his head. Yet, in the end, he stayed, even though she knew that she didn't deserve him, that he was too good for her. After all, what did she have to stand on the same level as the hero who practically saved Amestris, the young man who went to hell and back and loved with everything he had, the boy who fulfilled his promise? But she knew from his eyes that when he looked at her, he saw the sky and the stars and the galaxy beyond, and he'd look at her like the sun that missed the moon so.

And that was so much more that she could have asked for.

A/N: Winry's part is longer than Ed's... but I always thought that she'd be better at describing things like this, so.

So this is the second part of the two shot, posted today just as promised. I really hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it.

Well, leave me some reviews, maybe? Tell me what you think!