The broken bottle had felt heavy in his hand. Maybe it was because - in a split second - he'd seen his father's eyes in the glass reflection. Thrice he thrust his arm forward, watching the redness expand across the man's shirt. Alphonse had screamed.

Ed didn't care. His rage was beyond his control; his vision coated in a red filter. He only wanted to see that man dead. He didn't want to see his brother hurting anymore.

So he had picked up the bottle.

The weight had been unfamiliar. It was far from the delicacy he used with the keys of a piano or a can of paint. He had stepped back, staring at the life that had been taken with his hands. He hadn't felt remorse nor relief.

He still didn't, months later. A jagged wedge was drawn between him and his brother, much like the one he pierced his father with. It was okay, though. As long as Al was safe.

He deserved to be alone with his failures; with his sins.

Ed straightened the hood over his head and quickened his steps. He usually found himself alone on nights like these, sauntering down alleyways with no destination in mind. The street lights above him flickered, shining off the paint can in his hand. He found solace in graffiti, gaining a sense of adrenaline with every wide stroke.

The garage door of a mechanic's shop caught his eye, and he smirked as he looked over the spotless exterior. This would be too easy.

Ed shook the can until he was satisfied and raised it above his head. Just what design would be appropriate for a door so clean? A messy red image fabricated itself in his mind, and he prepared to spray.

"I do hope you're planning on paying for that when you're done." Ed slowly turned to see a girl leaning against the wall, close to his age.

"What's it to you?"

"It's my shop." She must've detected a hint of curiosity in his eyes, and continued through the silence. "I'm not going to call the police on you. Just… paint on an old brick wall or something, not my source of income."

Ed continued to stare at her until she seemed to give up on waiting, returning to her shop. She was strange, but something about her he liked. Her posture maybe, and the slight glint of compassion in her eyes.

She was outside again - looking at the clouds, he noticed.

She raised her eyebrows, mouth curving into a smile. "Didn't think you'd be back after I caught you."

Ed mustered a scoff, and stood at a reasonable distance from her, finding his eyes drawn to the sky. The clouds covering the sun moved by, and he squinted from the harsh rays.

"Any particular reason why you do it? Not that I'm one to judge." Her head was still tilted upward, yet he felt as if she were looking straight at him.

"Dunno. It feels good… looks badass… not much else."

"I suppose that's a fair reason," she chuckled. "My name is Winry, by the way."

"Ed."

What started as a coincidental meeting turned into routine, and more days than not he was drawn to the alleyway beside the mechanics shop. They barely spoke beyond trivial topics, and Ed often found himself enjoying the silence.

They would stand in the same position, watching the clouds or the stars. More often than not he'd be walking only to see a second shadow behind his own. Such an image used to provoke fear inside him, and after a backwards glance he'd hurry his pace. The same couldn't be said for the present. He would see the shadow and slow down, finding comfort in the company.

Days turned to weeks, and soon she had found her way into his apartment.

His fingers danced along the keys, and he worried his secrets would spill through the music. Though he concealed his emotions, they always seemed to emerge full fledged from his piano.

She sat and watched his piece, laying on her back so her hair was sprawled and the sunlight enveloped her. Winry was a listener, though she wasn't without her own carefully phrased questions. He could tell she was curious, and thankfully she knew her own limits.

Ed always avoided her questions about family. She stopped prying when she could finally read the guilt in his eyes.

He knew more about Winry than she did about him, which still wasn't much. He could count the noteworthy pieces on one hand, in fact. One, she lived alone and ran her own shop. Two, her parents were dead. Three, she could make a killer apple pie. And four, she was an absolute genius.

He grabbed his pack of cigarettes and placed one between his lips, letting it dangle as he reached for his lighter with the other hand.

"Nope," she said, snatching it away before he could. She giggled when he gave an exaggerated pout and held up a lollipop. "My granny wrecked herself with these things. You sure you wanna go down the same path?"

Ed couldn't care less about his own well-being, yet he still found himself following her words. He took the lollipop and compiled, making room as she sat next to him on the piano bench.

"Have you ever played?" he asked, taking note of her strong hands.

"Not really. I play guitar." Ah, that explained the calluses.

"Just follow along." Ed started on a fairly simple piece, and she quickly began a steady countermelody. He rolled his eyes. "I thought you said you couldn't play!"

"Yeah yeah, I say a lot of things. It's easy for me to catch on."

"That's an understatement," he muttered.

They messed around for hours, and Ed realized he had smiled more than he had in a very long time. Winry must've known the effect she had on him; there was no other way a girl could be so radiant.

Somewhere along the night she fell asleep, having drifted away to the chords of Clair de Lune. Though she was gone at daybreak, Ed knew she'd be back.

She never gave him back his lighter.

A month later, and Ed was beginning to think something in the universe had shifted just for them. His secrets were still locked down, yet Winry stayed. She always came back, her reasoning beyond him.

She never questioned the way he would always wear a hood in public, or mention the charred polaroid he kept with him at all times. She didn't care about his scars - in fact, she embraced them.

Sometimes they would meet on a bus, or at a convenience store, and would walk side by side as if they had planned it. He'd sit in the back of her shop and watch the way she used tools like another part of her skin, joking and grinning with customers like it was second nature to her.

Of course, there were always slip ups, and suddenly he'd be back at his father's house. In an alleyway, perhaps, using a water bottle to try to wash the blood from his hands. He'd hear someone shout on the street and remember his brother's screams, or get shoved only to remember how painful it was to be kicked against a wall.

Those memories always followed him, yet Winry somehow helped him forget.

It was on their spontaneous trip to the countryside that he remembered how much he loved the hills.

"Are you from here?" Winry asked, following behind him as they walked on the train tracks.

"Yep. Always liked it better than the city," Ed said as he twirled his cell phone around in his fingers.

Winry held her arms out to steady herself as she balanced on the rail. "I can see why. You can actually breathe here."

Ed nodded and continued to look at his phone. He barely used the thing anymore. It was already cracked, and carried more with it than he would've liked.

"Hand me your water bottle for a second." Winry seemed puzzled as he set it down, balancing his phone on top.

"What are you doing?" He ignored her as he searched around the tracks, finding a relatively long stick.

He steadied his grip and swung it like a golf club, propelling his phone off the bottle until it was out of sight. The breeze suddenly picked up with a strong gust of wind, toppling over the bottle and blowing their hair into their faces.

"Ed!" Winry's eyes were wide as her features contorted in rage.

He laughed and slung his arm around her shoulders, stopping her in her protests. "I don't need it."

"I'd really like to know what's going on in your brain one day," she grumbled. "If you even have one, that is."

"At least I'm not a gearhead like you," he retorted.

She stepped out of his grip and continued walking along the tracks, leaving him jogging to catch up. "Yeah, then you'd actually have common sense."

They walked in silence again, and Ed tried not to let his thoughts show on his face.

His brother's messages were on that phone.

It was on rainy days that foreboding lay heavy in the air. Everything had been perfect for so long. For too long.

The serendipity had deceived him, because no matter how much he tried to run away from his mistakes, they would always catch up with him.

He should've known better than to drag another innocent into it. Her luminosity only magnified his sins.

The sirens had been the first clue. Ed gripped her wrist and ran, dropping his paint and bag. He didn't know how they had found him, but he suspected it'd happen eventually.

The red and blue lights embellished his own artwork, altering the hues with their presence.

The street lights blurred as they ducked through the rain, and Ed could hear footsteps on the concrete behind them. The puddles splashed water around their ankles and he knew they wouldn't be able to run for long. A crash of thunder boomed and he could hear Winry panting for breath.

Spotting a tight alleyway, he pushed her inside and covered her mouth.

"You need to run. Now," he whispered, looking behind him for any police officers.

She moved his hand from her mouth with more force than expected. "No, I'm not just going to leave you here!"

"Please Winry, you have to. You don't even know what I've done. I shouldn't have kept talking to you… I'm sorry."

"I don't care… I don't care. I'm staying here. With you."

Ed didn't understand why she was so forgiving of him; why she was so willing to understand. Beyond their periodical meetings and empty words, he had still been an enigma to her.

She always ignored her quandary, choosing instead to indulge in the ecstasy of the moment. Their relationship was built on no meaning, yet it had created one all the same.

He could tell she was mindset on her goal, and nothing he would do would be able to change it.

If there was a way for him to go back, perhaps things would've been different. He'd still have a mother, a father who loved him, a brother who didn't fear him.

He'd have a girl who he was able to love wholeheartedly, where they'd be able to laugh and jibe and confide in the other.

But from the moment the bottle entered his hands, he had crushed that reality.

His decision was made. He wouldn't fail anyone else.

Ed stepped out of the alleyway, facing the crowd of officers that had been searching for him. He stared ahead, put his hands up, and accepted his fate.