Edward was sat quietly on a wooden barstool as you stood over him, quietly cleansing his left arm, which harbored a massive gash that began at his elbow and nearly stretched halfway to his wrist. He refused to make eye contact with you as you patched him up—clearly dealing with a hurt ego.

His eyes flickered to you as his lips pressed into a frown, his brows furrowing, he clearly wanted to say something, but hesitated for a moment.

Ed: “Uh, thank you… for helping me out.”

His brother, somehow a living suit of armor, stood next to him

Al: "Yes, we thank you very much."