Edward hated the summer.
Once it had been his favorite season; it had meant that he could be outside all day except for he occasional thunderstorm, and he and Al would go fishing at the pond and wrestle in the grass and take Winly to the store to drool over candy they couldn't have, not just yet because their pooled allowance wasn't enough for one bag until next week.
But now, the summer was like some kind of extended hellish reminder of why his goal was so important.
Ed couldn't touch Al.
In the rays of the sun, the suit of armor Ed's brother possessed became hot and unbearable to touch. One could actually see the waves of heat rising from Al's fake body if one stood in just the right place. And it was only worse to Ed, knowing that every time he flinched away from Al's arm, trying to avoid being burned or touched, he seared Al's heart. It was hard enough having an automail arm and leg—how awful it must have been, then, to not have any body at all ...
Ed tried not to dwell on it too much. It tended to depress him, and Al always knew when he was depressed. Ed didn't like making his little brother worry.
But he still flinched away from that metal skin, and held his own burning automail arm a little further from his body in hopes that he would not bump against it.
Running away from a part of his brother and himself.