Characters: Guess. ;D
Pairing: None, really. Well, kinda, but that's all in my head. XD
Summary: What was the worst that the younger man could do? Dismiss him, perhaps...there had been no rumors of the alchemist being insulting, only brooding...but he felt that there was no harm in trying to break the ice. My first little drabble, don't be too harsh. x-posted at fm_alchemist and teruteruboozu.
Raven black eyes stared at him piercingly as he made his way through the messroom. The look in his eyes was obsidian...fiery, almost--and porcelain pale skin stood out in sharp contrast to the shadowy color of his hair.
He had heard of him throughout the men, one of the youngest alchemists employed within the military. Cold, chilled, like ice--an eighteen year old that seemed to be grumpy as all hell, and more distant than the edge of the universe. Some called it shy, while others chalked it up to bastardy. He was here for a purpose, and he was damned if he didn't achieve it, that much was clear.
He was quite sure that Mustang was staring at him.
Usually the smaller man was sitting on his own, his aura intimidating to all who even considered sitting with him. The way he understood it, there had to be someone who was willing to go and sit down with him. But every single time he had tried to do it himself, there was some kind of invisible shield around Mustang--either that, or he himself was insecure. What was the worst that the younger man could do? Dismiss him, perhaps...there had been no rumors of the alchemist being insulting, only brooding...but he felt that there was no harm in trying to break the ice.
As his tray was loaded up with the military's excuse for edible delicacies and he chatted with friends in the lunchline--some kind of meatloaf that resembled something from a science fiction novel in color--red? Is the sauce supposed to look like that?, canned peaches, and peas that looked like all of the liquid had been steamed out of them, he could feel those eyes on his back.
This was the day he was going to get Mustang to stop looking at him from a distance, finally, and he steeled himself for the experience, as doubtful as he was.
He was one of the most gregarious out of all of the soldiers; he knew a lot of them by name, knew something about them, and could, in most probability, remember it for years. His memory was impeccable. Understandably, he had caught Mustang's eye for that reason. A social butterfly is easily picked out from the crowds because of his/her tendency to be everywhere. And he wasn't going to admit that wasn't true, because it obviously was.
Taking a deep breath, he made his way to that lone table in the back, nearest to the windows. As soon as everyone began to see where he was heading as he politely declined other seating options, conversation slowed, and gazes were intently glued on him and where he was headed. The temptation to turn back and sit elsewhere was strong, and he felt his heart pounding within his chest. The tile of the floor swiftly passed underneath his feet, and he finally slid his tray onto the clean, vacant surface in front of Mustang.
There were books piled at his side, and the alchemist's fork was stuck in his mouth idly, as if he were waiting for what this newcomer was going to do. Black eyes lifted up towards him, and he took another cleansing breath in an attempt to remove the shaky feeling from his veins.
Thrusting his hand in front of him in offerance of a shake, he firmly stamped out any nervousness in his mind. "Maes Hughes," he greeted, and waited. The alchemist took his time in standing up from his seat, and Hughes was afraid that he was going to gather up his books and leave. But instead, a slender hand slipped into his own without hesitation, firmly squeezing his palm with a kind of strength that Hughes immediately knew was beyond the alchemist's years.
"Roy Mustang," a slight, accepting smile quirked at the side of the youth's lips.
And as Hughes gave a relieved smile and settled into the chair opposite him, the entire cafeteria seemed to have heaved a sigh of ease.