Aging
I don't own Full Metal Alchemist or any of its characters, unfortunately. And I have nothing against grey hair (unless it's on a particular maths teacher) and am not trying to mock it in any way. Also, this is my first fan fiction ever so constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated! Thank you.
Might I also add that I'm having trouble not having six-hundred and sixty-six words in total (I'm a very paranoid superstitious person) and I've just taken this story down, added this comment on to make more words and am about to put it up again.
Anyway, onwards with the story!
As the sun shone through the small gap in the curtains, the sleeping solider groaned in his sleep. Making itself accustom to the light that was now present, a dark eye slowly opened, its brother soon following in suit.
Colonel Roy Mustang sat up in his bed, stretching and yawning in greeting to the new day. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table, reading the displayed time aloud. "Six forty-five." He read. He swung his legs off of the bed haphazardly then froze in that position as he was hit with realisation. "Six forty-five?!" he exclaimed quickly jumping to his feet and heading straight for the shower.
He was due to be at headquarters for seven o'clock, which only gave him fifteen minutes to have a shower, have breakfast, brush his teeth, comb his hair, don his uniform, and get himself looking his usual pristine manner in any other way that hasn't already been mentioned. It usually took him ten minutes to saunter there in addition, but he calculated that it would only take him five minutes if he made a mad dash.
He had no idea why he had woken up so late - he was into usual routine of waking up at no later than six am - then again, he had been up until late last night painting. Painting is one of his less common hobbies, but he enjoys it none-the-less. He'd just happened to stumble upon the buckets of paint he had from when he was 'experimenting' with human transmutation arrays and started painting random items both present and beyond his vision. His paintings looked… interesting, to say the least.
Once he'd finished in the shower, he decided to skip breakfast, hoping he could make it to lunch without his stomach making growling noises in the somewhat quiet office he shared with his subordinates. He cleaned his teeth then sat down in front of his mirror, comb in hand waiting to detangle his ebon hair, which no matter how many times he tried to comb it, still remained tousled, though he never gave in. As he proceeded to do so with some urgency, he noticed one strand of hair shimmer under the light unusually. He stopped and fished through his hair to find the strand. Once he found said strand, he started inspecting it and compared it to the other hairs on his head. He grimaced at his findings and his expression slowly transformed into a forlorn one.
"Grey." He whispered dejectedly and slouched, still grasping the offending hair. He quickly tugged at it removing it from his head wincing whilst doing so and carefully placed it on the table by him. He glowered at it for a moment before resigning. "Does this mean… I'm old?" He asked himself and sighed. Colonel Roy Mustang, twenty-nine years of age, Ladies' man, hero of the Isbalan Rebellion - though he'd strongly disagree with that - , State Alchemist…
He continued musing on all of his life's achievements, his smug smile soon appearing and continued growing in the process only to end up falling as he remembered the hair. He turned his head and saw the clock. Time had passed rapidly during all his antics, for it was already seven. Not that he cared anymore though. He was too depressed to care about anything. He threw on his uniform; not caring about how perfect he was looking, made sure he had his keys and strolled out of the building to make his way to Eastern Headquarters.
And this is the beginning of Roy Mustang's mid-life crisis.