A/N: Thought this up while I was in sewing class. Yippee! Haha, finally I wrote a one-shot without all the angst. I'm proud. XD
Disclaimer: Just be glad I don't own FMA. I mean, lets have a little consideration to the poor people who haven't discovered the wonders of yaoi.
Meeting Loose Ends
Chapter one
---
-Fold fabric in half, right sides together.
Check.
-Pin pattern along the selvage.
Che- Oh. Selvage?
What the hell?
Envy, dumbstruck, stared down at his pitiful pink fabric with his mouth slightly agap. Sewing was supposed to be easy- how was it that he couldn't make it past the second step? He hadn't even threaded the machine yet and he was already knee-deep in troubles.
I guess I should explain how someone such as myself ended up in such a humiliating position in the first place.
-
It was a Monday, and just because of that I knew it was going to be a bad day, and believe me, I'm never wrong.
I was a good half an hour late for my first class (Three words: Not a morning person! And no, 'a' doesn't count as a word), so my teacher rewarded me with a detention for my never ending tardiness and alittle back-talking after that. Whoops.
So there I was, sitting slouched in my chair, absent-mindedly twirling a nearly black hair around my pointer finger as my dear old teacher droned on about the most boring of things (the class happened to be science, if you care to know), when my name was suddenly blared over the speakers, alerting me that I was wanted down at the councilor's office.
Most of my class chuckled or clapped, automatically getting it into their heads that I had beat up some innocent little eighth grader again and I was being called down to get suspended or something. Honestly, even I half expected that to be the case. My teacher just rolled his eyes at the interruption and jerked his thumb at the door, motioning for me to get out.
I was only too happy. I stood up, gave a lazy stretch, taking my sweet time, and gave my classmates a mock bow and exited with a smirk on my face.
But I guess I'm getting alittle too detailed here. I tend to do that. Long story short, I was fortunately not being suspended- just informed that I was short one class on my course selection sheet.
My councilor recited to me my few choices for an elective- woodworking, power mechanics, drama, art, cooking, and sewing. Actually, that was quite a bit, but I quickly eliminated most of them.
I did woodworking last year, and I felt like murdering the whole idea of working with wood just as much as the hammer murdered my fingers, one-by-one, each a gruesome death filled with cussing and throwing things across the room. I am not doing that again.
I'm not much of an artist, and frankly, I didn't want to be one, so that was out of the question. Drama was silly. It involved flapping your hands and crowing like a bird. Besides, I'm too lazy, and don't really feel like being labeled a 'Drama Nerd,' as everyone in it was.
Cooking- well, I bet you'd be surprised. I'm not half bad. But here's the thing. I know for a fact that I'm banned from the kitchens after I pulled that little stunt that one time. It had taken staff weeks to clear the mess me and a few buddies made. Not to mention a few times when I had gotten bored and stuck other kid's shit in the ovens and left them to be, well, annihilated.
That left sewing. The most ridiculous, girly, waste-of-time class I had ever heard of. I mean, who went to school to get a great career in sewing? Alright, I can think of a few. Costume artists, designers, future stay at home Moms. But that was beside the point.
I knew a girl once who took sewing. She said it was the easiest class she had ever taken and she passed with flying colours. Apparently you were only required to make three things during the whole semester and otherwise you could sit and talk, do homework, or even sleep if you wanted to.
Now that didn't sound too bad. How hard could it be? I could always bully a few kids to sign up with me so I wouldn't be alone. Besides, it wouldn't matter if I earned a few extra laughs from this. Hell, I was one of the most popular guys at school, and I'd be the one passing a class without doing hardly anything, while the rest of them sat in desks day after day writing essays.
Or drawing.
Or acting.
Or doing something equally as horrible. Fine, then. I had made up my mind, and, with a flourish, I snatched up a pencil from the councilor's stationary holder which was a soup tin pasted with little magazine clippings of cute little animals and butterflies. I was too caught up in the moment with drawing an exaggerated checkmark in the box beside 'Textiles 11' to even mock it in my head.
-
And so here I am. Sitting here, grinding the heels of my palms into my eyes, and not knowing what a 'selvage' is. And I must say, it's not making me feel very happy.
I should be able to sew. I'm not brain dead, despite what you may think. I'll have you know I'm passing all my classes, and no, it's not because it's only the second day of the semester.
Okay, yeah, it is.
But it shouldn't take a genius to do this stuff. I begin flipping idly through the pages of my instruction booklet, gazing in growing dismay at the complicated diagrams and the unfamiliar terms.
Grain line.
Seam allowance.
Slip stitch.
Top stitch.
Casing.
Basting.
I could go on forever. It made no sense. I honestly thought I was going to enjoy this class. The first day wasn't bad at all. Our teacher -who was surprisingly male- (what kind of man teaches textiles? Please. Where is your dignity?) Mr. Mustang, told us we could listen to the radio during class and work at our own pace. We spent the rest of the day filling out papers with class expectations and so on.
But today was different. As soon as the class (which was all girl, I kid you not) and I assembled in the room Mr. Mustang instructed us to go digging in this huge plastic tub filled to the rim with colourful fabric. The girls didn't seem to have a problem with this, the simple minded creatures that they are, but I curled my lip and frowned at the tub and Mr. Mustang, who caught it with coal black eyes, sent me a disapproving look.
I rolled up my sleeves in defeat, and, when the flock of females had died down, I approached the tub and eyed its contents wearily. Sewing was obviously made for girls since I didn't see one piece of material in there that looked even half manly. It was hard for me to even touch the stuff.
But luckily, I was spared that part. Touching the fabric, I mean. The next thing I knew some girl was beside me, pulling out a long, pink snake from the sea of colours and pushing it in my face. I took it from her hands if only to get her to stop.
She had long blonde hair tied up in a high pony tail with big bedroom blue eyes. She smiled at me. "There. I picked out your material for you."
I looked blankly at the fabric pooling out of my arms. It was pink with little white hearts. I tried to ignore the fact that it would completely clash with my eyes and my hair, but I was having a hard time.
"Oh," She gave alittle laugh. "There's a lot there. You'll have a bit extra…"
I cannot even bring myself to nod. It's pink. Is she crazy?
"By the way, my name's Winry. Winry Rockbell. And you?"
"Envy," I say numbly, and turn around. I have to get away. I stumble awkwardly to my seat as Mustang calls for our attention and rather strictly tells us to shut up. In this class, we sit at tables of two. I'm alone, since everyone who's tried to sit with me I scared away. I wouldn't be able to sleep if some cotton-candy high chick sat next to me, now would I?
"Now, this may be sewing class," Mustang is saying, and I only half-listen. He sounds like he's giving a motivation speech to suicidals. "But I expect you to give a hundred and ten percent in here. I will be on you every second of your life in here, and you may hate me, but I will make you a successful sewer."
If I had been paying attention, I might be alittle less calm about the whole thing. So far, I'm blissfully unaware of the horrors that will follow.
"Your first project, which we will be starting today, will be boxer shorts," Mr. Mustang tapped a cardboard box on the table beside him. "I brought in the patterns with the adjustable leg, so that way we can shorten them up to look more appropriate. The more revealing the better, right, girls?"
Okay, that was creepy.
The girls cheered.
As Mustang went around to every table handing out instruction booklets and patterns, I sighed lazily and rested my chin in my hand. Some dark haired girl at the next table batted her eye lashes at me and I, unable to control myself, jumped out of my seat and attacked her.
Just kidding.
I pretended to read the instructions, and give a huge start when Mr. Mustang claps his hands. He tells us to get started, and I think since we're in grade eleven, he expects us to know this kind of stuff. You don't just come into a new subject half way through your high school years, like I did.
I sneak a subtle glance around the room- and all the girls have snapped into action. They all seem to know exactly what their doing. That's fine. I fold my fabric in half, just like the instructions say, and then give up. I'm pretty sure I've done enough work for today.
"Hey, Envy," It's Winry. She's back, and she's taken up the normally empty seat beside me. Maybe I should tell her that her fat ass is crushing my invisible partner.
"Yo," Is all I say, and my voice comes out a bit deeper than usual. I look down at the table top, hoping that maybe she'll get the big idea. You know, the one where I really don't want to speak to her.
She doesn't get it, and I'm not surprised.
"Ready to get sewing?" She's cheery and bouncing slightly. I'm not used to happy people. They always tend to put me on edge.
I'm twiddling the ends of the folded pink fabric in my fingers, making the edges unravel. "Actually, no," I tell her.
"Oh," She looks slightly put-off, but not as much as I hoped. "Why's that?"
I bite back a groan, and level her with a dark glare. "Because I don't want to. Sewing is for the weak hearted."
Just as she's about to retort, two gigantic hands slam down on the table infront of me. I jump slightly in surprise, and so does Winry beside me. I look up into the scary face of our teacher. I get an eerie feeling that he heard exactly what I just said.
"Having troubles, trainee?" He asks in a deep, haunting voice. He's mocking me.
Trainee?
I'm not going to tell this ape that I'm having troubles sewing. I won't.
But all that comes out of my mouth is an unintelligent jumble of excuses, consisting roughly as: "Um, er, you know…"
But I'm saved, believe it or not, by a knock at the door. Mustang's head snaps up, and he calls, "Come in!"
The door inches open, and in shuffles a kid with golden hair tied back in a braid and a long red coat hanging off his shoulders. He's carrying a binder and a piece of paper in his hand.
I feel a smirk pulling at my lips.He looks pretty young, but I know better. In fact, he's only a year younger than me, but I guess we could say he was a bit vertically challenged. Yep, I know this guy.
"Are you Mr. Mustang?" He asks, coming to stand infront of us. He hasn't seen me yet. Getting an affirmative nod, the student hands Mustang his paper. "I'm a transfer," He explains.
Before Mustang can reply, Winry has jumped out of her seat and latched herself onto the new comer, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "Ed! I can't believe you're in one of my classes! This is so great!"
And Ed looks like he doesn't quite know what to do. He pats the girl on the back awkwardly before pulling away.
"Yeah, I guess so," He replies sheepishly.
Mustang clears his throat, grabbing their attention. "Now that you acquainted," He begins, sounding somewhat unimpressed. "We need to get you started," He looks over Ed's paper, and then continues, "Edward Elric. We've got a long and hard semester ahead of us."
"Uh…okay," He agrees alittle slowly.
"Right, so," Mustang looks around, but eventually his devilish gaze lands on me. "You can sit with this trainee, and you can use his fabric, as well, as he obviously has way too much."
He's trying to hint that I'm a waster, I know it.
And then Ed looks at me, too. I can see his jaw drop just a fraction as the situation dawns on him. I smile sweetly and pat the now-empty seat beside me. "Come on over, Edo."
Under Mustang's watchful eye, Ed drops his binder on the table and walks round to sit down. He settles, and then turns abruptly to face me, as though he has just realized I'm here.
"Sewing?" He says in disbelief.
I shrug. "You're here, too."
"I was late choosing an elective," He tells me. "This was the only class left that wasn't full."
"Lucky you."
"So what's your story?"
The smile never leaves my face as I say, almost proudly, "I chose this."
Ed shakes his head, making his bangs sway, as if he doesn't want to know anymore. He changes the subject. "So what are we doing?"
"Making short-shorts, of course," I waggle my pink material in his face. "Want some fabric?"
Ed snatches the fabric and eyes the little white hearts with arched brows. "What is this?" He inquires lamely.
I pluck the material out of his hands and reach for a pair of scissors and start cutting the pink shit in half. "Idiot," I say, and throw his half back at his face.
-
Sewing sucks. I hate it.
As soon as the bell rings, signaling lunch time, I race to Martel, who I find at her locker. I grab her forearms desperately, and exclaim, "I though you said textiles was easy!"
She looks confused. Probably because I look like shit from being hassled by Mr-fucking-Mustang all-fucking-day.
Or, you know. The last hour and twenty minutes.
"It is easy, Envy. Calm down."
I shake my head wildly, and I know I'm acting alittle immature, but I did not have fun in that class.
Martell looks pretty concerned, now. I think I might be scaring her alittle. I never act this way, I realize with a bit of shame.
"Who's your teacher?" She demands suddenly.
That name. Oh, god. My voice comes out as a whisper when I tell her.
She shakes her head this time. "Nope, I had some chick with brown hair and glasses. I've never heard of this guy. Maybe he's new?"
I can't answer. I can feel a lump in my throat that's slowly cutting off my oxygen supply. My perfect plan, ruined. If anything, I've signed myself up for more work that I could have asked for in something like drama.
"Envy?" Martel's voice brings me back into reality. "Are you still on those meds?"
I tear my arms away from her. "Of course not!" I cry.
She doesn't believe me. But anyways, that's a totally different story.
-
The next day I'm purposely late for sewing. When I arrive, I interrupt Mr. Mustang's morning lecture, but he does not speak to me. Instead, he shoots me an icy glare that makes me slink sheepishly into my seat.
Ed's here already, leaning on the table with his arm supporting his head. He looks positively bored out of his mind. He's wearing tight black leather pants and a slightly looser white tank top, and I can't help but thinking he looks fairly attractive. Not that I'd ever tell him.
You see, I've actually known Ed for awhile now. Two years, I'm pretty sure. I failed Science and was forced to stay behind and re-do the course. At first, I knew I pissed Ed off. Hell, I was trying to. I couldn't help that he was so darn cute when he was irritated. Not like me. I turned into a bloody screeching mess when someone ticked me off. But the overall point was that the Chibi didn't like me.
On one of our…not-as-nice days, Ed asked the Science teacher if he could move away from me since I was being so distracting, but the damn professor ended up dismissing me from class early that day, telling me that there was no point in coming to class if I wasn't going to learn. Then I waited outside until class was over so I could beat Ed up.
Ed always ends up sitting beside me anyways, since our last names match up alphabetically. I appear as 'Envy Envy' on the attendance list. Either that or he misses me and drags his ass back to me because I keep sending him little pouts from the other side of the classroom.
Ed likes me. I know he does.
And when Ed feels me nuzzle my face into his shoulder, he's so used to it that he doesn't even spare me a glance. With an exasperated sigh, he plants his hand on the top of my head and pushes me away.
He likes me a lot.
"Soldier!" Mustang yells, catching my attention, but I realize he's addressing Edo. "Is there a problem?"
I puff out my lip expertly. Why does he get to be soldier when I'm only 'trainee?'
Ed's back has gone rigidly straight and I can tell he doesn't like Mustang, either. He replies with a stiff, "No."
"Good! Now, what was I saying? Oh, right…"
God, he always sounds like he's directing a military force or something. What a queer. When I'm sure he's completely engrossed in his own ramblings, I turn back to Ed. "Hey," I say quietly, and poke his thigh.
He swats my hand away. "Pay attention."
I give a little huff of indignation. No fun. I cross my arms upon the table and rest my chin on my hands. I force myself to tune into the lecture.
"So by today I expect every one of you to be finishing up your boxers, if you're not already finished. You know, just measuring your hems and cutting the excess threads," He's saying, and my eyes are slowly widening with each word. "Then you can try on your finished products and get started on the next project."
No. He cannot be serious. This is the third day of class. How can he expect us to be finished? I haven't even started sewing yet! I grow more and more panicked, but all the girls seem totally fine. Excited, even.
"What's our next project?" Winry calls out, and Mr. Mustang actually scares me with the mischievous grin that forms on his lips.
"Why, I think we should tackle the mini-skirts next, wouldn't you agree?"
-
"I can't do this."
"Why not?" Edo peers at me. "Envy, are you sick?"
And I kind of wish I was. Because Ed is looking at me with something other than annoyance, and I don't mind it. At all. I make a mental note to pretend some other time.
But I can't stand this. Sewing just isn't my thing.
"I can't thread the stupid machine," I opt to whine pathetically.
I'm about to bang my head on said machine, when Ed puts a hand on my shoulder, and instantly I'm comforted. I sag back into my chair and sigh.
"I can help you, if you want," He's offering. Figures- he was always the smart one. Even in Science class, he would help me, no matter how much I bugged him.
I scoot back so Ed has room to reach the machine properly- he holds the pink thread in his hand and shows me exactly where to loop it and thread it.
I don't pay attention.
I'm far too busy looking at his hands, memorized at the way they work. I think I'm lacking sleep, and I think Ed notices. I know he's about to say something when all the sudden our names are called. To our relief, it isn't Mr. Mustang. It's a group of girls (lead by Winry) huddled in the corner infront of a wall of mirrors and change rooms. They beckon us over, and for some reason or another, we obey.
They're all giggling and shooting each other sneaky looks which send chills up my spine. Why don't I have a good feeling about this?
"Edward, Envy, won't you help us with something?" Asks a girl I recognize as Rose.
I notice like a sixth sense that Ed is blushing like mad. It makes me slightly sick to think that he has a weak spot for this wench.
"Uh, sure," Is his answer, and I feel like hitting him. He sounds like a love-sick puppy with weak knees.
"Great!" Rose and Winry grab hold of his arms, while two others –Lyra and Noa- take hold of mine. We're herded into separate change rooms, the girls coming in behind us and closing and locking the door. I can hear Ed's protests from the other side of the wall.
The next thing I know, hands are pulling my shirt over my head and another pair is working on my belt. They're moving so fast I can't really comprehend what's going on. All I know is that I'm being mercilessly stripped of my clothes in sewing class, and the same is probably happening to my little Chibi.
If only I wore my skort and tank today- they'd have a hell of a time trying to get those off.
And now I'm naked except for my boxers, and thank god I wore them today. New material, which is silky and cool, is sliding down my body, and I feel thin straps being adjusted on my shoulders. Suddenly, one of the girls pushes me from behind, and I stumble blindly out of the dark little room.
My new clothing is tight around my thighs and I trip, unable to keep my balance. I fall forward and expect to hit the ground painfully, when strong arms catch mine. I blink, surprised, and look up into amber eyes.
He helps me stand up and as I'm about to mutter a 'thanks,' I see just how flushed his face is. He is red with a colour not known to man kind. Something's wrong.
And that's when I see it. Edo's wearing a dress.
"You're wearing a…what the fuck?"
Man, I amaze myself.
"Shut up!" He yells, and it sounds like he's about to cry. "So are you!"
Laughter- the room is full of it. Even Mustang, I realize in horror, is crowing in delight. This cannot be happening. I'm shell-shocked, and almost too afraid to look at myself in the mirror.
Almost.
I turn in what seems like slow motion. I'm clad in a clingy black silk evening gown that comes half way down my thigh. Ed's not much better off, if worse. Actually, I kind of have to laugh at him. Poor kid.
He's sporting in a strapless purple tie-died dress that is far too short to be legal, I'm sure. He's clutching the saggy material to his chest desperately where the breasts are supposed to be.
I have the perfect view of his toned arms and chest and broad shoulders. He's pretty well off in the looks department. I have to force myself not to stare.
I look back at my reflection in the mirror and feel disheartened. You can every bone. Who would like that?
The girls are still ogling over us, cooing and touching. Their taking measurements of my straps and attempting to shorten Ed's dress even more than it already is. I'm silent as they do this, feeling self-conscious.
I can feel eyes on my back and after a moment of waiting for it to go away; I whipped around to lock gazes with the offender. Golden spheres blink and look away, embarrassed at being caught.
"What?" I snap.
He's trying to pull away from the prying hands, but they have no mercy. He stumbles, "I…I think y-you…you look-- mmph!"
'Mmph' being the sound of having lips crash down upon your own when you're least expecting it. I had detached easily from the femme tentacles and strode over to the blonde, leaning down to give him a light peck on the mouth.
I pull away and look down at Ed, smirking. I guess I looked a tad scary then, because he didn't react. Not that I was expecting him to pull me back down and start ravaging my mouth or anything.
He turned on his heel and waltzed into his respective change room, slamming the door behind him. The lock made me wince.
The room was silent. The rest of the class was staring dead-pan at me, and I really felt the need for some fresh air. At last the tension eased up, and most of the girls started giggling again.
Fangirls.
I'm in a room full of them.
Winry punches me in the arm and storms off, grumbling the whole way. I rub the affected spot gingerly and offer the rest of them a weak smile. The bell rings for class change, and Ed emerges –dressed normally and stony faced- and blends in with the crowd, all filing through the door until no one was left.
I rest my forehead against the cool surface of the mirror and close my eyes, letting out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I'm aware of Mustang leaving with a snort of laughter, and saying, "Close the door on your way out."
-
Thursday. I sauntered into the class, trying to look nonchalant, approximately two seconds before the bell sounded. Ed is at our table already, as usual, staring straight forward, giving Mr. Mustang all his attention.
I don't bother him.
It seems like everyone has forgotten yesterday's little incident except for us. Edo and I, I mean, because I know he's still thinking about it, and he doesn't look pleased.
I don't really know why I did what I did. Okay, I lied. I know exactly why I did it. Everyone knows I swing in both directions, and so what? I like Ed and he likes me. Why not?
Why not? Because now Ed is pissed off.
Mustang barked a few instructions, instructions in which I listened to half-heartedly. I caught bits and pieces, like: "hand in your boxer shorts for marking," and "tie your hair back."
When he's done, the class starts to blur before my eyes as the girls get up and begin to move about. Ed isn't beside me anymore; he's retrieved his finished pink boxers and is folding them over by his sewing machine. In the next second, our teacher is infront of me once again.
"Envy, what did I just say?"
God, he sounds mad. What did I do, now?
I can only stare blankly up at him, but even that is hard. His raven black eyes are blazing with fury.
"I specifically told everyone with long hair to tie it back so it doesn't get caught in your machine," He recited. "Of course, you wouldn't know since you haven't actually sewn anything yet."
I glare nice and hard, internally willing him to get bent and leave me the fuck alone. I'm not in the mood.
He doesn't appreciate my lack of response. "What do you say, sailor?"
His yelling hurts my ears and I think he just spat alittle. That's nasty.
"Sir, yes sir!" I retort frostily.
-
Seven minutes later I've given up on carrying through those instructions. Since I never put my hair back, I don't carry around a tie. As a substitute, I cut out a long strip of fabric, but I discovered that doing the deed was absolutely impossible.
I'm sitting with my eyes closed and my forehead on the tabletop when all of a sudden there's warm breath tickling my ear as someone speaks.
"Now you see what I go through everyday,"
I know that voice. It's Ed. I try to crane my neck so I can see him, but he tells me to relax and lay back down. The next thing I know fingers are combing through my long emerald tinted tendrils, nails massaging my scalp. It feels so good I nearly loose myself and whimper.
Ed continues this for a moment before gathering all my hair into his hands and tying it into a high pony tail. When he's done, I make no effort to move. It's put me to sleep.
"I have a new appreciation for that braid of yours, then," I mumble.
-
We work alone for the rest of the class, only bumping into each other a few times as we make our way down the aisles of desks to retrieve what we need. When class is over, we leave separately, Ed just ahead of me.
But he's stopped now –still facing forward- and I know he's waiting for me to catch up. When I do, he grins happily up at me. Or, maybe happy isn't the word. Content? Either way, I don't think he's mad anymore.
"Hey," He says.
I give him a two-fingered mock salute. This only pleases him more. When I bring my arm down, he grabs my hand with his own and gives it a little squeeze. I'm surprised, but not disappointed. I'm about to say something when he suddenly jerks me down so that we're eye level with unexpected strength.
"I--" This time, it's his turn to cut me off. Edo's kiss is sweet, like candy, and I will myself not to melt into it. He's put his hands on my hips, and I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck. We're stumbling blindly down the hall, our lips locked, until my back crashes against the wall, and I'm kissing back fiercely.
Everyone passes us by.
Only our second kiss and we're kind of gettin' into it.
I can tell this is going to be one hell of an interesting relationship.
-
Phew! Finally done. Sorry about any little spelling mistakes in there- it's from lack of beta. Wink+Nudge. Anyways, hope you guys liked it. Second chapter should be out shortly.