You would think working in a big-shot publishing newspaper company type thing would be fun. Oh goody, look at that! Wow, am I really working beside such an author?! You would, I'm sure, in a happier world, be quite right. Except, in this case, you're wrong. But, really, we were both wrong, because I had thought the same thing. I had considered that perhaps working under such an unreasonable man would have its benefits like anything else. Yes, reading popular articles-anticipated articles-before they came out was great, really, but the psychological warfare that I endured day by day was not worth it. I didn't think it was. It was a miracle I hadn't flipped a desk, cut the computer wires, and stormed out of that building like a really bad, dramatic, and violent movie protagonist. Not that the thought didn't cross my mind. Oh, it crossed my mind so often I'm sure if I was drunk and angry enough I would have done it. Though, that was most likely one of the reasons why I chose to abstain so heavily. This was an important job that an extra angry me could not afford to mess up. Besides, Mikasa had pointed out I could file for relocation into another department and raise my standing as a proper journalist. The thought drove me to stay and work under Rivaille despite the snarky discrimination and seeming sense of occupational ineptitude that had lingered and slid itself into every recess of my daily life.
Of course, my complaints were severely invalid and I now found myself entering the workplace so often as before. I'd take the elevator, walk by the cubicles of co-workers unmet, and sashay myself back into his office, asking him with as much sweetness (though I'm sure my expression was most like a grimace) what he needed. He then, in turn, would spout off things I needed to do and would stare at me disapprovingly. Though, today was different. He had seated me in front of his desk; pale hands neatly laced together, and stared. I was used to this. I didn't think much of this. His staring became as natural as peeing at this point, though, I guess a part of me could have picked a better analogy for that. But frankly, I have yet to meet a person who didn't feel comfortable while peeing. Not that I'm saying his staring was comfortable, I was just used to it.
Anyways, back to the staring. I carefully watched him in return. I had fallen within the habit of writing things down-little notes of habits he had, though it was also used to record my work for the day. I keep the notebook at my side constantly, it was almost like a survival guide. Please Rivaille, get a slightly less judgmental glance, then go home. All were beautiful teachings of the book. Honestly, he made me nervous, so nervous my knees would shake and cold sweats would run along my spine. I couldn't exactly explain this and I'm quite sure it was because of his presence, though I wasn't quite sure what aspect of his being sent me into such state. "So..." I clear my throat because it's all I can do to initiate conversation. "Why did... you... uh... call me down?" I smile awkwardly. "I already got my work for the day. Or, is there something else? If there is then you can just tell me and I'll get right on it!" I try to brighten my smile in the way I've seen Mina do so many times before when an unreasonable person comes to the informational desk. Of course, her scary blonde friend beside her helped alleviate the presence of any unwanted, rude scum at the desk.
"No," he shakes his head slightly. "That's it."
I didn't know where the conversation was going from there. I could only sniff (since my nose was still stuffy and I still sick) and pray for the best in this situation. "Then... why did you...?"
"I want your opinion on something, Jaeger," he opens a drawer of his desk.
I nod a little bit. I had gotten used to him calling me by my last name, as well, like some sort of creepy disciplinarian. Except, I hadn't seen him do that with any of the other workers in the cubicles outside. From what I had seen: he called them all by their first names. I couldn't quite explain it even if I really tried. I had honestly just assumed at this point it was because he had been working with them for a while and that some respect had been built. But to me: Rivaille seemed like the sort of guy who got all of the respect and people in turn received only little. "Sure, on what?"
He pulls out a file and slides it onto the desk. "This article. I'd ask someone else to do it but they'd lie. You're honest," he sighed as if I were simply a barely suitable last resort.
I nod a bit and open the file. This article was a bit more dramatic. It talked about the crimes and gangs in the lower districts and their branches. Apparently something akin to heroin but stronger had surfaced in Maria and was skyrocketing in use and popularity. Gang wars had also sprung up and were no longer taking to the night, but now crawling into the lives of the daily people. I read it and my stomach churns. Rivaille is descriptive, holding nothing back. He's honest. He called me honest but I believed him to be much more so after reading what he had composed. I knew he had people working under him that brought him the facts, but his ability to compile them together was impressive. It was persuasive, in a sense, as if not encouraging people to do these sort of things. "It's good," I'm speaking though I hadn't necessarily intended to. "It's a bit graphic though. Remember that we do have some kids reading the paper. We don't want them to read this article and be scarred for life."
Rivaille leans back into his chair and ejaculates a breath of what I deem to be of utter vexation. "If the kids read it then it's bad parenting on the actual guardian's part," he sighs once again. "I'll rewrite certain parts but I don't want to lose my point." Rivaille closes his eyes. Completely unrelated and completely unnecessary, I noticed he has long eyelashes. I can't recall what part of me decided to look at something so trivial, but I notice it. Once the thought pops up: a dozen like it surface. He has long eyelashes, his eyes are actually a very lovely shade of gray and roll with emotion though most would think it was just an opaque and lifeless expanse. His fingers are usually cold and he's also not particularly fond of the cold. I get nervous when he stares at me and I guess a part of me wants to impress him. To get him to actually smile and say: 'You did a good job, Jaeger.' Like I said: I don't know what makes me think these things and it's annoying, to say the least. I'm still thinking and feeling these things despite my rising discomfort. I can only blame myself and my fascination for the unexplained and the urge to conquer and declare in triumph that I understand what it is he's about. But, I don't understand. I don't understand and he makes me curious. I suppose I haven't left yet because of the possibility of relocation and my own selfish desire to figure him out. It's ridiculous, I know, but that doesn't detour my curiosity and thirst for understanding. Even I know this sounds dumb in my own head, I can only cringe as I feel this way, yet my resolve remains.
As I mull these matters over, I don't realize he sat up. I don't realize he's leaning over the desk and is close once again. I can only blink in confusion as I stare at him. I didn't realize he had moved. Though, that at this point it is simply common knowledge. I'm observant yes, but when I'm in my thoughts: everything seems to escape me. "Has your fever caused you delusions?" Rivaille smiles a sort of taunting smile as he asks that. The guy doesn't smile, but smirks. I didn't like it, needless to say.
"It's not a fever, It's a cold." The fact he finds it amusing pisses me off. I'm so tempted to sneeze on his papers, oh, that would have been great. But I valued my life and the prospect of hospitalization didn't necessarily appeal to me as much as sneezing on his papers did. So, I decided not to. "If it were a fever I would be red... or passed out... or something." I get up to leave. He stops me. He doesn't touch me, per say, but lightly taps my arm. My sleeves are rolled up and my tie is a mess, in that state: I could feel his cold fingers brush against my arm. It was soft, yet forceful in a way, as if telling me that I had to wait a second and that there was no choice but for me to do so.
"You're looking red now," he remarks. There's a small bag on the table and he slides it towards me. I can see the logo on the side of the bag to know its medicine from a near by pharmacy. "Take this. You've been sniffing and coughing like someone with a damn lung infection."
I open my mouth to say that's rude and that he shouldn't be making jokes about that and that lung infections are a serious problem. Except, that nothing comes out. I just look like an idiot with my mouth slightly ajar. Then it dawns on me that this, in its own odd and snarky roundabout way, was an act of kindness. My eyes widen a bit and I accept the bag. Not because I needed the medicine (which I did, mind you) but because he was being nice for once and I'd at least like a memento of such a rare event. "Fine," I grumble. "I'll take it," I look at him, adding a small thanks to the end of my sentence. Something passes through his eyes I can't discern. I could have sworn it was one thing though what I thought it was seemed fairly unlikely. I want him to look like that again so I can know what it was I just saw. But, he sends me away as if knowing that he had let his armor slip for a second.
A/N: Sorry this took a while. School is hectic and I struggled to come up with something for this chapter. I have so many ideas yet they're for later on that early points like this strike me as hard. I don't want to rush things yet I also don't want this to forty chapters before they start dating. So, the next chapter will have them a bit closer.