Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Misspoken ❯ Soccer ( Chapter 8 )

 

 

Misspoken

 

VIII

 

Soccer

 

 

Ed shifted in his chair as he turned the page. He'd been sitting there for about five hours now and he was just about ready for a break—or at least his body was. His mind kept saying, `just five more minutes!' as it tried to drink in all of the information it was being offered.

 

Al had left about thirty minutes ago when he'd agreed to run a few errands with Lieutenant Havoc. His brother—according to Havoc—was much more pleasant and agreeable, and also more willing to help out where needed, than Ed was. Such an opinion of him didn't bother Ed at all because he got bothered less.

 

Suddenly something dropped onto the open book he was reading and Ed blinked as he took in the round ball with white and black... He blinked again. A... soccer ball...? His eyes traveled to the top of the ball to where a hand was holding it in place, then along the arm to the person—who just happened to be Roy Mustang.

 

Ed felt his heart quicken a little at the sight of the man and in order to cover up his pleasure at seeing him, Ed snapped, “What the hell?”

 

“It's lunch time, Fullmetal. You need a break.”

 

“I can't eat a soccer ball,” Ed said with a roll of his eyes.

 

Mustang grinned. “I thought we could kick the ball around a little, then get lunch.” He stopped and looked around. “Where's Alphonse? I figured he'd be here with you.”

 

“He went to help Havoc,” Ed answered quickly, then said, “You paying for the food?”

 

“Maybe,” Mustang said cryptically. “You going to do this soccer thing with me? I've never played before so I figured you could give me a few tips to help me get started.”

 

Ed raised an eyebrow. “You want to learn how to play soccer?” For some reason, this just didn't seem right. Mustang didn't seem the type...

 

“I just wanted to see what you thought was so interesting about the game,” Mustang answered easily.

 

“I don't play anymore,” Ed said, not wanting to seem as eager as he felt. “I already told you that.”

 

“We don't have to play an actual game, just... You could just show me a few things and we could kick the ball back and forth.”

 

“I don't know,” Ed said hesitantly, having already made up his mind that he most definitely would do this since he'd get to spend more personal time with Mustang—something that hadn't happened since they'd gone to see the animation a week ago. “I don't want Hawkeye to bitch at me because you're too tired to work.”

 

“I'm not that old, Ed,” Mustang said, displeasure woven into his tone. “But, if you don't want to...” He picked up the ball and turned to go.

 

Ed shut the book and stood up quickly, worried that he'd acted reluctant too long. “I didn't say that,” he said quickly. When Mustang turned and gave him a knowing smile, Ed looked away to hide his embarrassment and pretended to be occupied with stacking up the books at the table while saying, “I'd never pass up the opportunity to humiliate you.”

 

“Like I said, we're not playing an actual game, just kicking the ball around a little. I don't know how to play soccer,” Mustang reminded him.

 

“Sure, whatever,” Ed said with a smirk, then turned when he was ready to go. “You're just scared. Admit it.”

 

Mustang started walking toward the door. “Of a little thing like you? Never.” Following after Mustang, Ed scowled and was barely able to hold in his rant until they left the library.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Ed watched as Mustang dropped the ball on the grass, then prodded at it with his foot. “Any specify way we're supposed to do this?” Mustang asked.

 

“Just kick it over to me,” Ed said, then grinned at the way Mustang was nudging the ball. “Don't worry, it won't bite you.” Mustang looked up with a small scowl on his face, then kicked it—lamely, in Ed's opinion—away from him and toward Ed.

 

He shook his head and jogged after the ball. Picking it up, Ed walked back and dropped it on the grass. “You have to kick with this part of your foot,” he said tapping the top part. “Not your toe.”

 

“That's a little difficult to do in military boots,” Mustang said wryly.

 

“Your own fault. You should have worn different shoes. I mean, you knew you were going to offer to kick the ball with me. I really didn't have a choice,” Ed said, pointing down at his own boots. Lucky, the leather of his boots was pretty flexible, so it wouldn't be too terribly bad.

 

“I don't think my other shoes are fit for playing sports,” Mustang said with a shake of his head.

 

“Well, whatever. Just try,” Ed said, kicking the ball forward and jogging after it. When he was a good ways away, Ed shouted, “You can get more power into it if you don't kick with your toe. Watch!” And with that, he slammed his foot against the ball, sending it zipping past Mustang at a speed, he hadn't expected. The colonel turned and stared at the ball for a moment as it rolled quickly out of the park and across the street, finally coming to stop in a bush. He glanced back at Ed with a look of surprise and faint irritation, then jogged off to retrieve the ball.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Roy bent over and panted when he got to the ball. They'd been kicking the ball around for almost twenty minutes, and he was about at his limit. Ed didn't seem to understand the meaning of `kicking the ball around for fun'. It was as if he was trying to win some game that only he was aware of; and while Ed seemed to be having a good time, Roy had stopped having fun quite a while ago.

 

This wasn't to say that he hadn't had fun at all. Ed had showed a side of himself that Roy rarely saw. He'd been happy and carefree—thoroughly enjoying the game... or maybe it was making Roy look like an idiot that made him so happy. He didn't exactly think that was it. After all, if Ed liked him, then he wouldn't want to one up him like this...

 

Roy frowned and thought of Gracia and Maes, and rethought his earlier sentiment. Those two loved each other more than anyone he knew, but he'd never seen anyone be as brutally competitive with each other as those two when they were playing cards.

 

“What's the matter, old man? Tired already?” Ed taunted a little ways down the grass.

 

Roy looked up and scowled darkly in Ed's direction before kicking the ball back and calling, “I think we should get some food now.” Ed should be hungry, Roy surmised. He was definitely ready to turn this little lunch excursion into something where they might be able to sit and talk. Perhaps Ed would have more to say than the last time they had lunch.

 

“Already?” Ed asked, kicking the ball further away from Roy so that he had to jog to get to the ball before it was able to go behind him.

 

Since he was previously out of breath, Roy huffed and puffed his way to the ball, then kicked it hard toward Ed, hoping to get him back for all the times Ed had made him run for it. It seemed as though Ed enjoyed either kicking the ball too far out or directly at him so that Roy had to fling himself out of the way. He'd already been hit in the side with the ball—hard enough that there was sure to be a nasty bruise.

 

“Yes, already,” Roy puffed, kicking the ball back. It veered off in a direction Roy hadn't intended, but he smirked in triumph to see Ed having to run after the ball.

 

He glanced off to his right, trying to decide where he and Ed should get lunch and saw that Alphonse was walking toward them. When Al saw that he'd been seen, he raised a hand in a wave. He'd originally planned on having Alphonse there with them when they did this. After all, Ed and Al were a package deal; and if he eventually decided to ask Ed out, then it would be good to have Alphonse's approval.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Ed jogged after the ball with a smile. This had been a lot more fun than he'd expected it to be, plus he'd got to see Mustang run around trying to catch the ball. Ed knew he was probably being a little too hard with the man, but it wasn't really on purpose. He'd used his left leg a lot when he was younger to kick the ball, and it was sort of habit to use that leg. Since he hadn't played since he'd gotten the automail, he'd just fallen back into that habit.

 

It was hard to remember that he could put ten times the power into a kick with the automail than he would without it and there had been a few times that he'd definitely kicked the ball way too hard. While watching Mustang chase after the ball when it flew down the street had been a little amusing, he'd also felt a little embarrassed as well and tried to cover it up by pretending he'd meant to kick the ball that hard.

 

Fortunately when the ball had hit the colonel, it had been one of the softer kicks, but even then Ed could tell that it had hit much harder than it would have if Ed hadn't kicked the ball with his automail.

 

Catching up with the ball, Ed felt a little disappointed. He didn't want this to end—but Mustang obviously was ready to stop... Well, at least they'd still be having lunch together. His stomach growled as if to say that it was just as ready for lunch as Mustang was. Turning, Ed kicked the ball hard and instantly realized it was much too hard. Well, one last time running after the ball wouldn't hurt Mustang.

 

He looked up in time to see that the colonel was looking to his side and not paying attention to the ball at all, and Ed didn't even have time to open his mouth and yell to him before the ball smacked him on the side of the head.

 

Ed gasped as Mustang dropped onto the grass like a sack of potatoes. In panic, Ed ran over to the colonel and dropped down to his knees to check on him.

 

“Brother!” Ed heard, accompanied by the clanking of Al's armor as he ran.

 

Ed looked up at Al, swallowed, and said weakly, “Ooops...”