Wasting Time
Chapter Fourteen: Small Steps
Riya stepped out of the bathroom, wringing out his hair with a towel, still feeling overly warm even after the rather chilly shower he'd just taken. It was probably nerves. Well, nerves and being stuck inside with Mister Military again.
Andy sat on his bed, struggling to get his merit medals into their correct places on his dress uniform's jacket. He wasn't having much luck, since he'd already put the jacket on. Nerves probably made him not think about how much easier it would have been to do the medals before putting the jacket on; Riya himself had washed his hair twice, forgetting he'd already done it once, because he was just too nervous and excited to think straight. And, of course, he still felt too warm.
However, nerves or not, Riya thought Mister Military looked exceptionally priggish, in his starched and pressed uniform, as well as exceptionally warm; Riya didn't even know if he was planning on wearing his own jacket, though he thought he'd feel strange without it. He had, at least, picked a collared shirt instead of his usual tank top, of his usual white, and the slightly less-faded pair of black jeans. This was a ceremony after all-- even if he refused to wear a uniform, Riya did want to look sort of nice. He had even polished up his old bracelet, and the more fitted sleeves of the dress shirt didn't hide it the way his jacket did. After so long of half-consciously keeping it hidden, it felt oddly exposed in plain sight on his wrist.
Andy ignored him as he dropped onto his own bed, still toweling his hair dry, or at least dryer. It was too thick to dry before the ceremony even if he somehow managed to find somewhere to plug in a hair-dryer, he just didn't want it to be dripping all over the place, soaking his shirt and ruining the effect of "nice" clothes, and dry enough to braid without too much difficulty. Draping the towel over his shoulders and under the hair, he started tugging a comb through it, and at the same time looked over at Andy.
"You're pinning that on crooked, you know," he pointed out, trying to be helpful. Mister Military shot him a glare and he, brows raised, looked away innocently. He couldn't help looking back, though, a few moments later when Andy made a particularly frustrated noise. It seemed he'd tried pinning his last badge to his thumb instead of the jacket fabric. For a moment, Riya actually felt kind of sorry for him. He didn't look like he was having an easy time of it, after all. Not like any of them likely were, when the biggest thing of their lives thus far was about to happen in just a couple hours' time.
Well... Mullen did say to try being nice to the guy.... Sort of, anyway. Riya shook extra water droplets off of the comb and got up, crossing the room to the other occupied bed-- of the four beds in the room, Riya and Andy had chosen the ones farthest apart from each other, two beds on the diagonal.
"Want some help with that? You know, from someone who can see what they're doing?" He tried to keep his voice neutral, but Mister Military must have picked something offensive out of it, because he gave Riya a very dirty look, marred by the fact that the side of his thumb was in his mouth where he'd stabbed it. It was hard to look threatening when you were, in essence, sucking your thumb.
"Hell no," he growled around said thumb. "I can manage fine."
Holding up his hands peaceably, Riya officially gave up on being helpful and retreated to the bathroom again to finish combing and braiding his hair in peace. When he came out again, Andy had gone, and it was about time for him to go, too. He took one last look in the mirror, brushing back a stiffly-gelled lock of hair, grinned nervously, and told himself: "Well, it's time. Good luck!"
And he headed out for the courtyard and the waiting banquet.