The Hedgehogs Dilemma

“You’ll be fine. They’ll love you.” Hawkeye adjusted the collar of Armstrong’s dress shirt, smoothed it over at the lapel with a practised roll of the wrist. This roll she had perfected over the years with her father and later with Mustang, both of them wearing nearly identical fits—or perhaps the student had emulated the master in more ways than the student had realised, or wished to let on. Armstrong’s frown lingered nevertheless. Hawkeye watched her fiancée examine her reflection in the standing mirror with a knitted brow. Pulling on the collar with more force than necessary, Hawkeye planted her palms firmly into Armstrong’s chest.  “I’ve known Gracia for a very long time. And if I love you, then she certainly will.”

Armstrong met her gaze. The determined set of her mouth and telltale flame in her eye almost offset the palpable tension.

“You honestly think I’m worried about some paltry social function?” She shrugged. “If your acquaintances dislike me, then they’re welcome to their own shitty opinions. I don’t think I could give a damn if I tried, Riza.”