You could practically feel the weight of Makarov’s eyes on you, his dark irises staring with an intensity that could burn a hole through your flesh if he didn’t look away soon enough. His gaze travelled down your form, analysing your attire for the slightest imperfection, contemplating if everything was to his liking.

Tonight, no detail was allowed to be overlooked. Not a hair was allowed to be out of place and not a wrinkle in your clothes, much less Makarov’s own. If it was about making business with potential allies, the man simply could not allow any mishaps. Even though more often than not, others tended to suck up to Makarov, who tended to be the bigger fish.

"Are you finally done?"

The low baritone of his voice filled the silence from somewhere behind you. As always, there was that demanding undertone to it, along with barely disguised annoyance.