Work Text:
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, Hardison, I’m serious.”
“What unholy concoction are you making that needs a 100 pack of Crayola crayons for? And why do you need Crayola – are they doing something hinky with their wax or somethin’?”
“Damnit, Hardison! I didn’t ask you about the damn journal, but you’re goin’ ta ask me about the crayons?”
“Man, I put blood, sweat, tears, and unmentionable body fluids into that damn journal, of course I’m going to ask you about the crayons! Crayons have nothing to do with the damn International Space Station!”
“Whatever, I’ll get the damn crayons myself,” Eliot growled, stomping out of the office.
“And don’t touch anything, ya hear!” echoed back through the hallway, causing Hardison to jump away from the set up on one of the work benches with his hand still poised to poke a tube.
And that's a wrap for today. I'm going to go and try to study and not punch something out of frustration. Or scream into my pillow. I don't think my roommate would like that.
Ugh, I'll find something for stress relief.
As always, kudos, comments, and concrit are welcome! Poke me on tumblr, I'm fins-illusion.
~Fins