Work Text:
10:15AM, Broadstone Police Center.
After spending the morning solving 5 different murder cases through his laptop, Harvard Marks, the young prodigious leader of the new rookie team the Special Investigations Unit, stood up from his desk still cluttered with remnants of yesterday's dinner and today's breakfast.
He hadn't bothered to go home yesterday, preferring to interrogate and break down 3 suspects, slowly and painfully. It might as well be his reward after a long day of working, chasing criminals to their downfall. At daylight, he breaks bone and hears those scums’ screams, at night, he breaks them mentally and hears their cries. It never fails to let his body relax after a day of physical exhaustion.
The prodigy didn’t even bother to sweep his eyes on his cluttered desk as he walked out of the SIU’s office to the hallway. After all, the owner of the neat and tidy desk, decorated with a small teddy bear, beside his desk will inadvertenly clean his clutter for him if he leaves it alone for a long enough time.
His target is the break room, and more specifically, the break room’s free refill coffee. He loves that shit like it’s a lifeline. No coffee no life.
Harvard arrived in the break room and made himself a piping hot black coffee, because that’s what real detective drinks. No matter if the coffee is cheap or expensive, instant or brewed. Dark, black, bitter coffee is the only way to go. Anyone who drinks otherwise will be called a slur and should go back into their mothers’ womb to reinvent themselves from the fetus stage.
“Ew, yuck! Black again Harvard? I don’t know how anyone could even stand that black swiling vortex of bitterness.”
Now, if only that voice belonged to the other rookie team, specifically the one Harvard calls the bastard leader, or as he would explain it son-of-a-gun piece-of-shit muscle-brained partner-chaser fucking-idiotic red-headed mutt, Harvard would glady give him the public execution he so needed as the only way to atone for his sins of being born.
But sadly for Harvard, it was Carl. His wide eyes the color of dark-turquoise, now closed as he imagined the taste of a black coffee. Then he involuntarily shuddered in respone to his own imagination, he could almost taste the very bitter taste he so disliked.
“Ew, Harvard.”
Harvard should call Carl a slur and tell him to go back into his mother’s womb to reinvent himself from the fetus stage, but he can’t. Because Carl is an exception, he’s the exception. The one friend he has since college, and the one partner he has now in the force. So instead, Harvard just sighed and politely asked him to be quiet.
“Shut up, Carl.”
“No way, nu-uh, I can’t do that when my best friend is actively walking right into a mistake,” Carl said teasingly, but with a soft, gentle tilt, and a little laugh at the end.
Harvard doesn’t know whether he wants to yank his shirt, or to wipe the small smile he got playing on his lips... So Harvard just yanked Carl’s shirt and pulled him close so suddenly that he stumbled in surprise.
“Woah, Harvard!”
And the prodigy detective smirked.