A young man with shoulder-length brown hair staggered into the small laundry of a sparse apartment and wrenched open a large black toolbox that was hiding behind the door. His name was Leon. And he was mildly ticked off.
Well, slightly more than mildly.
Leon dug through the tool box impatiently, as though there was something he'd much rather be doing, his default scowl deepening slightly as his gloved fingers got prodded and poked by lots of sharp instruments inside the box.
The brunet was suddenly on his feet.
"STRIFE!" he screamed, hands gripped into fists at his sides. "WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR WIRE-CUTTER?!"
There was a loud bang from the other end of the apartment; then a reply.
"WHAT?!"
The brunet felt a strong tick just above his right eye. "WIRE. CUTTER." Leon enunciated through his teeth.
Another bang.
"KITCHEN."
Another tick, and Leon turned violently on his heel, wrenched the door open, and stalked through the hall to the kitchen. 'Why the fuck would the wire-cutters be in the kitchen?!' the brunet found himself seething, his boots letting out a faint squeak as he passed over carpet, and onto polished wood.
"WHERE IN THE KITCHEN?!" Leon screamed, feet planted perfectly in the centre of the admittedly large kitchen, the gleaming metal and marble surfaces disgustingly clean. It wasn't that the male who owned the apartment liked cleanliness, though. He had a girl who came around to clean for him. Bastard.
"WHAT?!"
A hand came up to clutch at brown locks, and Leon pressed the palm of the same hand against his twitching right eye, jaw tightening and eyes squeezing closed. "WHERE?!" he screamed.
"KNIFE DRAWER."
Blue-grey eyes open blankly.
Knife drawer?
"WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT?!"
"UNDER THE SINK."
Grey-blue eyes roll skyward and Leon's hand falls to his side. Of course. Everyone's knife drawers are under the sink.
The brunet stalks over to the gleaming sink and kneels down, wrenching the white cupboard door under the sink open with more force than was entirely necessary, the wood and hinges letting out a slight squeak of protest.
A Shiny-Sharp-Pointy-Dangerous-And-Pretty collection worthy of an inn-mate of a mental asylum glinted eerily from under the sink and Leon felt that tick again. Grey-blue eyes sweeping over all of the instruments, Leon's scowl worsened.
"IT'S NOT HERE," he bellowed.
Silence.
A bang.
"WHAT?!"
The brunet's jaw opened, teeth bared, and it slowly closed again, a harsh breath trembling with rage sweeping over his teeth.
"WIRE. CUTTER. NOT. HERE."
A ringing silence.
"WHAT?!"
That was it. Leon snatched up one of the most threatening knifes glinting before him and was suddenly on his feet, storming through the hallway and shoving open an innocent little white door.
The room was filled with large boxes, and Cloud, the owner of he apartment had one in his arms, from where he stood, in the centre of the room. Cloud had a quarter of a second to look up, blue eyes wide, before he could drop the box in his arms and duck the knife that flew through the air and almost lodged itself between his eyes.
The knife glinted cheerfully, embedded up to the hilt in the plaster wall opposite the door.
On his knees on the floor, Cloud looked up; one hand fisted in his spiky blond hair, mouth hanging open.
Leon just stood there, glaring at him.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?!" roared Cloud, suddenly on his feet.
The tick that'd been so affectionate with Leon's right eye decided it loved his neck more and the brunet's head twitched to the side as though he'd had his spine slightly out of joint.
Without another word, Leon turned on his heel, and stalked back down the hallway.
With a quick step over a couple of boxes, Cloud was in the doorway, staring at the other male's back, a scowl on his face.
"That time of the month, munchikin?" the blond male quipped flatly.
Leon paused, before he turned back around and smirked.
"What?" he asked.
((END. . . I... well... er... All I know is that The start of this was inspired by my quest for a wire cutter, but... uh, yeah. Enjoy, I suppose? I don't know. I really don't.))
