AN: So… I've been informed that I'm going to hell. I kinda figured =P
Read up, kiddies~
I do not own this!
Angeals fingers were trembling.
Type type type type.
Delete.
Type type type….
He groaned. Who the hell wrote these kinds of things?
What bastard did this? Who would be sick enough to even contemplate this? …Well, apparently he was.
His fingers clacked rapidly against the keyboard in the tiny office, the only light streaming from the flickering monitor. He'd been sitting there, wedged into the miniscule chair of some nameless ShinRa drone secretary since well before midnight and here he was, still smooshed and tired as hell at 5:30 in the goddamned morning. SOLDIERS need sleep too!
But Hewley kept that monologue (rant) internal, chomping angrily on his lower lip, cracking his neck in passing as he read and reread his work. Done.
Click click click Submit.
If anyone ever found out what he'd just done, Angeal Hewley would be, in the eyes of SOLDIER, branded a sick, sick fuck. A sick, sick, fanfic writing fuck. With impeccable taste in slash.
Sliding out of the chair he arched his back, stre-e-e-e-etching out before shutting the system down and returning to his room. And all was right with the world.
Bwahahaha! Review!~
(please!)