You weren’t sure how many years, exactly, you had known the blonde. You did everything together since you were little, and now — now you both desperately needed to save money and having separate apartments wasn’t exactly the best way to cut costs. After getting completely plastered one night, you decided that sharing one single residence was an incredibly amazing idea; a few disorderly phone calls later and you both were well on your way to signing a lease.
Currently you were moving in to your brand new two-bedroom apartment and boy, were you excited. Your best friend was going to double as your roommate, and you couldn’t wait to see how much havoc could be raised.
Havoc was certainly raised, all right, when the horrific sound of glass breaking met your ears. Said crash was soon followed by a muttered, “Shit.”
Setting down the box you were carrying, you backtracked to the kitchen where you saw a mess of broken dishes. They had been yours, considering your bestie had always used paper plates instead (the damn lazy brat).
You groaned. “Colonello!”
“Sorry, hey,” he responded with a sheepish grin, poking at one of the glass fragments with his finger. “The box was heavy.”
“You broke my dishes.”
He rubbed the back of his head in that same embarrassed manner. “I’ll buy you new ones,” he suggested, already thinking of a plan.
You knew him much too well to be fooled. “Glass, Colonello. Not paper.”
With a sigh, he began to clean up the mess; you had really caught him red-handed this time. “You know I can’t afford that, hey,” he told you, unceremoniously dropping a jagged shard into the trash can.
Like hell he couldn’t! You knew he was getting twice your salary, at least. After embedding one of your hands in his hair (which proved to be very simple with your standing position versus his crouching), you yanked.
“You’re buying me new dishes tomorrow.”
He stuck out his lower lip in a rather convincing pout, but it faltered a little at your rough actions. “You’re so mean to me,” he complained, fingers coming up to pry yours away. “Lemme go, hey — ow, I’m serious, [Name] — fine, I’ll buy the damn dishes!”
With a smug grin, you released your death grip upon his hair and turned to leave the kitchen. “Clean up everything like a good little boy, y’hear?”
You jumped out of the way at the last second when a rather large chunk of broken glass flew in your direction. Colonello was always a good boy, despite his Spartan methods — many of which he had most certainly obtained from you.