Untitled drabble (2015-06-17)

“And the both of you can go rot in hell with your stupid matching uniforms and your dumb codes and agh!” he shouted, storming through their apartment and straight to the bedroom he shared with Hazel where he slammed the door in an angry smack.

In his wake, at a much slower pace, were Hazel and Joey, indeed wearing matching uniforms because they were coworkers and they had to wear matching uniforms.

“Can’t you talk to him?” Hazel asked, fretfully unlacing her shoes to slip them off her feet, “He’s your brother.”

“He’s your husband,” Joey responded, calmly kicking off his own pair of boots, before padding over to the kitchen and opening the fridge, “You were the one that chose him. I just happened to get stuck with him.”

“It’s as much your fault as it is mine that the station thought we were together,” Hazel grumped, but followed Joey to stand in front of the fridge.

“We live together because we live with Kevin, and you always bring up household chores when we’re at work. And I told you not to change your last name when you guys got married.” He grabbed two yogurt cups–blueberry for him, peach for her–and motioned at her to grab a pair of spoons.

She sighed, in agreement or exasperation–or both, because Hazel was a fan of multitasking–before grabbing two spoons from the cutlery drawer and flopping down on one end of the couch. A dip let her know Joey joined her, warning enough for the peach yogurt held out in exchange for a spoon.

The day had been frustrating and embarrassing all around, but especially for her–on behalf of and towards the rest of the station, who had gotten it in their head that she and Joey were married and that Kevin, her actual husband, who had shown up for a surprise lunch, was some kind of home-wrecking interloper.

Apparently, not only had Joey and Hazel been everyone’s ideal of perfect partners–in the field and at home–but there had been a series of betting pools on each of their nonexistent relationship’s milestones.

“They’re going to have to reverse all of those payments,” she said inanely, before morosely partaking in her yogurt.

Beside her, Joey snorted, “I don’t think anyone had ‘secretly in-laws’ as their bid… They’d have made serious bank.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hazel sighed again, this time more amused than not.

“Okay, rock paper scissors? Two out of three; loser has to go comfort his majesty first?”

“Don’t bother, I’ll go first,” she waved away his outstretched fist.

“’Cause you know you’re going to lose?”

“Because you always choose in the same order and I always win.”

He didn’t deny it.

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