Only
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3148086/1/
Apparently, or so the public says,
This is the epitome of my writing skill.
I disagree.
Every day, Corinth pulled himself from the bleach cleaned sheets of his bed, and stared at the walls of his room, taking in the strange dichotomy of his living space. Beneath his bed, there were perfectly aligned hardwood floors, and a few feet away sat a bookshelf overflowing with the sort of childish literature that someone of his age should be reading. The walls themselves were warm, covered in plaster and tissue. He tried to avoid looking at the childish folly, preferring to stare past his legs.
A few feet from the foot of his bed, everything became steel and concrete. Everything was as cold and cruel as the man he was during the working day. The desk was aluminum and glass, and even the small computer settled in among the myriad forms and papers was a plain shade of off white. There was no warmth to be had.
Lately, though, his perfectly sterile, perfectly maintained space had been stained by an intruder. He had invited the boy into his safe home, the one place where no one could bother him.
Every day, Cyrano yawned and snapped his back loudly, and moaned about how sleeping at an office chair was going to kill him. He would bounced cheerfully over to his still sleeping older roommate, and flop lazily on the bed, when Corinth would quietly remove him, keeping seething anger forcibly at bay.
Cyrano would stack the forms into piles, painfully unorganized wads. Project line requests, mixed haphazardly with surgical reviews, jammed between individual project files. Once, as a joke, he'd slipped all the surgical notes into the wrong folders, and laughed maniacally as Corinth spent an hour sorting out why Cygnet had developed manipulation of radiation.
Lately, the work space had been demolished and rebuilt as an altar to the gods of practical jokes and pointless hassle. Still, living in this place would one day drive him mad with boredom.
Presumably, that was why- although they disagreed with the action on principal- neither seemed able to voice complaints when what had become habit and pattern was suddenly destroyed.
==-==-==
Or, to be more precise
==-==-==
Abby liked Corinth, he truly did. The boy, though younger than him, was certainly much more responsible. He couldn't help but look up to the blond boy. Anyone who could progress through the ranks that quickly deserved respect.
Corinth despised Absinthe. The man was an irresponsible idiot, hell bent on playing games and doing utterly ridiculous things. He couldn't help giving up all hope after he found the pile of discarded clothing in the hall, once again. The third time that month.
Abby liked Corinth's hair, in particular. It was soft, always clean, and just long enough to frame his face, without making him look feminine. He was young, yes, but even with such informal hair, he still radiated power. Abby couldn't help himself, he simply had to idolize the younger man.
Corinth, likewise, found Absinthe's hair ridiculous. It was absurd. Apparently, the Bronze project had taken hair that was once honey blond and changed it to an oxidized shade of green. It made the scientist look like a punk rock reject, especially since it was obviously beyond his control. The man's head resembled an acidic pompom, more than hair.
Abby approved of Corinth's strange ability to be everywhere at once. If he was needed, it seemed as though he already knew, and had arrived several minutes before hand. The boy never seemed surprised by anything, and always met every challenge with the same cool, thoughtful logic.
Corinth, however, found Absinthe's ubiquitous presence unimaginably annoying. The man was everywhere, constantly getting in the way. His voice, too loud and excited, seemed to ring from around every corner, until Corinth found himself fleeing to his room each evening.
Indeed, Abby adored everything that Corinth had to offer, and Corinth found himself appalled by every action his fellow scientist took.
That was why he found it so surprising when Absinthe smiled and shrugged.
"I guess I can see how you'd think it. I'm not exactly masculine. But the answer is no... Sorry?"