Gavin spent the early shift fiddling with Hank's desk, creating a sort of glitter bomb in the drawer he knew Hank used the most. When he'd open it, it would absolutely blow up in his face. Hovering in the break room, he waits to watch and see when Hank's going to eat some fucking glitter. He's hyped. ( its time for me to harass ur muses again uwu )
Hank liked to think of himself as an attentive man – liked to think that he could sense mischief coming from a mile away. But today, he fucks up – and whether it’s because alcohol has dulled his sense over the years or because he was lulled into a false sense security at the precinct was up to debate. What matters was that he sat down at his desk, pulled that drawer open and –
“SHIT – what the ffFFFFUCK –”
The man was hollering loud enough that Fowler stands up from his glass prison of an office to see what was happening, and what was fucking happening was that Hank had knocked his chair over after standing up too quickly, practically covered from head to ass-crack in goddamn glitter. Everything on his desk, from the files he was meant to review to his half-filled coffee mug to his tragically opened box of donuts – they were caked in a layer of goddamn glitter. Fuck.
…And has he mentioned yet that there was GODDAMN GLITTER all over his shit?
Seething was an understatement, he takes one look down at his bedazzled outfit and loses his goddamn mind. The culprit was clear as day, snickering to himself like the motherfucker he is. Hank wasn’t going to let him get away with it, already taking heavy-footed steps towards the break room. “Gavin – you little prick. C’MERE. I’m gonna knock your teeth out…!”
