The annoying sounds of a mechanical pencil filled the room- the clicking seeming to never end. Those things were supposed to run out of lead, right? This particular one seemed to have an unlimited supply- but of course, Simmons knew that wasn’t possible. If it was, he’d be set for life.
But at the current moment, there was nothing that he hated more than the mechanical pencil that was in Grif’s hand, the end being clicked to all hell.
The sound shot through Simmons’ ears, causing him to grunt dis-pleasingly every few moments, hoping Grif would get the hint to fucking stop. He never seemed to, however, and Simmons pulled his gaze up from his homework to glare at the male that sat on the bed just across the room from him.
"Can you stop that?!" He hissed through his teeth, squinting at Grif, which only caused the boy to scoff in return.
With getting no proper response, Simmons’ anger only heightened, balling his hands into fists and creasing the paper under his hands. “Look- either stop, or do your fucking homework! I won’t do it for you if you keep at this!”
Grif mulled over the thought for a moment, if anything just to humour Simmons, “Mmh, nah.” he yawned, lazy eyes looking over to the red head.
And still with that fucking clicking—-
Simmons scrunched his face up, grabbing a sheet of tossed away paper, then scrunched it up into a ball and threw it at Grif. “Don’t ‘nah’ me!” He huffed out, clearly offended, “I’m the one that’s getting you through this school. At least do something in return!”
Grif, in response, propped himself to sit up, wiping crumbs off of himself and placing the mechanical pencil he had been holding down to the side. He slid off the bed to sit on the floor, slowly scooting over to where Simmons was situated.
"Dude, ‘s eleven at night, stay up any longer doing this ‘n’ we’ll be late in the morning."
Grif had lazily started putting together excuses, using the time explaining to put a hand on Simmons arm and try to tug him towards the bed.
Simmons only tried to pull away from Grif, clutching the books and paper closer to his body. “It’s your fault for not doing it yourself! I would’ve been able to finish hours ago if you did your own god damn work!”
Grif was very close to leaning against Simmons and just falling asleep right there and then, but he knew if he did, Simmons would overwork himself and be tired in the morning- which caused for a cranky Simmons.
A cranky Simmons usually meant Grif suffered for it.
He reached a hand out, placing his pudgy fingers on the cover of one of the books and closing it over. He then reached to the book that Simmons was clutching to his chest, pulling it away from him, ignoring the little fight that Simmons put up against it.
Closing the second book, he leaned towards Simmons, nuzzling against his side and pulling him closer to the bed again.
With a sigh of defeat, Simmons placed the work he had been working on down on the floor.
