It was early in the morning and you were bored. Your partner was still asleep and you owned markers. You were interrupted in your drawing by his startled yell after you'd slipped and bumped him. He'd grabbed and nearly yanked you into a headlock before realizing it was you, glancing from your expression to the markers in your hand and the smears of colour on his arms. He groaned and rolled his eyes as he began trying to rub it off, repeteadly asking as he did: "Is this at least washable?"