Giving Will a funny look, Fisher shook his head. "I've never even seen your dick, so how can I not see it in a personal way? And what is a personal way, anyway? Is that different than like a professional way?" What the hell was he, a doctor?
Under his sweatshirt was a long sleeved shirt and a tee shirt, normal Fisher attire for the winter. And without those layers, a chill ran through him. He didn't move to cover himself, though. "You can see my ribs anyway. You might be able to see them through my skin it's so damn pale." He practically glowed against the black shirt, black comforter, black sheets... black everything. Black heart, black soul... Shit he needed a damn recorder in his brain.
"Sergeant? Sergeant of what, my bedroom?" He huffed a sigh at Will, clearly disappointed in his sudden lack of bad nicknames. "You fail," he said bluntly.
Suddenly, Fisher was struck with an idea, bolting upright and pushing himself unsteadily off his bed. Minerva let out a hiss and ran across the floot, the goth's boot crushing her tiny tail while she had been preparing to kill Will's pants. "Well fucking move!" he snapped at her, rifling through the things on his desk and coming back to the bed, a black marker in his fist. He flopped back down again, lifting his shirt and handing the marker over to Will. "Write out your suicide note," he said with a grin. "I wanna see what you'd say."