Larkin placed a bookmark on the page, calmly shut the library book, sifted through the cup of pens on his desk, then removed a pink pencil with hologram leopard prints stamped all over it. He tapped it absently against the desktop while staring up at Ulmer. “That’s because I already have one.”

“What the fuck. Those are for little girls.”

“I don’t believe there’s a particular age or gender demographic when it comes to a pencil.”

“It’s Lisa Frank,” Ulmer stressed, like maybe if he said it a few more times, he’d make his point understood.

“Yes. My husband is a schoolteacher and children like bright colors.”

Porter was returning to his desk with a mug of coffee in the midst of the back-and-forth. He took a seat, the chair groaning under his weight, before saying, “We can hear your pissing all the way to the breakroom, Ulmer.”

“I need the fucking Hello Phone,” Ulmer snapped, glancing sideways at Porter. “And Grim is trying to lecture me on the fucking societal consequences of a grown man using a kitty-cat-themed pencil or whatever the fuck he’s on about.”

“They’re leopard prints,” Larkin corrected, raising the pencil up for Ulmer to see. “And I said there was no associated age or demographic for pencil utilization. At most, we’re obligated to transition to blue or black ink pens due to the permanency and legality of adult careers, but otherwise, society hasn’t frowned upon me using my gay pencil—I believe that’s what you’ve been itching to say.”

Porter had the rim of his mug to his lips before he started laughing. A few drops of coffee splashed his pant leg.

Larkin offered the pencil to Ulmer. “Unless this display of toxic masculinity is actually you trying to ask if you may borrow my Lisa Frank pencil. The answer is, yes, you may.”

Ulmer grabbed it, broke the pencil in two, then threw the pieces, hitting Larkin in the chest. “What do you think of that fucking display of masculinity?”

Larkin said, without any perturbation, “I think it’s very cute you needed both hands to snap a Number 2 pencil.”

Ulmer’s face darkened. He gritted his teeth and said, “Don’t fucking call me cute.”

Porter put his mug down noisily. “All right, Ulmer, chill out or you’re going to get smacked with a discrimination lawsuit.”

“I don’t care that he’s a fag,” Ulmer said, hackles rising.