The Ink demon stomped his way down the halls of the studio,swiftly moving past artists, writers and other workers who were sharing worried looks at each other.
Bendy has had up to here with his treatment! Everyone bossing him around like he’s a slave—dammit! He’s the star of the show! He should be getting first class treatment Buuut noooooo, He has to wear embarrassing costumes while his co-workers snicker behind his back.
He needed to blow off some steam.
Bendy stormed into a room and slammed the door shut,almost breaking it off its hinges, stupid broken down studio, now’s he’s probably gonna get yelled for it. Huffing, he turns heels to face the interior of the room,a sight for sore eyes to the least looking mostly like the rest of the studio, say for a dead rat in the corner of the room (saving it for later) and a dead potted plant that somehow encapsulated how he was feeling right now. Looking over to the left he could spot his favorite artist on his favorite desk drawing his favorite character (aka him).
Making his way up to the blonde man,he had come to realise that he had passed out while working.Typical behaviour for the human,his head tucked into his elbow while the pen in his hand now dangled just from the finger tips—suddenly all his anger from earlier washed away by the mere sight of him and without much thought,he crawls onto the artist’s lap, a bit of a tight spot since he’s hunched over but being made out of Ink has its advantages, warmth from Henry lets him loosen up a bit, pressing into the chest in comfort.
He could melt if he wanted to, if there was anything that kept the Ink demon from losing his sanity right now, it was definitely Henry—he would be a lot happier if it was just Henry and him, together maybe owning a home in the out skirts of the country, Henry would try knitting while bendy became a typewriter....
And before he knew it,the Ink demon himself had finally dozed off too, dreaming of fantasies he'll never get to experience.
