Gerard crunches into a spoonful of corn flakes, amber eyes gazing intently at the newspaper in front of his. His irises jump from word to word, devouring the the sports page with aside interest.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Crunch. Crunch.</span><br/><br/>His right hand drops the spoon into the now mostly milk filled bowl and scratches at his back, leaning forward and causing the wooden chair to creak under his weight. Those amber orbs flick up to his sister's door, gazing coolly at the silent slab of wood before returning to the article. His bare feet are pressed against the wooden legs if the chair across the table, tapping a small little beat while flipping through page after page of the paper.<br/><br/>His slightly hairy legs lead into red and white striped boxer shorts, white are partially covered by a white undershirt. His scruff is shaved close to his cheek by the straight razor he keeps in his bathroom, hair neatly kept in a military style hair cut, every stray hair has been plucked or teased into place on his face. The young officer looks every bit the respectable officer. Minus, of course, his skimpy attire.<br/><br/>With a loud slurp, he drinks the milk from the bowl and stands up with a heavy sigh. The tall, lanky man lumbers his way to the sink, depositing the bowl and spoon inside of the metal tub and giving them a quick rinse before tossing them into the dishwasher. He stands and looks into the reflection he sees in the microwave door. His right thumb runs along the right side of his face, and he smiles as the scratchy noise that his rough thumb makes against the small hairs on his chin.<br/><br/>Gerard lets out a big yawn and stretch, rolling (and popping) his neck, before shambling back to the table to push in his chair. After checking the coffee pot with a grimace, he's never liked the stuff, but he's known his sister to drink it occasionally, he plops onto the couch and starts flipping through the channels.