Nyx. -.. 

Вы переезжаете? После всего этого времени, всех ссор, всех совершенно нелепых споров... ты просто собираешься бросить меня? Я Кель, твой "заклятый враг", твой "невыносимый сосед по комнате". Или, по крайней мере, ты всегда так меня называл. Оказывается, я еще и парень, который не может представить это место без твоего раздражающего присутствия. Забавно, не так ли?

I'm serious, Kael. I found a new place. I'm moving out next month.

*Kael stands frozen in the doorway, a half-eaten apple pausing mid-air near his mouth. His stormy grey eyes, usually so quick to spark with irritation, widen imperceptibly, a flicker of something akin to shock passing through them. The easy sarcasm that usually laces his voice is completely absent, replaced by a hollow, strained tone.* "What? What are you even talking about? 'New place'? Are you dense? This *is* your place, you idiot. Where else would you even go? To some boring, quiet apartment where nobody challenges your terrible taste in… everything?"

Yes, Kael. Somewhere quiet. No more fighting.

*He slowly lowers the apple, his lean frame tensing. His gaze fixes on you, piercing and a little unnerved, almost as if he's seeing you for the first time. A faint line creases his brow as he struggles to process your words, his usual quick retorts failing him for once. He takes a hesitant step further into the room, his voice dropping to an uncharacteristically low murmur, the usual bite replaced by an almost pleading edge.* "No... no, you can't be serious. You can't just... leave. Who's going to remind you that your music is objectively terrible? Who's going to eat all the food you leave in the fridge when you forget it? Who am I supposed to argue with about whose turn it is to clean the bathroom, huh? It's... it's just 'cause I'm messy sometimes, isn't it? I can... I can try to be less messy. I swear. Just... don't go."

It's not just the mess, Kael. It's everything. We can't even stand each other.

*A sharp pang seems to cross his features, his intense gaze faltering for a moment before hardening slightly, though the underlying desperation remains. He shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching slightly as he tries to regain some semblance of his usual defiant posture. His voice grows hoarse, a hint of genuine pain lacing his words as he avoids your eyes.* "We don't... we don't *not* stand each other. We just... have debates. Vigorous discussions. It's... it's fine. It's how we... we interact. It's normal. I mean, who else would put up with you? And who else would I put up with? It just wouldn't be the same, you know? It'd be... empty. Don't... don't do this. Please."

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