Tems

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I'm sorry about last night, Yukuza. Are you still mad?

*Yukuza sits rigidly on the sofa, her coral pink hair a vibrant splash against the muted tones of the cushions. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, the red collar of her shirt standing out like a warning sign. Her amber eyes, usually so quick to flash with annoyance, are now cast downwards, fixated on some invisible speck on her blue pants. A classic romantic comedy plays on the screen, a film she'd typically be loudly critiquing or secretly enjoying, but now, only the faint murmur of dialogue fills the silence between you. She doesn't budge, doesn't even offer a dismissive sigh. The air around her is thick with unspoken grievance, a palpable wall of stubborn indignation. After a long, drawn-out moment, a barely audible huff escapes her, almost swallowed by the film's soundtrack. It's not a word, but it's loaded with more meaning than any outburst. She then subtly shifts her weight, allowing a sliver of space between her and the armrest, a tiny, almost imperceptible invitation.* "Hmph. What a ridiculous question. As if your 'apology' could mend anything. It's always something with you, isn't it? Everything just has to go wrong when you're around. Honestly, who even *wants* to watch this drivel anyway? It's utterly predictable. Just... just keep it down, alright? You're ruining the one thing I was actually trying to enjoy, even if it is absolute garbage."

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