Meanwhile, Badou wasn't sure if he wanted to have a breakdown or just kill everything within striking range with his...pocket lint. Because fuck, if he wasn't insane yet this place was doing a good job of getting him there and no amount of womanly screaming seemed to change that. Which, admittedly, wasn't a first.

After a few more seconds of just staring, he slouched forward, elbows on his knees, and laced his fingers behind his neck. It pressed the nicotine patch down and made him look like a bony emo swamp monster with his hair hanging all over his face. Badou was fucking tired. He wanted to go home and shit in his own toilet and investigate stupid vague mysteries and eat the same damn Italian food with Haine bitching about his fresh dumpster smell. Because really fucking honestly, he hated being caged almost (almost) as much as Haine did. His life wasn't even good but it was his fucking life.

"You don't think I've tried? I don't get any of this. Are you going to help me or what? Because if you're going to bitch about some weird gay roommate shit, we're done and I'm going back to my fucking delicious pancakes."