tangled up in weeds; youthful dreams; change scenes { michael }

“Mmm,” Kai replied, with a tilt of his head like a small nod, and it was only a hair off of being a concession. Cheating on someone then later mentioning them by name on the radio while shit-talking their profession was a bit fucked up. There was enough distance there now that he could feel a bit bad about it, if he thought about it. But then, Tony had come to his house that day; he didn’t regret saying his name on air.

Kai took another drag of his cigarette, feeling a lot calmer than he had at the start of the conversation. He was quite good at being very present — it was what made him so compelling in conversation, and the immediate conversation was interesting. Michael, too, was more interesting than he remembered. He started nodding when the other man started talking about nuance, but he wasn’t nodding in agreement; he’d heard all of these things before. There was nuance in the centuries-old torture dungeon in the middle of the ocean, sure, and the Wizengamot? Kai had a lot of thoughts about a council of mostly old white men who served as a weird parliament-tribunal blend for the British wizarding world.

He didn’t get much of a chance to respond though, because Kai caught the sound of Tony’s strangled one moment and turned just in time to see him disappear with a Crack!

What… the actual fuck. Kai glanced back at Michael, frowning. “Was he…?” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, the half-cigarette dangling between his first two fingers. There was a weird sound from down the street (Kai raised his eyebrows slightly) and a moment later Tony was back at the stairs, moving past them both to get to the door. Internally, Kai gathered his thoughts; he’d almost forgotten to be on edge, waiting for his ex.

Smith? Kai almost asked who? but thought better of it. Roommate. Right. “Hey,” he replied, but Tony wasn’t looking at him. He put his cigarette out with his fingers and pocketed it.

Michael heard the sound of Apparation before he turned around, already knowing Anthony was long gone; moments later there was a familiar strangled scream down the street. Kai was giving him a puzzled look, so he stood up straighter and said, “Aye, he’ll be right back.”

He was; he marched straight past Michael, giving him that ridiculous wounded-deer look with his weird long face, and Michael promptly came to terms with the fundamental truths that (1.) he was the worst friend on the face of the earth, and (2.) he was not going to admit to it. He pulled his spine even straighter and said defensively, “He was here when I got here! You know how I am about awkward silence!” Only the barest trace of self-awareness kept him from pointing a finger like a six-year-old, but he couldn’t help gesturing frantically with one hand.

That didn’t explain why Michael had talked to Kai, rather than just knocking and leaving the book and brackets with Smith (whom Michael had not forgotten was there) but Michael had an inkling that his reasoning (he had more right to be there than Kai, and was thus not going to leave) wouldn’t hold any water. Not when Anthony had needed to go have a scream about it. After a moment resisting the urge to give Kai a guilty look, and thereby admit to some kind of conspiracy here, he added, “I’m returning your book,” and held it up.

Kai said Hey in a very normal, cool, collected tone of voice. It enraged Tony to an unreasonable degree, so Tony ignored him.

Michael, meanwhile, instead of wilting under Tony's glare like he ought to, was pulling his shoulders up like a new pole had been rammed up his arse. Tony straightened up too; the git was already taller than him, he had no need to puff out like this to make whatever stupid point he was about to make.

Ah, there it was. "You rat bastard," Anthony said automatically. "You could have come back later instead of sharing a bloody blem with him on my front step!" Anthony didn't need to hear the rest of Michael's reasoning; almost certainly it was pure stubbornness, some shit like well, he should have left first in classic Corner fashion. Michael's hand was waving about the air like some sort of dying bird -- Tony managed to hold off batting at it until Michael flapped it too close to his nose, at which point he smacked it lightly away.

His book. Tony stared at the hardcover as if he had never seen the blasted tome before. "You're returning my book," he restated, feeling his brain begin to dribble out his ears. "Yes. Right. Of course, you are." He sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils.

Tony was of half a mind to just Apparate away again, but if he Splinched himself in the doing Michael would never let him live it down. Also, it was his bloody flat. He turned away from Michael, digging into his robe pocket for the front door key. "Did you bring the bracket as well? I suppose you should come on up -- Zach should be home and you two can figure all that out without me needing to go between."

Flimsy pretense -- what Tony actually needed was to interrogate his best fucking friend about what the hell he and Kai Kimura had been nattering on about, but without Kai present. The key clicked into place and the front door opened into the building landing. Tony stepped across the threshold, expecting Michael to follow in and ready to curse him out should he try to beg off. Tony got onto the first step, right hand gripping the railing to begin the climb to the Goldstein-Smith household, before turning back to look at his G-d damned ex-boyfriend. He would love to keep ignoring him, but. But. 

But the fucker was on his doorstep again, three months after disappearing before he could wake up.

Tony pressed his lips tight together and cleared his throat. "Right, what the hell did you need?"

With him on my front step.

So, he was angry.

Unsurprising, given everything, though Kai was sure that his ex would hate the fact that he’d been so obvious about it later. Well, maybe he wouldn’t be unhappy with the unhidden anger per say, but Kai would bet the whole apparating-away-and-screaming-around-the-corner thing would crop up before Anthony fell asleep tonight. He ran a hand back through his hair, half-wishing he hadn’t put out his cigarette yet so he had something to do with his hands. He wished Michael hadn’t been here when he’d arrived, wished that it was all a little easier on Tony for his ex’s sake. Then maybe Tony could get a grip, and it could be easier for him, too.

Kai didn’t really move when the others did, feeling some comfort in the stillness outside of the chaotic energy. All seeing Tony up close in the daylight was doing was reminding him that coming here sober was a mistake. He hadn’t seen him in the day since they’d broken up, and he hadn’t talked to him sober — discounting that one time, when there was very little talking at all — since before the break up, even. Fucking years ago. Neither Tony nor Michael seemed to care that he was present (they seemed much more invested in what felt like the juvenile version of a marital spat), so Kai let himself study his ex, let his gaze linger on the details. His work clothes, the way his body language changed when he told his friend off.

Anthony turned to him and Kai frowned slightly, wishing they were alone. He glanced at Michael briefly before his gaze returned to his ex, as if he hadn’t already told the other man what he was here for (as if it hadn’t felt satisfying to say it, when Michael clearly didn’t know). But, well, he'd asked.

“I think I left my keys here, Tony” he said plainly, his voice low and mellow.

You rat bastard. “Oi,” Michael complained, though somewhat indifferently (it wasn’t like it had been uncalled for.) He must have waved too close to Anthony’s face – his friend had a low tolerance for cigarettes in a good mood, which didn’t apply to the here and now – for Anthony slapped his hand away; Michael backed off and glanced down to give his dropped tab a careful stamp with one shoe, sparing himself all of two seconds’ worth of eye contact.

“Ow,” he made sure to add, just on principle; they'd been batting each others hands out of their faces for like ten years.

He was glad that he and Anthony had been equally prepared for this encounter (i.e., not) but Kai was irritatingly unruffled, and Michael was feeling distinctly judged. Anthony must have felt the same – he invited Michael in. Bracket, his arse: he probably just wanted to get Michael on his own pronto so he could chew him out, but Michael couldn’t be the only guilty party here, and was determined not to be, so they were going to make it a whole thing.

For a moment he considered trying to get out of it – just handing the book over and bolting – but he was a good friend, so he followed Anthony onto the landing with a suitably chagrined expression.

In the moment he’d spent contemplating glorious escape, he had forgotten Kai, but Tony hadn’t: Michael looked back at Kai, who was giving him a treacherous glance, and who was still unreasonably unruffled by all of this, and decided not to involve himself more than he already had, even though he was itching to tell Anthony that he knew he’d been seeing Kai after the breakup. He contemplated glorious escape again – this time just up the stairs, where Smith would surely be glad for a heads-up about what kind of mood Michael had just put his roommate in – but Anthony was in the way, and Michael didn’t want to remind him that he was still here, so he kept it buttoned up and looked politely at the wall, as though it were more interesting than whatever the other two were doing.

Michael said ow in a way that sounded like it was by habit. Tony ignored this.

Kai's eyes flickered over to Michael (who looked back -- oh, they were going to have words) before settling back on him, staring Tony down with familiar and unwelcome intensity. The calm radiating off of his ex-boyfriend was deeply disquieting, as was just-- seeing him. In daylight. Overcast as it was today, Tony hadn't seen Kai in daylight in nearly three years.

I think I left my keys here, Tony.

"What, for three months?" Anthony said, one eyebrow doing the 'shoot up and look incredulous' thing without asking Tony's consent to do so. He frowned, trying to remember if he had seen any keys that weren't his own in the last quarter of a year. He couldn't recall, but it could have easily fallen behind something in their drunken stumbling. Perhaps the dresser? Or the armchair? Or -- ah, fuck.

He tried to not look at Michael, feeling red splotches forming on his neck. Michael certainly noticed that he said three months, not three years. This was much more embarrassing than the implication that Tony had no idea what keys may or may not be in Anthony's apartment. He was fairly certain this violated several articles of the friendship charter and prayed that Michael would wait to bring that up until after they had closed the door on Kai Kimura.

Tony's lips pressed tighter together. "Right." The 't' popped a little, almost a 'tut' sound. "Up you come, then."

He turned and walked up the stairs, once again assuming that both his best friend and his ex-boyfriend would follow. He was thankful he was still in work robes -- the last thing he needed was Kai, ever incorrigible, to try to look at his arse with Michael judging the both of them for it.

At his door, he rapped his fingers on the wood twice, for Zacharias' benefit. "We've got company," he announced, giving Zach approximately ten seconds to prepare if he wanted to before opening the door. Should Michael want to slip through, well, there was space between the doorframe and Tony's frame. Should Kai, though... Tony clenched his jaw, stuck his hand just over the threshold, and muttered "Accio Kimura's keys."

Michael would think Tony was showing off again, doing wandless magic, and he would be right. Tony didn't care for modesty right now. The keys clattered and jangled throughout the flat, catching underneath his bedroom door before flying into his hand. It stung as it slapped against his palm, the same way Kai's cigarette had years ago. Tony thrust out his hand, keys dangling from his fingers. "Here."

Three months? More like two and a half, but he wasn’t counting or anything. Kai’s voice was even and low, intentionally calm; it had always been the steadiest part of him when he was under pressure, usually belied by his gaze. “Keys to the art studio, my locker at the gym…” He trailed off casually with a slight shrug, as if it made sense to wait months to collect those things because keys to a locker at the climbing centre weren’t important like, say, keys to his front door. Of course, his house keys were on that keychain too, but he felt no compulsion to make that fact explicit. “Tried everywhere else first,” he added.

Kai’s eyes were trained on Tony’s — he noticed a little shift in his expression but couldn’t guess what the other man was thinking. He nodded once at Tony’s words and let Michael go ahead of him as the three of them walked up the stairs. Under the bed, he thought. That’s where they’d be. He remembered kicking his jeans out of the way after… Well, and his keys had probably been in his back pocket before that. So under the bed made sense. He felt relieved when Tony summoned them, relieved that they actually were here and he hadn’t suffered through all of this for nothing. He didn't think he couldn’t have stood it.

“Thanks,” he said. He paused a beat, then reached out and took them, his fingers brushing Tony’s like they had when they’d had their first tequila shots at the bar. He pocketed them but hesitated, not quite ready to leave, but not really wanting to talk with Michael hovering there in the corner like a ghoul. Like he’d somehow broadcast his thoughts, however, Michael took the hint and slipped into the flat between Tony and the doorframe. Kai thought he'd feel more relaxed one on one, but it wasn't so.

“Tony,” he said, meeting his gaze again. He needed to apologise for leaving early — it had felt right in the moment, but was feeling increasingly wrong as time went on. And obvious, he thought. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. He wouldn’t have let you in if he hated you, right? Frustratingly, Senna’s words echoed in his brain. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. She was wrong, though. Kai felt certain of it, looking at Tony now, taking in the way his lips pressed together, the tension around his eyes. It might have been true for people like Senna and even people like Kai, but his friend didn’t know his ex like he did. Tony could definitely hate someone and still take them to bed, and Kai knew it because he’d been that someone twice, now.

“For just showing up like this,” he finished. “Should’ve just owled. Or something.”

Anthony’s voice had pitched up with surprise (What, for three months?) in almost the same inflection Michael had used earlier; that made Michael want to laugh, and only his preoccupation with how he was going to guilt Anthony into dropping this kept him from smirking. Didn’t matter – Anthony, turning pink around the gills, was not looking at him, likely because he knew exactly what he’d just admitted to.

This, he figured, was how he was going to do it. At its heart, this was Anthony’s fault – clearly, Anthony had seen more of Kai Kimura in three years than Michael had in the like, ten minutes they’d smoked on the step – clearly, Anthony knew that had been stupid, and if Michael had nosed into it out of concern for his best friend – well – there was no rule against that. (Yet.)

He followed Anthony up the stairs, feeling painfully awkward, like the meat in a glaring-daggers sandwich; Anthony fetched Kai’s keys (in the most pretentious way possible; Michael’s resolute abashed look was being seriously tested now) and Michael slipped inside, glancing around for Smith, only because his one desire right now was to exchange a glance with somebody other than Kai (Anthony had caught that last one, he could tell) and to leave Anthony and Kai to whatever discussion they so clearly needed to have without him.

Not, of course, that he really wanted to talk to Smith, or to have Smith present for what was sure to be a fairly infantile argument, but Smith had probably seen worse, so he located him at the counter and handed him the parchment: “November brackets. Also, Tony’s having kneazles.”

Ah. So he had left only the unimportant keys, then. Tony's face twitched as he turned to climb the stairs. There were a hundred things he wanted to say -- wouldn't have left them if you hadn't snuck out or where's 'everywhere else' or can you show any bloody emotions, you tight-lipped git -- and he said none of them, just thought them rudely. Maybe if Michael wasn't here, he would be able to have out with all this. But maybe if Michael wasn't here, Tony wouldn't be so on edge.

He hadn't been on edge the last time he saw Kai, was the thing. He had been drunk, but sobering up by the end, and it had been soft and comfortable in Kai's arms. If it had just been Kai at the door, maybe they could have talked about that. Maybe. But it was Kai and Michael on his step, so the whole thing was out of the question. He could open up to one of them today, but only one of them, and Michael had nearly a decade of seniority here.

Michael slipped past him into the apartment. Kai didn't. The other man's fingertips lingered on his as he took the keys. Tony dropped his hand, stuffed it into his pocket where his wand rested.

Kai thanked him. Tony, knowing Michael was finally not looking at him -- Tony’s having kneazles, he heard over his shoulder, presumably meant for Zach -- let himself loosen his jaw. It wasn't a smile, but the corner of his mouth quirked slightly upwards. "You're welcome," he said, some artificial gruffness still in his tone.

I’m sorry, Kai said, the word dropping like lead in the pit of Tony's stomach. Lord, had Anthony really been waiting for an apology, still, after all this time? The one he had never gotten when Kai came to him like a confessor to church? Now? Fucking now he was sorry? Anthony let out a soft 'tch' under his breath. Probably not that -- Kai had a number of things to apologize for, now. Perhaps it was for leaving last time.

Kai continued -- Tony's face fell for a brief second before hardening again. Of course. Kai wasn't capable of looking back more than twenty-four hours, it seemed. "Or something," he echoed, spiteful. "Yes, you should have."

But Kai was looking at him, through him, into him with that heavy piercing gaze as he lingered. Tony cleared his throat. Some small self-sabotaging instinct wanted to invite Kai in, dare Zach or Michael to say something about it. He squashed it down, but when he spoke again it was softer, a touch kinder; "Do just -- write next time." He fought off the urge to say more, say anything any of the men in front or behind him could use against him. His eyes flickered over Kai once, stepped back over the doorframe. "Right. Cheers, then."

When the door finally closed, Tony slumped against the back of the wood, looking at Michael and Zach with some exhaustion. His hands went up to his eyes, pulling the skin down as he dragged them lower. "Fuck, Michael, what the bloody hell did he tell you?"

He watched his expressions shift, missing a time when he could far more easily guess what was happening under the surface. He ignored the spite and touch of condescention in the yes you should have, really just focusing on the:

— Next time.

Naturally, those words were the ones that jumped out at him.

It had been a very long time since there had even been a chance of a next time. Last time — last last time, that was — it had felt pretty clear that there would never ever be a next time. That Tony didn’t want one. Wouldn’t have it. It was actually a bit presumptuous of him to say it like that, Kai thought, a surge of contempt swelling purely out of self-protective habit. Right behind that very simple feeling, however, hovered more complex ones. Should I? — that was what he wanted to say next. The words were on the tip of his tongue. Concise, conversational, much heavier than they should have been. Or maybe he should say it like a challenge, instead? Anything like I will was far too close to a promise, and no fucking way was he falling into that trap. Not Tony’s trap, mind, but clearly a trap nonetheless. Of his own making, maybe.

He frowned, but only a little. “Right, yeah” he said, instead giving the other man a nod as he ran a hand back through his hair again. It was agreeing, an extension of what he’d already conceded — that he’d done something wrong, even if he’d chickened out at the last moment and apologised for the wrong thing — but it wasn’t commitment. He leaned back on his heels, ready to leave.

God, it felt like there was no one on this fucking planet who twisted his brain like Tony did; Kai was usually so good at just saying exactly what he thought and felt. Thoughts translated so easily to words, most of the time. With Tony, though, he found himself inside mind games, with thoughts chasing themselves into circles, and he wondered if any of it was actually Tony’s fault at all, or if it was just him. With that question, he tended to lean towards whatever answer served him (/his selfishness/his self-loathing/his paranoia/his depression) at the time. Right now, with something a little gentler in Anthony’s voice, in his gaze, it felt like he was just doing it to himself.

He nodded again when Tony said cheers — a weird thing to say in place of goodbye — and raised a hand in a lazy static wave before turning away. The door closed behind him and he sighed.

Kai had a cigarette between his lips, thumb on his lighter’s sparkwheel, before his feet hit the bottom step.

As soon as he was out of Anthony’s eyeshot Michael dropped his apologetic expression (mostly because it was a little too obsequious to be comfortable with Zacharias Smith seeing) and opted, after a moment of awkward silence, to make nice, in hopes that Anthony would be too nice to interrupt, and Michael could put off this conversation, hopefully until he was drunk. He thought quickly about the Quidditch standings as of the end of October; the Tornadoes were leading the Magpies, which meant he could discuss neither.

“Did you catch the opening round on the WWN?” he said. “Hundred and seven fouls in seven games, don’t reckon they’ve had that since the nineteenth century when they had to ban –” but he didn’t make it far into that discussion before Anthony came in, shutting the door behind him and slumping into it, and Michael felt a sudden certainty that Anthony would not be too polite to interrupt, and interrupted himself preemptively.

Anthony was doing that gross thing with his eyes; Michael would have looked pointedly away if the situation had been any less stressful. Fuck, Michael, what the bloody hell did he tell you? “Nothing,” said Michael at once, bristling. “I said you were at work, and he said he came here to get something he forgot, three months ago when you didn’t tell us you fucked your ex like an idiot!”

And some small talk, obviously, but surely they were going to work up to that: Michael, deciding instantly that Anthony was probably never going to go to the trouble of getting Kai’s side of this story, resolved not to bring up any of the lawyer stuff.

Kai said right, yeah, nodded, and left. Tony didn't feel as relieved as he felt he ought, at that.

Oh well. Time to corner Michael.

The bastard in questions was attempting to make conversation with Zacharias. Tony almost didn't want to interrupt -- it didn't seem to be going poorly, but that may be because Michael was doing all the talking. It would be wonderful if his friends could get on, wouldn't it? It would be fantastic. It would also have to wait.

Nothing, Michael objected, with the air of an injured cat. His best friend went on, saying reasonable and true things in an unreasonable tone. "Where does it say I have to let you know whenever I sleep with someone?" Tony shot back, voice getting higher and shriller.  He wanted to ask how many hookups have you had what I don't know about but decided against it -- the answer was probably going to be none, which would make Tony feel like he was possibly sex-addicted, which had been implied one too many times by present company.

Tony looked to Zach, trying to manifest some lukewarm statement of support from his roommate. Getting nothing, Tony his attention to Michael. "It was just the once, anyway." Well, twice. He tried not to think about that -- he was good at lying and twisting words to suit him in court, but the years of living in the same room with Michael made it easiest to lie by omission. As it was, his ears were turning a touch pink.

As far as Michael knew, it was said nowhere that Anthony should be telling him all his romantic conquests, and frankly Michael didn’t really want to know all his romantic conquests, but he said – in the spirit of argument – “False equivalence, you know this is different,” and then, “If I knew he was just crawling back here for his bleeding keys, I wouldn’t have been trying to figure out what in God’s name he’s doing here!”

Anthony shot a look at Smith, which reminded Michael that Smith was right there; he took a deep breath and tried to will the whining tone out of his voice.

It was just the once. This was, according to Michael’s theory of the lawyer-hate episode, not true, but if he mentioned this theory, he’d have to admit that he also listened to Kai’s radio show, which certainly violated some clause of amiability toward ex-romantic partners, and he really couldn’t afford to do that after the stink he’d put up about their associating with Ginny Weasley again in 1998, so he just said, “Really?” Not to imply that he thought that Anthony was stupid, but he did think Anthony was definitely that stupid.

Anyway, Anthony may argue for a living now, but Michael had been arguing for a lifetime and would be damned if he went down over what they both knew had started with Anthony’s mistake, so he added, “Just – why? Why him?”

"Oh, how is this different?" Tony said, voice going high and funny as he clipped the end of Michael's sentences with his own. He didn't really have a defense against the other thing, so he flailed mentally for something to say and came up with, "I can't control when both of you decide to jump up my arse about something, can I?" It was weak, as arguments went. He rather felt he was letting up the side of his whole profession. 

Really? asked Michael, tone implying that he thought Anthony was well stupid. Tony groaned. "Ugh, nu, twice, but that's all!" Motherfucker, how had he parsed that out? Were he and Zach gossiping? He hadn't realized the two of them could stand each other back when Zach had first moved in. Arseholes, the both of them! He attempted another pleading glance in Zach's direction and received not just no solidarity, but the exact opposite of it in Smith's look. Well, fucking fin.

Maybe he should make Michael take it outside, onto the tiny, barely-there balcony, or into his bedroom, or back into the hall if Kai was gone. Something to remove this whole argument from Zach's silent, smug expression. Because of course, even if Zacharias said fuck-all this whole time, every time Tony looked over at him he was reminded of the extremely similar argument the two of them had three months ago.

It made one feel phenomenally stupid, to be told the same thing twice from two independent persons. Perhaps Tony was, in fact, stupid.

Why him? "Why not him?" Anthony said, his voice coming back down to a reasonable register. "What about your Christmas party Missus Potiphar?" It was entirely possible Michael wouldn't catch his highly clever biblical reference, but Christmas party in this context only ever referred to one particularly terrible set of Michael Corner Choices. "Aren't I allowed to fuck myself right up? You've had more than your own fair share of bad choices."

He should sit down. Tony didn't sit down, choosing instead to lean against the glass door to the balcony with crossed arms. He vaguely wished Terry was here, if only to break the stalemate of Corner and Smith on one side and Goldstein and No One on the other. "It's not like anyone is filling my dance card the way they are with you, mate." He almost mentioned the limited dating pool, but if Michael also suggested dating muggles Anthony Goldstein would explode into a thousand whiney little pieces. Tony let that part remain unspoken, pressing his lips together into a thin line.

Twice, said Anthony (ha – Michael was a deductive genius.) He was about to act triumphant, when Anthony dug deep and came up with possibly the only romantic decision Michael had ever made that was stupid enough to rival this, which wiped Michael’s face of what hadn’t been a smug look yet, but had been getting there. He drew himself up again: “Ms. Potiphar, fuck off, she was already getting the divorce, and –” he glanced back at Smith, who now knew more than Michael would want him (Smith) to know about anything that had ever happened to him (Michael) and added, as a sidebar, “What the hell is Potiphar?”

He wanted to argue with his fair share of bad choices, but he had an inkling that Anthony was referring to bad choices that had nothing to do with romance, which Michael – who’d been steering clear of bringing that up for argument’s sake alone, for the past five years – didn’t think was fair. He scowled, but couldn’t come up with a counterpoint that (1.) he hadn’t already used, that (2.) Anthony couldn’t just whip back at him, and that (3.) didn’t involve any admission of his own bad judgment.

Besides – “You gave me hell for every bad choice you’ve ever seen me make, Tony,” he pointed out, “You want it equal or not?”

Anthony went over to the balcony to pout; Michael folded his own arms to mirror him, though he kept his posture stiff enough that he just looked disappointed. Dance card. Again he wished Smith weren’t here to hear this, but no chance Anthony was going to let Michael suggest they reschedule this one. “Come on!” he said, abandoning anything defensive he might have said about his better-part-of-a-year relationship (did Anthony even know Cordelia’s name?) and veering into the fallacious. “Kimura’s such a dick! Does he even respect you?”