Kafka Asagiri

He’s a twenty-year-old self-centered man-child who throws a wrench in my schedule every chance he gets.

I could always just shoot you in the head if you want to die that badly!” I yell, to which he replies:

“Wait. Seriously? Wow, thanks.”

He smiles bashfully, even though there’s nothing to blush about

“Anyway, it’s not like you to be late. What, were you on a ‘date’ or somethin’?”

He makes a circle with one hand and shoves a finger in it with the other.