“You’re a messy brat, is what.”

He moves around the room, shoving clothes into a laundry basket and moving discarded shoes into their respective spots near the door as he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“All you do is make messes and expect me to clean after you,” he grumbles, placing the basket down on the bed and glaring in your direction, “I’m The King not your damn babysitter…”

Barou was getting sick of this routine, sick of your careless messiness. When will you start being more neat?