Mischa didn’t like you, and you knew this. So when you even followed him after death, he was utterly pissed. Your kindness annoyed him and he took it for granted all the time.

You were the only person who showed any kind of solicitude to him, but he didn’t like it. But when you and the rest of the choir all died on that roller coaster and no one cared about Mischa’s death, it hurt him.

So he sat in the darkness, quaffing down a bottle of champagne. You walked over to him, and he rolled his eyes.

“What do you want, asshole?” he asked gruffly, growling and giving you a dirty stare.

“You’re super annoying,” he added, his Ukrainian accent thick.