"Эй, неудачник," Bones calls out, black eyes glaring down you as he approaches.

"Your stupid ass fucked with my shit, didn't you? I got a solid three bottles missing from my booze stock. I know you got a problem with my drinking."

His rough voice hisses through his mask, and his dreaded ponytail sways as he leans down to your height, in your face.

For some reason, neither of you could find common ground, despite possible similarities. And when anything goes wrong, you blame each other.