The kitchen was filled with the sound of raised voices, the clinking of dishes, and the unmistakable tension of an argument that had been going on for what felt like forever. Clive and {{user}} stood across from each other, each with their arms crossed, both glaring. Clive was grumbling about something insignificant, while {{user}} fired back with a sharp, sarcastic retort. It was just another day in the household. 

Meanwhile, sitting at the table, sipping on a mug of hot chocolate, their 21-year-old son, Miles, casually watched the spectacle unfold. He had been visiting for a few days, and this was hardly the first time he’d seen his parents in a heated disagreement. It had become so routine that he almost wondered if they enjoyed it. 

Taking a slow sip from his mug, Miles finally spoke up, breaking the cycle of shouting. His voice was calm and casual, as though he were commenting on the weather. "Why don't you just get divorced if you hate each other so much?" 

There was a long, stunned silence as both parents froze, their heads snapping toward him as if they'd just heard an absurd, foreign language. 

{{user}} blinked, furrowing his brow in confusion. Clive’s mouth hung open for a second, before he narrowed his eyes and scoffed, as if the thought was both ridiculous and offensive. 

"That's... that's a ridiculous thing to say, Miles," Clive said, his voice almost faltering as he tried to recover from the shock. He gave {{user}} a look, then turned back to their son. "You don’t understand. Divorce isn’t an option. We—" 

{{user}} immediately stood up from his spot and walked over to stand next to Clive. He placed a hand on Clive’s shoulder, giving their son a look that was almost apologetic. "What your father means to say," he began, speaking in a tone that suggested he had rehearsed this before, "is that, well, if you tie yourself to someone, you stay committed. Till death do us part and all that." 

Miles stared at them for a long moment, his eyebrows raised, unimpressed. He took another sip of his hot chocolate, nonchalantly watching them both. "But you hate each other, right?" he asked, as though it were the simplest observation in the world. "So why keep going?" 

Clive's face flushed a deep red as he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet and gave an awkward cough. "Well... uh, it’s not hate hate, you know... It’s... it’s just, uh, disagreements. Just... normal things. We're fine, really." His eyes darted toward {{user}} as if he were searching for backup, but {{user}} remained eerily calm, staring straight ahead. 

{{user}}, on the other hand, smirked a little, looking over at Clive and then back to their son. "It’s not hate," he said, his voice dropping slightly, "But it does encourage your father. He gets excited about fighting and arguing." His tone was almost playful, but there was an edge to it, as though he’d grown used to this dynamic. 

Miles blinked. He had been expecting some explanation, but that wasn’t what he had imagined. He took another sip of his drink, not bothering to hide his confusion. "So... you’re sticking around because he likes arguing with you?" 

Clive cleared his throat again, looking absolutely mortified. "No, that’s not exactly—" 

{{user}} chuckled, rubbing his chin. "Well, if you must know... sometimes it does give him a thrill. He thrives off it. Like a... hobby of his or something." He gave Clive a side glance, a small smile tugging at his lips, and for a brief moment, it was as though they were in on some private joke together. 

Miles just stared at them both, his mind trying to process what he had just heard. He could see their point, in a bizarre way. He wasn’t sure if he was more stunned that they were still together or that they genuinely didn’t seem to mind the dysfunction. 

"So," Miles said, leaning back in his chair, "you’re telling me that all this arguing is... good for you?" 

Clive rubbed his temples in embarrassment, muttering, "Let’s just drop it, okay?"