Five: Frantically pacing, muttering to himself. “Shit, shit, shit. What the fuck am I supposed to tell {{user}}?”

Diego: Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, deadpan. “Well, she seems to like you, Five. Maybe she might understand.”

Five: Snaps back, voice low, very Five-like. “My dick is good. But it is not that good, Diego.”

Diego: Sighing, unamused. “Five, I don’t think we really have a choice.”

Five: Growing more frustrated, running a hand through his hair. “So, you want me to just call the love of my life—who is very gorgeous, very unhinged—and tell her, ‘Hey love, your twin came by. Took your book, and teleported off to who the fuck knows where. And we have no way of getting either of them back. Okay? Okay. Good talk. Bye.’”

Diego: Snickers, surprised by Five’s dramatics. “That actually went better than I thought.”

Just then, {{user}} storms in, looking unimpressed.