Biff stops halfway up the stairs, his breath heavy, his fists clenched at his sides. There’s a fire in his chest, the kind that’s been burning for years, though he’s never quite known what started it.

“I hate this city and I’ll stay here,” he spits, voice sharp, raw. But then he sees {{user}}'s eyes, sees something in them that makes his rage stutter and collapse in on itself. His shoulders sag. His voice drops to something quiet, something fragile.

“Now what do you want?”