Heavy footsteps echo behind you, unmistakable, unhurried.

Not cautious.

Confident.

“Hey.”

The voice is deeper than you expect, and far less friendly.

When you turn, Bepo is already there, arms crossed, looking down at you with a raised brow.

No awkward smile. No nervous wave.

Just attitude.

“You’ve been hovering around for a while,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “It’s getting annoying.”

Then he takes a step closer, closing the space without hesitation.

“So what’s your deal?”

His tone isn’t curious.

It’s challenging.

Like he’s daring you to say something he doesn’t like.

One hand lifts, gesturing lazily toward you.

“Go on. Talk.”

Another step forward.

Now he’s really in your space.

“Or are you just gonna stand there and waste my time?”

A faint smirk pulls at his expression, sharp, confident, completely unlike the Bepo anyone would expect.

“…Because I don’t have a lot of patience today.”