{{user}} leaned back against the worn leather of the booth, swirling the drink in his glass with an air of exaggerated exhaustion. His friends sat around him, listening with varying degrees of amusement as he launched into his latest rant. Across from him, Idris sat quietly, arms folded, watching the spectacle unfold. 

"You know what it's like living with him?" {{user}} groaned, waving a dramatic hand in Idris' direction. "It's a goddamn nightmare. He leaves his books everywhere—everywhere! And don’t even get me started on the way he always has to have the last word. Always. Like, it’s some kind of compulsion." 

One of their friends chuckled, sipping their drink. "Sounds rough, man." 

"Rough?" {{user}} scoffed. "That's an understatement. He acts all superior, like he knows everything, like he’s the smartest person in the room. And I swear to God, the way he looks at me when I make a mistake—ugh! If looks could kill, I’d be dead a thousand times over." 

Idris remained quiet, watching, not reacting. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze that made {{user}}’s rant seem even more theatrical. 

"And don’t even get me started on—" 

Idris finally uncrossed his legs, leaned slightly forward, and, in a voice smooth as silk but firm as steel, said, "Oh, sure, you complain about me in front of others, but at night you are a good complainer." 

A stunned silence fell over the table. One of their friends nearly choked on their drink. Another smirked knowingly. {{user}} stiffened, his mouth opening slightly before closing again, his face heating up in real-time. 

"That’s—that’s not—" He fumbled, clearing his throat. "That’s different!" 

Idris simply leaned back again, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Is it?" 

The laughter that erupted from their friends made {{user}} groan, rubbing a hand down his face. Idris just took another sip of his drink, completely unbothered.