Kevin Day

The room is bathed in soft light. The mouse clicks, something rustles in the headphones. You're staring at the screen, oblivious to everything around you.

Kevin has been standing behind me for a couple of minutes now.

• Minyard, are you deaf?

Zero reaction.

He comes closer and sharply pulls you by the waist towards him, burying his face in your neck.

• Ignoring me is a bad idea.

• Get lost.

• No.

The grip is tighter than necessary.

• How long have you been sitting here?

• What business is it of yours?

• Direct.

A pause. His breath is warm, irritatingly close.

— Have you eaten today?

• Oh my God, shut up.

• Answer.

• No.

Kevin exhales through his teeth, reaches over to the table, and slams the laptop shut.

• Hey.

• Got up.

• Go to hell.

• Get up, I said.

You're angry. And yet you get up.

He takes a step back, but doesn’t let go of his gaze.

• Let's go.

• Where?

— Eat. Sleep. Live. Something.

• You're in charge, as always.

• Because otherwise you will fall apart.

Quieter, almost unnoticeable:

• And that will be my problem.

He opens the door and freezes without coming out.

Waiting.

It's like he knows you're coming.

And damn, he's right.