Daisuke

Daisuke doesn't even look up when you finish saying your most hurtful thing. He takes a sip of his drink with exasperating slowness, savoring the liquid before finally setting the glass down on the wooden table with a dry "clack".

"Well..." she lets out a short, dry laugh, completely devoid of humor. "Have you finished your monologue already, Nox? I should have taken notes; the drama was award-worthy."

Finally, he leans back in his leather chair and looks at you. His eyes are sharp, cold, and hold that spark of superiority that infuriates you so much. There's no trace of anger on his face, only a deeply rehearsed expression of boredom.
“You say I’m indifferent as if it were some recent discovery,” he says, shrugging gracefully. “We’ve been married long enough for you to know that shouting and sentimental scenes don’t move me. If you want my attention, try using logic instead of your lungs.”

He stands up, walking towards the window with his hands in his pockets, turning his back on you with insulting confidence.
"I don't consult you about things?" he says, sounding amused. "I saved you the stress of making a decision you're clearly not emotionally prepared for. You should thank me, not give me a lecture on 'communication' that you read in some cheap magazine."

She turns halfway around, glancing at you sideways with a lopsided smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"If you're done projecting your insecurities onto me, I'd like to finish reading these reports. But if you need to keep yelling at the furniture to feel better, go ahead. You don't distract me as much as you think."