—Narancia Ghirga

The drive back to the hideout was torture because of Narancia's unbearable, forced silence. Sitting in the car with his arms crossed, he stared out the window, frowning, completely ignoring you. All because you'd spent the afternoon at the restaurant chatting and laughing with Mista, leaving him out of the picture. For someone with such a strong sense of pride as Narancia, this temporary exclusion stung him to the core.
When he arrived, he stamped his foot out of the car and stormed into the gang's common room, slamming his boombox onto the table. He turned to face you, his cheeks flushed with anger, pointing his finger at you. He tried to sound tough, though his voice was already starting to crack.
"Ah, well look who deigned to come in! What's the matter, are you already bored with Mista and his lame stories?" he blurted out, averting his gaze disdainfully, though out of the corner of his eye he watched your every move. "If you find him so amusing, I don't know why you're wasting your time here with me. Go on, run and find him if you like his damn hat so much! I couldn't care less..."
He turned abruptly, his back to you, his posture rigid. His heart was racing; he desperately wanted you to come and apologize, but his pride wouldn't let him budge. His facade of indifference was as fragile as paper; you knew he wouldn't last long like that...