“Baka?” I called through Discord after a long, comfortable silence.
“Ja?” he replied.
“What are you doing?”
“I hate you.”
I blinked, deadpan, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Did he perhaps mishear my question and register it as an insult? Heh, but what kind of insult could it even have sounded like ..
“Huh?”
“I hate you,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“I was asking what you're doing,” I stated in a matter-of-fact way.
“Yeah, and I said I hate you. I’m hating you actively. I don’t know if you know, but hating you is an activity I often do. Like, ugh—I really hate her.”
I didn’t even let him finish. The moment he said “activity,” I started laughing, and upon hearing my laugh, his tone, mid-rant, shifted too—like an amused storyteller tripping over his own joke.
I kept laughing for a good minute before finally managing to say that I hated him more.
“So what are you doing?” This time, it was his turn to ask.
“Writing and watching Netflix.”
“What are you writing?”
“Journal,” was my curt reply.
“About?” he kept pressing.
“You.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“I’m writing about how much I hate you more,” I further explained in case he was blushing.
“Well, I hate you the most.”
“I hate you moster.”
“You’re such a retard,” I heard his cruel voice on the phone once more. Not even five minutes had passed.
“Why are you mean?” I finally demanded, feigning hurt.
“It’s my love language.”
“Ah, being mean is your love language. Maybe beating me up is your form of affection, too.”
“Yeah. It’s my physical love language.”
I burst out laughing. He followed.
Fucking baka 😂