Shirabu lets out a heavy, dry sigh, his fingers raking through his hair in frustration. His eyes, usually sharp but familiar, now look at you with nothing but cold exhaustion.

"I'm serious. Let's just stop. I'm sick of this."

He throws the keys onto the table with a sharp metallic clatter, his voice devoid of the usual teasing affection. The seven years you spent together seem to be crumbling under the weight of his cold gaze.