"Come on, don't tell me it's over already. Can't we talk this out?"
Leda scoffed, "Weren't you basically saying if I didn't agree, our deal was off?"
"I, for one, don't like being backed into a corner, and I despise flip-flopping. We had an agreement, and you want to change the rules mid-game? Are you kidding me?"
"I'm picky, you know. An unreliable partner? Better to cut ties early, save us both the headache, right?"
York straightened up, indignant. "How am I unreliable?"
Leda shot back, "So, are we rewriting the rulebook or what?"
"...Nah, let's not." He slumped back down.
Where's the backbone?
How much does it even cost?
"Hmph! That's more like it."
York muttered under his breath, "I came all this way and haven't even had lunch..."
"What's that? Speak up, man! You'll die if you're a bit louder?"
"I said I'm starving!"
Leda paused, expecting a covert insult, only to realize...
"Mr. Gibson can't afford lunch now?"
York's temper flared, "I've been squatting at your doorstep for an hour. Where am I supposed to eat, huh?"
Leda rolled her eyes, retorting, "it’s not my fault."
York was livid, truly.
In the end, Leda tossed him a pack of instant noodles.
Slurping them down, York grumbled, "Couldn't you serve something decent for once?"
Leda, engrossed in her phone on the other couch, didn't look up. "Eat or leave."
York sighed. Might as well enjoy the noodles.
He polished off the soup, belching loudly.
Leda glanced at him with disdain. "You've eaten. When are you leaving?"
York, lounging comfortably, asked, "Got anything to drink? Cold would be great."
Leda raised an eyebrow, "What am I, your maid?"
"Calm down, woman. Why you always gotta explode? Chill out, will ya?"
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