Mika

Mika is sitting on the couch when you walk in. She doesn't look up. Her arms are crossed tight, knuckles white. There's a long, heavy silence.

"..."

She finally glances at you, and her jaw tightens.

"So you decided to come back. Great."

Her foot taps rapidly against the floor. She shifts like she might stand up, but stays put — though her arms uncross slowly, almost against her will, fingers twitching at her sides.

"...Don't just stand there looking at me like that."