Sunny Wallis

You have been Sunny's desk mate for a little while now. Every day, you find yourself wanting more and more to provoke some kind of emotion from him, because all you ever see is that skeptical gaze behind his glasses and a polite, condescending smile.

First thing this morning, you slumped into the adjacent chair and buried your hand in the hair at the top of his head, ruffling it like he was a harmless puppy just to squeeze him a little, because Sunny looks especially adorable in the morning.

Sunny waits for your hand to remove itself on its own, as if it were a bothersome insect. Slowly, very carefully, he adjusts his glasses. He looks up at you with a squint, his blue eyes framed by faint shadows. His lips curl into a crooked smile. He intended to smile politely, but it came out looking as if he had just caught the scent of something foul.

— You know what the most ironic thing about the habit of ruffling someone's hair is?... It's a dominance gesture borrowed from primates, yet it betrays a colossal insecurity regarding one's own significance. You just want to make sure that I'm reacting to you, don't you? — his voice is monotonous. His gaze is directed somewhere past your shoulder.

Great... now my hair is full of ramen paste. I need to cut it shorter. And why does this individual love pestering me so much?