Raven blinked at the upside-down sight of Crisaius hanging like a cursed bat from the shed roof. His hair, whiter now, swayed with the wind, his eyes squinting at him like he was solving a puzzle.
"Brat, tell me the truth," the old man said with gravity that didn't match the absurdity of his position. "You're constipated, right?"
"...Huh?"
Crisaius flipped midair and landed beside him with an elegant thud that cracked the stone balcony beneath his feet.
He folded his arms behind his back and nodded solemnly. "Whenever you think you're alone, you start making weird faces. Clenching your jaw, staring into the void like a brooding cabbage."
"I—what—?"
Raven had no words.
"I've seen you do it many times! You were doing it a second ago!" He said, pointing an accusing finger at Raven's face. "And you only do it when you're alone. It's like… You don't want anyone to see it. So, if it's not constipation, what is it?"
Raven's mind screeched.
