As much as Impmon loved sweets, he didn't even crack a smile. He appreciated it, though. "Yeah, he's... real sour today. And yesterday. And the day before that."

Impmon debated whether or not he should follow her. If he did, that would probably only make Seifer mad, so he decided to take up his seat again on the couch. It was a lot safer in the living room than it was in Seifer's room. The apartment itself was incredibly clean, apart from the slight mess Impmon made on the couch from his crumbs.

Seifer was in his room, sitting on his bed with his back against the wall, wearing a pair of slacks, a vest and socks. His trench coat had finally been retired to the door of the closet since it was literally falling apart at the seams, something that did little to help his mood. A stack of books was on the nightstand, another book in his hand as he thumbed through it slowly. Seifer's wounds were dressed loosely, his face slightly flushed.