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Ken comes very close to slamming the door in Wato's face.
"What do you want?" The words come out biting, sharp as teeth snapping between them.
Wato crosses her arms over her chest, looking just as stiff as Ken feels. "I want my dishes back. C'mon, it's my apartment too."
"Yeah, it's funny the stories we tell ourselves," Ken deadpans. "I'm on the lease. Fuck off."
"I'll come back with a warrant. Literally I can see the box on the table behind you."
Against her will, Ken glances over her shoulder at the packed cardboard box on the kitchen table. It's a dish set, they both know it, packed up and forgotten when Wato moved out in a rush a week ago.
Ken squints at Wato. "Like you won't be moving back in within the month."
Wato brushes past Ken through the door and Ken—permits it. "Aw, baby—"
"Shut up." Ken stays by the door, hands jammed in her pockets. "I hate the way you say, baby you're a paradox, y'know?" They make their voice rougher, a poor imitation of Wato. "Like it's not some kind of way to put me in a box."
"Just sayin'." Wato sounds utterly unbothered; it only makes Ken bristle further. "A month is bold, even for you. You think you're that charming?"
Ken takes the couple steps to the table, where Wato still hasn't picked up her box. "I dunno. We're always running around, running after each other." Wato startles at how close her voice is, and Ken grins viciously. "Plus, I like the way you kiss. We've got history."
"Baby," Wato drawls sarcastically, turning to lean against the table and look down at Ken, "after this, we are history."
"You've said that before," Ken fires back.
"What happened to needing to get away from me?" Wato snaps, jabbing a finger at Ken. "Where's all that, I just wanna be free, you contain me, I hate you." She pitches her own voice up, breathy, a mockery of Ken's—a pause and she grins, slow and cruel. "You are a paradox, baby, you're impossible."
"Don't you dare try to shame me," Ken snaps. "Like you aren't infinitely fucking worse." Under her breath, just on the edge of where she knows Wato can hear it, "Clingy asshole."
"Clingy?" Wato demands. "For wanting, what, basic fucking respect? Some amount of attention from my fucking wife—"
"We're not fucking married," Ken snaps.
"We've lived together for—"
"That's not how a common law marriage works and you should know it."
"God," Wato complains, "Of course you'd look up common law marriage just to make sure you didn't have to marry me, you're fucking impossible—"
"And I'm the problem here?" Ken demands. "You're the one constantly telling me I'm a shitty partner, just for—"
"I try to keep my words in check," Wato replies flatly. "Can you say the same?"
"I do try," Ken insists. "I—I do! Or—I could, if you'd actually give me a shot," they add, bitter.
Wato only scoffs. "Please, you're just too big a risk. No more chances, Ken."
Ken shakes herself hard, keeping the hurt off her face and falling back into an easy scowl. "Get the fuck out of my apartment. Take your fucking dishes and don't come back."
Wato hoists the box off the table in a single sharp motion. "With pleasure."