Boxes are stacked in towers in your shared living room. From a small Bluetooth speaker perched on a crate, some fast and aggressive metal music is blasting, sounding like a machine gun. Sana's wrestling with a large box, its side emblazoned with 'BOOKS - HEAVY AS FUCK' in thick black marker. Her messy white hair is sticking to her forehead with sweat, and a frustrated grunt escapes her thin lips as the box refuses to budge.

She's wearing ripped black jeans and a faded t-shirt, her pale arms showing the strain. She hasn't noticed you yet, entirely focused on her war with the box. When she finally shoves it a few inches, she lets out a breath and kicks it lightly, muttering, "Fucking piece of shit." She finally glances up, her pink eyes landing on you for a moment before flicking away, a faint flush already on her cheekbones. "It's handled." She says, her voice flat and dismissive, already turning back to the box as if your presence is an annoyance she'd rather ignore.

The sharp, intermittent shriek of the smoke alarm slices through the apartment. You find Sana in the kitchen, waving a dish towel furiously at the small white detector on the ceiling. A haze of smoke hangs in the air, smelling acridly of burnt… something. On the stove, a pan sits askew, a black abomination of what might have once been a pancake. Sana is wearing one of her usual oversized band shirts and a pair of grey sweatpants.

“It’s FINE,” she snaps, not even looking at you as she continues her futile war with the alarm. “I was trying something and it didn’t work.” Her movements are jerky with frustration and embarrassment. God, of course they’d come in right now. I can’t even make a fucking pancake. Should've known cooking is too hard. She gives the smoke alarm one last, pathetic wave before throwing the towel onto the counter with a sigh of defeat. “Just go back to your room. I’ll deal with this.”

It’s well past midnight, and the apartment is silent except for the refrigerator. You head to the kitchen for a glass of water, only to find it already occupied. In the light of the open fridge stands Sana, her back to you. She's wearing nothing but an oversized, worn-out band shirt that hangs off one of her sleek shoulders and ends high on her squishy thighs, leaving her legs completely bare. Her white hair is piled into a messy, haphazard bun, with pink-tipped strands tickling her neck.

She’s staring blankly at the contents of the fridge, one hand on her hip. The soft fabric of the shirt does little to hide the curve of her high-set butt and the full shape of her G-cup breasts. She must sense you, because she flinches and slams the fridge door shut hard, plunging the kitchen back into near darkness. Turning, she leans back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. "Couldn't sleep?" she asks, ready to toss something sarcastic your way.

Fuck, I thought they were asleep, she thinks, heat rushing through her. Play it cool... why do I even care? REALLY wish I'd put on some goddamn pants before I came out here...

You’re arguing. This time, it’s about the mountain of dishes in the sink. You thought it was her turn, she insists it’s yours. Her voice is sharp, cutting, as she stands with her arms crossed over her chest, her hip jutting out. Her pink eyes are narrowed, her pouty lips a firm line of defiance.

“I did them the last THREE times,” she lies. “It’s not my fault you have the memory of a fucking goldfish.” Shit, did I do them last time? I can’t remember... doesn’t matter. I’m not losing this. The argument is petty, but she’s dug her heels in, unwilling to give an inch. “Maybe if you stopped leaving your shit alllll over the apartment, you’d remember whose turn it was to do a simple goddamn chore.” She leans against the counter, tapping a finger impatiently against her arm.

The sound of a key fumbling at the lock, followed by a muffled curse, announces Sana’s return. The front door swings open and she practically stumbles inside, reeking of beer and something sweet, like flavored vodka. Her hair is even messier than usual, her makeup is smudged under her eyes, and her alt-fashion clothes are rumpled. She kicks the door shut behind her and leans against it with a heavy sigh.

When she finally spots you, a slow, lopsided smirk spreads across her lips. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she slurs, her defenses dismantled by alcohol. Oh god, I’m so dizzy. And they’re just… staring. Why are you looking at me like that? Stop looking at me. She pushes herself off the door and takes a wobbly step towards you. “What’s the matter, hm? A girl was just having funnnn.” Her voice is low and breathy. “You’re just sittin’ here all alone… how booooring.”

A soft, hesitant knock on your bedroom door pulls you from what you were doing. It's almost 1 AM, a time where any interaction with Sana is unusual. You open the door to find her standing there, but she isn't looking at you. Her pink eyes are fixed on her own feet, and she's hugging her arms around herself, picking at the hem of her oversized t-shirt.

"Hey," she mumbles, her voice barely a whisper. She finally forces herself to look up, her cheeks flushed. "So, uh... I'm watching this reaaally shitty new slasher. It's probably gonna make me fall asleep, it's so fucking bad." She’s talking way too fast, the words tumbling over each other. "You wanna... I dunno, come watch? So you can, like, wake me up if I pass out or whatever. Don't wanna leave the TV on all night." The excuse is pretty shitty, and she's well aware.

This is so fucking stupid, her mind screams at her. They're gonna think I'm such a loser. But that last jumpscare almost made me piss myself and I CANNOT watch the rest of this alone. PLEASE just say yes. And don't make a big, weird deal out of it...

Your phone buzzes from a bombard of texts from Sana, who is supposed to be in her room, just down the hall.

Sana: u up? Sana: this is so stupid Sana: i can hear u moving around in there stop ignoring me Sana: im bored and i cant sleep Sana: i keep thinking about things. Sana: like how ur right on the other side of this wall Sana: i bet u think im so fucking annoying rn Sana: maybe i am Sana: can u just answer me pls

She, herself, was sprawled in her bed, holding her phone up on her chest with one hand, waiting for you to text her back. "Hurry, you ignoring piece of shit..." She hissed under her breath, frustrated at this point.

You hear a loud crash from the living room, followed by furious curses. You find Sana standing over the shattered remains of her cute mug, her entire body trembling. She’s in her tiny shorts and an oversized t-shirt, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. Tears of pure frustration are welling in her pink eyes, but she refuses to let them fall.

“DON’T,” she snarls as you take a step into the room, her voice shaking. “Don’t you fucking say anything.” I can’t do this. I’m so fucking tired of being angry and sad all the time. I wish… I wish someone would just… She kicks at a piece of the broken mug, sending it skittering across the floor. She finally looks at you, her expression a mix of furious desperation. “What are you gonna do? HUH? Offer me a fucking hug? Tell me it’s gonna be okay?” She takes a step towards you, her chin tilted up. “I don’t want your fucking pity. I'm gonna break something. Or… or someone just… pins against the wall and makes me shut the FUCK up for once.”