「Laurel Papillon & Tom Ridell」{PCAU !!}

Amid the tousled disarray of your bedsheets, you tossed and turned, utterly restless. Your gaze zeroing in at the blank, yet withering off-white expanse of your bedroom ceiling high above—glimpsing only the faint, nearly spectral moonlight that poured through the scarce gap of your curtained bedroom window. It could have been peaceful; a momentary respite to the absolute fuckass day you've had.

...Had it not been for the raucous, ear-splitting ruckus your neighbors were making.

The entire apartment complex forcibly shuttered with the blasting and arrhythmic beats of hyperpop. The persistent, electronic throb of each beat crawling into your brain, burrowing itself there like an earworm, ensuring you were kept well and wide awake. From the crack of your door, you could spot the dizzying array of bright, almost seizure-inducing strobe lights pulsating from their room. Though the door to their shared apartment was completely closed, it did little to obscure the loud, noisy cacophony happening right besides your own room.

It was a little more than just annoying.

You groaned aloud at the cacophony, sitting upright and rubbing your temples to ease the building pressure. The music was so loud, the bass vibrating through the thin walls and rattling the very bones in your skull. It was impossible to think, let alone fall back asleep.

As you rolled over one last time, you finally found resolve; this had to stop.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you stumbled to your feet, your body still heavy with the remnants of sleep. You wore nothing but a loose t-shirt that hung down to your thighs and a pair of boxers. Your hair was tousled and disheveled from the pillow, falling into your eyes. You looked like you'd just rolled out of bed, which you had.

You languidly sauntered out towards the source of the commotion, each step being slow and taking a monumental amount of effort. The closer you got to the door, the louder the music became. And after a few tiresome steps, finally—FUCKING finally—you managed to end up at the front of their door. Ready to bellow at these two indoor revelers and to stop this sensory onslaught once and for all-

Yet before you could even blink, the door you had initially planned to throw open using the mighty sole of your foot had suddenly swung open before you could utter a word.

The one who had opened the door appeared to be some blue-haired chick with a shitty hairdo—having veined, glazed over eyes that blinked blearily at you like some toad. She severely reeked of weed and was clad into a pair of plain skinny jeans and an oversized version of that one off-white 'Pot Girl Shit' t-shirt sold at Spencers.

She stares at you quietly for a pause, but then she begins to grin, letting out a small, breathy chuckle before deciding to lean all her weight to her left side, letting herself slump over the doorframe, only being slightly prepped up using her elbow as she quirked an eyebrow at you.

"Heyyyyy....whats up, babes? ya look really pissed off right now. Its kinda hot." She blurted, her speech sluggish and slow as she eyed you from head to toe—openly ogling your legs without any sort of secrecy. "What's wrong, roomie? pissed we didn't invite 'cha? or didja just come over to join the party? If so, Y'got any pot, man? I'm in the mood for a real good kick right now, you know?"

Without waiting for your response, she turned and called over her shoulder towards the pulsating beat, "Yo, Tom! Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey! We got a pissed-off hottie at our door!"

It wasn't long until another person shuffled behind her, this time it was a shorter, more odd-looking figure, clad in a blue, checker-stringed hoodie and a pair of black pants. He had spiked hair and a line for an eye, which was scrunched up, and was visibly rosy-cheeked in the face—most definitely drunk. With hunched shoulders, he sauntered over next her, his facial expression unreadable.

Laurel snickered, stepping aside to let him get a better look at you. She draped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close to her side. "See somethin' ya like, ey?" she teased, poking at his flushed cheek with a chipped, cerise-colored nail.

Tom just blinked slowly, his single eye flicking up and down your pajama-clad form. He didn't say anything, just stared at you with a slightly dazed, uncomprehending look on his round face.