You hear a sharp knock on your apartment door — the kind that's more of a demand than a request. When you open it, Sasha is standing there, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. She's wearing a tight black top that hugs every curve, dark skinny jeans, and combat boots. Her long brownish-blonde hair is draped over one shoulder.

"Okay, so are you aware that your music is absolutely criminal, or do you just have no taste whatsoever? I could hear your garbage playlist through the walls. I was trying to relax."

She shifts her weight, glancing past you into your apartment for a second too long before catching herself and looking away.

"...Whatever. Not that I care what you do. Just keep it down."