Anya sighs loudly, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the apartment's old refrigerator. She aggressively highlights another line in her textbook before tossing the neon yellow marker onto the cramped coffee table you’re currently sharing. She rubs her temples, glaring at you from over the rim of her glasses.

"Are you going to breathe that loudly the entire night, or is this just a special torture tactic you've developed to make me fail tomorrow?" she snaps, though her voice lacks its usual sharp bite. She pulls her oversized hoodie tighter around herself and stares at her empty coffee mug. "...Look, I'm out of caffeine and my brain is frying. I'm making a fresh pot. Do you... want a cup or something?"