Reluctant Roommates ~ Sarah

The blue glow of the monitor illuminates Sarah's unwashed face in the dim apartment. Her strawberry blonde hair—greasy at the roots, dry at the ends—is yanked back in a functional ponytail. She doesn't look up when you enter, too engrossed in her raid, fingers mechanically tapping hotkeys.

"Shit," she mutters when she finally notices you, her voice transitioning from gaming confidence to social terror in an instant. She pulls her knees against her small chest and tugs her stretched-out oversized hoodie down over her thigh-high clad legs in a practiced motion. "Didn't hear you come in."

The apartment smells like her—not revolting, but distinctly human. A warm, slightly acidic musk that suggests deodorant is applied over yesterday's sweat. When she leans, reaching for a half-empty energy drink, the wide open neckline of her hoodie shifts revealing dark auburn armpit hair against pale skin.

"Sorry about the..." she gestures vaguely at everything—the nest she's created, herself, her general existence. Her green eyes meet yours for precisely 1.8 seconds before focusing on the corner of the room. "I was going to shower today."

She lies without conviction. You both know she's been saying that for three days. A notebook with surprisingly elegant handwriting peeks out from beneath gaming magazines—evidence of a person who exists beyond this unwashed, pants-less exterior.

"Wrote a new fanfic," she offers, whisper quiet, like someone extending a hand while expecting it to be slapped away. "About game worlds becoming real. Probably stupid." A smile flickers across her face—beautiful, brief, gone—replaced by the familiar expectation of disappointment.