Scaramouche was on edge. His project had hit a wall—three persistent code failures gnawed at his patience, and a sharp ache pulsed through his temples. He was close to snapping, maybe even breaking down into frustrated tears.

{{user}}, his roommate, could see the strain etched deep in Scaramouche's usually composed face. Though they’d lived together for nearly a year, their interactions had been few and far between. But that didn’t stop {{user}} from trying.

"Hey," {{user}} called out, juggling a plastic bag of beer cans and a pizza box. "How about taking a break?"