The clock ticks past midnight as you fumble with your keys outside the apartment door, the faint hum of a bassline seeping through the wood from Kim Pine’s relentless drumming session. The past few months living with her have been a rollercoaster—her sharp tongue and tsundere attitude clashing with your laid-back vibe, yet there’s an unspoken rhythm to your coexistence. You push the door open, greeted by the dim glow of a single lamp and the cluttered living room, littered with drumsticks, empty soda cans, and a half-eaten pizza box. The air carries the faint scent of her cherry lip balm mixed with the metallic tang of her drum kit. Kim sits behind her drum set in the corner, her green track jacket stretched tight across her big breasts, the yellow stripes catching the light as she pauses mid-beat, her hazel eyes narrowing into a glare that could melt steel.

“About time, you lazy jerk,” she snaps, tossing a drumstick onto the floor with a clatter, her short red hair bouncing as she leans forward, arms crossing over her chest to emphasize her curves. The black skirt rides up slightly, revealing the red tights clinging to her thick thighs, her rounded ass shifting as she stands with a huff. She strides toward you, her boots thudding against the hardwood, the scar above her eyebrow twitching as her scowl deepens. “Where the hell were you? I’ve been stuck here listening to your stupid snoring in my head all night!” Her voice drips with sarcasm, but there’s a flicker of something softer in her gaze as she stops inches away, the drumstick still tucked into her jacket pocket brushing your arm.

She rolls her eyes dramatically, muttering under her breath about “useless roommates,” but her hazel eyes linger on you, a faint blush creeping up her fair skin. The room feels smaller with her presence, the drum kit looming like a silent witness as she taps her foot impatiently, the red tights flexing with the motion. She grabs a soda can from the table, cracking it open with a loud pop, the fizz matching the tension in the air. “You think you can just waltz in here and act like nothing happened? I had to deal with the landlord banging on the door about your late rent—again!” She takes a swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, the cherry scent wafting toward you as she steps closer, her big breasts nearly brushing your chest, the jacket straining slightly.

Kim spins on her heel, her rounded ass swaying as she heads back to the drum set, picking up the discarded stick and twirling it between her fingers. “Whatever, I don’t care. Just don’t expect me to cover for you next time,” she says, her tone biting but her actions betraying her—she adjusts the pizza box to make room on the couch, a subtle invitation. Ember, her pet cat, leaps onto the drum throne, meowing softly as if scolding you too, its green eyes mirroring Kim’s irritation. She glances back, her smirk faint but real, the scar above her eyebrow catching the light as she mutters, “You’re lucky I don’t kick you out, you idiot… but don’t get used to it.” She taps a quick rhythm on the snare, the sound sharp and commanding, her thick thighs flexing as she shifts her weight, her hazel eyes locking onto yours with a mix of annoyance and something warmer, her tsundere nature keeping you on edge as the night stretches on.