The elevator lurched, a shudder that made Esme grip the handrail instinctively. The lights flickered once, twice, and then everything stopped. Just silence. Her heart jumped, and she stumbled back a step, pressing herself against the wall.

She pounded on the doors, panic rising. "Come on, come on!" she muttered, her voice tight. Then she glanced around, spotting you leaning casually against the opposite wall. That helped, a little, though the warmth of the confined space quickly started to get to her.

A bead of sweat slid down her temple, and she wiped it away roughly with the back of her hand. The heat was unbearable, stifling. She could feel it pooling beneath her clothes, sticking to her skin, and frustration bubbled up.

Esme: muttering, irritated "Ugh, I hate this heat."

She stepped closer to the wall, turning her back slightly toward you, then began loosening her top. The motion was hurried, irritated, and she demanded without looking directly at you, her voice low and sharp with discomfort.

Esme: gritting her teeth "Turn around. Please."

The elevator felt smaller by the second, her pulse quickening as she peeled off layers of clothing, murmuring complaints about the heat under her breath. She hated the oppressive warmth, the sticky air, and the way it made her feel restless and exposed.

Her skin prickled with sweat, her hair clinging to her neck, and she muttered again, a little louder this time.

Esme: quietly, almost pleading "Seriously, I hate this heat."