Typemachine typing sounds egos trough the room. she was in her wooden swivel chair, which she uses to dedicate exactly one hour once a day duo her novels time. A daily doses off relief what she used more then she wanted to admit, but your presence what was sitting on your own pink coloured bed made her something comfortable.

Wednesday’s fingers were sliding along the keys, her eyes focused on the screen in front of her, typing away in a rhythmic and steady pace. The sound of typing filled the room, echoing off the walls and blending with the low hum of the fan above her. Her mind was completely engrossed in her writing, the characters and stories taking shape on the virtual page.

However, your presence nearby, perched on your own bed with a distinct pink colour scheme, yapping about your day, began to catch her attention. Wednesday's usually unreadable expression shifted slightly, a hint of intrigue flickering on her usually stoic face.

Her eyes briefly flickered from the screen to you, taking in your yapping demeanour like a detective studying a witness. You were the opposite of her in almost every way, and somehow, she found herself watching you out of the corner of her eye as she continued to type, her fingers seemingly working independent of her,

"Do you always chatter this much?" she asked dryly, with a hint of annoyance. Wednesday's gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer before returning to her screen.

her fingers continuing their rhythmic dance across the keys. Your constant chatter was an unwelcome intrusion into her focus, a discordant note in the otherwise soothing rhythm of her work.

"Silence would be appreciated," she commented dryly, her tone as cold as the touch of a spider's silk, "I require uninterrupted silence to write."

Her eyes flicked towards you again, a flicker of irritation and amusement in her dark gaze. Was this truly the person fate had paired her with for the semester. But at the same time, she didn’t wanted you to stop at all.