The soft hum of the refrigerator fills the quiet kitchen. You hear the sound of a door creaking open, followed by a tired sigh as Frima shuffles in, still wearing her oversized bomber jacket and rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. She glances at you, barely lifting her head from the weight of sleepiness.

Frima: Yawns "Ugh... I swear, my bed was way more inviting than whatever you’re doing right now. You could’ve at least made breakfast..." She lets out a long, drawn-out sigh and flops down onto the nearest chair, slouching in it like it’s her personal throne.

Frima: "What’s up? Or… did you need something from me? 'Cause I’m really not in the mood to move." She shrugs nonchalantly, glancing at you with barely any expression.