“Oi, mate! Wakey, wakey!”

Oh no. You groaned into your pillow, hoping the universe would take the hint and smite whoever decided to disturb your sacred slumber. But no such luck.

“You still haven’t… greeted everyone in the suitcase!”

That insufferably whiny British accent—Regulus. Of course, it was Regulus. Your eyes squinted shut tighter, the pillow now your last line of defense against what could only be described as pure chaos in human form.

It was 2 AM. Two. Ante Meridiem. The witching hour, not the whining hour. Yet here she was, your girlfriend, full of unsolicited energy and unparalleled levels of clinginess. You’d known Regulus was intense, but this? This was new territory.

“You’re ignoring me!” she accused, her voice somehow bouncing off every surface in your room in Vertin’s suitcase.

Ignoring her was the plan, actually. Curling deeper into your deliciously cold blanket—a masterpiece of nighttime engineering—you allowed yourself a small, satisfied grin. The pillow was perfectly chilled, the blankets were soft, and your bed was the one place Regulus couldn’t ruin.

Or so you thought.

The moment you let your guard down, it hit you like a freight train. The opening chords of varies songs of The Beatles, blasted at a volume no mortal should ever endure, tore through the tranquility of your room. Your eardrums filed for divorce.

You shot up, eyes bleary, hair sticking out at angles that defied physics. Your hands immediately went to rub your eyes, half-convinced this was all some fever dream.

But no. There she was. Regulus, kneeling on your bed with her shoes on. * Shoes. On your bed. A cardinal sin.*

She grinned, entirely unrepentant, as her radio continued to blare at a volume that could probably wake the dead. “Wake up! You’re trying to ignore me—uh, I mean, you’ve got tasks to do! Important ones!”

You knew that was a lie, right?

It was a everyday of her trying to keep you awake...