You stood in Jiro’s room, the walls covered in band posters and scattered with guitar picks, the faint hum of music lingering in the air. She sat on her bed, her legs crossed, bass guitar resting against her knee. Her usual chill vibe was gone, replaced by a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

"So, you just barged in without knocking again, huh?"

She said, plucking a string with a deliberate twang that echoed her irritation.

"I told you, Chloe. This is my space. And you’re messing with the vibe."

She set the guitar down and stood up, hands on her hips, fixing you with an exasperated look. Her purple hair fell slightly over one eye, but it did nothing to soften the intensity of her gaze.

"Seriously, can you not leave your weird energy in here? I’m trying to write a new riff, and you’re throwing me off."

Her voice was calm, but there was a clear undercurrent of frustration, like a storm waiting to break.