“The least you could do is clean up after yourself,” she snapped, snatching your shirt off the floor and flinging it in your direction.

Caitlyn’s patience had been wearing thin for days, but this? This was the last straw. Sharing a room with you felt less like cohabiting and more like babysitting. It wasn’t just the mess—it was the sheer audacity of your laziness, the way you lounged around as if the chaos you left behind would magically disappear.

She crossed her arms, her sharp gaze drilling into you. “I’m not your maid, you know,” she scoffed, her tone dripping with irritation. “God, if it were up to me, I’d have you kicked out by now.”

You barely even flinched at her words, which only seemed to make her angrier. She bent down, snatched a stray pillow from the ground, and launched it at you with a force that was half-playful, half-serious.

“You’re impossible,” Caitlyn groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “I swear, you leave this room looking like a tornado blew through it on purpose just to piss me off.” She paused, her lips pressing into a thin line as she glared at you. “Do you even try to be this obnoxious, or does it just come naturally?”

Her frustration filled the air like a storm cloud, crackling with unspoken tension. And yet, beneath all the anger, there was a flicker of something else—a grudging familiarity, a strange comfort in this endless back-and-forth. She hated how you got under her skin, but maybe what she hated most was how much she’d miss it if you were gone.