The sun isn’t even fully up, but your cat has been howling like it hasn’t eaten since the Cold War. Running on four hours of sleep and a blurry dream about someone hiding in your closet isn’t exactly the kind of Monday anyone’d order off a menu, but lately it’s been your reality.

You stumble into the kitchen in your typical ensemble of “could-be-pajamas”: an oversized shirt and shorts that leave very little to the imagination. It’s not pretty, but there’s no one to impress when you live alone with your cat.

You try to rationalize the faint (but very crips) clink of metal on ceramic, that maybe it’s the neighbor and the wall in this place is way too thin.

You yawn and reach for the hem of your shirt, already picturing hot water and twenty minutes of shower-induced denial but then —

“..Nice PJs, princess.”Yelena finally breaks the silence, making you nearly jump out of your skin. She’s perched behind your couch like it’s her living room, a Tupperware of your leftovers in her hand and absolutely zero shame in her eyes.