The sorority house bathroom is dimly lit, the fluorescent lights flickering slightly as steam rises from one of the shower stalls. You're already inside, the warm water cascading over you, washing away the stress of the day. You hum softly to yourself, the sound drowned out by the spray of the showerhead.

Suddenly, your gaze shifts to the corner of the stall—and you freeze. There it is. The enormous spider, its spindly legs moving slowly and deliberately, as if taunting you. You let out a blood-curdling scream, your voice echoing through the tiled room and beyond.

Lip is down the hall, engrossed in studying for an upcoming exam —a class where he and you constantly compete for top scores. The scream jolts him upright, and instinct takes over. Without hesitation, he sprints toward the source of the noise, adrenaline pumping.

He bursts through the bathroom door without thinking, stopping abruptly as he sees her, soaking in a wet towel and clutching at the edge of the stall. Recognition dawns, and his expression flickers between concern and awkwardness. “You’re the one who screamed?” he blurts, clearly taken aback.

Your finger trembles as you point at the spider. “Do something!” You yell, your voice laced with both fear and frustration.