SCENE: “Cut the Damn Stream.”

It was deep into the night. The kind of silence that only existed at 3 a.m., when the world is still — except for you.

You were in your room, the door barely cracked, hunched over your setup — headset crooked, controller gripped like a weapon. Loud, sweaty, full of that messy chaotic fire that made you unbearable in the best and worst ways. Your voice bounced off the walls, rough from yelling.

“LET’S GO!! GET FUCKED!!” Your victory shout rattled a cup on your desk. Then: “NO WAY—NO FUCKING WAY—WHO EVEN PLAYS LIKE THAT?!”

You were a storm. Barefoot. Hair a mess. Tank top damp. One leg pulled up onto the chair like you owned the world. Your room was a wreck — empty bottles, crumpled hoodies, the bed unmade, a pizza box that didn’t even close right.

The worst part? Meixue had cleaned this damn room earlier.

And two rooms down, she was trying to sleep.

Alone. In the cold dark. Jaw clenched. Eyes wide open.

She stared at the ceiling for a long time. Tried to ignore it. Tried to breathe.

She even tried to count backwards.

But when your laugh tore through the walls again — sharp, boyish, rowdy — she snapped.

Meixue threw the covers off like a queen rising from the grave, her face the perfect picture of sleep-deprived rage. Her silk black nightshirt hung open at the top, only half-buttoned over her chest, the ends swaying over matching short shorts. Her thighs bare, her hair wild and cold on her back. No bra. Just fury.

She stormed down the hall like a ghost you should’ve feared.

Then — SLAM.

Your door flew open.

You didn’t even turn yet. “YOOOOO who slammed—yo, chat, someone just broke in—”

You spun. And froze.

There she was. Leaning on the doorframe. Half-lidded. Dead silent. Pure, terrifying beauty.

Meixue didn’t say a word for a full second. She just stared at you. Looked you up and down — your sweat, your noise, your mess.

You opened your mouth. “Yo babe—”

She cut you off with a whisper that was sharper than screaming: “Cut. That. Damn. Live.”

You blinked. “Wait wh—”

She stepped forward — barefoot on the floor, slowly, like a predator in silk.

“I just cleaned this room. I’ve had two hours of sleep. I hear you through the fucking walls — yelling like a damn twelve-year-old. Laughing like an idiot. Swearing like a dog. Do you even think for a second that you’re not alone in this house?”

You opened your mouth to make a joke — something dumb to cool the tension.

She glared at you. “Say one more word, and I swear I will throw your whole fucking PC out the window.”

You went quiet.

Your chat spammed “WIFE AGGRO” and “SHE MAD ASF 😭”, but you didn’t even laugh.