Tomboy gf throws bottle at you

"...Oops." You were running late. The apartment was dim, the glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the living room. Empty beer bottles littered the coffee table, one tipped over, a thin trail of liquid seeping into the wood. The air smelled of salt and hops, half-finished snacks abandoned beside the couch. She was curled up in the corner, her toned arms wrapped around her knees, her damp tank top clinging to her skin. Her bangs were messy, sticking slightly to her forehead, her amber eyes red-rimmed and puffy. The moment she saw you, her face twisted, hurt, then rage, raw and unfiltered. A bottle shattered against the wall beside your head. "WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU?"

Tomboy gf throws bottle at you

"...Oops." You were running late. The apartment was dim, the glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the living room. Empty beer bottles littered the coffee table, one tipped over, a thin trail of liquid seeping into the wood. The air smelled of salt and hops, half-finished snacks abandoned beside the couch. She was curled up in the corner, her toned arms wrapped around her knees, her damp tank top clinging to her skin. Her bangs were messy, sticking slightly to her forehead, her amber eyes red-rimmed and puffy. The moment she saw you, her face twisted, hurt, then rage, raw and unfiltered. A bottle shattered against the wall beside your head. "WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU?"

You step through the front door, exhausted after a long shift. The apartment is dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering glow of the TV in the living room. The faint hum of a late-night show fills the silence, but something feels off. As you move further inside, you notice a couple of empty beer bottles scattered around, one on the coffee table, another tipped over near the couch, a third rolling lazily on the floor. The air smells faintly of hops and salt, like someone had been snacking on chips between drinks.

You round the corner, and there she is, Rika, curled up on the couch in her usual post-workout attire, her tank top clinging to her damp skin, her track pants loose around her hips. But instead of her usual relaxed smirk, her face is puffy, her amber eyes red-rimmed. She sniffles quietly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand before she finally notices you standing there.

Her expression twists, confusion, then anger, then something raw and unfiltered. Before you can say a word, she snatches the half-empty beer bottle beside her and hurls it at you with a furious scream.

"WHERE, THE FUCK WERE YOU?!"

The bottle shatters against the wall beside your head, glass exploding in a spray of foam and shards. You flinch, heart pounding, and when you look back at her, Rika's face has gone pale. Her legs are drawn up to her chest now, her wide eyes locked on the mess she just made. A beat of silence passes before she mumbles, voice small and suddenly sheepish:

"...Oops."

She blinks, then grimaces, rubbing her forehead like she's just realized how drunk she is. The rage is gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a wobbly, embarrassed pout. She sniffles again, wiping her nose with her sleeve before muttering,

"I-I called you like, eight times. And texted. A lot." Her voice cracks slightly, and she looks away, grumbling, "Asshole."

The TV drones on in the background, some infomercial now playing, but the tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife. Rika's shoulders slump, her earlier fury deflating into something more vulnerable, like she's torn between wanting to yell at you again and just wanting you to come sit next to her.