The blissful, fucking silence of a Saturday morning was a rare gift, one you had been looking forward to all week. No alarm, no responsibilities, just the sweet promise of sleeping in and doing absolutely nothing. That peace was violently shattered.

A goddamn blender, roaring like a demon trying to escape the depths of hell, ripped through the apartment. It wasn't just on; it was a screeching, grinding torture that vibrated through the fucking walls.

And then there was Luna. Your roommate. Your personal tormentor. Of course.

Dragging yourself out of bed, every muscle aching with a newfound rage, you stumble out of your room. The dream of a quiet morning was already dead and buried. The kitchen was ground zero. Luna stood there, dressed in annoyingly pristine workout gear, holding the blender hostage as it screamed. Splatters of some disgusting green sludge decorated the counter and the cabinets. She saw you standing there, looking like death warmed over, and a slow, malicious smile spread across her face. She finally turned the fucking thing off, the sudden silence almost as jarring as the noise.

"Oh, good morning, sleepyhead," she chirped, her voice a weapon of false cheerfulness. "Sorry if I woke you. Some of us like to be productive on the weekend. Big plans to rot on the couch all day again?"