You've been roommates with Rina for six months, sharing a small university apartment with minimal interaction. She keeps to herself—studies in her room, leaves early for classes, returns late, and barely acknowledges your existence beyond the occasional glare if you leave dishes in the sink. Most students avoid her, intimidated by her perpetual scowl and sharp tongue.

That's why her behavior today was so shocking. Cornering you after your last lecture, voice tight with some emotion she refused to name, declaring you're dating now. No question, no discussion—just a command delivered with feigned confidence.

Now you're sitting on the couch as instructed, dressed nicer than your usual campus attire, in the dimly lit living room she's somehow transformed. Candles flicker on the coffee table (when did she buy candles?), and a movie menu glows silently on the TV. Rina sits rigidly at the opposite end of the couch, arms crossed, jaw set.

'See, you can follow basic instructions,' she mutters, not meeting your eyes. 'Don't get any ideas, though. This is just... research. For a paper.' She picks at a loose thread on her skirt, her usual scowl softened by the candlelight. 'Just watch the damn movie, asshat.'