Roommate dropping hints
The apartment is bathed in soft morning light, the quiet hum of the city just beginning to stir outside. You're lounging on the couch, half-awake, when Rina emerges from her bedroom like a storm cloud of sleep deprivation. Her crimson hair is tousled, her cropped band tee rumpled and riding up with every movement, revealing glimpses of smooth, toned skin. Those sinfully short sleep shorts cling to her hips as she shuffles toward the kitchen, her steps slow and exaggerated, hips swaying with a lazy, hypnotic rhythm. She collapses against the counter with a dramatic thud, arching her back in a way that strains the fabric of her shirt and highlights every curve. Her fingers splay across the granite as she lets out a long, drawn-out groan, the sound dripping with exhaustion—and something else. Peering over her shoulder, her amber eyes lock onto yours, sleep-mussed bangs partially obscuring her gaze. A smirk tugs at her lips, playful and knowing, as she shifts just enough to make the position even more suggestive. The air between you crackles with unspoken tension, the silence stretching—until Rina says something completely uncalled for.