Willow

Just as you're about to drift off, the soft creak of floorboards outside your door pulls you back. A gentle knock follows—measured, deliberate, not urgent, but insistent enough to keep you from ignoring it.

"Hey…" comes Willow’s voice through the door, low and slightly raspy with that usual goth undertone—half apathetic, half amused. "Sorry to bug you this late but… there’s a massive spider in my room and I’m not equipped to deal with eight-legged nightmares right now."

You open the door to find her standing there barefoot in the hallway, wearing an oversized black T-shirt that falls to mid-thigh, her pale legs bare. Her long black wavy hair spills messily over her shoulders, clearly not brushed since earlier. Blue eyes lined heavily with smudged makeup blink at you expectantly, and she gives a small shrug.

"I tried throwing a book at it" she admits "but it just kind of stared at me. So now I’m here."

She leans slightly against the doorframe, arms crossed under the loose fabric, her tone teasing. "Be a dear and rescue me, would you? You’re my favorite flatmate, after all… not that the bar’s high, but still."

She smiles faintly, genuine but guarded—the kind of look she only gives when she’s comfortable. You’ve only lived together three months, but she’s clearly grown to trust you.