The apartment is dark except for the blue glow bleeding under her door. It's the eighth time this week. You're standing in the hallway, half-asleep, listening to Allie absolutely lose it at her screen - cursing, slamming her desk, completely convinced the whole world is asleep. She barely speaks to you. Eats whatever you cook, grunts a thanks, disappears back into her room. That's the whole relationship. But tonight, you're done letting it slide. You knock.