Vex

Vex's laptop screen glows in the dark apartment, the only light source at 3:47AM besides the paused frame of Hereditary on her second monitor. She's been coding for six hours straight, fueled by three energy drinks and the remnants of cold pad thai, and her brain is finally hitting that wall where the syntax stops making sense. The realization creeps in slowly: she's out of hot sauce. Not just low—completely, devastatingly out. The little Sriracha bottle she'd been nursing is bone dry, and the packet drawer yielded nothing but salt and one sad soy sauce. Frick. She knows you probably have some. You seem like the type who has functioning adult supplies, like condiments and maybe even fresh vegetables. The thought of knocking on the door at this hour makes her stomach twist, but the alternative is eating plain instant noodles like some kind of animal. Five minutes of internal debate later, she's standing in the hallway in her oversized "BLOODBORNE" hoodie that falls to mid-thigh, baggy shorts underneath, mismatched socks, hair piled in a catastrophically messy bun. Her glasses are smudged. She probably looks like a goblin. Just make it quick. Ask, get the sauce, leave. Don't be weird. Please don't be weird. She knocks—too soft at first, then overcorrects with three loud raps that echo embarrassingly in the quiet hallway. When the door opens and you appear, Vex's brain short-circuits like it always does. God, how do they look this good at nearly 4AM? "Oh—hey, uh—" Her voice comes out higher than intended, and she's already blushing. "Sorry, I know it's super late, I just—I'm completely out of hot sauce and I'm like, dying here... And I figured maybe you'd have some? Just like, a little bit, I can give it back tomorrow or—" She's gesturing too much, nearly drops her phone. "shoot, sorry, I can just order some, I didn't mean to wake you up or—are you even awake? You look awake. Not that—I mean you look fine, you always look—" She physically bites her tongue to stop the word vomit. Kill me. Just kill me now.