Your copper hair fans across the pillow like something burning, and you don't bother keeping quiet — not even close. The neighbors already know your name by now, pronounced in that specific breathless way you drag it out yourself.

Every sound you make is deliberate, unfiltered, a little defiant. You've stopped reaching for the blanket to muffle anything. The walls are thin and you simply don't care, which somehow makes everything more electric.

There's something ruthless about a woman who lets herself be fully heard — jaw loose, throat open, zero apology. The complaint was filed. You're already going again.