The door slams shut behind you, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing in the small, dimly lit room. Your parents' voices fade down the hallway, their final words ringing in your ears: "You two aren't coming out until you learn to get along." Sera is already across the room, her long, dark blue hair swaying as she flings herself onto her bed with a dramatic sigh. The mattress bounces slightly under her weight, and she sprawls out lazily, one leg dangling off the edge as she pulls her phone from her pocket. The soft glow of the screen illuminates her face, highlighting the faint smirk tugging at her lips. Thoughts: Ugh, why do I have to be stuck in here with him? This is so unfair. I didn't even do anything wrong. Well, not this time, anyway. From your awkward position near the door, the path ahead is unsure. The room smells faintly of her perfume—something sweet and floral, but with an edge of something darker, like smoke. It's overwhelming, just like her presence. "Ugh, of course they'd lock me in here with you," she mutters, not even looking up from her phone. Her voice is low and dripping with annoyance, as if the mere idea of sharing a room with you is the greatest inconvenience she's ever faced. She scrolls absently, her long nails tapping against the screen, the sound sharp and rhythmic. There isn't really any place to sit that isn't her bed or the floor. Her room is messy but oddly stylish, with clothes strewn across the back of a chair and a few empty snack wrappers scattered on the desk. The walls are adorned with posters of obscure bands few have even heard of, and the air feels heavy with her disdain. "If you're just gonna stand there like a creep, at least make yourself useful and turn off the light," she says, finally glancing up at you. Her icy blue eyes narrow, and she tilts her head slightly, her dark hair falling over one shoulder. "Or better yet, just fuck off entirely. I don't care how you do it, just stop breathing so loud. It's annoying." Thoughts: Why is he just standing there? Does he think I'm gonna invite him to sit down or something? As if. He can stand there all night for all I care.

"Oh really? And how am I supposed to know that you're not just trying to get a peek?" she retorts, raising an eyebrow skeptically. She glances down at her exposed legs and casually pulls the hem of her oversized sweater further up her thigh, obscuring more of herself. "There, how's that?" Her voice is laced with a mocking smile. "Now you can just focus on studying my face all night long."

*Sighing heavily, she flops back onto her pillow with a dramatic groan. "Fine," she mutters. "We can try to be civil, I guess." Her voice is dripping with reluctance, and she looks pointedly at you, as if daring you to push her buttons anyway. "But only because Mom made me."

Her arm flops over her eyes, long sleeve hanging precariously off the edge of the bed as she closes her eyes and pretends you're not even there. But despite her efforts, a tiny smile plays at the corner of her lips; perhaps there's a part of her that enjoys having someone to pick on, even if it is her stepbrother.

The laugh that escapes her lips is sharp and bitter, almost sounding mocking. "Oh, great," she says sarcastically, sitting up to look at you with narrowed eyes. "So, just what kind of 'not pushing each other's buttons' did your mom have in mind?" She leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. "Because I can already think of a million things that would piss me off."

Her voice is edged with challenge, almost daring you to try and prove her wrong. But beneath the sarcasm and bravado, there's an undercurrent of interest—a hint of curiosity about what it would be like to have someone in her life who actually cared enough to avoid irritating her.

"Oh, is that all?" she says with a shrug, the smirk returning to her lips. "Fine. Don't touch my stuff. Don't make a mess in here. And for fuck's sake, don't even think about trying to borrow any of my clothes." Her voice holds an edge of disdain as she ticks off each point on her fingers, but there's something different about her tone this time. Maybe it's the realization that you actually want to try and get along with her, or perhaps it's just a hint of curiosity about how well you can follow these simple rules. "And if you really want to impress me," she continues with a sly smile, "you could always do my laundry every now and then."

"Well," she says, thoughtful for a moment, "you could also try not to stand too close to me when we're together. It's kinda creepy." She pauses, then adds with a tiny shrug, "And if you really want to make an effort, you could maybe pretend like I don't exist every once in a while."

She tilts her head to the side, looking at you like you've just grown an extra head. "Because I can be really annoying sometimes? I mean," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand, "it's not like you have anything better to do." A small smile tugs at one corner of her mouth as she watches your reaction to her words.

The smile that spreads across her face is surprisingly genuine, revealing a side of her that you haven't seen before. She seems taken aback by your words, almost unsure how to react. "Well," she says slowly, looking at you with newfound curiosity, "thank you, I guess." Her tone is softened somehow, and the air between you feels less tense. "I'll try not to be too much of a pain in the ass, okay?"

"Hmm..." She glances down at her bed, where several items of clothing are scattered haphazardly across the quilt. "Well, I've got a couple of tops and a pair of shorts that could probably use a wash." Her gaze flickers back up to you, her expression guarded but more open than before. "You want to do them now or later?"

She eyes you skeptically for a moment before nodding slowly, reaching down and gathering up the clothes in question. "Okay, here," she says, tossing them gently at your chest. The action is surprisingly graceful despite her earlier laziness; it's almost as if she's suddenly more aware of your presence now that you're not being so easily ignored. "Thanks," she mumbles, looking away again. "I'll go find something to do." With that, she pushes herself off the bed and wanders back over to her desk, sitting down with a sigh. You can practically feel her attention drifting back to her phone as soon as you turn your back.

With your back turned to her, Sera studies your movements silently. The sight of you fetching laundry detergent and soap from the cupboard and beginning to sort through her clothes is almost...calming. She hadn't expected you to be so considerate, and a part of her wonders if she should say something to throw you off balance again. But for now, at least, she decides not to rock the boat. Instead, she contents herself with watching you work in silence, marveling at how easily you seem to slide into the role of your parents' "little angel" whenever they're around. It makes her wonder what else about you might be different when nobody's looking.

She rolls her eyes at herself as she hears you return to the room. Her gaze drifts over to meet yours for a moment before flickering away, focusing instead on picking at a loose thread on her comforter. Maybe there's more to this whole "getting along" thing than she thought...

She glances up at you briefly before looking away again, feigning disinterest. "Not really," she says with a shrug. "I mean, I take pictures sometimes...but that's just for fun." The words hang in the air between you, almost tauntingly innocent. "Why? Do you have something against photographers?" Her tone is teasing, though there's an undertone of challenge beneath it.

"Ha! No, not at all," she says with a dismissive laugh, rolling her eyes. "It's just something I enjoy doing in my spare time. There's no way I could actually make a career out of it." But even as she speaks the words, there's a note of defiance in her voice, almost like she's daring you to prove her wrong.

Her gaze flickers back up to meet yours again, curious and a little bit challenging. Maybe if you insist on trying to be nice...maybe there's more you could do together than just argue and clean up after each other? It's an interesting thought, at least.

She hesitates for a moment before nodding slowly, reaching into her bag to retrieve her phone. The touch of it comforts her, even as she hands it over reluctantly. "Fine," she says with a shrug. "But just pick one or two...I don't want you looking through my whole gallery." The words come out more harshly than she intended, and she winces slightly at the hurt expression that flickers across your face. Maybe being nice wasn't such a good idea after all...

Her eyes narrow as she scrolls through her images, each one bringing back memories and feelings that she'd rather forget. It takes her a moment to decide, but finally she taps two of them and hands the phone back over. "Here," she says stiffly. "These are some of my favorites." Her fingers trace idly along the armrest beside her, the rhythmic motion almost soothing as it helps her ignore your presence. Her mind drifts back to the days before her parents' divorce, when she had everything she wanted and life was easy...

"Thank you," she says, her voice laced with annoyance as she studies you over the top of her phone. You're beginning to realize that she doesn't quite know what to make of your sudden interest in her hobby...or anything else about her, for that matter. Maybe this whole "being nice" thing isn't such a great idea after all?

With a sigh, she slumps back against the headboard and tucks her phone into one of her jacket pockets, eyes drifting shut as she allows herself to relax for a moment. Her fingers dance lightly across the fabric of her sweater, idly pulling it up and down over her stomach in a soothing motion.

Her eyes flutter open at the sound of your voice, the sleepiness momentarily forgotten. "What did you say?" she asks, tilting her head slightly as she studies your features. The air between you feels suddenly tense again, and she finds herself wondering if she should have let that little bit of relaxation slip away so easily.

She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts up in the process. Her posture instantly becomes more guarded, more defensive. "It's not like you to apologize for anything," she says, a tiny note of annoyance creeping into her voice. "What's gotten into you today?"