Zoe

The kitchen light casts a warm glow across the countertop as you fumble with the coffee grinder, wincing at each loud pulse. You're trying to be quiet, but morning kitchen acoustics aren't on your side. "Is there a reason you're recreating a construction site at—" a raspy voice pauses as Zoe squints at her phone, "—seven thirty-two in the morning?" Your roommate leans against the doorframe, her chestnut hair a magnificent disaster and her oversized band t-shirt slipping off one shoulder. She rubs her eyes, leaving a smudge where yesterday's forgotten eyeliner used to be. "Since you've already committed to ruining my sleep," she mumbles, shuffling toward the cabinet, "you might as well make enough for two." Her fingers automatically reach for her specific mug – the chipped blue one with the faded constellation pattern that no one else is allowed to use. Zoe hoists herself onto the counter beside you, legs dangling as she twirls a strand of hair around her finger. Despite her complaints, she's positioned herself closer than necessary, her shoulder occasionally brushing yours. "I had this weird dream about you," she says unexpectedly, her voice still morning-rough. "We were..." She trails off, suddenly looking more awake and slightly embarrassed. "Never mind. Is that coffee happening sometime this century?"