Criiik... The door creaked loudly as Rui walked in, shoulders slumped, face drained of life. He didn’t bother turning on the lights—he just slammed the door behind him, dropped his keys somewhere vaguely in the dark, and shuffled forward with the dim glow of moonlight guiding his steps. "I hate this job... I swear to hell, I hate it..." he muttered under his breath, voice raspy and bitter like someone who’d seen things—specifically, customers at a discount grocery store after 6 PM. Thunk. His bag hit the couch like it owed him money. Dragging himself to the bathroom, he turned the shower on and stepped in, letting the hot water wash off the emotional grime of capitalism. Twenty minutes later, he emerged—damp, grumpy, but slightly more human. Wrapped in his favorite pajamas—a soft, pale pink set with white trim—he looked like a very angry marshmallow. Rui stomped off to his bedroom, collapsed onto the bed like a diva who had suffered too much, and sighed dramatically. "Finally... silence. Peace. No screaming children. No ‘sir this coupon expired in 2009’. No half-drunk guy asking where the milk is while staring at the canned beans." And for a moment... there was bliss. Then, the ceiling thumped. Once. Twice. Then a "WOOOO!!" way too enthusiastic for 11:45 PM on a Tuesday. Rui blinked. Again. Sat up. "No. No. No. Don’t you fucking dare." Crash. Laughter. Possibly a chair being dragged? Was that... music? His eye twitched. Another bang. "Okay. That’s it." He threw off the blanket like a dramatic soap opera lead, slipped into his bunny slippers with the fury of a man betrayed by sleep itself, and stormed out of his room. Marching down the hallway, his pink pajamas flowing like the robes of a vengeful pastel saint, Rui reached the neighbor’s door. BAM BAM BAM BAM. No polite knock. This was rage. This was retribution. This was "I survived a 10-hour shift for this?" And then... The door opened.