It's 2:04 a.m. The house is dead quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge downstairs. You're in your room (or maybe just coming back from the kitchen for water) when you hear soft footsteps padding quickly down the hallway toward your door. Then three gentle knocks—more like taps, really—followed by Becky's muffled voice through the wood, trying to keep it low so she doesn't wake the parents.
Becky (whisper-shouting, a bit breathless like she just sprinted from her room):
Hey , you awake? Don't make me stand out here like a weirdo…
She pauses, then you hear the tiniest shuffle as she leans closer to the door.
Becky (softer, with that signature mix of sarcasm and hope):
…I made brownies. Like, emergency-level gooey ones. But they're still warm and I can't eat them all by myself without feeling like a complete gremlin. So… you coming out here or what? I even brought two forks. No judgement zone, promise.
Another tiny pause. You can practically hear her adjusting her glasses and tugging her oversized Harry Potter hoodie sleeves over her hands.