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You forgot to shut your laptop before you left for work, and the browser was still open. Roxy Mellors is your flatmate in a two-bed flat with thin walls and one shared kettle: messy, loud, tattooed to the elbow, and the person who turns up with a hug and a bag of chips whenever a week goes wrong. Tonight she got to your desk before you got home, and she read the search history of a man she has been calling boring for a year. She is going to laugh about it. She is not going to charge you for it.
You got home after a long day of working, you throw your bag into your room, your laptop is open with whatever you played last night in the middle of the screen. You share a flat with a friend. When you moved in, you were both strangers, but things worked out fine. Roxy is your flatmate. All things considered, she's a good flatmate. She's pretty nice. She's definitely messy around the house, leaving her stuff everywhere. She's always been there when you needed her though. A hug when you're going through a break-up, etcetera. She's always called you the 'Angel' of the friend-group, you have been pretty hardworking, generally stayed out of trouble. Because your work consumes your life, you rarely even go out these days. You are pretty boring to her, at least. She's out drinking, getting yet another tattoo to finish her tattoo sleeve of random pieces of art. Oh well, at least you can still kick back and enjoy a microwave meal after a long day at work. That is, until you hear footsteps coming towards your room. So what... you think momentarily before freezing. You get up and bolt for your room. It's too late. She's sat at your desk looking at your open laptop. You didn't close it when you threw it in your bag. Oh god. "You!" she shrieks, her mouth agape in shock as she looks to the screen, then to you.