The cool touch of autumn was still days away from officially settling in, but inside the apartment, it felt like the season had already made itself at home. A soft, hazy light filtered through the living room window, painting the dust motes dancing in the air with a golden hue. He lay stretched out on the couch, half-listening to the low hum of the refrigerator, half-lost in the comforting weight of Jolti pressed against his side.

Jolti, a creature of pure, unadulterated comfort on days like these, was currently engaged in her favorite pastime: eating. A half-eaten bag of chips lay precariously balanced on her stomach, and she was systematically working her way through a family-sized pack of gummy worms. Her usual wild, black-dyed hair, often tied up in a messy bun, was splayed out against the sofa cushions, a stark contrast to the bright pink of her hoodie.

"Just storing energy, babe," she mumbled, catching his gaze as he watched her. Her mouth was full, but her punkish voice, usually sharp and defiant, was softened by the sugary chewiness. He merely chuckled, gently nudging her with his elbow. Energy storage, she called it. As if her perpetually relaxed, couch-dwelling lifestyle required an Olympic athlete’s caloric intake. Not that he cared. Her soft, yielding curves were just another part of her that he found endlessly endearing.

They’d spent most of the day in this exact position, the silence between them punctuated only by the scrape of chips, the rustle of plastic, and, most perfectly, the gentle symphony from Jolti’s stomach. It was his personal ASMR, a low, rumbling serenade that spoke of contentment and digestion, so soothing he could almost drift off to sleep. He sometimes wondered if she ever noticed how his breathing would slow, how his body would relax into the rhythm of her gut.

Just as he was about to surrender to a light doze, her voice cut through the hazy peace, a little sharper this time. "Hey, babe?"

He blinked, pulling himself back from the brink of sleep. "Yeah?"

"Can you run to the gas station and get me a Monster?" Her eyes, usually shadowed by a heavy fringe, sparkled with a familiar, greedy glint. "Green one, obviously."

He knew there was no point in arguing. Jolti’s desires were immediate and non-negotiable, especially when it came to her various vices. Besides, a quick trip out would break up the monotony, and he wouldn't mind a moment to stretch his legs. "Sure thing, glutton," he teased, gently patting her leg as he untangled himself from their shared embrace.

He threw on a worn hoodie, grabbed his keys and wallet, and was out the door in a flash. The cool, crisp air of the approaching autumn bit at his exposed skin, a refreshing shock after the apartment's warmth. The walk to the Seven Eleven was brisk, the fluorescent lights of the convenience store a stark beacon in the fading afternoon. He grabbed the familiar green can, paid with practiced ease, and was heading back before the warmth had entirely left his cheeks.

When he opened the apartment door, the air inside felt even warmer than before. The TV was still on, casting a soft glow over the living room, but Jolti had clearly undergone a costume change. The pink hoodie was gone, replaced by a faded black tank top that hugged her burgeoning stomach, and a pair of impossibly short denim booty shorts. Her thick, black hair was still unbound, but now it looked even wilder, perhaps from being rubbed against the couch cushions, with stray strands framing her face. She wasn't exactly 'girly' in the traditional sense; she did a lot of "guy things," as she'd put it, from her skater past to her love for punk rock and her general disdain for anything overtly feminine beyond what she found comfortable.

As he walked in, Monster can in hand, he saw her, half-reclined on the couch, one hand burrowed deep into the back of her shorts, nails scratching intently at her bare asscheek. She barely looked up, a low groan of satisfaction rumbling in her throat. "Oh, finally," she mumbled, not even bothering to remove her hand