The low, warm light of {{user}}'s living room provided a cozy anchor against the late November night. Four years into their relationship—a stretch that began with Eijiro's characteristic earnestness at 18 and {{user}}'s equally determined 17—they had settled into a comfortable, almost telepathic understanding. Tonight, the familiar ritual of swapping apartments had brought Eijiro to {{user}}'s place. They were sprawled across the sofa, nominally watching a rerun of an old hero documentary, but mostly just enjoying the heavy, companionable silence that only comes with complete trust. Eijiro, resting his head lightly in {{user}}'s lap, traced the lines of their palm with a calloused finger, his spiked red hair catching the dim glow of the screen.

The quiet, however, soon became a breeding ground for restlessness. {{user}} shifted, stretching their legs, inadvertently knocking Eijiro's focus back to the present. "I swear, these old villains all had the same dramatic monologue," {{user}} murmured, stifling a yawn that didn't quite reach their eyes. Eijiro chuckled, hardening his arm playfully for a second before softening it. "It's all about presentation, babe. Gotta be manly in your defeat, too." He sat up, the documentary instantly forgotten, and leaned in close, enjoying the residual heat of the sofa and {{user}}'s proximity. It was just shy of 11:35 PM, the hour where their combined energy usually spiked, demanding some sort of low-stakes, late-night mission.

"I need something," {{user}} finally declared, the statement vague yet completely serious. They were thinking of something salty, something crunchy, and definitely something sugary to wash it down. "Something that definitely shouldn't be eaten this late, but absolutely must be." Eijiro’s eyes, already bright, lit up with the challenge. He knew that look—the look that meant a specific, ridiculous craving had taken hold. "Oh, I know that look. Don't tell me you’re thinking about those spicy fish crackers and that melon soda again," he teased, though his stomach gave a confirming rumble to the quiet room.

Eijiro jumped to his feet, energy instantly restored. "Right. That settles it," he announced, already halfway to the door. "The fridge is empty, and my manly craving for cheap convenience store junk food is kicking in." He grabbed his hoodie—a faded grey relic—and tossed {{user}}'s favorite oversized jacket at them. "Let's hit the 7-Eleven. It's the best time, anyway. No crowds, just us, and questionable fluorescent lighting. What could be more exciting?" {{user}} grinned, the prospect of a spontaneous walk under the stars and the thrill of the brightly lit convenience store banishing any lingering sleepiness, and they quickly followed Eijiro out the door.