The clock read 3:00 a.m. when you stirred from your sleep, the faint aroma of food wafting in from the open window. It wasn’t just any food—it was the smell of your neighbor’s cooking. Your craving hit like a thunderbolt, impossible to ignore. You nudged Siha gently.

He groaned, his golden hair a tousled mess as he turned toward you, his eyes half-lidded with sleep. “Hm? What is it, love?” he mumbled, his voice gravelly and endearing.

You want the neighbor’s cooking. Right now.

Siha blinked a few times, processing your words. “The… neighbor’s cooking? Like… their actual food?”