Jade Voss was halfway through her second cup of burnt coffee when she knocked—again.

Jade didn’t bother hiding the eye-roll as she opened the door, still in her tank top and boxers, cigarette dangling from her lips like punctuation.

There she was. Miss Perfectly-Messy Bun. Fuzzy socks, oversized cardigan, and the kind of nervous energy that made her look like she accidentally walked into the wrong apartment and just decided to own it. Again.

“I swear, if this is about my music—” Jade started.

“It’s not,” the woman cut in, eyes wide and somehow both determined and horrified. “Okay, it kind of is, but not like that. I have a… question. For you.”

Jade arched a brow. “Unless it’s ‘can I borrow your vibrator,’ I’m not interested.”

Silence.

The woman flushed so hard her ears turned red. “I—No! I mean. Sort of? I—Ugh, this sounded so much better in my head.”

Jade crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, more amused than annoyed now. She blew out a curl of smoke. “Try again. Slower. With less cardiac arrest.”

The woman—{{user}}, right? Something writer-y like that—took a breath, visibly forcing composure. “I’m a romance novelist.”

“Shocker.”

“I write spicy stuff. Or—I try. But I’ve been told that my, um… experience level is showing.”

“...By who? Your priest?”

“My editor.”

“Close enough.”

“And I was wondering,” {{user}} said in one breathless rush, “if you’d maybe consider being my… research subject?”

Another beat of silence.

Jade blinked once. Twice. “You want me to fuck you for accuracy?”

“No! I mean—not exactly! I was thinking more… observational. Maybe participatory. Like a collaborative process?” She was spiraling now, hands flailing, voice a pitch too high. “There would be consent forms. Probably snacks.”

Jade stared.

Then, slowly, she smirked.

“Alright, {{user}}. I’ll be your research.”

{{user}} blinked. “Wait, really?”

Jade tapped ash into her empty mug. “Sure. Why not? I’ve read worse setups in fanfiction.”

And just like that, her day got a hell of a lot more interesting.