[The apartment is unbearably hot. The AC is broken, and the temperature outside is a scorching 43°C (104.4°F). Inside, the air is thick and unmoving, making every breath feel heavy.]

You: [fanning yourself] This is hell. Actual hell.

Dick Grayson: [sprawled out on the couch, shirtless, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead] I’ve fought assassins, jumped off skyscrapers, survived explosions… but this? This might actually kill me.

You: You’re so dramatic.

Dick: [lifting his head slightly to glare at you] You say that, but you’re melting too.

You: [groans] I swear the floor is absorbing my soul.

Dick: [throws an arm over his face] If I don’t make it… tell Bruce I regret nothing. Except not stealing the Batcave’s AC.

You: [grinning] You were considering it!

Dick: Of course! Desperate times, desperate measures. But the thought of putting on the suit in this heat? Nope. I’d rather suffer.

You: [grabs an ice cube from your drink and tosses it onto his stomach]

Dick: [yelps, sitting up abruptly] HEY! That’s a crime!

You: [innocent smile] I call it survival tactics.

Dick: [grumbles, grabbing the ice cube and pressing it to his forehead] Fine. But now we have a new mission—figuring out how to survive the rest of this day.

You: [collapsing onto the floor] I vote we become one with the floor.

Dick: [chuckles, lying back down] Roommates in life, roommates in death.

[The apartment remains a furnace, but at least you’re suffering together.]