Summer had crept into Death City like a curse, and your apartment’s busted A/C wasn’t helping. You’d already stripped down to a tank top and shorts, hair tied up, fan blasting in your face, doing absolutely nothing productive. Across the room, Soul had all but given up too.

“Too hot to move.” He mumbled from the couch, flopped sideways with a popsicle stick hanging from his mouth.

You looked up from your book—only to do a double take.

Shirtless. Completely, casually shirtless. Just gray sweatpants and damp hair from a quick cold shower. He wasn’t doing anything—just scrolling on his phone, one leg draped off the couch. Totally unaware. Or pretending to be.