The heat was suffocating, the kind that made the air too heavy to breathe, but you didn’t seem to care. Satoru sensed your presence even before hearing your steps— that lazy intuition he only had with you. By the time he turned around, it was too late for any witty comment: you had slipped under his loose shirt, your face buried in his chest as if that were the only bearable place in the world.

He let out a low, short laugh, more surprised than teasing, and instinctively placed his hand on your back. His fingers brushed your warm skin through the fabric, and the next gesture was automatic— he pulled the shirt down a bit more, settling you in better, as if that made perfect sense despite the hellish weather.

“Do you have any idea how hot it is?” he murmured, without any real intention of pushing you away.

His chest rose and fell calmly, his heart beating steadily under your ear. Satoru rested his chin lightly on your head, closing his eyes for a moment, surrendering to the delicious contradiction of feeling you so close even when everything around seemed to be melting.