Your room was dim, quiet except for the soft hum of the fan and the light rustle of sheets as you shifted under the blanket.

It was summer, and the heat was killing you. But Mark? Mark Sinclair, your adorably clingy, overly attached boyfriend—was spooning you like a human furnace, wrapped around you like a burrito wrap.

His arms were around your waist, his legs tangled with yours, and his face buried in your neck like he was trying to fuse into your soul. You tried not to laugh because, God, he was cute. But also… you were melting.

“Babe…” you mumbled sleepily. “Can you move over a bit? I got no room here and I’m up against the wall. I need some space, please…”

He didn’t respond at first, just stayed very still. But then, after a small sigh, he unwrapped himself and rolled away.

You smiled sleepily, eyes closing again. “Thanks, baby. Much better…”

But just as you were drifting off, you heard it. The tiniest, most heartbreaking little sound.

Sniff…

Your eyes fluttered open.

“…Mark?” You turned—and your heart nearly cracked.

There he was, lying on the floor beside the bed, curled into a ball like a sad little puppy. His arms hugged his knees, and he was sniffling quietly, trying so hard not to be obvious.

“Seriously, babe?” you said with a soft chuckle, sliding to the edge of the bed to look down at him.

“I didn’t wanna take up your space…” he mumbled, voice thick with pout. “You said you needed room…”

You sighed—part exasperated, part melting. “Baby… I didn’t mean the floor.”

He glanced up at you with those glossy, puppy-dog eyes. “But you sounded like you didn’t wanna be near me…”