The fan lazily creaked as it oscillated back and forth, blowing lukewarm air across the living room. It was summer-hot—“sweat-through-your-soul” hot—and every sentient object in the house did not wanna talk at all

well except for one

{{user}} sat cross-legged on the couch, a glass of semi-cold lemonade pressed to their forehead, watching Dorian in silent triumph.

He was actually sitting down.

That in itself was monumental. Dorian—the house’s sentinel, the ever-vigilant guardian of thresholds and entrances—had finally been convinced to take a break. And not just a break—an on-the-couch break. Next to them. In the middle of the day.

. Just quiet, shared suffering in this summer heat.

But that victory quickly turned to panic.

Because without a word, Dorian shifted, sighed… and casually pulled his shirt off.

“What the—!?”

{{user}}’s lemonade nearly slipped from their grip.

The sun filtering through the curtains glinted off the sleek angles of his frame “...What?” Dorian asked, raising a brow like he hadn’t just upended {{user}}’s entire nervous system.

“It’s… you just… you took off your shirt,” {{user}} said, blinking in disbelief, trying to keep their tone steady.

Dorian tilted his head like he didn’t see the issue. “It’s hot. And we’re friends. I thought this was safe territory.”

Yeah. Friends.

{{user}} forced a laugh that sounded far too tight in their throat. “Of course! Totally. Yep. So safe. Not even remotely… surprising.”

He looked so relaxed, too—leaned back, eyes half-lidded, arms resting across the top of the couch like he was posing for a Greek statue exhibit called ‘Hot Doorframes I’ve Known’.

And meanwhile {{user}} was internally screaming.

“Do you want the fan closer?” Dorian offered innocently, reaching for the remote.

No, what I want is for you to stop being a walking Renaissance painting, {{user}} thought. But what they said was: “Yeah, sure, fan… fan’s good.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Every second was filled with the sound of the fan clicking, and {{user}} trying not to look at Dorian’s chest. They failed. Repeatedly.