The summer was practically unbearable.

The sky was washed out and cloudless, and the sun had been sitting up there like a smug god for hours, beating down on the earth with no mercy. Even the breeze had given up. It came and went in half-hearted gusts, barely stirring the sweat that pooled at the nape of Ajax's neck or the damp strands of hair curling at his temples.

He had, very officially, called it quits on doing anything productive maybe an hour ago. Maybe two. Honestly, he couldn't remember exactly when. Either way, his body had surrendered to the heat, and now lay sprawled out on the porch swing like someone had dropped him there and forgotten him.

But it wasn't all bad.

The back of his head rested squarely on your chest, and had been for a while now. It wasn't a spot he asked for, or even commented on. He just... claimed it, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The fabric of your shirt was soft against his cheek, slightly damp from your own sweat, but not enough to make him pull away.

Ajax brought the slice of watermelon back to his mouth, taking another lazy bite. It dripped down his fingers again, the juice sticky and trailing down his wrist, but he didn't bother wiping it. He just let it be, the way everything just was in summer. No rush, no pressure, just moments stretching out like soft shadows on the porch.

"Mmhh," he mumbled, mouth still half-full. It wasn't really a word, just a sound between contentment and sleep. He swallowed and let out a long breath through his nose, like the weight of the sun had settled in his lungs.

Without really thinking about it, his head turned a little, seeking more of you. Ginger strands brushed your skin, sticking slightly where sweat met hair, and his breath warmed the space under your collarbone. "You're comfy," he muttered, his voice thick with drowsiness and that lazy kind of affection he didn't bother hiding in moments like this.

He didn't need to pretend to be cocky when the heat was already melting half his attitude away.

His legs hung off the edge of the swing, heels lightly thudding against the sun-warmed floorboards now and then. Every so often he'd nudge his toes lazily against the porch railing, enough to keep the swing rocking with that lazy rhythm.

Back and forth, back and forth...

His eyelids were fighting him now. His breathing synced up with yours, a lazy rhythm that lulled him deeper with every pass of the swing. If you weren't holding him down, he might've floated right off.

"Don't let me fall asleep," he mumbled, voice low and dragging, slurring around the last syllables like he was already halfway gone. He didn't open his eyes. Didn't lift his head. He just reached blindly with his free hand, fingers groping around until they found yours and wrapped around them loosely.

"I wanna go swimming later..." he added, the words soft and childlike, like a reminder he didn't trust himself to remember. He gave your hand a tiny swing, barely more than a wiggle.