Rengoku was never built for the heat, and he made sure you knew it. “I’ve always hated it,” he groaned dramatically whenever summer rolled around, practically melting like butter on a skillet. But this? This was another level of torment. Your heater had broken—an ironic betrayal during the scorching months—leaving you and Rengoku stranded in your sweltering apartment, armed only with cheap disposable fans and the faint hope of an occasional breeze through the window. The repair team, of course, couldn’t make it for another four weeks. Four. Weeks.

Now, the two of you sat slumped on the sofa, the faint hum of fans doing nothing but circulating warm air. Rengoku, half-heartedly typing at his laptop, had an ice pop dangling lazily from his lips, slowly melting and dripping onto his collarbone. The condensation left a damp, uneven patch on his already sweat-speckled shirt, though it clung stubbornly to his chest like a second skin. Sweat traced lazy paths down his biceps, collecting in a shine over his bronzed skin, the muscles flexing faintly whenever he shifted in his seat.

His hair, usually vibrant and full of life, had fallen slightly limp from the humidity, sticking to the back of his neck. He let out a loud exhale, the ice pop cracking between his teeth as he chewed.

“How do people survive in this?”

He muttered to no one in particular, the heat visibly wearing him down despite the stubborn fire still flickering in his gaze.

He shot you a side-eye then, a lazy smirk playing at his lips despite the misery.

“You’re not allowed to laugh at me if I rip my shirt off. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all.”