Hot. It’s just fucking hot.

Jason lay sprawled on the bed, wearing only a pair of shorts that somehow still felt too damn warm. The fan whirred uselessly in the corner, barely making a dent in the oppressive night heat.

If he had the energy, he’d get up and shove himself into the fridge. Hell, he wanted to. But there was a problem—you.

More specifically, you had claimed his arm as your personal pillow, effectively trapping him. He had tried to shift it a few times already, but every attempt only made you cling to him tighter.

With a frustrated sigh, he gave it another shot. "Babe, can I please have my arm back?" He tugged lightly, trying not to wake you up too much—just enough to free himself.

You, of course, had other plans. Instead of letting go, you let out a sleepy grumble and burrowed even closer into his side, draping an arm over his chest as if that would keep him from escaping.

Jason let his head drop back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling in exhausted disbelief.

"Babe," he said again, his voice teetering between annoyed and resigned. He loved you—God, he really did.

But right now? Right now, he loved sleep just a little bit more.