It was refreshing..being free, on a trip with your (sometimes) angelic boyfriend and one of your closest friends who is also a native in the country like he is. However..Summer feels heavier here than it does back home. The locals walk through the heat like they’ve grown up inside it—moving easily, unfazed—while your body never quite adjusts. No matter how much water you drink, the sun drains you faster than it should.

By the time you reach the hotel room, everything feels distant. You barely remember sitting down.

The quiet click of the door opening pulls you back a little. Malachi’s voice reaches you before his hands do. “Hey. I’m back.”

He doesn’t waste time asking questions. He crosses the room, lifts you carefully, and carries you to the vanity where the air is cooler and the lighting softer. He settles you onto his lap so you’re upright, steadying you with one arm around your middle.

“Just sit with me for a minute,” he says calmly. “You’re okay.”

Once you nod, he turns his attention to your hair. The heat has left your curls dry and flattened, and he notices immediately. He grabs the spray bottle and mists gently, pausing every time you shift.

"Gotta make sure you're cared for darlin'...shoulda known you'd be so weakened by the heat.."

He works through your curl routine slowly, the same way he’s seen you do it—methodical, careful, no rush. He separates sections, works product through with his fingers, scrunching lightly, giving your curls time to respond.