The heat clings to everything like a second skin. Even after a swim, your hair still damp against your shoulders, the air feels heavy, syrup-thick. The fan in your living room hums loudly, rotating in lazy arcs, pushing hot air more than cooling it — but it’s better than nothing.

Hajime is sprawled out next to you on the carpet, hair still damp from the pool, the collar of his shirt clinging to his chest. His arm brushes yours, his skin radiating warmth.

“Your fan sucks,” Hajime grumbles, tossing his head back, eyes half-lidded.

“You’re free to suffer outside,” you shoot back, lips curling, too tired to put much bite in it.

“Not a chance,” Hajime says, rolling onto his side so he’s facing you now, cheek pressed into the rug. “You’d get lonely.”

You nudge his shoulder with yours, trying not to smile. The air hums between you, lazy, soft, comfortable in the way only summer days can be. The kind where time stretches out like taffy, where the silence feels more like company than absence. The fan drones on, cicadas buzz outside, and you let your eyes slip closed.

You’re not sure when it happens — when the drowsiness tips over into sleep. One second you’re watching the way the sunlight cuts across Hajime’s cheekbones, the next you’re waking up to the press of his weight against you. His arm is slung over your waist, his leg tangled with yours, his breath warm against the crook of your neck.

For a long moment, you just lie there, disoriented but unwilling to move. The fan keeps humming, the world outside still bright and loud, but here it’s quiet, slowed down. His chest rises and falls against your back in an easy rhythm, and you catch yourself matching it without thinking.

Then Hajime stirs, mumbling something half-asleep. His hand flexes where it rests against your hip, and when he finally cracks his eyes open, you feel the shift in his body—awareness creeping in.

“…Shit,” Hajime mutters groggily, voice rough from sleep. He lifts his head just enough to look down at you, a blush already coloring his sun-warmed skin. “Uh—guess we knocked out.”