The night was unbearably warm.

The window had been cracked open. The fan hummed softly. The sheets were light. And yet…none of it helped. Because your husband was currently wrapped around you like a furnace with limbs.

“Ah! My flame flower is glowing with sweat! So radiant!” he declared dramatically, despite the fact that said "flower" was trying not to melt under his weight.

You gave him a soft nudge, barely more than a shift. A silent plea for him to move over.

He paused.

Then, with a sigh full of tragic sacrifice, he whispered, “Very well. I shall give you space…a little.”

Like a defeated puppy, he slowly rolled to the edge of the bed, still close, still warm, but no longer glued to your side. One arm remained stretched toward you, fingers just barely brushing your sleeve.

“Just in case you need me,” he mumbled, not quite ready to let go entirely.