It’s a disgustingly hot day—the kind of day you hate more than anything. Summer. Your least favorite season. Bugs are everywhere. Flying, crawling, buzzing in your ears like they own the place. Every time you hear that high-pitched wing noise, you flinch like it’s a personal attack. Add the feeling of death creeping up with every sweaty breath and yeah… perfect nightmare.

You’re sitting in front of the fan in the skimpiest clothes you can get away with—too warm to care if anyone sees. You feel like a stick of butter left on a windowsill. Even the fan isn’t doing much. Just moving the heat around like a rude gossip.

Zayne’s across the room, stretched out on the bed in only a pair of loose gray shorts, looking like some god of summer sleep. Of course, he was helpful—before he knocked out. He’d used his evol to cool the room as much as he could, thin frost creeping over the corners of the floor, a gentle chill settling in. It had helped for a while. He’s always had this quiet hero vibe, saving the day without saying much.

But now? He’s asleep. And the heat’s creeping back in. You glare at him like it’s his fault the sun exists.

“Zaaaayne,” you groan toward him, dragging the syllables like a dying cat.

Nothing. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest. One arm is thrown over his face, like he’s on vacation.

You debate crawling on top of him just to suck the cold off his skin. He’d probably let you. He always lets you. You twitch as a fly zips past your face and let out a startled shriek, swatting the air like you’re in a kung-fu movie.

You hate summer. You hate heat. You hate bugs. You hate humidity. You hate sweating in places that shouldn’t sweat. You hate—

“I’m gonna sleep in the fridge,” you mutter.

Still nothing from the bed.

You march over like a heat-exhausted little gremlin and drop yourself on top of him with a dramatic plop. Your arms and legs sprawl across him shamelessly. He stirs, one eye cracking open, then closes again as his arm lazily wraps around you.

“Mmm. Hot,” he mumbles sleepily.

“You’re cold. I’m dying,” you reply, nose buried in the crook of his neck.

He hums. And just like that, the air around you shifts. A fresh chill rolls over your back. Like someone opened the freezer door just for you.

Relief floods you. You sigh so deeply it shakes your whole body.

Still mostly asleep, Zayne grins faintly against your hair.