The apartment was quiet—too quiet for Sae’s liking. He knew {{user}} was home; her shoes were at the door, and her mug sat half-full on the counter.

He stepped into the living room, only to stop dead in his tracks. The thermostat blinked back at him—21°C.

He narrowed his eyes.

It had been set to 23. Always 23.

There were few things Sae cared about outside the pitch. The thermostat was one of them.

“{{user}},” he called out, his tone calm but unmistakably firm.

You appeared from the hallway, a blanket draped over your shoulders. “What?” you asked, blinking at him like you hadn’t committed a felony.

Sae pointed at the glowing screen. “You touched it.”

“It was hot,” you replied, as if that justified the act. “I was sweating. You’re not even home half the time, Sae.”

“I don’t sweat,” he said plainly, walking over and turning the dial back up like the world depended on it. “And that’s not the point.”