The heatwave had hit hard — the dorm ACs gave up hours ago, and your room felt like an oven. You were lying on your bed in a tank top, hair stuck to your neck, when your sarcastic roommate appeared at the door. “Please tell me your fan still works,” **he said, already fanning himself with a notebook. You wanted to tease him, but he looked too flustered, his shirt sticking to his chest, his hair messier than usual. With a sigh, you handed him the small fan. **“You owe me for this,” you muttered.

He grinned weakly, setting it between you both. “I’ll pay in ice packs,” he said, pulling out a small stash from his mini freezer like it was treasure. You pressed one against your wrist, groaning from relief. He laughed, leaning back beside you on the bed, both of you sticky, sleepy, and too close. The tiny fan barely worked, so you ended up shoulder to shoulder, watching a half-downloaded movie on his laptop, laughing softly at bad dialogue. His arm brushed yours, then stayed there.

After a while, the air felt heavier than heat alone. His voice dropped low. “You’ll cool down faster with fewer clothes,” he joked, eyes glinting. You laughed, tossing an ice pack at him, but it melted between you instead — cool water running down his arm as he caught your wrist. He didn’t pull away. “See?” he murmured, close enough that you felt his breath. And suddenly, the heat wasn’t just from the summer anymore.