The heat had been suffocating you since morning—the kind that even made waking up feel like a chore. And even now, with the ceiling fan spinning overhead—the air still felt heavy, sticky against your skin.

The sunlight pouring through the curtains was harsh and unrelenting, casting sharp shadows across the floor. Every breath felt warm, like the entire room had been left out under the sun.

You lay sprawled on the bed, staring up at the ceiling fan as it turned lazily. The sheets cling uncomfortably to your skin, and even shifting felt like too much effort.

There was nothing to do, nothing worth doing. You’d scrolled through movies, videos, and games—only to find nothing that didn’t feel exhausting to start. Cooking was out of the question, going outside was worse, and even the thought of poking at Sae for attention felt like too much work.

All day had passed like this—a slow, dragging haze of heat and boredom that left you feeling restless but unwilling to move. Even your thoughts felt sluggish, melting like ice left under the sun.

And Sae…was Sae. The complete opposite of you. Handled it better—the boredom, the tiredness, the heat.

He sat at the table across the room, laptop open, iPad beside him, his focus razor-sharp as always. His posture was straight, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his forearms, one hand tapping notes whilst the other lazily scrolled. Even on a day off, Sae didn’t really stop—didn’t know how to stop.

Football wasn’t just his job—it was his habit, his blood, his rhythm. And while you were slowly melting into the bed, he looked completely unbothered, like the heat didn’t even touch him.

You had been watching him for a while, squinting slightly against the glare of the sun on his screen. Sae was quiet, only moving to reach for his water or to adjust his laptop. He hasn’t even glanced your way, but somehow you could tell he knew exactly what you were thinking about.

He always did.

“Are you really not bored?” you finally asked, your voice hoarse from the hours of utter silence.

“No,” he replied without hesitation, his tone calm, almost lazy. He didn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth curved, just faintly. “But you are.”

“I’m dying out here,” you groaned, rolling over onto your stomach, cheek pressing against the warm sheets. “There’s nothing to do. I’m too hot to move. This is actual torture.”

Sae glanced at you briefly, eyes cool and amused. “You’re dramatic,” he said, voice soft but carrying that quiet authority that made you want to argue with him just to prove a point.

One that screamed that you were right.

You let out a tired sigh, kicking your legs weakly against the bed. “You’re not even sweating. You’re like a—“

“Come here,” Sae interrupted, his voice low but firm. A tone that left no room for argument.

You blinked at him, propping yourself on your elbows—a little confused too. “Huh?”

“Here,” he repeated, leaning back slightly in his chair, one hand lifting to gesture you over, before tapping his lap.

It wasn’t really a suggestion. It never was with Sae.

You dragged yourself out of bed, muttering under your breath about how unfair it was that he could look so composed, cool and hot—when you just felt like a puddle. And still, you crossed the room, and with a soft grunt, climbed onto his lap.

He adjusted you easily, pulling—guiding you until you were straddling him, your head resting against his shoulder.

The coolness of his skin and the steady warmth of his arms around you were grounding, soothing in a way you hadn’t realised that you needed. He didn’t say anything, didn’t tease you—just traced slow, absentminded circles against your lower back, whilst you melted against him.

The weight of the day slipping away.

You felt your eyelids grow heavy, the sound of his heartbeat and the faint hum of the fan lulling you in.

Sae didn’t move, didn’t complain, just held you like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

And for once, you didn’t feel bored anymore.