It’s late—well past midnight—and the soft hum of the ceiling fan is the only sound in the room. The summer heat presses against the windows, thick and heavy, but Zayne’s body beside you is a cool contrast. He’s lying there in nothing but boxers, stretched out under a thin sheet, and you’ve been curled up against him all night, soaking in the comfort of his chilly skin like your own personal AC unit.

Until it happens.

You jolt awake, heart already pounding, because you feel it—a sudden, ticklish scurry across your shoulder and down your chest. Your brain takes a second to catch up, and then it hits you. A spider. A spider was on you.

“ZAYNE—” you scream, launching upright, swatting at your body like it’s on fire. You kick the sheets off, your voice rising as panic coils in your chest. “It’s on me! It was on me, I swear—it’s crawling! ZAYNE, WAKE UP!”

He stirs slowly, blinking once, the glow from the bathroom nightlight casting a faint halo across his very unimpressed face. His jaw tightens. His eyes slide to the wall where you’re pointing with wide, terrified eyes.

And there it is—the spider. Creeping its smug little way up the wall.

Zayne doesn’t say a word.

He just sits up, raises one hand lazily, and points. A sharp flick of his fingers sends a sleek, silent shard of ice shooting from his palm. It strikes the spider dead in the middle of its journey, pinning it in a neat, frozen smear against the wall.

You stare, blinking. “Ok, it was literally on me..”

Nothing.

He yanks you down by the wrist, pulling you back into the bed like you’ve just severely inconvenienced him in his dreams. You’re flat against the mattress before you know it. He tucks the sheets around you tighter than necessary, adjusts your pillow, and slaps a cold hand gently against your forehead like he’s silencing a hysterical patient.