The door clicks open.

You don’t need to look to know it’s Aventurine. You can feel his grin in the dark.

“Oh, darling…” His voice drips with mock tragedy. “Sleeping on the floor like a lost playing card tossed from the table. Where’s the glamour? The romance?”

You groan. “The romance died the second it hit ninety degrees inside.”

He crouches beside you, coat gone, shirt unbuttoned halfway, clearly thinking his usual charm is going to work. “You know, there’s an old gambling superstition—if you sleep alone during summer, luck skips right over you.”

“I’ll risk it.”

“Mmm, but what if I’m your lucky charm?” His hand brushes your shoulder.

You don’t even think about it—you grab his wrist, lift it, and bite him. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make your point.

“Ow—! You animal.” He’s laughing, but you hear the genuine surprise. “Are you… warning me?”

“Yes. It’s gross-hot. I’m sweaty. You’re probably sweaty. I don’t want anyone on me.”

He leans back on his heels, looking down at you with that too-knowing expression. “So you’ll bite me, but you won’t kiss me? Tragic.”

“Aventurine, if you keep trying, I’ll move into the fridge.”

He hums, as though weighing his odds, then sighs in exaggerated defeat. “Fine, fine. I’ll play the long game.” He tosses a light silk scarf onto you like it’s a blanket. “But don’t think this means I’ve folded. I’ll win the next round.”

And as he walks away, you hear him mutter just loud enough, “Even if I have to bring an air conditioner into this apartment…”

The summer heat wraps around you like a second skin. You’ve abandoned the bed entirely, stretched on the cool floorboards, breathing in slow, shallow pulls. The stillness is almost bearable—until the door slides open.

“[Name]?” Phainon’s voice is warm and low, the way he always talks when he’s not sure if you’re awake. “You’re… not in bed.”

“It’s too hot,” you mumble. “Floor’s cooler.”

You hear the soft sound of his boots coming off, then the heavier thump of his sword resting against the wall. “You could’ve told me. I would’ve brought a fan from the marketplace.”

“Mhm,” you say, eyes shut, already knowing where this is going.

There’s a pause. Then the faintest creak of the floor as he kneels beside you. “It feels wrong, sleeping without you near.”

You groan and roll halfway over. “Phainon. No. Don’t.”

“I can just—”

“No.”

“But—”

You reach out, catch his hand, and nibble it. It’s not even a full bite, just a lazy graze of teeth, but it’s enough to make him freeze.

“…Was that… supposed to be a warning?” he asks, amusement tugging at his words.

“Yes. I love you, but if you touch me right now, I’ll melt into a sweaty puddle, and then you’ll have no partner. Just… soup.”

He chuckles, sitting back. “You really think a little heat would stop me if you were in danger?”

“This isn’t danger. This is me asking you nicely not to cuddle.”

Another quiet laugh. “Understood. The hero withdraws… for now.” He shifts away, but not before draping his cape over your arm—a small weight, a familiar scent. “You’re still mine, even if I can’t hold you tonight.”

And when you finally drift toward sleep, you can still hear him, leaning against the wall nearby, humming a tune meant only for you.

The summer night presses down like a heavy blanket. The tatami mat beneath you is cool enough to keep you sane, so long as no one disturbs you. You’re just drifting when you hear the door slide open, and the faint, careful steps you know by heart.

“...You’re not in bed,” Jiaoqiu says softly. There’s no accusation in his tone, just quiet curiosity.

“It’s cooler down here,” you reply. “Beds trap the heat.”

There’s a short hum, the sound he makes when he’s filing away information. “I thought I might… join you.”

You groan into your arm. “Jiaoqiu, it’s too hot for that.”

His footsteps stop just beside you. “I can keep to one side. I don’t need to touch—”

The moment you feel his hand brushing the mat near you, you catch it and give him a gentle nibble. Just enough for him to still.

“…Are you biting me?” His voice tilts with surprise and faint amusement.

“Yes. That’s a warning. Too hot. No touching.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “I wasn’t aware that affection had temperature restrictions.”

“It does. And tonight, it’s at maximum restriction.”

There’s a pause, and then you hear the soft rustle of his robes as he sits down a short distance away. “Very well. I’ll be near, but I won’t intrude.”

True to his word, he doesn’t touch you. Instead, he takes out his feather fan and begins lazily fanning in your direction. The breeze is faint, but it’s enough to keep you from feeling suffocated.

“You really don’t have to—”

“I do,” he interrupts gently. “Because I love you. And because it’s the only way to be close without breaking your… very vivid warning system.”

You laugh, half-asleep. “You’re too good to me.”

“Only in summer,” he says, the faintest tease in his voice. “Come winter, I’ll make certain you regret banning my embrace.”