I throw the first shirt I find over my head, change my boxers, and slide into some shorts.

Bookbag? Check.

Wallet, keys? Check, check.

Shoes? ...Aha, flip-flops! Check.

Phone? ...Where is my phone? Still on my bed? I pull back my sheet and—there! Check.

Wait. Is my sheet wet? I pat my bed and pillow and, ew, sure enough, they're damp too. Fuck, this is the second time this week I need to wash my sheets purely due to the fact that I sweat buckets in my sleep.

I really need to get a better window A/C or more fans, or better yet they need to invent ice blankets (they have heated blankets but no cooling blankets!) because this shit is getting extremely annoying and gross.

Those two nights sleeping with Kal seem like a fucking dream after this last week of sweaty, sleepless hell.

I check the clock again before muttering a curse. I'm already late for class, so laundry will have to wait until later.

I tossed and turned in bed last night and then hit snooze a few too many times, so I'm running almost 15 minutes behind and I really don't want to get scolded by my professor for disrupting class. He's been known to prevent late-comers from even entering the classroom. He locked the door one time when he noticed someone hadn't shown up yet, then five minutes later we heard the knob rattling but he just kept on lecturing without a second glance.

I fly down the stairs, out the door, and across campus with sweat beading on my brow and my brain addled with sleep deprivation.

I'm usually early, so I manage to make it to class only 3 minutes after it started. Luckily the professor only glares at me.

What a great start to my day.

⋯━━━━━⋯   ☼   ☽   ☼   ⋯━━━━━⋯

When I get home that evening our house is quiet and empty, and I waste no time climbing up to my room.

My slight headache makes it tempting to just lay down and go to bed, however, there are two issues: the first is that my sheets need to be changed, and the second is that I already decided I would get some studying done today since I don't have work.

I tackle the first problem easily enough, gathering up all my sheets and walking the pile downstairs to the washer. Normally with 6 of us in the house, the washer is almost always running and I have to wait to use it, but luckily nothing's in there at the moment. I trudge back up to grab the spare set out of my closet and attempt to put those on. With my bed in the corner, this part's not as easy—I've had plenty of practice but I still have to starfish to hold the corners and by the time I get all four to stay in place I end up hot and bothered all over again.

Then comes studying. I fall pretty in the middle when it comes to schoolwork; I don't love it, but I'm a fairly decent student. I do what I have to in order to pass with good grades, but I definitely have to force myself to actually sit and study. I enjoy my art classes. Metalworking is my favorite since it gives me a good outlet for my pyroweaving, but drawing and painting can be fun too. It comes easily to me, and it's one of the few things that allow me to just let loose and do what feels right; To let my mind and hands wander. And even if it's not what I pictured, the outcome is always different and unique.

No art today though, sadly. Being able to sit still at my desk is a relief, but I keep nodding off as I try to work through my reading and answers.

A door closing in the hallway jolts me awake. I shake my head to ward off the sandman while footsteps from one of my housemates tread softly away.

Forty-five minutes later my timer goes off, reminding me to switch my laundry. There are only a few questions left, so I finish those up so I don't have to come back to them. Now that those are out of the way I won't feel so bad rewarding myself and going to bed early.

I tuck my stuff away before heading down to switch my laundry, during which I manage to get my shirt all wet as I man-handle the sopping sheets into the dryer. Awesome.

I've worked up an appetite after all that, but I ate earlier, so I drag my feet along the tile as I make my way to the kitchen for a coke float snack instead.

Noise from the living room reaches me as a gurgled mess at first, but as I draw closer I can make out the nostalgic "heh, ka-cha, hup" noises from Super Smash Bros.

Sure enough, I round the corner to find Kal camped out on the couch, a mound of blankets piled on him and the switch held in his grasp atop his stomach.

I run a hand through my hair as I observe his funny facial expressions. He's so immersed in it that he hasn't noticed me and I can practically visualize the game as his lips purse, eyebrows furrow, and excited eyes open wide.

It occurs to me then that this is a prime opportunity: I need to get some sleep and I need something—or someone—to cool me off first.

He greets me with a warm smile when he finally spots me, but his lips quickly turn down in question when I don't slow my trudge toward him.

"Thank fuck you're here. Can I use you for a bit?" I pinch the bridge of my nose when the shift in lighting causes my headache to stab the inside of my skull.

"Don't even have to ask, I'm all yours, hotstuff, use me as you like!"

The movement of my arm makes my sticky wet shirt apparent all over again. I sigh before reaching over my head, pulling it off, and dropping it at my feet. It was gonna need to be changed anyway, and my plan is probably better without it.

Kal watches me the whole time, his game momentary forgotten. With a raised brow he wolf-whistles at me. "Ow, ow! Take it off!"

I progress towards him until I'm looming over top, contemplating his blanket mound.

When I pull his arms up in the air and yank the blankets off, real surprise shoots across his face before his teasing smirk is back. "I'm all for it, but here in the living room? So scandalous!"

I quickly plop down right on top of him, essentially replacing his blankets and causing a quick "oof" from the usually lighter man.

"Shut up, Kalum," I grumble, with a lack of the sharpness I was trying for. I lay my shoulders along his hips so I can rest my head on his stomach, and once my thighs find some comfortable space between his knees I add, "You're not getting lucky tonight."

"Damn." He sets the switch on the ground next to us before resting his arms down on my bare back.

The tv is on in the background, but I doubt he was even paying attention to it since the volume is just a low murmur, barely loud enough to hear. I close my eyes and listen to the hum while Kal's refreshing hands begin to move up and down along my back.

His hands are perfectly chilly against my feverish skin, seeping in and relaxing my muscles, and I let out the now-content but pent-up exhale I think I've been holding in my lungs all day.

"You okay?" Kal asks softly.

I nod against his stomach, burrowing my face in before letting out another smaller huff. "Mhm. Yeah, just a rough day. Headache, and I'm hot, and I'm just really tired since I didn't sleep well last night. And then as the frosting to my garbage cake, I almost ran into Tristan in the hall after class, but luckily I saw him first so I noped it the hell out of there. So yeah, just, fantastic."

His fingers climb up my neck to massage my scalp and I let out a satisfied groan, much to Kal's chuckled amusement.

"Sorry you had a shitty day. Who's Tristan? I don't think I've met him yet."

I snort at his attempt to hide his overly curious tone. "If that's jealousy I'm detecting, don't be. He's my ex."

"Oh. Just wondering. Do I need to beat him up?"

I snort again, trying to picture Kal beating someone up. "I appreciate the offer, but it's fine. It's kinda my fault we split anyway. He's a pyroweaver too, an electric affinity though, so our breakup was a little... explosive, and it's his new mission in life to remind me. It was last year, I'm over it, I just avoid him like the plague."

That's the quick summary anyway. Tristan has a tendency to pop up out of the blue every now and again to torment and ridicule me, like a fucking rash that just won't go away. But I'm done trying to confront him since the few times we've actually argued have led to unintentional fires, which just helps prove his point that I'm to blame—I can't control it, especially at the most inconvenient times.

"I'll take your word for it if you say so. But he sounds like a jerk and nobody gets to hurt my Aiden, so if you change your mind just lemme know."

He pats my head lightly, and I know he's just being extra about it, but it's kind of a cute gesture. He continues after a moment, "I've never punched anyone before, but I think I could do it! ...If not, I'll freeze his underwear, or make him slip on an ice patch, or find some other way to mildly annoy him over and over again..."

"Sure, sweetheart, you have my permission to freeze his eyelashes shut. That'll teach him."

"Yes! Good one—wait you're just making fun of me now aren't you?"

I am chuckling a bit at his expense, though I'm enjoying his solidarity too. "Of course not, I admire your enthusiasm. I have utmost faith in your methods."

"Good. On another note, I know why you didn't sleep well last night."

"Oh?"

"It's 'cause I wasn't there to keep you cool, of course."

My grin widens against him. "You might be right. I've learned my lesson, you'll just have to sleep with me all the time now. No other option I'm afraid."

"Ah, well I guess if there's no other option, it's fine I suppose. To be honest, I didn't sleep that well either, so maybe I'm being selfish but I missed my personal heater."

He arches into me in surprise when I slide my hands beneath his shirt, but he quickly relaxes again as I tuck them snug under his back.

"Good enough?" I ask smugly.

"I suppose."

He continues his lazy back-scratching, going up and down my back and neck, and damn does it feel amazing. The whole freely-touching-me thing is oddly intimate, but I definitely don't mind it in the least with him.

At first, his hands stay towards the top of my back as he traces along the lines of my tattoo delicately. Then his thumbs run down my spine and his nails run back up my sides. I become increasingly sensitive to the motions when his hands dip even lower to the small of my back, where they graze the top of my shorts.

His chest begins to rumble under me in a silent chuckle.

"...What?"

"Mmm, well, let's just say I have a good view..."

"Of what exactly?"

"Well, for starters, you've got a sexy back." He glides his hands up and down again for emphasis.

"I have a... sexy back? I think that's the first time I've heard that, but alright."

"So, ya know how everyone's got weirdly specific turn-ons? Well, I've got a thing for backs... I'm not sure if I've mentioned that before... Probably not. Anyway, yours is quite nice. Broad and just the right amount of muscle—"

"Kal, are you trying to say my back turns you on? Cause that makes sense actually, I'm pretty sure you've been poking my stomach, and it's not the most comfortable thing to lay on... But wait, what does that have to do with why you were laughing...?"

"Well, yes, but that's not really the issue. I have been sporting a semi, but that had more to do with your hot little strip-show when you did that thing where you reach behind your neck to grab the collar and flex your bicep and your shirt just slides right over your stomach and comes off so perfectly, and I'm super jealous cause I've never been able to do that, and then you just plopped right on me like a sack of potatoes so I never had time to adjust myself, and now your whole back is just like here right in front of me. It's totally not my fault."

I'm pretty sure he said that whole thing in a single breath.

I roll my eyes at him, but then I remember he can't see me. I really don't even care, I just find his reasoning entertaining. "So, literally since I got here, you've had—"

"But, the main reason I was laughing was because of your butt."

"My butt?"

We've been bickering back and forth so much that I almost forgot what the main topic was.

"So I was scratching your back, right?" A laugh bursts out of him, like just the thought of it is hysterical. Between each laugh he manages to get out, "Every so often, when my hands would reach the bottom of your back, you would clench one or both of your butt muscles, and it looks really funny."

By the time he finishes, I'm laughing too. His giggles are like addictive music to my ears.

"I have a ticklish spot!" I spit out when I finally calm down enough. "On my side, near my lower back. You kept hitting it and I was really enjoying the back rub so I just clenched my muscles instead of interrupting you!"

He slides his hands down my back as though he's trying to find the spot again, and I squirm in his grasp.

"Don't you dare! I swear to the gods I will end our agreement right here, right now if you start tickling me. That or I'll end up pissing my pants first, and I don't think either of us wants that."

He pauses his movement. "Fine, fine." He concedes. "I'll just have to keep that in mind... I was actually worried you were one of those guys that hate having their ass touched or something."

I huff another chuckle. "No, I couldn't care less."

"Oh, good! Cause I've been dying to do this..."

He slides his hands straight down my bare back, over my shorts, and right on top of my buttcheeks. Then he gives them a quick squeeze.

I retort with a fake, disapproving grunt—studiously playing the part of the guy who should be enjoying this way less than I actually am.

But I give in a little and squeeze my butt muscles under his hands. His playfulness is too hard to resist.

And I'm glad I do since I'm rewarded with another rumbling giggle from him.

"See it's totally not my fault," he mumbles. "The shirt, and your back, and your butt, it's their fault."

I try to shake my head at him, but it ends up more like I'm rubbing my face against his stomach, making his shirt bunch up. "You're incorrigible."

"Maybe so, but if you were seeing what I'm seeing..." He squeezes again. "You got that squeezable kinda ass. I'd tap that." He punctuates it with a few light taps.

I squeeze his waist in return, while my insides do a little flip. The squeeze is partly intentional, but also just in reaction to his suggestion. "Sorry sweets, you'll have to take a rain check on that. I'm far too comfy for those kinds of shenanigans."

"Damn," he sighs dramatically, his hands returning to scratch up and down my back. Every so often they slip down over my waistband.