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3- Kim Namjoon

When Kim Namjoon woke up one Saturday morning, sweating profusely in the stifling heat that suffocated him, he genuinely began to wonder how he'd managed to last the entire night without spontaneously combusting.

Letting out a groan of irritation, he blinked away the stickiness in his eyes (and yes, it was too hot for him to bother to move even just a little and rub at them), his throat a little parched from the immense heat. In a weak attempt to feel less disgusting, he flicked back the strands of hair sticking to his nape and forehead, only serving to realize just how hot his body had become---in a literal sense.

Hurriedly untangling his legs from his lover's (he'd apologize later; currently he couldn't bear having another person sharing their body temperature with him), he dragged his lanky body out of bed, puffing his bare chest as though heaving the hot air out, as he made his way out of the room and into the bathroom.

Normally, the now-platinum-blonde was never a fan of cold showers, but in extreme situations such as these, it was deemed necessary---unless, of course, he wanted to boil in his own skin. So, feeling significantly cooler, he soon emerged in his boxers and started rummaging for a shirt and sweatpants to wear without dying of a heat stroke.

(He had no idea how his lover was still asleep; he'd knocked over the book he'd been reading the night before, and still not a blink, shuffle, nor mumble came from the right side of the bed.)

Ruffling his hair in annoyance, he came to realize that his extra gym visits had meant more laundry to be done, which lead to the current predicament: he had no options of clothing to wear, aside from a very loud shirt, and a pair of grubby sweatpants that seemed too washed out to even look half their price.

He would've resorted to them mindlessly, had the shirt not been three sizes too small (he'd bought it 5 years prior and never had the heart to sort through what he'd outgrown), but seeing as it was either that or a day of shirtlessness, his hesitance still lead him to the shirt.

Halfway through, though, Namjoon came to a terrible, horrible, no-good realization: the shirt had shrunk even more. In fact, after 5 minutes of struggling to put it on without squeezing his lungs out or ripping the fabric, a look in the mirror told him that he looked identical to Ross in that Frankie Says Hello shirt on F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

With a groan, he just gave up and decided he had nothing better to do than prance around the entire day in a more-of-a-crop-top-than-anything shirt, shaking his head and soundlessly shutting the door behind him as he made it out to the living room---but not before accidentally kicking his slippers all the way in the middle of the hallway.

***

Waking up to a discernible dent in the bed made me momentarily panic; though definitely not as much as the panic I felt when a glance at my bedside clock forced me to realize that it was almost noon.

Shooting upwards out of bed, I hissed at the cold sensation of the marble floor against my feet, compared to the previous suffocating heat under the fort of blankets (why my boyfriend left me to die in there, I will never understand).

Quickly unlocking the door to try and avoid getting fired, my plans to shower quickly and haphazardly throw on a proper outfit were all sent crashing as I tumbled over a pair of slippers with a sharp hiss and a strangled yell.

"For the love of---Namjoon!"

While I hurriedly washed up, successfully spilling water down the front of my top, frantic footsteps stopped at the bathroom door, followed by a rushed knock.

"Is anything wrong? Should I come in?"

"No," I snapped back as much as I could with a mouthful of toothpaste, "But what you should not do is leave me sleeping and your Koya slippers in the middle of the hallway."

A chuckle sounded, "Your boss called a couple of hours back. Today's off because of the heat wave."

Murmuring a silent prayer of thanks, I slumped my back and unlocked the door.

I blinked once. Twice.

Then I snorted, before reaching on my tip-toes to softly peck his lips, "Why are you wearing a god-awfully short shirt? I forgot that thing existed."

Walking back to the living room hand in hand, he rolled his eyes, "Well, someone forgot their turn doing the laundry, and now I've run out of shirts."

A look of confusion must've crossed my face, because he let out an audible giggle while sitting on the couch as I asked, "Why didn't you just wake me up to do it?"

Rubbing the back of his neck shyly, he shrugged and looked up at me with an endearingly dimpled smile as his eyes twinkled sweetly behind a mass of ruffled curls, "I didn't want to wake you up when you looked so peaceful. It didn't matter enough to disturb you."

Again, I could only stare at him with a mix of wonder and awe unabashedly, the sheer intensity of my feelings for him coming in waves that could drown me. The emotions bubbling inside me spread a delicious warmth in my belly, as again I realized that I'd never met someone whose little details and actions I'd been so in love with.

I found myself bending over subconsciously, placing my hands gently against his temples, and leaving a soft, tender kiss against the warm skin of his forehead, lingering for a few moments as I could feel his heat on my lips.

Pulling back a little dazed, I had a small smirk of satisfaction resting lazily on my face as I saw his eyes closed momentarily while a blissful grin formed on his blushing face, bashfully avoiding my lovesick stare.

"Too cute," I giggled, watching as he embarrassedly covered his flaming face with his hands, while I began moving away from him, "I love you. I'll make us a little snack."

"I love you too," came his muffled reply, before rubbing his face and looking back up at me with a gentle gaze, "I'm coming after you, hold up."

I paused at the kitchen door, watching as he stretched leisurely, and---

Rrrrip.

"Namjoon!"

He blinked innocently, holding up the scrap torn cloth of his short.

"Not my fault I'm a lot bulkier and taller now," he held his palms up, eyes wide.

I shook my head exasperatedly, watching as he resorted to walking over shirtless to me, "You truly are the God of Destruction," eying him up and down with a hum of appreciation, I grinned cheekily, "I'm not complaining one bit, though..."

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