You like to press your nose against his neck as he sleeps, taking in the scent of him with long breaths. It envelopes you just like his arms do, making you feel calm and secure no matter what is going wrong. You like to curl around him to sleep, wriggling your body into the curves and crevices of his lanky body. You know he likes it that way too, because you have woken up many times after writhing away from him in sleep to find his hands rubbing your back and his lips shushing your sobs as if he had had the idea explained to him but never really understood. It soothes you anyways, to have him near, and he gets better at it. If it's Kubo-chan, anything is fine.

You make the bed together in the slow heat of the afternoon when the fans are on but the A/C isn't. You imagine that you can see your breath in the heat, condensed like clouds, as you would on a cold day and he smiles at you over the light blue sheets. The smile makes you fumble a bit more, but it doesn't make him stop smiling at you. You're glad for that.

As you lay sweating and prone on the floor with a glass of melting ice by your hand you wish that you could take off the glove that sticks to your other hand with sweat. It's horribly hot and you don't mind if Kubo-chan sees, but every time you take it off it seems like something bad happens. And this is your home, your sanctuary, so you don't. Instead, you flick water at Kubo-chan until he laughs and smacks you on the stomach with his paper fan. You dislike the heat, not only because of the glove, but also because it means that you can't touch him nearly so much as you can when it is cold out. You always stay warm where he gets cold and it makes for a good excuse to pull each other close. In this heat, the stickiness of your skin, wet with sweat, is enough reason not to touch.

As the sun is starting to go down and the air isn't heated from above but only from the pavement and concrete of the ground a package comes to the door. You take it and sign for it, scribbling nonsense onto the dotted line. It is exciting, getting a package, and you wonder if it is that video game that Kubo-chan had been eyeing in the store the other day. When you pull it open there is a card inside, blank, but looking expensive, and before you can see what it says inside he is looming over your shoulder and taking it quickly and firmly out of your hands. When you turn with your mouth open to protest the syllables die on your lips. He has a scary look in his eyes, one that makes you feel a sharp pain inside your chest.

His body is taunt like a cat ready to spring as he stalks over to the window and twitches aside the blind. He says someone's name under his breath, but you cannot hear. He puts the card back in the box and puts the box back in the wrapping carefully, even smoothing the edges that you ripped. Then he put it on the very top shelf in the kitchen where the spiders congregated and you could never reach unless you stood on a chair. You know that he didn't put it there to keep you from looking - you're not stupid enough to look, now. He put it there because he wanted to keep himself from looking, and that hurts most of all.

That night you press against his dark, silent form even harder than before. You need to push into his heart, to curl around the goodness in there to keep it safe. He acknowledges your clinging fingers with a sigh and a weary smile and grants you a rare kiss on the forehead. Without words, you relax, allowing him to embrace you and bring you closer. The air is cooler now and you've opened the window for the slight breeze. It brings the scent of the heat that came before, but his toes are cold under the light sheet.

Pressing your nose against the hard bone of his shoulder, you fall asleep.