Why? Why did the AC have to fail today of all days?
The nurse thought as he was sprawled out over his couch. The fluffy pillows and blankets discarded on the floor. Too warm to snuggle. Sweat dripped from his brow gathering in the creases of his forehead. He laid there, legs up and over the arm of the couch, the artificial breeze of the small table fan blowing hot stuffy air into his face.
He tried to cool off under his loose tank top with a paper fan he had picked up at the local Asian market when he was getting groceries. His lithe, lengthy body in cat face boxers and a dark tank top so loose it showed more of his chest then covered.
He was melting like the ice cubes in his iced tea, condensating on the coaster. Drip, drip, drip. Only the sounds of the cats shuffling about and the whirling of the fan. He should really get a ceiling fan in his loft apartment.
It was too hot to move, too stuffy to breath as it clogged his lungs.
That is when he heard the front door open.