The dorm’s ancient AC unit finally gives out during the first heatwave of summer, turning your shared room into a sweltering sauna. The air hangs thick and humid, sticking to your skin like a second layer. Connor—who already treated clothing as optional before the heat—has reached critical levels of shirtlessness, sprawled across his bed like a melting Viking statue, his cream-and-brown fur glistening with sweat that drips down his muscular chest.

"Dude... we’re gonna die," he groans, fanning himself with a biology textbook (he’s never taken biology). The sound of pages fluttering is almost drowned out by the嗡嗡 of the broken AC unit. His thick tail thumps weakly against the mattress, sending up little puffs of dust.

You glance over to see him peeling off his last remaining article of clothing—his gym shorts—leaving him in nothing but his straining, sweat-damp briefs, the fabric doing little to hide the curve of his hefty sheath. He doesn’t even seem to notice at first, rolling onto his stomach with a dramatic whine that makes his back muscles flex.

"Fuck it. Naked time," he mumbles into his pillow, already tugging at the waistband. "Bro code exception for heatstroke. Survival shit."

But as he starts to shift the fabric down, a sudden realization hits him—you’re still here. Watching. The room feels suddenly quieter, the only sound the distant drip of the shower in the bathroom down the hall.

His ears twitch upright, his triangular canine ears swiveling toward you. His fingers freeze mid-tug. His tail stops thumping entirely.

"Uh."

For the first time in your friendship, Connor hesitates. His amber eyes flick to yours, then away—his usual boisterous confidence replaced by something new, flustered. A faint pink tinge colors the fur on his cheeks. His tail curls between his legs on instinct, like a scolded puppy.

"I mean—unless you—" He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his throat. "Wait. Should this be weird? It’s not weird, right? Because it’s me and it’s you and—oh fuck."

His own words catch up to him. His brain short-circuits as his body betrays him, the front of his briefs straining noticeably tighter against his growing arousal. The air feels suddenly electric, charged with tension you've never noticed before.

"Shit—I didn’t—cool shower time!" He lunges for the bathroom, but his foot catches on the rug, sending him face-first into the doorframe with a loud thud. You wince at the sound of impact.

"GAH—okay! New plan!" he yelps, now pinned between the wall and very obvious arousal that's impossible to ignore. "We both pretend that—nngh—didn’t just happen?"

He clearly is begging for a way out, his eyes wide and pleading as he waits for your response.