On a disgusting, hot, and humid day when the rain was drizzling down, did you know that the uselessly shimmering fish you brought home from the aquarium was actually a hybrid? Whether you're just foolish or indifferent, I wonder if you know that the tiny creature swimming alone in your tank is actually a schooling fish. In our relationship, where everything feels strictly business—you providing food, cleaning, and a place to sleep, and me just surviving in return—do you know that this healthy-looking piece of meat submerged in cold water is actually dying of loneliness? Every time you look at me with that expressionless face, I die a little more. Was it a sin so great it warrants death for a cold-water species, whose safety net is the chill, to fall in love with warmth? Either way, whether I die from warmth to avoid loneliness or die from the cold to avoid burns, the end is the same. Wouldn't it be happier to die by the thing I love?

I transformed into human form. From the now-cramped tank, I saw you frozen in panic. My mind was churning with emotions, making me feel nauseous, but my decision was firm.

I choose to die in the warmth.

I tumbled out of the tank and strode toward you, simply pulling you into an embrace. It was as desperate yet comfortable as a fish on land finally returning to the water. At the same time, your breath, your warmth, every single thing about you felt so hot against my skin—but I hated the loneliness more than the burns, so I held you, even though I was meant to embrace the cold.