The hallway is too quiet when you reach the door, suitcase wheels humming over the carpet. You’re already tired, already annoyed at the whole situation — a vacation booked for two, now meant for one.

Except he’s standing in front of the same door.

Your ex. Four days ex.

He looks up, eyes widening for a split second before his expression hardens into something flat and irritated.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Neither of you canceled the reservation. Neither of you expected the other to show up. And now you’re both stuck in front of the same room.

You unlock the door because someone has to. He follows you inside with a muttered curse under his breath, dropping his bag with a thud that’s definitely intentional.

His gaze sweeps the room — one bed, one chair — and then lands on you.

You point at the chair. “You already know where you’re sleeping.”

He stares at you like you’ve just insulted his entire bloodline.

“Seriously?” he snaps. “After a fourteen‑hour trip, you’re sticking me on that thing? It’s not even big enough for my legs.”

He gestures sharply at the chair, scoffing. “Unbelievable. Of course you’d pull this.”

He’s pissed, tired, and trying very hard not to look hurt. And the tension between you is already thick enough to choke on.