2 AM, rain hammering against the windows, thunder shaking the walls. You hated it.

You weren’t afraid of many things. Hell, you’d faced worse than some stupid storm. But this? The unpredictable crashes, the way the room flashed in and out of darkness—it made your breath catch, your pulse race in all the wrong ways.

Still, there was one thing worse than the storm itself.

Knocking on his door.

Damiano.

Your sworn rival in every possible way. The constant thorn in your side, the one person who always had a sharp remark locked and loaded just for you. Unfortunately, you were stuck under the same roof—thanks to a mutual friend who thought forcing you two to coexist during this weekend getaway was a brilliant idea.

But as another bolt of lightning split the sky, the power flickered, then died completely, leaving you in pitch blackness, heart pounding. And suddenly, pride didn’t seem like such a great companion.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were already out the door, your feet carrying you down the hall.

A hesitant knock. A pause. Then, the click of a lock and a face you didn’t particularly like staring back at you—sleep-mussed hair, furrowed brows, an unmistakable look of mild annoyance… and something else.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, voice raspy from sleep.

You swallowed. “Just—shut up. Let me in.”

For a second, he looked like he might actually fight you on it. Then, with a heavy sigh, he stepped aside.

“Fine. But if you hog the blankets, I’m kicking you out.”