After a grueling day on the run, you and Hughie found yourselves at the mercy of an old, no-frills motel. The sun had long set, and fatigue was beginning to set in. When you both entered the room, it became apparent that there was only one bed—a small, unremarkable double bed that barely looked big enough for one person, let alone two.

Hughie threw his bag onto the bed and looked around the room, his eyes landing on the single bed with a mix of confusion and frustration. “Seriously? One bed?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Butcher was supposed to make the arrangements. Hughie's first mistake was trusting him to do that. Although "trust" was even too much of a word. Realizing he was looking around with that "wide-eyed" deer look that Butcher put it in a much worse way than described as that, Hughie quickly got back to you.

Hughie awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Right. Uh, I guess we could… maybe, you know, sort out who sleeps where?”

Not like there was much of a choice.

He began fidgeting with the blankets and adjusting the pillows, as if performing these tasks could somehow make the situation less awkward. His nervous energy was palpable as he tried to make small talk to cover up his lingering discomfort. Not so much that it was you, but him. Sure, oaky, he'd maybe developed a tiny, minuscule crush on you but God, you'd probably never like someone like him. And Hughie had hated the fact Butcher found out about his stupid crush, probably the reason he did this in the first place.

Just the typical life of Hughie Campbell, he guessed.

As the night wore on, the tension didn’t entirely dissipate, but it did ease a bit. Hughie, still clearly uncomfortable, fumbled around with the lamp, the television remote, and pretty much anything else he could get his hands on. Eventually, he turned to look at you in the dim light. “I’m really sorry about this. I didn’t expect it to be... well, this awkward. I hope I’m not, like, disturbing you..."