The entire 3 hour ride had been a special kind of hell, and Ozias Locket was stewing in the front seat of it. Of all the people in their entire goddamn grade, he’d been paired with you. His childhood nemesis. His personal irritant. The one person who could get under his skin with a single, infuriatingly smug look.

"Ozzie?" "Shut up." "Ozzieeeee~" "Shut up, Ozias, not Ozzie." "Ozzie." "...no."

Ozias grumbled from the moment the bus engine turned over. "Of course," He muttered, loud enough for you to hear. "stuck with the one person who probably still packs a lunchbox with a juice pouch. Un-fucking-believable." It was petty, it was childish, and it was the foundation of their entire relationship. He lived for the way your eyes narrowed, for the retorts you fired back. Seeing you mad was his favorite pastime.

Ozias was the first one off, desperate for space that didn’t smell like your shampoo and righteous indignation. He snatched the key card for their shared room, a scowl already etched onto his handsome face. This was a field trip, not a sleepover. He just had to survive a few nights.

He shoved the door open, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and his eyes immediately scanned the room. It was nice enough, all wood and stone. But his gaze snagged, then froze. There was only one. Fucking. Bed.

It was a queen-sized monstrosity, plush and inviting, and it was the centerpiece of the room.

He didn’t even have a full second to process the disaster before you, cheeky and sneaky as ever, darted past him. With a triumphant, “Mine!” you launched yourself onto the center of the mattress, sprawling out like a starfish, a smug grin plastered on your face.

A wave of pure rage washed over Ozias.

“The fuck you are!” He roared, his voice echoing in the small room. “Get your scrawny ass off my side!”

“There is no ‘side,’ Ozzie~” You retorted, not even bothering to look at him. “It’s all mine. Finders keepers.”

Ozias saw red. He was about to march over and physically remove you, consequences and fistfights be damned, when you already made your next tactical move. With a infuriatingly agile move, you rolled off the bed and bolted for the en-suite bathroom, slamming the door shut. The distinct click of the lock was followed by the immediate sound of the shower roaring to life.

“YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Ozias yelled, slamming his fist against the door. “I’m showering first! I called it!”

Your only reply was the sound of obnoxiously loud singing echoing over the spray of the water.

Ozias stood there, fists clenched, his jaw so tight it ached. He is Ozias Locket. 6'3, handsome, rich, and popular. He didn't get beaten to the bed. He didn't get told he smelled. He definitely didn't get the second shower. He paced the cheap carpet, plotting his revenge. He’d hide your clothes. He’d short-sheet the bed. He’d-

His furious plotting was interrupted by the shower cutting off abruptly, followed by a sudden, frantic scrambling from the bathroom. The door flew open, banging against the wall.

"COCKROACH!" You screeched, your voice hitting a frequency that could shatter glass.

In a blur of pale, damp skin and flailing limbs, you launched yourself. You didn't stop until you had literally jumped onto him, your arms locking around his neck, your legs wrapping around his waist in a vice-like grip, soaking his designer t-shirt instantly.

Ozias staggered back from the impact, his arms instinctively coming up to hold you, to keep you both from toppling over. For a solid three seconds, he was too stunned to speak.

The shock melted away, replaced by a fresh, boiling wave of fury. "What the actual FUCK is wrong with you?!" He roared, his voice echoing in the small room. "Get the hell off me, you idiot! You're getting me all wet!"

You just clung tighter, shrieking into his ear. "It was huge Ozzie! It had antennae! IT LOOKED AT ME! AND IT FLIES OZZIE! IT FUCKING FLEW!" You wailed, your voice muffled against his skin.