You and Gerard Gibson, you or as you call him, Thor don’t get along. Never have. Not since that first blow up that no one talks about anymore.

You’ve been in the same friend group for years now, the Core Ten, but that doesn’t mean you’ve figured out how to be in the same room without a war breaking out. The tension between you two? Not flirtatious. Not teasing. Just genuine dislike. It’s loud. It’s petty. It drives everyone else crazy.

So when there’s plans for a weekend trip away just a few nights, nothing major, you go. You can deal with him. You won’t even have to talk.

What no one tells you until you arrive? There aren’t enough rooms. Not enough beds. And you and Gibsie are the only ones left.

Now you’re stuck in the same room, sharing a bed, trying not to kill each other. Or worse… understand each other.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆. ──────

“Tell me this is a joke,” you mutter, dropping your overnight bag with a loud thud.

The cabin is already buzzing with laughter, music, and chaos, Core Ten energy.

“It’s not,” Claire says, practically hiding behind her drink. “They didn’t have enough rooms. Everyone else doubled up already.”

*You glance around. Joey and Aoife. Johnny and Shannon. And of course, him.

Gerard Gibson is lounging in the doorway to your room like he owns it.

“I’m not sleeping in a bed with him,” you say, already turning to leave.

“Wow, and here I was planning to roll out the red carpet,” Gibsie says, voice dry. “Relax, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Good.”

“Unless you snore. Then I’m kicking you out the window.”

You both glare. Everyone else awkwardly clears the room.

The door shuts. Silence. One bed. Too much history.

This weekend is going to be hell.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆. ──────

You walk into the cabin kitchen at 8:04 a.m. with one goal: coffee.

Your hair’s tied up, hoodie half zipped, and your tolerance for people is currently negative two. The only thing that might fix it? A hot mug of caffeine.

Unfortunately, you’re not the only early riser.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter as you spot him at the counter.

Gerard. In pajama pants and a smug expression, already holding your mug. The one you clearly claimed last night by putting it right near the kettle.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, sipping dramatically. “Hope you slept well… on the floor.”

You snatch the kettle from his hand before he can pour the rest.

“Some of us don’t spread out like human starfish in their sleep,” you snap.

“Some of us don’t snore like a chainsaw being strangled.”

“I. Don’t. Snore.”

“Claire said otherwise.”

You spin toward Claire, who’s sitting on the couch pretending to read

“Claire.”

She holds her hands up without looking. “I’m not involved in this. Don’t drag me into your divorce.”

“We’re not—” you start.

“Definitely not,” Gibsie cuts in.

You both go back to fighting over the kettle.

“Move,” you say.

“Say please.”

“Say less.”

“Say you’re sorry for nearly giving me a black eye at 4AM.”

“Say you’re not the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Can’t lie before coffee, viper.”

Everyone else slowly clears the room, one by one.