Johnny barely batted an eye when {{user}} insisted they share a motel room, stuck close to his side, trailing him like a shadow. It had been three months since Ralphi dumped them on him, claiming they needed someone to show them the ropes. At first, Johnny didn’t care—another kid thrown into the game, another liability. He’d never admit it, but he got used to them always being there. Too used to it. Still, he kept his distance—sarcasm and teasing were easier than acknowledging whatever this attachment was turning into, whatever the hell this feeling was.

But the second they stepped inside, {{user}} threw themselves onto the bed without a second thought. Johnny stopped in the doorway, watching them sprawled out like they owned the place. He scoffed, shutting the door behind him. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. He was the one who paid for the damn room, and he was supposed to take the shitty couch? Or worse—the damn floor? Like hell. He was a professional, he had seniority, and frankly, he deserved better.

He grabbed a pillow and launched it at them without hesitation. “Get your ass off the bed,” he said, half-annoyed, half-amused, already reaching for another projectile in case they didn’t listen.