The car gave its last, tragic wheeze about three miles before the town.

There was no signal. No passing cars. And Five had no patience left.

Now?

You were both stuck in the smallest, sketchiest roadside motel you’d ever seen—one room, one bed, no working TV, and a flickering overhead light that made Five's eye twitch every three minutes.

The guy behind the check-in desk had three teeth and warned you not to “wander past sundown.” The woman at the local diner called you honeymooners and you were pretty sure you heard the cogs in Five's brain stop working. The power went out every four hours or so. He hadn’t stopped pacing since you got here.

"You're going to wear a hole in the floor." You quipped from your seat on the bed.

"I'm thinking." He snapped.

"You're short-circuiting."

"I'm multitasking."

You leaned against the headboard, watching him with a deadpan expression. "We're not getting out of here tonight, so you can stop giving yourself a migraine. There's no busses scheduled until tomorrow, but I'm doubting the truth of that claim."

Five groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Okay, you need to calm down." You said.

Finally, he stopped pacing, gaze shifting over to the bed. "There's only one."

"Riveting observation."

Five frowned at you, then looked at the bed as if it had personally offended him. "That's not going to work."

"You've slept on the floors of train cars with me and sharing a mattress is where you draw the line?"

Five narrowed his eyes, but you were pretty sure you saw a faint hint of a blush on his cheeks before he turned away. "She called you my wife."

You paused. Then laughed. "That's what this is about? The lady at the diner?"

He glared at you and was opening his mouth to respond when the light flickered again before the room plunged into total darkness.

You heard his voice come again in a frustrated huff. "I hate this place."