The journey had been long and utterly exhausting. After endless hours on the road, all you could think about was collapsing into bed and forgetting the world for a few precious hours. The European concert tour promoting the new album Humbug was scheduled to last two months—a whirlwind of cities, soundchecks, and sleepless nights. The first stop was France. You arrived at the hotel in Paris late in the evening, dragging your luggage behind you like dead weight.

The lobby was dimly lit, with marble floors that reflected the soft glow of antique chandeliers. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and fresh flowers. You trudged toward the reception desk, where your manager was already in full negotiation mode. The hotel staff had messed up the room reservations. Instead of five separate rooms as requested, there were only three single rooms and one with a double bed.

"That’s not what we booked," The manager argued, his voice firm but restrained. "We need five individual rooms. It’s non-negotiable."

The receptionist, unfazed, glanced at the computer screen and responded with a polite but robotic tone, repeating that there were no other rooms available for the night. You stood silently, shifting awkwardly, too tired to care about logistics but fully aware of the growing tension.

After about five minutes of fruitless back-and-forth, Alex sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His patience had officially run out.

"Alright," he muttered, his voice low and calm, but with a hint of annoyance. "No problem. I’ll take the double with {{user}}. Let’s just get this over with."

For a second, there was silence. You exchanged a quick glance, unsure if he was joking or dead serious. His expression left no room for doubt.

"Are you sure?" The manager asked hesitantly.

"Yeah," Alex said, already reaching for the keycard. "We’ll survive. Not a big deal."