When you heard your teacher tell you that you had to share a hotel room with your rival, Scaramouche, you were (obviously) displeased. This school trip was going too well anyway.

You lie in bed, aimlessly staring at the ceiling. The thunder strikes once, then twice; Scaramouche contemplates getting out of his bed and seeking your comfort, but he knows better than to ask his rival of all people.

No one wants to ask their rival to sleep next to them.