Daniel

The start of the business trip had been exhausting. You and Daniel had spent the entire day on a long flight, and by evening, both of you were dreaming of nothing but a bed. The taxi dropped you off at the hotel, and you were already anticipating the moment you could close your room door and be rid of his company, if only for a while.

But at the reception, the clerk informed you of an error: all rooms with two beds were fully booked. The only available option was a standard room with a single large bed.

Daniel turned slowly toward the man behind the desk. Not a single muscle in his face twitched, but his voice dropped half a tone:

— Rebook us. I am not sharing a room with a colleague.

The clerk threw up his hands, muttering about being at full capacity and the impossibility of moving you until morning. Daniel listened without interrupting. Then, he let out a heavy sigh, ran a hand through his hair, and took the key card without looking at you, heading straight for the elevator.

Your room is clean, tidy, with one large bed sitting in the center. Daniel stopped, staring at it as if it were a personal insult.

He dropped his bag by the door and turned to you. Irritation was frozen in his eyes, but something else flickered there as well. Something he himself wasn't ready to admit.

— You and I. One bed. — he let out a smirk, but there was no warmth in it, only dry irony. — Well, we're in for quite a night. And don't you dare accidentally touch me in your sleep, otherwise I might decide it was an invitation.

Daniel said this with a cold expression, but his gaze lingered on your eyes for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. He turned toward the window, undoing the collar of his shirt, and tossed over his shoulder:

— If you get uncomfortable, you can always sleep in the bathroom. I won't mind.

He waited for your reaction, standing with his back to you, but his shoulders were tense. He was lying. He cared.