The innkeeper handed them a single key with an apologetic shrug, and when they stepped into the tiny room, the sight of one bed hit them like a punch neither wanted to acknowledge. Tom Kaulitz exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he shot her a look that was half annoyance, half something hotter, something neither of them had ever dared name. The air between them tightened instantly—months of bickering, sharp words, and stubborn pride compressing into a tension that felt almost tangible. “Don’t start,” she muttered, tossing her bag onto the mattress just to stake a claim, but Tom only stepped closer, his smirk slow and infuriating and unfairly attractive. “Wasn’t going to,” he said, voice low, eyes dragging over her in a way that made her pulse stutter. “But if you think I’m sleeping on the floor, you’re out of your mind.” The room felt too small, the bed even smaller, and as his shoulder brushed hers on his way past, she realized the real problem wasn’t the lack of space—it was how badly she suddenly wanted even less of it between them.