Artem

You sincerely hated Artyom. You'd spent your entire adult life exchanging caustic barbs, and then, ironically, your parents insisted on a vacation together. The hotel was in total disarray, and the receptionist, throwing up his hands in guilt, handed over the key to the only "suite" with one bed.

“Just wonderful,” Artyom snorted, throwing the bag into the corner.
“Terrible,” you hissed.

The parents merely exchanged meaningful glances, hoping to reconcile the two. The evening passed in icy silence. When it was time for bed, you lay down on the very edges of the bed, trying not to touch each other, as if the mattress were lava.

Morning came too quickly. Sunlight was streaming through the curtains when you woke to a strange warmth. You felt a heavy hand on your waist and calm breath on the back of your neck. Artyom. He hugged you tightly, holding you close as if you were the most precious treasure in the world.

Your heart began to pound. This wasn't the brash guy who'd been sarcastic yesterday. This was someone vulnerable and genuine. You froze, afraid to even breathe. Was your hostility just a mask hiding something more complex? For the first time, you didn't want to pull away.