enemies to lovers one shots

ground - [the only one-bed trope... but with a twist ;) ]

"We need to rest," he protested.

"We don't have time."

I repeated it for what felt like the thousandth time. I knew arguing against him was futile -- I wanted to rest more than anything as well. We both knew I'd give in soon enough, but I didn't want to admit that he was right.

He paused, wasting more time than we had, this time not asking when he spoke, "We're resting," he told me.

Secretly, I was glad. My legs ache, my stomach craved a decent meal, and I knew my body could use a shower. But to him, I said nothing, I only marched forward, trekking through the muddy ground with my hands clutching the bags on my back tightly. 

It would be so easy to let them drop and roll away. It would feel so nice on my pained back, relieve my fingers of the tension. But he didn't complain, so neither did I. Begrudgingly, I let him lead us forward. He was familiar with this area, not me. He knew how to weave through the forest mazes; he knew what plants to eat and which to avoid; he knew how to build little huts and keep us safe on the nights we couldn't leave the forest. He knew and I didn't.

I hate not knowing more than anything. 

"I grew up here," I remember him telling me. On the first night we slept in the forest I could see all the stars, hear all the animals. It was the longest time we'd been in silence, before we would only constantly argue about where to go and what to do. 

Now it was mostly silence. The air filling in words of hatred when we were too exhausted to speak them.

I remember not knowing what to say. Not knowing if I should pretend to be asleep. There was so much I could have said to him then, so much I could have asked him. Maybe we would get along better if I had. But to him, I had been asleep.

I remember almost gasping out loud when I felt him shift against the leaves on the ground and come closer to me. I remember feeling his breath and shivering, I remember squeezing my eyes to keep them shut. I didn't know if I thought he was going to kill me or leave me, and I didn't know which would have been worse. 

But he came to me with a blanket. Draping it over me before going back. I didn't move for an hour, I didn't calm myself for an hour. The fear had left but now it was replaced by confusion. Why had he given me his blanket? Why had he spoken to me at all?

I had never asked him about it, and I wouldn't be surprised if he already knew I wasn't asleep that night almost two weeks ago. But I never mentioned it, and neither did he. 

~

The lodging he took us to looked like it could fall down any second, but I was grateful nonetheless to see it. I let the bags fall to the ground, not bothering to make sure nothing spilled or broke. On the other hand, he was as careful and meticulous as always. I wondered if he ever got tired. Ever just wanted to get away from all this. 

It never looked like it, but I hoped he did. In some ways, it would make all this more bearable, knowing he was human as well. 

From the belt around his hips, he handed me the pouch filled with the minimal coins we had with us. "Go get us a room," he told me, "I'll come in with the stuff in a second."

I didn't object or waste a second longer, heading into the rickety brown door with anticipation of cool water and a soft bed urging me on. 

The old woman at the counter barely spared me a second look as I asked for a room, simply handing me a rusty key and lock before naming her price. I reluctantly handed her the money, feeling disappointed to see that almost all of our money would be gone.