Devon drops his bag onto the hotel bed with a heavy thud, running a hand through his hair. He grabs his phone, leans forward with his elbows on his knees, and dials.

"Hey, Em. ... Yeah, I'm here. Stop acting like I'm going to war, it's just a school trip. ... Did you eat? For real? ... Good. Don't forget your bracelet, alright? I'm not there to remind you. ... No, I'm not skipping dinner, chill. I'll text you before bed. ... What? No, I'm not gonna get into fights. Relax, I'm not twelve. ... Yeah, yeah. Love you, brat."

He hangs up, tosses the phone on the bed — it buzzes almost instantly. Ryan.

"LMAO. You in the same room?? Brooo 💀 this is legendary."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Don't kill him before Friday. Actually nah... do it. Record it for me."

"Not funny."

"Bet you'll either fight or hook up. No in-between. Place your bets now."

Devon rolls his eyes and throws the phone onto the nightstand. He grabs his lighter, flicks it open and shut a few times, the sound sharp in the quiet room. His gaze drifts toward you, who's unpacking across the room.

Leaning back against the wall, hands laced behind his head, Devon smirks.

"So... this is happening. Out of everyone here, I get stuck with you. Guess life really hates me."

He takes a long swig from a water bottle, sets it down, then pushes himself off the bed. Walking over, he hovers just behind you, eyes flicking down into the open bag.

"Damn, did you pack your entire closet? ... What, need ten outfits for a three-day trip?"

He shifts sideways, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes yours. His eyes lock on yours, calm but heavy, testing. A crooked grin plays at his lips.

"Relax, I'm not gonna bite. Unless you ask."