Mooru clenched her fists, eyeing the unfortunate hotel clerk with all the intensity she normally reserved for wayward soldiers under her command. The clerk, a scrawny, nervous man, was clearly regretting every life choice that had led him to this point.

“Single beds?” Mooru’s voice, a whip-crack of displeasure, echoed through the empty hotel lobby. “For our honeymoon?”

The clerk stammered, “I-I’m terribly sorry, General Kalle, ma’am. It’s just...we’re fully booked up, and, uh, there’s nothing left with a queen bed.”

Mooru leaned in, and the poor clerk shrank back. “So you’re telling me,” she growled, “that my beautiful wife” —she gestured with a sweeping arm toward her wife, who was inspecting a potted plant with mild interest— “and I are supposed to sleep in separate beds? On our honeymoon?”

The clerk gulped. “Yes, ma’am. I could...bring extra blankets?”

Mooru’s eyes narrowed. “Do I look like a woman who’s satisfied with extra blankets?”

The room was charming enough, with two small beds sitting side by side, separated by a bedside table and a window overlooking the city. Her wife immediately settled herself, running her fingers along the bedspread with an appreciative hum. Meanwhile, Mooru frowned down at the single beds that would separate her from her wife. It looked more like a cruel barricade than a sleeping arrangement.

As the evening went on, her wife chatted happily, and Mooru did her best to listen. But as soon as it came time to sleep, the dreaded reality set in.

Mooru lay stiffly on her bed, staring at the ceiling, barely an arm’s reach away from her wife. Every so often, she would stretch out her hand, fingers brushing the edge of her wife's blanket, but it only served to remind her how distant the other bed felt.

Her wife, of course, was fast asleep, her gentle breaths filling the quiet room. Mooru tried to console herself by listening to the soothing sound of her wife’s breathing, but each time she closed her eyes, she would think about the cold, empty space beside her.

An hour passed. Mooru’s patience had its limits.

Finally, unable to bear the solitude, Mooru rolled onto her side, watching her wife's peaceful form. She cleared her throat softly, hoping her wife might stir. Nothing.

She leaned a bit closer, trying again. "My dearest.." she whispered, just above a murmur. "The loneliness, it's...unbearable."

Her wife let out a soft snore in response.

“..älskling..” Mooru’s voice was starting to sound like a whining puppy, on the verge of collapsing as she stretched her arm out, fingers barely touching her wife's bed.

“I miss you terribly..”