The snowstorm comes out of nowhere. One second the sky is clear, and the next the whole world is blanketed in white.

Cynthia pounds against the wooden door. "Let me in! LET ME IIIIIN!"

The door swings open, and Cynthia falls inwards. Ah. Wonderful warmth beats down her snow-drenched back. She flashes a big grin to the person who so kindly opened the door—

And her mirth instantly dies. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

"I could ask the same of you," Cyrus growls. Cynthia whacks her wet hair into his frost-covered suit.

A big man in a cowboy hat ambles down the stairs. "Now hold y'alls Zebstrikas." He has a thick accent that requires some time to decipher. "You two picked the wrong day to go honeymoonin'."

Never in her life has Cynthia felt so insulted. She stomps on Cyrus's dress shoes, shoves him aside, and jabs a finger at the whistling cowboy. "I'm the Champion of Sinnoh! That man is not my—"

"Name's Clay, and I'm the owner of this here inn. We only got one room left."

Cynthia slams a handful of Poke on the counter. "I'll take it."

Cyrus storms over. "What about me? I was about to rent that room when you knocked on the door!'

She shrugs. "Go find a broom closet or something. I'm sure you can squeeze yourself into a hole somewhere."

Clay is about to reach for the glittering Poke when Cyrus slaps down some more money. Cynthia's nostrils flare. Her counterpart's eyes narrow like icy blades.

"Here's the key." The two adults lunge for it, only for Clay to yank it away. Snickering, he gestures towards the stairs.

"Why are you so close?" Cynthia hisses.

"This is a narrow space," is the cold response. "If you disagree with my presence, kindly move ahead."

Clay leads them to a door at the end of the hallway. There are tears in his eyes, but he swallows down his laughter and musters a straight face. "Well. We got breakfast tomorrow. Y'all lovebirds have a good night."

"We are NOT together! I hate him!"

"I am not particularly fond of her either."

"Then stay out!" Cynthia slams the door in his face. She sighs. "Finally."

The door creaks open. "Bobby pins are very versatile things." Cyrus pockets said makeshift key. He brushes past an exasperated Cynthia, striding into the cozy room with his hands clasped behind his back.

It's taking all the self-control she has not to sic him with Draco Meteor. Cyrus turns. "Why are you wearing your shoes inside? Leave them over there, next to mine."

"I can do whatever the hell I want." Cynthia jumps on the bed with her heels, reveling at how the veins throb across his furrowed brow. "Okay, so I get this side of the room. You get whatever's left."

"Which isn't much. I only have this pathetic square of floor."

"Fine. It's a rectangle now."

Cyrus exhales sharply. "Champion Cynthia, I don't have time for this…"

"I gave you an electrical outlet. What more do you want?" Cynthia tosses her wet fur coat over her vast territory. The room has a nice cabana theme, dark wood against the hellish white landscape outside.

Cyrus steps over the arbitrary boundary line. Cynthia blocks his path. "I am going to adjust the thermostat," he says slowly, as if regurgitating information to a child.

"It's already so hot in here!" she yells. "Besides, the thermostat is on my side of the room. Go back to your corner!"

"Tch. This was a mistake."

"Huh. Tell me about it."

Nighttime. Cynthia crawls under the soft, toasty blankets. She turns off the lights and goes to sleep.

Not five seconds later, and she tosses her covers aside. "What?" she hisses. "Stop staring at me!"

Cyrus's eyes narrow. "Can't I at least have a pillow? I doubt you'll use all six." Cynthia hurls a shower towel at his face. "You have two duvets! You could at least spare another blanket! Champion!"

Cynthia had put in ear plugs and is snoring away. The snowstorm is howling outside wooden walls. A disgruntled Cyrus folds his blazer into a makeshift pillow and pulls the towel over his head. He passes out not long after.