He’s getting sick of hotels. The bedsheets are always stiff from over-washing, the hot water lasts for maybe five minutes at a time, and a lot of the time the rooms smell of stale smoke. After all, it’s not as if they have the money to stay in a Hilton every single town.

He rolls over with a sigh and tries to get to sleep. They’re going to have a long drive ahead of them to the next town and he doesn’t know if he can handle another day in the cramped Volkswagen. He’ll do it for his friends, but...

The bed shifts next to him and skinny arms wrap around his waist. He sighs.

“It’s, like, freezing in here.”

“You could turn on the heater.” The arms around him tighten briefly, and then relax, as if about to pull away.

“It’s busted, man.”

He puts a hand over the other's, locked around his middle, and rubs his thumb across the knuckles. That’s all the response the other needs to pull closer.

“I hate hotels,” he confesses quietly.

“Me too. But at least we’re not, like, sleeping in the Mystery Machine like Scooby.”

He sighs. “I guess.”

“Hey, don’t worry. The next town will be more interesting.”

He rolls over and his tilts his forehead against the others. “Maybe this place is interesting enough for now.”

Shaggy grins sleepily and rubs his nose against Freddie’s, closing his eyes.

“Y’know,” he mumbles, “Maybe you’re on to something, man.”