The moon hung low over Central Park, casting eerie shadows through the sprawling maze of trees and paths. Emily Meyers trudged ahead, her heels clicking against the pavement, her dirt-smeared dress clinging uncomfortably to her legs. Behind her, Luke Edmunds lagged, his tie undone, his shirt untucked, and his usual cocky smirk replaced by a sulking pout.

"I still don't understand why you shoved me down a hill," Luke grumbled.

Emily stopped dead in her tracks and spun around, her eyes blazing. "I shoved you? You grabbed my arm and threw us both into this mess!"

"Oh, please," Luke scoffed, brushing a leaf off his shoulder. "You were already running away like a soap opera heroine. I was trying to stop you from being dramatic."

"Dramatic?" she hissed, jabbing a finger at him. "You humiliated me in front of my family, ruined our engagement party, and had the nerve to admit you've been calling me random state names for weeks!"

"Okay, Nebraska," he said with a smirk. "Let's not rewrite history. You threw a glass at me."

She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to strangle him. "I threw a glass because you're insufferable!"

"And yet here we are, stranded in Central Park," he said, gesturing to the dark expanse around them. "Great job leading us out, by the way."

Emily took a deep breath, her patience hanging by a thread. "I swear, Luke, if you don't stop talking—"

"What?" he interrupted, crossing his arms. "You'll shove me into another bush?"

She turned on her heel and stormed off. "I'm not wasting another second on you."

"Fine!" he shouted after her. "Good luck finding your way out without me."

Fifteen minutes later, they were still hopelessly lost. Emily had found a bench and was furiously trying to check her phone for directions, but the signal was nonexistent. Luke sat on the ground a few feet away, poking at a pile of leaves with a stick.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, pacing in frustration. "How is there no service in the middle of Manhattan?"

"Maybe the park hates you," Luke said lazily. "Wouldn't be the first time."

She ignored him, staring up at the towering trees. "We need to figure out how to get out of here."

"Or," Luke said, sitting up, "we could pretend we're in a survival movie."

She shot him a look. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, survival mode," he said, grinning. "We gather resources, fend off imaginary bears, and argue about who gets to drink the last drop of water."

"That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard."

"And yet," he said, standing up and brushing off his pants, "you're intrigued."

"I'm not intrigued."

"Sure you are," he said, smirking. "You love being in control. Now's your chance to be the ultimate survival leader."

Emily rolled her eyes but crossed her arms. "Fine. If it'll shut you up, we'll play survival. But I'm in charge."

"Of course you are, Captain Wyoming."

The game began with gathering "resources." Emily found a discarded water bottle (half-empty, but clean enough) and a granola bar someone had dropped on a bench. Meanwhile, Luke returned triumphantly with a single shoe.

"What are you going to do with that?" Emily asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "Could be useful. You never know."

"Fine," she said, taking inventory of their finds. "Now we need shelter."

"Or we could eat the granola bar," Luke suggested, reaching for it.

Emily swatted his hand away. "Absolutely not. This is for emergencies."

Luke rolled his eyes but backed off. As the night wore on, Emily managed to scavenge more items: a discarded scarf, a nearly full can of soda, and a half-eaten bag of chips. Luke, meanwhile, contributed nothing except sarcastic comments.

At some point, Luke started slowing down, his usual swagger replaced by a lethargic shuffle.

"What's wrong with you?" Emily asked, noticing him leaning against a tree.

"I'm starving," he said dramatically. "And thirsty. And tired."

"You're being ridiculous," she said, handing him the soda. "Here. Drink this."

He took a sip but still looked pale. "I think I'm fading."

"Fading?" she repeated, rolling her eyes. "You're not fading. You're whining."

"No, really," he said, his voice weaker now. "I don't think I can go on."

Emily sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Sit down. I'll figure out the way out."

He slumped against the tree, his eyes closing. For a moment, Emily thought he might be faking, but then she saw the sweat beading on his forehead. Panic bubbled in her chest.

Against her better judgment, she decided to help him. Slinging his arm over her shoulder, she hoisted him to his feet. "Come on, Mertle. You're not dying on my watch."

"You're... so bossy," he muttered, his weight leaning heavily on her.

"And you're insufferable," she shot back. "Now move."

They stumbled together through the park, Emily cursing under her breath with every step. After what felt like an eternity, they reached the edge of the park and stepped onto the sidewalk.

"See?" she said, her voice strained. "We made it."

But just as Luke took a step forward, an Uber sped around the corner, its side mirror clipping him hard. He crumpled to the ground with a groan.

"Oh, my god," Emily gasped, dropping to her knees beside him. "Luke!"

"I'm fine," he muttered, wincing. "Mostly."

"You got hit by a car!" she said, fumbling for her phone. "I'm calling 911."

The ambulance arrived within minutes, whisking Luke away to the hospital with Emily riding in the back. As they sped through the city streets, she sat beside him, her hands trembling.

"You're going to be okay," she said, more to herself than to him.

He gave her a weak smile. "Admit it. You'd miss me if I didn't make it."

She glared at him but couldn't muster her usual venom. "Shut up, Luke."

As the sirens wailed and the city blurred past the windows, Emily realized two things: she still hated Luke with every fiber of her being... but she wasn't ready for him to leave her life just yet.

And that infuriated her more than anything.