Her eyes flicker open—only to be met with nothing else but darkness.

Her head is spinning, pulsing under her skin, as she squints her eyes a few times, trying to adjust her vision.

Trying to figure out where the hell she is.

Her mind races, but at the same time, is completely blank.

She reaches out, palms scanning the ground.

The floor feels hard, cold.

She crawls forward, fingers tracing blindly each floor board in the dark, until—

_Thud._

__

She grabs her forehead , which she hit on something solid.

A door.

“Damn it,”

She hisses under her breath.

She gropes for the knod trying to twist it open.

Nothing—it won’t budge.

“What the hell happened? Where am I?”

She takes a look around.

Although it’s hard to see anything, it appears she’s inside a tiny a room.

A closet?

Clothes are scattered around the ground.

Mismatched high heels.

Shelves above her head.

And something—something warm?

She looks down—

and freezes.

Fingers trembling as they brush over it.

A hand.

“What the—“

She gasps.

In the corner of the room, theres a a figure sitting on the ground, holding in one hand an empty wine bottle.

His head is drooped down, hair messy, a light stubble across his jaw.

His tie is loosely hanging from his neck, and his shirt is completely unbottoned—revealing nothing else but his bare chest.

“T-Tom? Is that you?”

Her voice cracks, barely a whisper.

She scoots forward and brushes his dark hair to the side.

Yes, it’s him.

“Tom….hey, wake up,”

She shakes his shoulder.

For a moment nothing.

Then—a low groan.

His hazel eyes slowly roll open, and he looks around, confused.

Unfocused.

“Welp, that was a heck of a party..”

He murmurs, stretching out his hands until they hit the walls.

Suddenly she remembers.

A party.

Yes, yesterdays party.

Or tonight’s? She’s not sure.

Loud music,

smell of strong vodka,

Flashy lights.

A disco ball.

“This isn’t funny,“

She grabs his shirt.

“We’re locked up in a closet”

He blinks.

“Locked in a closet?” He repeats, yawning, “that’s not ideal.”

“Not ideal? Tom, we could be stuck here for hours.”

He runs his hand through his hair, and leans back against the wall. His eyes are still clouded up with sleep and with the red wine that’s laying by his leg.

“Well, atleased I’m not stuck with Brad. Dude snores like a dying walrus.”

She glares at him, resisitng the urge to smack him with that glass bottle.

“This isn’t a joke. People don’t just end up locked in closets after parties!”

Tom tilts his head, considered.

“True….unless maybe we _hid_ in here?”

“From what?!”

He winks at her.

Her breath catches. A flash of memory pops in her mind.

Someone taking her by her hand.

Someone pulling her through the hallway.

Tom’s deep voice “just for a minute….”

Her eyes widen, “wait—did you drag me in here?”

Tom raises both palms, lips innocently curling up.

“Hey—don’t look at me like that! I don’t remember even taking off my shirt!”

She stares at him, “you’re shirt is literally still on, just…”— She waves vaguely at his half bared chest, her face heating up despite the situation.

Tom smirks, just a little, and raises his brow,

“you noticed, how cute.”

But before she could argue back with any of the prepared excuses in her mind, suddenly she hears faint footstep behind the door.

The doorknob rattles,

And both of them freeze.

Muffled voices outside.

And then—

Silence.