Hiding's Not Hiding With You
The host kills the lights, and a high, raspy shush force the party goers to scatter. In an instant, some dive over the couch, others duck under the kitchen counter, and the rest cram into the adjacent room remarkably without spilling their half filled drinks. Commanding silence from a buzzed group of thirty is no easy task, as evident by a few snickers and giggles lingering through the house, but another hiss stills the air to satisfaction while a few struggle to find refuge in time.
"What are you doing?"
"Hiding! Let me in!" she whispers in a voice that's more like a throaty scream. She grabs the closet's handle and yanks it as hard as she can, almost launching him out as she does. Taking her opportunity, she shimmies into the fast closing space and manages to slip inside just before the door closes.
He's pressed into a row of heavy, hanging jackets, and some naked hangers bury their wires into his back. He winces, not necessarily because of the pain, but because of the girl who's just fallen into him, making the closet less roomy than it used to be. Even though he can barely see her through the slits of light seeping into the thin outline of the door, he can still tell her expression, the face she always makes, partly marked by insincere innocence, the rest wrapped in joy when she always gets what she wants.
"This is my hiding place."
"Yeah. And now it's mine too."
"This is ridiculous, there's not enough room for us both."
"Seems like there is to me." Nudging an old umbrella and a column of dusty old boxes away, she inches closer, and all the sudden he can feel her steady breathing as their bodies press together like two hands during a prayer. To Ash, it wasn't a sexual advance more than it was a way to get under his skin, because she knows him - too well in fact - to know any type of physical contact from the opposite sex makes him nervous.
She pokes up her eyebrows. "See?"
"Are you drunk?" he asks, trying to avoid her eyes.
"Are you? I can smell the alcohol on your breath. I see you wussyed out with the light beer."
He tries shifting away, unsuccessfully. "I had a few sips but I'm not drunk. And you still haven't answered my question."
"I came late. Didn't have a chance."
He scoffs. "Would've been easier if you were."
"I mean, it would explain your behavior, with you and your curvy lady parts pushing up against me and all."
"Oh, come on. We're hiding."
"Hiding's not hiding with you," he shoots back, leveling to a whisper. "This is torture."
"You're always free to find another spot."
"I was here first."
"So? I was on this planet first, does that mean I get to kick you out?"
A defeated sigh, and his head drops in the curve of her neck. He doesn't necessarily mean to but there's no other place, thanks to her proximity. Even though this is literally the closest he's ever been to her, and has thought about this many times before, he still groans because this isn't how he imagined it happening: stuck in a cramped, stuffy closet with possibly the love of his life halfway wrapped around his body, waiting in the dark for their surprise que.
As if she knows exactly what he's thinking, she gives him a quick elbow in the side and smiles. "Admit it. It's not that bad."
"Fine. It's not that bad."
It took them ten long minutes to realize if Brock was indeed at the front door, they would have surprised him by now. Guess nobody told them he was going to be an hour late. Not that it mattered anyway.
Well, I thought it was time to go back to some good ol' fashion AAML, I've really missed it. I'm always prone to take suggestions on later chapters even though I have most of the drabbles planned out already. I'll try to work them in if I can, but don't kill me if I don't use them.