She was the girl that fathers told thir sons to stay away from
He was the boy moms wanted their daughters to marry
And somehow, here they were
Hating each other
Locked in a bathroom together while the party downstairs still roaring.
Now it was just the two of them.
Too small a space for how much they couldn’t stand each other.
He stood by the door, jaw tight, already trying the handle again like repetition might change the outcome
“It’s stuck” he said
“No shit” she replied dryly
He shot her a look over his shoulder. “You always this helpful?”
“I don’t like being stuck,” he said finally.
“Join the club.”
She pushed off the sink, glancing around the cramped space. “There’s no window. Of course there isn’t. Because why would there be an escape route in a place designed by people who think locking teenagers in bathrooms is funny?”
“That wasn’t funny,” he muttered.
“Okay,” she said, breaking the moment on purpose, “we’re not dying in here. So unless you’ve got superhuman strength or a secret bathroom-exit talent, we should probably figure something out.”
He pushed off the door again. “There’s a vent.”
She followed his gaze upward. “You want to crawl into the ventilation system in a stranger’s house at a party?”
“It’s either that or wait until someone notices we’re missing.”
“Or,” she said slowly, “we knock.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You think no one’s tried that?”
She stepped closer to the door, knocked once—hard.
The bass swallowed it.
She knocked again. Harder.
Still nothing.
From downstairs, laughter erupted, oblivious.
She exhaled through her nose. “Okay. Vent it is, apparently.”
He moved a small step to the side, watching her now instead of the door. “Ladies first?”
She shot him a look. “Don’t start pretending you’re polite just because we’re temporarily stuck together.”
“I wasn’t pretending.”
“That’s worse.”
She went up first, and as she climbed her skirt rode up, his eyes flickered involuntarily to her ass
“Say a single word” she said “and i’ll choke you with your tie”
He immediately looked away, like he’d been burned.
“Didn’t say anything,” he muttered, far too quickly.
“You didn’t have to,” she called down from the vent opening, one hand braced on the frame.
A beat of silence.
Then, from below, his voice—careful, controlled. “I was checking you don’t fall.”
She paused mid-movement.
“Right,” she said slowly. “Because that’s what that look was.”
“Yes” he said, voice clipped “that’s what it was {{user}}”
She adjusted her grip on the vent frame, jaw tight. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying,” he replied.
“That’s almost worse.”
She shifted her weight higher into the vent opening.
“Hold it steady,” she said.
He places both hands on the frame beneath her feet. “I’ve got it.”
“You always this obedient when someone tells you what to do?”
The innuendo was not lost on him and he scoffed “I’m not obedient, I’m preventing you from falling through a ceiling and dying”
She shifted again, testing the vent’s edge, and for a second the metal creaked under her weight. His hands tightened instinctively on the frame beneath her.
“You’re slipping,” he said immediately.
“I’m not slipping,” she replied, but her voice dropped half a tone as she steadied herself.
“Then stop moving like you are,” he said, sharper than before.
She glanced down, eyes narrowing. “Are you telling me what to do now?”
“I’m telling you not to fall through a stranger’s ceiling,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“There’s really not,” she muttered, but she stopped shifting anyway.
The vent held steady.
She pulled herself higher, carefully now. He didn’t move, but his hands stayed locked under the frame, if she slipped, he’d catch her without thinking.
It made the air feel tighter.
“You’re still holding it too hard,” she said, quieter.
“So you don’t fall.”
“I said I’m not falling.”
“And I said I’m not taking the risk,” he replied.