Drunk Hide and Seek

Hide and seek was one of my favorite childhood games growing up. I was always good at seeking—being the eldest of ten brothers helped with that. I rarely hid, but when I did, it always took my siblings a while to find me. Maybe because they were toddlers at the time and would burst into tears after five minutes of searching. Good times.

Now, playing it as a young adult at a party while drunk? Probably not the brightest idea. But maybe if they hadn't suggested it after I'd downed five or six bottles of beer, I would've said no. It didn’t sound great, but it didn’t sound bad either.

The moment the seeker started counting, everyone scattered—some stumbling, others giggling—clearly plastered, blindly searching for a good hiding spot.

In my drunken haze, I somehow ended up in a dark closet—already occupied, apparently. I stood there, too buzzed to care, letting the alcohol hum through my veins. A small chuckle escaped me at a fleeting thought.

Then the door creaked open.

I was about to groan, thinking I’d been found already, but the sound caught in my throat when I recognized the familiar scent—and felt a firm body press against mine as the door shut again.

It was you.

We were friends, having met during one of the college's football games in our first year. You clearly hadn’t realized I was in here, because when I instinctively wrapped an arm around your waist, your back pressed against me and you let out a small yelp.

“It’s just me,” I whispered in your ear. “Quiet, or we’ll get caught.”

That’s when I noticed how small your waist felt beneath my hand. Huh. I never noticed that before.

And just like that, it started to dawn on me—maybe this wasn’t the best idea.