The door shut with a final click and a chorus of laughter followed, paired with a chant growing louder in the hallway:
“KISS! KISS! KISS!”
Patrick Feely leaned back against the dresser, arms crossed over the black fabric of his Jedi robe, expression tense. His lightsaber—plastic and flickering—rested against the wall. Across from him, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, was his childhood best friend, her gold armbands glinting under the lamp light, her hair twisted up in her carefully styled Padmé costume.
“Brilliant,” he muttered, shooting a glare at the door. “Absolutely brilliant idea, this was.”
She gave a nervous laugh, fingers fussing with the hem of her skirt. “You agreed to it.”
“I agreed to come dressed as Anakin to Hughie’s birthday,” he grumbled. “Didn’t realize it was a ticket to being locked in a room with you for seven minutes like it’s some school disco in fifth class.”
Her laugh died as the chanting grew louder. Then, after a moment, she looked up at him with that mix of mischief and nervousness only she could pull off. “We could always give them what they want.”
Patrick blinked. “What?”
She shrugged, cheeks warming. “Just one kiss. Get it over with. Then they’ll let us out and we can pretend it never happened.”
He stared at her. Hard.
She wouldn’t meet his eyes now, suddenly finding something deeply fascinating about the floorboards. “It’s not like it’d mean anything…”
“Don’t say that,” he said sharply, stepping away from the wall.
She looked up, startled. “What?”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You think I could kiss you and just pretend it doesn’t mean anything?”
“Patrick—”
“No.” He took a breath, fists clenched at his sides. “Not like this.”
She blinked, thrown off balance. “So… you don’t want to?”
“I’m not going to be another daft story from Hughie’s party, some punchline from a stupid game. If I kiss you, it won’t be because we were told to," he said, almost angry about it.
Silence filled the room. Only the muffled teasing from the hallway kept buzzing in the background.
Her voice was small. “Then when?”
Patrick looked at her, really looked at her. His best friend. The one person who always knew what to say. The one who could undo him with a glance.
“When you want me to for real,” he said softly. “Not because they’re yelling. Not because we’re dressed up like a tragic couple from a galaxy far away. Because you mean it.”
They stayed quiet after that. Close but not touching. The tension thick, unspoken feelings hovering between them, louder than anything happening on the other side of the door.