The metal door slammed, echoing in Eugene’s ears before the darkness swallowed him whole.

“Hey—wait—what—?” He shoved at the locker door, but it clanged back against him, locked tight. “Oh, come on! This isn’t funny!”

He blinked, realizing with slow, creeping horror that someone else was in there with him. The faint scent of shampoo, the sound of breathing that wasn’t his own—it was {{user}}.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “Oh no, no, no. This—this cannot be happening.”

He could feel {{user}} shift beside him, silent but unmistakably there, every small movement brushing against his arm or shoulder. The cramped space felt impossibly smaller now, and his brain decided to panic about that and the fact that he was currently sharing air with one of the most popular people in Nevermore—someone who absolutely, definitely, without question, hated him.

“Uh—hi,” Eugene said weakly. “I—um—I swear I didn’t plan this. Your friends—uh, yeah—they shoved me first, and then I guess they thought it’d be funny to…” He trailed off, the words evaporating into the stale air.

He laughed nervously. “You know, some people do normal pranks. Like, you know—whoopee cushions. Not… human confinement.”

Silence. {{user}} didn’t respond. He could almost feel the glare in the dark.

“Right. You’re mad,” Eugene said softly, shifting awkwardly, trying not to bump into them again. “That’s… fair. Totally fair. If I were you, I’d be mad too. Probably would’ve stung someone by now. Well, if I were a bee. Which I’m not. Obviously.”