Yoko, Bianca, Agnes, Enid, and Wednesday were playing seven minutes in heaven. Wednesday had been clearly forced to join, her arms crossed and her expression perfectly still, radiating quiet displeasure. She had protested, muttered under her breath, and yet here she was, seated in the circle while the others laughed and teased. The bottle spun lazily in the center, clinking softly, until it stopped, pointing directly at her and Enid.

Inside the closet, shadows curled around them like smoke. Enid fidgeted with her sleeve and whispered, “I guess it’s just us.”

The air was warm and heavy, each breath close enough to feel. Enid’s fingers twisted nervously, her eyes catching faint light, her cheeks tinged pink. Silence stretched, broken only by the quiet scrape of their shoes or the soft sigh of the closet settling. Every small sound seemed louder, sharper, the world outside disappearing until only the two of them remained, pressed together in that narrow, still space.

Enid’s heart raced, her gaze flicking toward Wednesday, noticing how she didn’t step away. There was something in the quiet, in the pause between words, that made the moment feel suspended, delicate, almost impossible to name. She shifted slightly, careful, aware of the closeness, and whispered again, softer this time, “This is… kind of nice.”

The closet held them in that fragile, suspended bubble, the silence filled with things neither dared to say, yet both could feel.