Chapter 8 Closet Steam
closet steam
. . .
Miles
Boxes of fake cobwebs and cider jugs weren't supposed to be this heavy.
Lila had given me a look when she'd asked me to haul them to the supply closet, the one that said you owe me for every time I've saved your ass, and I'd caved.
Because that's what I did. Caved to my sister's ridiculous demands and ended up sweating through my shirt while wrestling with decorations that smelled like cinnamon and regret.
Festival season was going to kill me.
My arms burned as I backed into the closet, trying to navigate around stacks of hay bales and folding tables.
It was cramped, barely big enough to turn around in, and packed floor to ceiling with supplies.
Orange streamers hung from hooks on the wall, boxes of paper pumpkins teetered on shelves, and somewhere in the chaos, a broom had fallen across the doorway like a trap waiting to spring.
Perfect.
I dumped the boxes onto a shelf, kicking the broom out of the way, and turned to leave. That's when the door slammed shut behind me.
“What the hell?” I grabbed the handle, twisting hard. It didn't budge. I rattled it again, putting my shoulder into it, but nothing. Stuck. Completely, impossibly stuck.
And then the light flickered out.
My stomach dropped.
No. No, no, no.
Darkness swallowed the room whole, thick and suffocating, and my breath caught in my throat. My hands found the door again, fumbling for the handle, pulling harder this time. Nothing. I could feel the panic rising, sharp and hot in my chest, my pulse kicking up until it was all I could hear.
Not again. Not like this.
“Of course it's you.”
I spun around, or tried to, bumping into a shelf in the process. A voice. Someone else was in here. My heart hammered as I squinted into the darkness, trying to make out shapes, shadows, anything.
“Who—”
“Relax, Miles. It's just me.”
Derek.
Of course it was Derek. Because the universe had a sick sense of humor and apparently thought trapping me in a dark closet with my rival was peak comedy.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't care. The panic was still there, clawing at my ribs, and I needed something to focus on that wasn't the crushing weight of the dark.
“Same thing as you, probably. Got sent to grab supplies. Came in through the back door.” I heard him move, footsteps shuffling closer. “And now we're both stuck.”
My hands shaking where they gripped the door handle. I forced myself to breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Like my dad had taught me when I was a kid.
It didn't help.
“Miles?” Derek's voice was closer now, careful. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You don't sound fine.”
“Well, I am. So drop it.”
Silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable. I could hear him breathing, could sense him standing just a few feet away, but I couldn't see him. Couldn't see anything. Just darkness pressing in from all sides, making the walls feel closer, smaller, like they were shrinking around me.
“Let me try the door,” Derek said.
I stepped aside, bumping into another shelf, and heard him jostle the handle. He put his weight into it, shoulder hitting wood, and for a second I thought he might actually get it open. But then he stopped, cursing under his breath.
“It's jammed from the outside. Something must've fallen against it.”
“Great. Perfect. Just what I needed.”
“Hey, look on the bright side. At least you're not alone.”
“That's not the bright side I was hoping for.”
He laughed, soft and low, and I felt some of the tension ease. Just a fraction. Just enough to remind me that I wasn't actually trapped. Not really. Someone would come looking eventually. Lila would notice we were both missing and put two and two together.
Eventually.
“So,” Derek said after a moment. “Haunted house, round two?”
Despite everything, I almost smiled. “Something like that.”
“At least this time there's no zombies.”
“Just you. Equally terrifying.”
“I'll take that as a compliment.”
“Don't.”
More silence. I could feel him moving, heard fabric rustling like he was settling against the wall.
My eyes were starting to adjust, or maybe they weren't and I was just imagining the faint outline of shapes.
Either way, it didn't help. The darkness still felt too thick, too heavy, pressing down on my chest like a weight I couldn't shake.
“You really hate the dark, don't you?” Derek's voice was quieter now. Less teasing. More genuine.
I didn't answer right away. Didn't know how to. Because admitting it out loud felt like admitting weakness, and I'd spent most of my life pretending I wasn't weak. Pretending I was fine, that nothing bothered me, that I could handle anything thrown my way.
But standing here, trapped in the dark with Derek, I felt every crack in that armor.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “I really do.”
“Why?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
Something in his tone made me pause. Made me look in his direction even though I couldn't see him. There was no judgment there. No mockery. Just curiosity. Maybe even concern.
I leaned back against the wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor, my knees pulled up to my chest. It was easier to talk when I didn't have to stand, when I could curl in on myself and pretend this wasn't happening.
“When I was a kid,” I started, the words coming slow, reluctant, “there were these guys at school. Older kids. They thought it was funny to mess with me. Shove me around, steal my stuff, the usual bullshit.”
Derek didn't say anything. Just listened.
“One day they locked me in a storage room. One of those old maintenance closets in the basement no one used anymore. No windows. No light. Just... dark.” I swallowed, the memory scraping at the inside of my skull.
“They left. Said they'd come back. I waited until the bell had gone and then some—hours. By the time my dad found me, it was getting late. He was doing his rounds as the janitor and heard me banging on the door.”
“Jesus, Miles.”
“I was seven. Maybe eight. I sat there listening to every footstep in the building, convinced someone was coming for me or that I was going to be stuck there forever.” My voice caught.
“People assumed I'd gone home sick. Nobody thought to check the basement until my dad finished his shift.” I pressed my back to the wall, feeling the smallness of that room again.
“Ever since then I can't— I can't do the dark. It sounds ridiculous, but it never really goes away.”
“It's not ridiculous.”
“It feels stupid.”
“It's not.” His voice was closer now, like he'd moved. “Trauma doesn't have an expiration date, Miles. And what happened to you? That's fucked up. Those kids were assholes, and you had every right to be scared.”
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to respond to the gentleness in his voice, the way he said it like he meant it. Like he actually cared.
“Thanks,” I muttered. “For not being a dick about it.”
“I can be a dick about a lot of things. This isn't one of them.”
I felt him sit down beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed. The contact was grounding, solid, and I found myself leaning into it without thinking. Just a little. Just enough to remind myself I wasn't alone.
“You're not alone now,” Derek said quietly, like he'd read my mind.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I turned my head toward him, even though I couldn't see his face. “Yeah. I do.”
We sat in silence for a while, the darkness not quite as suffocating with him next to me. I could feel his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and it helped. More than I wanted to admit.
“You know,” Derek said after a moment, his voice lighter now, teasing, “for someone who hates the dark, you're awfully calm pressed against me.”
I snorted. “Maybe you're not as unbearable when I can't see your smug face.”
“Ouch.”
“Truth hurts.”
“Does it?” His voice dipped lower, playful but with an edge that made my pulse kick up. “Because from where I'm sitting, you don't seem to mind being this close to me.”
Heat crept up my neck, and I was grateful for the darkness hiding my face. “Don't flatter yourself.”
“I don't have to. You're doing it for me.”
“You're impossible.”
“And yet, here you are. Still sitting next to me.”
He had a point. I could have moved. Could have put distance between us, found another corner of the closet to sit in. But I didn't. Because as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I didn't mind being this close to him.
In fact, I kind of liked it.
“Derek,” I said, my voice quieter now.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
He laughed, the sound warm and rich, and I felt it reverberate through me. God, I was in trouble. Deep, messy, inconvenient trouble.
The silence that followed was different.
Heavier. Charged with something I couldn't name but could feel in every nerve ending.
His shoulder was still pressed against mine, our legs close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.
And in the darkness, without the distraction of sight, every other sense felt amplified.
The scent of him. Coffee and something clean, something warm.
The sound of his breathing. Steady. Calm.
The warmth of his body. Solid. Grounding.
“Miles,” he said, his voice so low I almost didn't hear it.
“Yeah?”
“I'm going to do something really stupid.”
“What—”
His hand found mine in the dark, fingers brushing against my palm, tentative at first. Then his fingers laced through mine, and I felt my breath catch. The contact was electric, sending sparks up my arm, and I couldn't move. Couldn't pull away.
Didn't want to.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice rough.
“I...” I swallowed hard. “Yeah. It's okay.”
His thumb brushed across my knuckles, slow and deliberate, and I felt every wall I'd built start to crumble. This was Derek. My rival. The guy I was supposed to hate. The guy who drove me crazy with his smugness and his perfect latte art and his stupid, beautiful face.
And I wanted him.
God, I wanted him.
I turned toward him, or he turned toward me, I wasn't sure. All I knew was that suddenly we were closer, close enough that I could feel his breath against my lips, warm and unsteady.
“We shouldn't,” I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew I didn't mean them.
“Probably not.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“The worst.”
“So why—”
“Because I can't stop thinking about you.” His voice was raw, honest, and it cut through every defense I had left. “Because you drive me crazy in the best and worst ways since the day you walked into my café and called me pretentious.”
My chest tightened, my pulse racing. “Derek—”
“You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”
But I did have something to say. Something I'd been holding back for weeks, something that terrified me and thrilled me in equal measure.
“I feel the same way,” I whispered.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Neither of us breathed. And then, without overthinking it, without giving myself time to second-guess, I leaned in.
Our lips met in the dark, tentative at first, like we were both testing the waters. His mouth was soft, warm, and the kiss was gentle, almost careful. Like he was afraid I might pull away. Like this was something fragile and precious that we both needed to protect.
I didn't pull away.
Instead, I leaned closer, my free hand finding his jaw, fingers brushing against the stubble there. He made a sound, low and wanting, and the kiss deepened. His hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, and I felt myself melt into him.
God, he tasted good. Like coffee and cinnamon and something uniquely him. And the way he kissed me, slow and thorough, like he had all the time in the world and intended to use every second of it, made my head spin.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, I rested my forehead against his.
“Still hate the dark,” I whispered. “But this... this helps.”
He laughed, soft and breathless, and pulled me closer. “Yeah. It does.”
We sat there in the darkness, our hands still linked, our foreheads still pressed together, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn't feel scared. Didn't feel alone.
I just felt... right.
Eventually, the door opened. Lila's voice cut through the darkness, bright and teasing.
“Found them! They're in the closet. Together. Again.”
Light flooded the room, harsh and blinding, and I squinted against it. Derek pulled back slightly, but his hand stayed in mine, warm and steady.
Lila stood in the doorway, grinning like she'd just won the lottery. “You two want to explain why you keep ending up locked in small spaces together?”
“Accident,” Derek said quickly.
“Bad luck,” I added.
“Right.” Lila's grin widened. “Well, come on. Festival's not going to run itself.”
She walked away, still laughing, and I looked at Derek. Really looked at him. His hair was mussed, his eyes bright, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. He looked wrecked and beautiful and impossibly smug.
“We should probably get up,” he said.
“Probably.”
But neither of us moved. Not yet. Because this moment, sitting here in the aftermath of what we'd just done, felt too precious to let go of.
Finally, Derek stood, offering me his hand. I took it, letting him pull me to my feet, and we stood there in the cramped closet, surrounded by fake cobwebs and cider jugs and the ghost of what had just happened between us.
“So,” he said, his voice light but his eyes serious. “What now?”
“I don't know.” I squeezed his hand. “But I want to find out.”
He smiled, that same smug, beautiful smile that made my chest ache, and pulled me toward the door.
“Come on. Let's get out of here before your sister starts planning our wedding.”
I laughed, and we stepped out into the light together, our hands still linked, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.