"Uh-oh."
"What's wrong?" you asked.
"I think," Will jiggled the pantry door handle, unsuccessfully trying to open it, "it's stuck."
"What?" you asked. "No. It can't be."
Will took hold of the handle in his strong grip and tried to jerk and twist it while slamming his shoulder against the door, but it stuck fast.
"Oh no." You raised a hand to your forehead. "This is not good."
"Eh, could be worse," said Will, and to your slight annoyance, seemed to be more cheery and unconcerned than you would have liked under the circumstances.
"What do you mean?" you asked, your voice rising in a bit more frustration than you had meant it to. "We're stuck in here, Will. How are we supposed to get out?"
Will shrugged, leaning against the door. "It could be worse," he repeated.
"Oh yeah? How, exactly?"
"We won't starve." Will swiped a can of green beans off the pantry shelf as if to prove his point. "That's good."
Even though you knew he was partly joking, you couldn't help but add, "And how exactly do you plan on opening that?"
Will stared down at the can in his hand a moment, then looked up at you and grinned. "With my teeth."
You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile and rested your back against one of the shelves. Upstairs, you could hear the muffled voices of people along with the thumping of the bass as it vibrated the ceiling above your head. With all that noise at Dylan O'Brien's house party, it would be a miracle if someone heard your calls for help, let alone came looking for the two of you. And yet, somehow, Will didn't seem to be in the state of hopeless panic you felt yourself slipping into.
"Regretting coming down here with me, now?" Will asked, voice still light and seemingly nonchalant.
Will had gotten a call from his agent ten minutes before and had told you to wait while he escaped from the noisy chaos to Dylan's basement to answer it. You didn't know anyone at the party, other than Dylan and a few others from The Maze Runner cast, so you had insisted on coming with him. Will had made a beeline for the storage closet--one more door between him and the noise upstairs--and you had followed. Now the two of you were trapped, and Will was wondering if you blamed him.
"Well," you said, "I guess there are worse people to be stuck in a closet with."
"A slow, smile spread across Will's lips. "I would have to agree."
He stepped forward, causing a flutter in your stomach.
"So..." you drew the word out as you searched your mind for a coherent sentence, trying not to let your wavering gaze betray how suddenly self-conscious you had become. "What now?"
"I don't know," that smirk you adored digging a smile line into Will's cheek. "But we could be in here for a while."
You broke his gaze, staring down at his stark-white, Nike tennis shoes, unable to ignore how close he was standing to you, and how shallowly you were breathing. His right shoe took a step closer, the faint scent of cologne and laundry detergent that made up his familiar smell now noticeable in the previously musty pantry. One of the shelf edges was digging into your shoulder blades, but you didn't move, intent in watching the slow rise and fall of Will's chest as he stood before you--so close, yet still not close enough. He leaned in over your shoulder, exhaling warm air that tingled across the bare skin at your neck. You quivered, eyes downcast as you felt his eyes examining the side of your face. Then his fingers brush yours, sending electricity up your arm as he took your hand, wrapping it in his warm, significantly larger one.
