Some sat on the floor, some on bunks, some on each other. Laughter erupted constantly over someone's failed prank or sloppy match-making.

A few people cheered. Someone wolf-whistled.

Darkness.

The muffled thump of music and voices filtered in from outside. Inside, the space was impossibly small. A cramped storage closet, barely big enough for one, let alone two. Broom handles pressed into your back. Mop buckets dug into Damien's legs.

The air went still and heavy. Stale. Smelling of wood polish and dust. But underneath that, there was something else — warmth, and the faint scent of rain on leather jacket. Close. Too close.