They scrambled silently for the lockers in the back, turning off their flashlights immediately. Anthony was quick to conceal himself in an empty locker, Erik stepping inside the one next to it. When Conner went to climb into another, he stopped abruptly, seeing it was filled with yellow spray-paint cans.

Before Conner could contemplate what to do next, Erik had grabbed him hard by the arm. He pulled Conner into his locker and closed the door with a tight click.

Not moments after, they heard footsteps scrape against the concrete floor of the shed.

Conner’s back was pressed hard against the wall, Erik’s body crushing against him. One hand was against the wall above Conner's shoulder, his other firmly clamped over Conner’s mouth. The length of Erik’s body was flush with his, their chests and thighs touching. Conner could feel Erik’s heart beating just as wildly as his own, both bodies equally tense and immobile. They couldn’t move, fearing that one of them would nudge the locker door.

Conner tried not to breathe, feeling Erik holding him in place, their limbs somewhat tangled in the small space.

They listened as footsteps echoed into the shed, stopping as a voice said, “Someone’s been here.” The deep voice was odd to Conner’s ears, sounding auto-tuned. 'Voice-scrambler,' he thought, worried he’d give them away by doing something involuntarily stupid, like sneezing.

Conner was shaking as he heard more than one person shift things around, objects scrapping against the wall, the floor, Conner wasn’t sure. It was then that Conner heard the footsteps nearing where they hid in the lockers.

He twitched, wanting to shake his head, but Erik’s hand held him still. His eyes were wide, pleading for Conner not to move. He could hear by the density of the echoes that someone was standing right outside the locker.

Whoever it was, Conner was shocked that they couldn’t hear his heartbeat, his own head pounding with it.

“They’ve seen the encryption,” another said from farther away. Even through the scrambler, Conner could tell it was distinctly female.

“Clean it up,” the much lower, closer, male snapped, “I’ll grab what we came for.” He wasn’t quiet as he grabbed what Conner knew were paint cans from the locker next to theirs. Conner desperately hoped the man wouldn’t check this locker or hit the metal and hear that it was not hollow.

Moments passed, the two strangers making loud noises as they moved things in the shed, assumingly cleaning up the shelf that Conner, Erik, and Anthony had stripped bare and moved.

Conner’s muscles were cramping, desperately wanting to shift positions and break away from Erik as he realized just how intertwined they really were.

Erik looked down at him, leaning in, nearly in slow motion. Conner could feel an escape of hot breath in his ear as he said, barely a whisper, “Just a little longer. Don’t move.” 

He'd said it so quietly it was mostly a breath, the intimacy of the whisper making Conner's stomach back-flip. Conner was glad it was so dark, hoping Erik couldn’t see his expression behind his hand.

They were still frozen by the sounds of the strangers.

After what felt like eternity, Conner heard the footsteps exit the shed, closing the door, and, with a heavy heart, heard the sound of the padlock being snapped into place. They waited for a few more minutes before Erik shifted up, and slowly opened the door with a metallic creak, Anthony following their lead.

Their mess had been tidied and reassembled, the spray-paint cans were missing, and, as Conner neared the shelf, he could see that the wall had been scrubbed clean.

Anthony went for the door, swearing as he confirmed that it was locked. “Well this sucks,” he said, the sound of his voice shattering Conner’s ears, penetrating the silence.

It was an understatement. The fact that they were locked in the school supply shed, during curfew, and there were strange disguised figures roaming the grounds, was Conner’s worst nightmare. The only possible outcomes that could be worse were being killed, caught, or expelled.

“What do we do now?” Conner asked quietly, his limbs filled with pins and needles from being cramped for so long.

They exchanged a look between them. Then, simultaneously, looked towards the small window.

Anthony was the first to climb the shelves, pushing on the window with a grunt.

It didn’t budge.

Anthony tried turning the handle, reversing the clasp, but no matter what he tried it wouldn’t open.

Conner jumped as Anthony banged on the window hard with his elbow, swearing before he jumped back down. He glared at Conner, pointing an accusatory finger at him as he said, “You!”

Conner was taken aback, his mouth falling open, offended. “Me? What did I do?”

Anthony shrugged, his face returning to normal. “I don’t know, I just always blame you.” He looked up at Erik, his false anger dissipating entirely. “Do you think we could use a crowbar?”

“I’m not sure what’s here,” Erik said, looking around the room, “We might be screwed.”

They spread out, only using the dim light from the window to guide their hands and feel around. Not one of them dared turn on their flashlight in case the strangers came back. “I found a trowel,” Conner said, frowning as he heard Anthony snicker. “What, do you have something better?”

“I have a shot,” Erik called from the corner that had old sports equipment. “You know, the shot-put ball…thing,” he clarified, “It's heavy. It might work.”

Anthony laughed, walking over to Conner and slinging his arm over his shoulders. “Hmm…shot, trowel, shot, trowel,” he laughed, sarcastically weighing the options.

Conner dug the tip of the small handheld shovel into Anthony’s side. He felt a smile curl his lips, glad to hear him give a quiet cry of surprise as he recoiled.

“Should we be timing this to avoid the cameras?” Erik asked, turning towards Anthony. 

Anthony shook his head, “This side of the shed isn't visible on camera. We'll need to watch it going back though.”

Erik walked towards the window, looking over his shoulder as he said, “Back up. I don't want to hurt you.”

Conner and Anthony stood a great distance away from Erik, quietly taking bets under their breath if he could make the shot. It helped distract Conner from his terror as he recalled the sound of the scrambled voices.

Erik sucked in a deep breath, heaving the shot hard towards the window.

It hit the wall of the shed with a loud bang, making the three of them jump back. As Erik went to retrieve it Anthony fist pumped the air, giving Conner the middle finger before chiding, “Fifty bucks, sucka!"

Conner frowned, watching Erik reset his position. “He has two more chances.”

Erik only needed one.

There was a deafening smash, the shot shattering the window completely and landing outside the shed somewhere with a thud.

Conner glanced at Anthony shrugging. “Guess that money’s mine,” he said with a quiet satisfaction.

“So,” Erik walked over to Conner, smirking at him, “you’re a gambling gardener, who knew.” His eyes were drowsy and dark as he added smoothly, “Thanks for having faith in me.”

Conner wanted to say something coy, but Erik was already walking towards Anthony, who stood by the window. 

They didn’t waste anymore time.

Anthony removed his jacket, whisking away glass shards and laying it over the shattered window in a hope to avoid any injury. He shifted to lay flat on his stomach, bag in hand as he shimmied his way through the small space. He caught the ledge, releasing it as he fell the short distance and landed on his feet.

Conner carefully heaved himself up, following Anthony’s lead by putting his—Erik’s—jacket down first. He swung his legs over, letting out a shout as his inner thigh caught a sharp piece of glass that hadn’t been fully covered. He winced, falling and landing on his back hard as he hit the cement. The wind was momentarily knocked out of him before he sat up, his hand shakily going to his thigh.

“Whoa,” he found himself whimper, feeling the hot blood spilling over his hand. The cut in his leg was at least a few inches, sliced deep into his flesh. He felt dizzy, the edges of his vision turning green as he realized the pressure of his hand wasn't enough to stop the flow of blood.  

Erik jumped down from the window, immediately kneeling beside Conner. “Shit, that looks deep,” he said, his fingers going to his belt. "We're not far from the infirmary. This should make sure you don't do something stupid like bleed out before we get there." He laughed, but it didn't hide his nerves at seeing Conner injured. He removed it and quickly used it to form a tourniquet around his leg. He tightened it until Conner gasped, removing his sweater and taking off his t-shirt.

For a moment, Conner didn’t mind being injured as he looked at Erik’s sculpted abdomen.

Erik tied the t-shirt around Conner’s upper leg, replacing his hoodie over his head. Then, without warning, scooped Conner up into his arms.

Conner was initially surprised but quickly let his head fall into the crook of Erik’s neck. Erik's muscular chest was hard and warm; solid. He let himself press a hand to his heart, feeling the rhythmic beat. “Shit,” Conner muttered, his eyes squeezing closed as a hand went to his pulsing leg, “it hurts.”

“I’ll bet, dumbass,” Anthony said, though there was a worried look on his face. He smiled slightly, jokingly saying, “Whatcha fell over for?”

Conner simpered, looking around them. “So much for not leaving any traces,” he said, his eyes falling on the shattered window, scattered glass, the shot, the blood…it was obvious what had happened by just looking at the ground. “We should go, in case those people heard the noise and come back for us,” Conner said nervously.

“Didn't you hear me? We need to get you to the infirmary,” Erik sighed.

“No way!” Conner objected, looking up at Erik pleadingly. “I thought you were joking! They’ll know we were outside! We could—”

“They’ll know someone was out here anyway. Besides,” Erik grunted as he hoisted Conner up a little higher, “your injury matters way more than getting a slap on the wrist.”

“Not more than getting expelled,” Conner mumbled. He blinked up at Erik, asking timidly, “Am I heavy?”

Erik smiled. “You weigh a ton, what do you have in your pockets? Rocks?” As Erik and Anthony started walking back the way they came, still minding the cameras, Erik whispered in his ear, “Don’t worry, you’re light as a feather. My muscles are just cramped from being in that closet.”

Conner blushed, closing his eyes as he clutched Erik’s shirt in his hands. His leg was throbbing, he was cold, tired, and exhausted from being so terrified. “Erik,” he said, perhaps too loudly as they reached the school door, “please don’t take me to the infirmary—”

“And why,” a deep, loud, furious voice boomed over the entrance way, “would you need to go to the infirmary?”

The three of them looked up at where the dean and their dorm supervisors were standing in sleepwear, lividly glaring down at them.

Anthony sighed deeply. “Shit.”