Lana scrambled off the bed, heart hammering in her chest. She snatched her skirt from the floor, fumbling with the zipper as Joren sat up, wide-eyed and still half-naked.
"Shit, shit, shit,"
she muttered, tugging the fabric up her hips. "Why does he always show up when I'm least prepared?"
Joren blinked, grabbing his boxers.
"Least prepared? Lana, we're literally naked."
Another knock—louder this time.
"Lana! I said open up!"
She froze mid-button, recognizing the voice again. Her stomach dropped.
"Yep. That's him. That's definitely him."
Joren stood, pulling on his jeans with frantic hands.
"Do you have a plan, or are we just winging it?"
Lana glanced around the room, eyes landing on the window.
"Unless you've got invisibility powers, we're winging it."
She turned back to him, hair wild, shirt half-buttoned, skirt crooked.
"If he walks in and sees you here, we're not just finished—we're scorched."
She scanned the room like she was trying to mentally delete Joren from existence.
Joren sat up, hair a mess, jeans halfway on.
"Where do you want me to go? The metaverse?"
She pointed to the closet.
"Just—get in there and be quiet."
He stumbled toward it, knocking over a ring light and a pile of laundry.
"There's a yoga mat and a box of wigs in here."
"Shut up and crouch,"
she hissed, yanking the door halfway closed.
Another knock. Firmer.
"Lana! Open up!"
She froze, hoodie halfway on, skirt twisted.
"Oh my god. He's pissed. We're so done."
Joren's voice came muffled through the closet door.
"Tell him you're journaling or something."
She took a breath, ran a hand through her hair, and cracked the door open just enough to peek out.
"Hey… what's up?"
Her boyfriend stood there holding a small gift bag, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line.
"Hey,"
he said, voice softer than she expected.
"I came to say sorry. I was a dick earlier."
She blinked, caught off guard.
"Oh. Uh… thanks."
He held up the bag.
"It's that candle you like. The one that smells like vanilla."
She gave a weak laugh, taking the bag.
"You remembered."
"Of course I did." He leaned against the doorframe. "I've been thinking. Maybe we should talk. Like, properly."
Inside the closet, Joren shifted, trying to breathe through a hoodie and a yoga mat. He peered through the slats, catching sight of the guy. Not buff, but solid. The kind of guy who probably did push-ups during Zoom meetings. Joren frowned.
*Yeah… he could definitely knock me out.*
Lana nodded slowly, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Yeah, talking sounds good. Just… maybe not right now?"
Her boyfriend squinted. "Why not?"
She hesitated. "I was… journaling."
He tilted his head. "Out loud?"
Lana's stomach dropped.
"What?"
"I heard you talking. Just now. You said something about dating someone. And someone said 'Lay it on me.'"
He looked past her into the room.
"Who's here?"
Joren's eyes widened.
*Oh no. He heard that? That was me. That was my dumb line.*
Lana stepped into the doorway, blocking the view.
"No one's here. I was—uh—watching a video. A podcast. You know, one of those AI-generated dating advice things."
Her boyfriend raised an eyebrow.
"Dating advice that says 'Lay it on me'?"
She forced a laugh.
"It's edgy content. Very Gen Z."
He didn't laugh. "Move. Let me see."
Lana's heart thudded.
*We're cooked.*
She stepped aside, letting her boyfriend into the room with a tight smile that screamed please don't look too hard. He walked in slowly, scanning the space like he was expecting to find a ghost—or worse, a guy.
Joren, meanwhile, was crouched in the closet like a hunted animal. His knees were crammed against a yoga mat, his face half-buried in a pile of hoodies, and his heart was beating like crazy in his chest. Through the narrow slats, he watched Lana's boyfriend move around the room.
*Okay,* Joren thought. *He's not huge. But he's got that quiet rage build. The kind of guy who doesn't yell—he just throws hands when provoked.*
The boyfriend picked up a water bottle from the desk, turned it in his hand, then set it down.
"You sure no one's here?"
he asked, voice calm but clipped.
Lana nodded, arms crossed, trying to look casual. "Yeah. Just me."
He glanced at the bed, then the bathroom door, then the pile of clothes in the corner.
"You were talking to someone."
"I told you," she said, forcing a laugh.
"It was a podcast. One of those AI-generated dating shows. They say weird stuff to keep you engaged."
He raised an eyebrow.
"'Lay it on me' sounds like someone was laying something on someone."
Lana blinked.
"Okay, yeah, that line was questionable. But you know how algorithms are."
Joren's stomach gave a low, ominous gurgle. He winced.
*Not now. Not here. Not during a stealth mission.*
The boyfriend walked toward the closet. Joren's breath caught.
*Oh god. This is it. This is how I die. In a closet. Wearing one sock.*
But instead of opening it, the boyfriend turned and sat on the edge of the bed.
"I just wanted to make things right," he said, softer now. "I miss you."
Lana's face softened for a second.
"I know. I miss you too. I just… I needed space."
Joren, still crouched like a pretzel, felt another wave of stomach pain. Whatever he'd eaten at the bar—those suspicious wings or maybe the drinks—was staging a full-blown rebellion. He clenched everything, praying for silence.
The boyfriend stood up.
"Okay. I'll go. Just wanted to say I'm sorry."
Lana nodded, walking him to the door.
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
He turned, gave her a small smile, and stepped out.
The door clicked shut.
Lana exhaled, shoulders sagging.
We survived.
Then it happened.
A soft, unmistakable sound from the closet.
Pffft.
Lana froze. Her eyes widened. She turned slowly toward the closet like she was in a horror movie.
Joren's voice came out in a whisper.
"…I'm so sorry."
Lana stared at the closet, then burst out laughing. Not a cute giggle—a full, chaotic laugh that made her double over.
"Oh my god,"
she gasped between laughs. "You farted. You actually farted in the closet."
Joren groaned from inside.
"I was under pressure. Literal and emotional."
She walked over and opened the closet door. Joren was crouched like a broken action figure, face red.
"I think I ruptured something,"
he muttered.
Lana wiped tears from her eyes, still laughing.
"You're lucky he didn't hear that. Or smell it."
Joren blinked.
"Wait. You didn't hear the first one?"
Her jaw dropped.
"There was a first one?!"
He nodded solemnly.
Lana backed up, waving her hand in front of her nose.
"Okay, you should come out of my closet before you drop more bombshells."
Joren crawled out, groaning.
"I don't feel too good."
Lana stood by the closet, arms crossed, watching Joren crawl out like a man who'd just survived a natural disaster. His hair was wild, his shirt half-on, and his face looked like he'd aged five years in ten minutes.
"You good?" she asked, trying not to laugh again.
Joren groaned. "I think I left my dignity in that closet."
She snorted. "Pretty sure it left before the fart."
He gave her a look.
"Thanks for the support."
She walked over, grabbed the hoodie he'd dropped, and tossed it at him.
"Start with the hoodie. Then we'll talk about the close call."
Joren pulled the hoodie on, still catching his breath.
"So… about that whole 'considering dating me' thing…"
Lana raised an eyebrow.
"You mean the part where I dump my boyfriend and start something with the guy who just crop-dusted my closet?"
He winced. "Harsh but fair."
She stepped closer, eyes locked on his.
"Prove to me it's not a stupid idea."
Then she turned and walked toward the bathroom, leaving him standing there—half dressed, half panicked, and fully hooked.