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"Calculator... Calculator..." Jonathan mutters under his breath as he searches the supply room for a calculator that the math teacher asked for—if this crappy little cubicle can even be called a supply room. It's so tiny, barely big enough to fit two people, and the only things it has here are some papers, tools, old art supplies, and a projector so old you could say it was stolen from Berlin by the Red Army in 1945. Jonathan sighs in annoyance as he doesn't find what he's asked to come here for. "Crap..."
The door, which is always left ajar, opens wide, and another person enters the tiny room, bumping against Jonathan.
"Oomph... Oi! Watch it— Byers?!" Of course it had to be Harrington. Jonathan's eyes widen as he feels Steve's chest bumping against his side, and he sees Steve's eyes widening as well at seeing him. "Uh... What are you doing here?" He asks, voice slightly uncomfortable.
"Came here to find a spare calculator for Ms. Ingram. You?"
"Ms. MacElroy told me to come here and get her a framestan."
"A what?" Jonathan cocks his head slightly to the left, akin to a confused puppy, and realization dawns on him. He sighs. "Steve... No such thing exists. She just wanted to get rid of you the whole period."
"Huh?!" Steve hisses at being fooled by the English teacher. Again. "Damn that Irish witch. I swear to God I'll—"
"What's that in your hand?"
"Huh—?" Steve raises his hand. He's still holding on to the handle. "Oh, shit...!"
Jonathan peeks over Steve's shoulder, and yep, handle-less door. Meaning they're trapped in here. "You closed the door?!"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Because the handle's broken! Has been for a year already! Everyone knows that, Steve!"
"I didn't know!"
"Well, that much is clear!" Jonathan huffs in annoyance and grabs the handle from Steve's hand, trying to shove past him, but the limited space of this damn cubicle makes it almost impossible, and he rubs against Steve.
"H-hey!" Steve blushes as he feels Jonathan's legs rub against his. He tries moving out of the way, but ends up bumping against a shelf, knocking a small box of spare paint brushes that fall on his head. "O-ow... Son of a bitch."
Jonathan tries putting the handle back, but with the blasted mechanism broken, the handle won't connect. He knocks on the door and calls for help, but the hall's empty. Great. Just great. He's trapped in this accursed, tiny closet-sized room with Steve Harrington of all people! Jonathan persists, trying to put the handle back on while also knocking on the door. "Damn it!" He curses, nudging at the door.
Meanwhile, Steve feels Jonathan rubbing against him. He closes his eyes, only one thing on his mind, "Ted Wheeler in a bra! Ted Wheeler in a bra! Ted Wheeler in a bra! Ted Wheeler in a bra!" His eyes shut with so much force they almost enter his skull. Steve takes a step back, trying to create some space between him and Jonathan inside this cubicle, but ends up tripping on the box of brushes and falls to the floor. He yelps in surprise and falls to the floor, his leg shooting up and hitting Jonathan's knees, making him fall as well. Steve's back hits the floor with a loud thud, and Jonathan falls on top of him, their lips almost connecting.
"U-uh..."
"Errrr..."
They both blush in embarrassment and try scooting away, but there's not enough space in the supply room. Steve's leg is wrapped around Jonathan's legs, and Jonathan's right on top of Steve, preventing him from getting up. "TED WHEELER IN A BRA! TED WHEELER IN A BRA! TED WHEELER IN A BRA! TED WHEELER IN A BRA!" Steve's mind repeats the mantra as loud as possible, tho he can feel his whole face growing warmer. Meanwhile, inside Jonathan's head... "LONNIE IN A BRA! LONNIE IN A BRA! LONNIE IN A BRA! LONNIE IN A BRA!" His mouth is agape like a fish's, and he shuffles, trying to wiggle free. Steve feels his throat getting dry; he's now trying to imagine Ted Wheeler and Hopper in bras, but it's useless. Jonathan's too close for his liking. Close enough to feel Jonathan's hair tickling his nose, to smell the scent of his shampoo, his perfume, the smell of fabric softener on Jonathan's clothes. Why the hell does Jonathan smell so nice?! Jonathan's mind is in no better state. He can imagine Lonnie with a bra, curlers on his hair, and red nail polish as much as he wants, but it's useless; he feels his whole body getting red and hot as he stares at Steve's beautiful brown eyes, his red lips, soft skin, and luscious hair. Damn, this is too awkward and hot at the same time.
The door to the room opens with a little creak, and both boys' heads snap towards the door, their eyes widening at the sight of Robin Buckley, eyeing them with an unamused expression while sipping on a bottle of water.
"It's not what it looks like!"
"We can explain!"
"Don't care." Robin shrugs and caps her bottle. "What you do inside the closet is your business. Not mine." She eyes the supply room with a quirked eyebrow. "Where do they keep the framestans? Ms. MacElroy sent me to get one."
"See, Byers? I'm not the only one who fell for that witch's trick!"
Jonathan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Whatever. Just don't close the door, Rob—"
Click.
"O-oops..." Ah shit, here we go again. "Sooooo, if we're going to spend the whole period here, where do I stay? Like ... Do I get to lie down on your men pile, too?"
"NO!"
"NO!"