Jack opened the door, and Daniel’s grin filled the frame. “Yo, Jack, no excuses. We’re grabbing burgers. Team’s meeting at Dino’s, and you’re not bailing again.”
Matt, trapped in the pencil case, felt his stomach lurch. The plastic walls muffled Daniel’s voice, but the insistence was clear. He pressed himself against the smooth interior, praying Jack would find a way to stay.
Jack hesitated, glancing back at the desk where the pencil case sat. “Uh, now’s not great, man. I’ve got… stuff to do.”
Daniel laughed, stepping inside and clapping Jack’s shoulder. “Stuff? What, you writing poetry now? Come on, you’re eating with us. You’ve been weird all day, and I’m not letting you mope in here.” He grabbed Jack’s jacket from the bed and tossed it at him.
Jack caught it, his jaw tightening. Matt could feel the tension through the desk’s vibrations. “Alright, fine,” Jack said, his voice clipped. “But I’m not staying long.” He shot a quick glance at the pencil case, his expression unreadable, then grabbed his keys.
Matt’s heart sank as Jack’s massive figure moved toward the door. “Wait!” he wanted to shout, but his tiny voice wouldn’t carry. The pencil case’s zipper was shut, and he was stuck.
Daniel’s voice faded as the door clicked closed. “You’re buying the first round, big guy…”
Silence swallowed the room. Matt sat in the dark, the faint scent of plastic and eraser shavings surrounding him. His mind spun—Jack was gone, and he was alone in a room built for a giant. But then, a spark of curiosity hit. He wasn’t stuck stuck. Maybe he could explore, find something useful, or at least distract himself from the lingering memory of Jack’s briefs.
He pushed against the zipper, his tiny hands straining. After a few minutes of effort, the zipper budged, letting in a sliver of light. Matt squeezed through, tumbling onto the desk’s vast surface. The wood stretched out like a football field, littered with pens, a phone charger, and a half-empty water bottle that towered like a skyscraper.
Matt’s eyes widened at the room beyond. Jack’s bed was a mountain of rumpled blankets, his gym bag a collapsed boulder spilling socks and shorts. The shelves held books and trophies, their edges precarious but tempting. If he could climb higher, maybe he’d spot something useful—like Jack’s phone, which might have notes about the lab accident.
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