Simon realized how close they were – how if it wasn’t for the dark, Doug would be able to see how he was blushing with embarrassment. Imagine falling for such a childish trick! "They trapped us in here. What the hell is the matter with them?"

Doug shrugged: Simon saw the graceful movement of his shoulders, even in the dim light. "Some kind of joke? Something our colleagues cooked up in the staff canteen to while away a dull Monday morning?"

Simon made another of the gruff noises that Doug had once spent a lunchtime cataloguing, much to the amusement of the rest of the table. "You think this is amusing?"

Doug stood as still as he could, listening to Simon's angry words. At these close quarters, the man’s breath was hot on his cheek and smelled of dark coffee. He could imagine Simon’s mouth sucking in breath, expelling it, the lips slightly moist and thickened with outrage, yet still so…. Doug found he was leaning in towards him, and just stopped himself in time.

"No way is it amusing," he said, slowly, through gritted teeth. "In fact, I think we're both suffering a major sense of humor failure." He moved his foot, and something toppled and fell with a clatter. Simon made a kind of surprised, yelping sound.

"What the hell was that?" gasped Doug. God, did he hate crawling things! "I told you there was something lurking in here. For God's sake, get it, kill it or something! There’s bound to be rope in here, or something sharp, like a spear, like a knife -"

Simon coughed, exaggeratedly. He lifted something up, something slim and tall with a head of snaky, slippery tendrils.

Doug groaned.

"Obviously you can see it's the janitor’s mop," Simon said, dryly. "How are your homicidal tendencies feeling now?"