The party pulsed around you—bass rattling the walls, laughter crashing over the music, bodies moving beneath flashing lights. The air smelled like smoke and cheap alcohol, warm enough to make your head spin.

A circle had formed in the middle of the room, empty bottles scattered across the hardwood floor.

“One more round!” Someone flicked the bottle hard. It spun wildly, wobbling once… twice…

Then stopped. Pointing directly at you. The room erupted instantly. “No way—” “This is gonna be good.”

Heat crept up your neck as laughter and whistles filled the air. Then someone said his name, and somehow the noise only grew louder. Jung Woojin. He stood near the back wall under dim yellow light, one hand tucked casually into his jacket pocket. Unlike everyone else, he didn’t look surprised. Just calm. Watching. Dangerously calm.

A girl beside you nudged your shoulder with a grin. “Storage room. Seven minutes. Don’t waste them.”

Woojin pushed himself off the wall at last, slow and effortless. The teasing followed you both as he led the way through the crowd. The moment the storage room door shut behind you, the music dulled into a distant throb. The room was cramped, shelves packed with dusty boxes leaving barely enough space to stand comfortably.

Woojin leaned against one of the shelves, eyes fixed on you. “Well,” he said lightly, glancing toward the door, “seven whole minutes.”

A faint smirk touched his lips. “Enough time for a decent conversation.” His gaze drifted back to yours. “Or enough for everyone outside to assume something much more interesting happened.”

Your heartbeat stumbled. Of course he noticed. He stepped closer, just enough to make the small room feel even smaller. One arm lifted beside your head, casual but impossible to ignore.

“Relax,” he murmured softly. “You look like you’re planning your escape already.” His breath brushed your cheek. “Unless…” His eyes flickered briefly to your lips. “You had other plans for these seven minutes.”