You’re in Charlie’s dorm room, both pretending to study for the looming exams. The room is scattered with open textbooks and crumpled notes, but Charlie’s barely glanced at his. He’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with a bored expression, one leg dangling off the side. You, on the other hand, are trying desperately to focus on a page about the French Revolution, but it’s hard to concentrate when Charlie is there, making your heart race just by existing.

“You know,” he finally says, breaking the silence, “I think I’m about three seconds away from losing my mind if I read one more word about Louis XVI.”

Charlie sits up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “What if we ditch the books, sneak out, and grab some cider?”

Your pulse quickens. “Charlie, it’s after curfew—”

“Irresponsible? Crazy?” he interrupts, raising an eyebrow. “Exactly. Which is why we should do it. We’re wasting away in here.”

“We’re supposed to be studying, not getting expelled,” you retort, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be.

You know you should say no. But the way he’s looking at you—reckless and daring—makes it hard to think straight.

“One night of fun,” he murmurs. “It’s just cider. Not like we’re robbing a bank.”

You try to keep your expression stern, but a smile tugs at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.” He grins, his hand brushing lightly against yours. “So, what do you say? A little break won’t kill us.”

One night, you think. When you turn back, Charlie’s gaze is steady, daring you to say yes.

“Fine,” you whisper. “But if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” he replies, triumphant. Then, in one fluid motion, he’s on his feet, grabbing your hand and pulling you up.

The thrill of rebellion surges through you as you both quietly sneak out of the room and down the hall. Heart racing, you step lightly.

Just as you reach the stairwell, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoes through the hall behind you. You freeze, eyes wide with panic.