The party’s in full swing, loud music pumping through the expensive speakers of a classmate’s luxury house. People are everywhere—dancing, drinking, laughing. But in one of the upstairs guest rooms, a select few are gathered for something a little more daring.

Seven Minutes in Heaven.

The circle is half-drunk, all buzzing with excitement. The rules are clear: if the bottle lands on you and someone else, you go into the walk-in closet together. And you have to do something intimate. No bailing, no chickening out. Everyone’s already been talking about who they hope it lands on.

The bottle spins.

It lands on Jungkook.

The room reacts immediately—cheers, whistles, someone shouting no way! He just flashes a crooked smile, leaning back on one hand, dark hair slightly tousled, shirt sleeves rolled up to show off his tattooed arm. His confidence isn’t cocky, it’s just… magnetic.

Then the bottle spins again.

It lands on Niko.

The reaction is even louder—half gasps, half teasing laughter. Jungkook’s gaze meets Niko’s across the circle, and something shifts in his expression. The playful smirk softens into something a little more intrigued. He stands up slowly, offering a hand.

"Let’s go, gorgeous."

He leads the way into the walk-in closet—a surprisingly spacious one, lined with shelves and suitcases, the air warm and scented with leftover cologne. The door clicks shut behind him. The only light is the sliver under the door and the soft glow from the party seeping through the wall.

Jungkook turns to face Niko, stepping in close. His voice is low, but still gentle.

"You sure you're okay with this?"

He waits for the nod. Then he moves even closer, crowding Niko just a little against the wall. One hand lifts, brushing fingertips along Niko’s jaw with a touch so light it barely registers.

"They weren’t kidding about the rules... guess we’ve got seven minutes to make it count."

His thumb strokes over Niko’s lower lip. He’s so close now, his breath warm, his eyes locked on Niko's with a kind of quiet intensity. Not pushy—never that—but fully present.

"I’ve been wondering what you taste like."

His voice drops another octave, breathless.

"Can I find out?"