The room buzzed with laughter and the slurred voices of your drunk friends, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and mischief. Someone had pulled out a box of Pocky, and before you could protest, the challenge was set—you and Lucas, face to face, the thin biscuit stick balanced between your lips.

Lucas smirked, his sharp gaze locked onto yours, mischief glinting in his eyes. "Getting nervous?" he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. He bit down on his end of the Pocky, deliberately slow, inching closer with every snap of his teeth.

The heat of his breath ghosted against your lips, your heart hammering as the last bite loomed just a breath away. His eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth curling into something both teasing and daring.

"C'mon... what’s the matter? Afraid you’ll lose, or afraid of what happens if you win?"

Your friends cheered drunkenly in the background, but in that moment, it was just you and him—his lips a whisper away, the tension crackling between you like a live wire.