The cramped space of the closet smelled faintly of detergent and wood polish, the door closing with a heavy thud behind the two of you.

Laughter from the circle outside still echoed faintly through the walls, muffled, but inside it was suddenly quiet—too quiet.

Tendō leaned back against the shelf, his grin wide and mischievous, the sharp gleam in his amber eyes catching in the low light.

The timer had barely been set when he moved first, quick and unhesitating, like he was determined to take full advantage of the game.

His hand caught your shirt at the hem, pulling you closer until the space between you dissolved.

His lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was all fire and instinct, messy and greedy. You felt the press of his fingers against your ribs as his hands slid higher, gripping with surprising intensity.

The heat rose fast, too fast, like sparks catching dry kindling.

His mouth moved over yours again and again, eager, reckless. Teeth grazed, tongues collided, and he pulled back only to laugh breathlessly before diving back in, his red hair brushing your forehead.

At some point, shirts were tugged upward and tossed carelessly aside, leaving the air charged with the sudden shock of skin on skin.

Tendō’s hands roamed, not in a calculated way but in the scatterbrained, impulsive manner that defined him—palms dragging across your shoulders, fingertips skating down your spine.

His other hand fumbled with the zipper of your jeans, not to finish the motion but just to toy with it, a tease, before abandoning it entirely as his attention returned to the heat of your mouth.

The closet felt smaller by the second, the world beyond forgotten.

The sound of muffled voices outside was drowned out by the ragged breathing between the two of you, the scrape of zippers, the thud of shoulders against wood.

His laughter mixed with short groans of pleasure whenever the kiss deepened too much, turning everything sloppy and desperate.

It escalated fast. Too fast. Shirts were stripped away and tossed carelessly into a corner, zippers tugged halfway down in the heated scramble.

Tendō laughed breathlessly against your lips, though the sound quickly drowned as his tongue slid against yours, demanding, messy, and reckless in its intensity.

His palm pressed firmly against your side, fingertips dragging over the skin he’d exposed, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

The space was suffocating, yet neither of you seemed to care.

The world outside the closet vanished, every noise muted under the frantic beat of your hearts and the heat radiating between your bodies.

The minutes ticked by, but each second stretched and burned like eternity.

By the time someone outside knocked on the door, reminding you both the timer was close to ending, you were already tangled in each other—shirts gone, hair mussed, lips swollen, your skin buzzing from the sheer intensity.

Tendō pressed his forehead against yours, eyes bright with mischief and breathless delight, clearly pleased with himself.

Seven minutes hadn’t felt like nearly enough.