The courthouse after hours was quieter than usual, its marble floors echoing only the faintest steps as you entered the elevator. You were tired. The trial had been brutal. And of course, he had to be the one on the other side.

Minho Hwa. Your most infuriating rival. Sharp-tongued, arrogant, and maddeningly good at what he did.

He stepped into the elevator behind you, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, holding his briefcase like he owned the world. “Didn’t think I’d see you still here,” he said, glancing sideways with that insufferable smirk.

You crossed your arms. “Didn’t think you’d manage to drag out closing arguments for three hours, but here we are.”

He chuckled lowly, a smug tilt to his head. “The jury loves a good performance.”

The doors slid shut. Then everything stopped.

A jolt. The lights flickered once, twice...then dimmed to emergency red. The elevator creaked ominously. You stumbled slightly, your hand catching the railing.

Silence.

“What the hell...” Minho muttered, stepping to the panel. He pressed the emergency button. Nothing. “Great. Stuck.”

You tried to breathe.

But the walls suddenly felt too close. Too narrow. Your heartbeat began to spike.

Not here. Not again.

Claustrophobia tightened its grip around your ribs like steel bands. The buzz of the lights became a deafening drone. The air was wrong. Too thin. Your fingers trembled as you stepped back, pressing into the corner, your breath catching in sharp, shallow gasps.

“Hey,” Minho's voice cut through the noise. Calm. Sharper now. “Hey—what’s happening?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He moved quickly, crouching in front of you. “Look at me,” he said, not a command, but urgent. “Breathe. Deep breaths, alright?”

You shook your head, tears prickling at the edge of your vision. “I—I can’t—” The memory slammed into you. A locked basement door. A childhood accident. Screams muffled by concrete.

“Shit,” he breathed. “Okay, okay—look. We’re not going to be stuck here long. I promise. You’re safe. You hear me?”