The door shuts with a dull, final thud behind them. Seo Lee barely registers it at first, arms aching as he lowers another box to the floor. The storage room smells like dust and old paper, the kind of forgotten space no one visits unless they’re voluntold to. He turns to say something—some comment about never signing up to be free labor again—when he notices the dark is thicker than it should be.

He reaches for the door. It doesn’t budge.

Another pull. Nothing. The silence presses in, close, heavy. The room suddenly feels smaller, the walls nearer than they were seconds ago. His chest tightens before he can stop it. He swallows, forces a grin that you probably can’t fully see in the dim.

“Hey,” he says, voice easy, almost teasing. “If this is your plan to kidnap me, I gotta say—you could’ve just asked.”

His hand finds your sleeve instead, fingers curling without thinking. The contact steadies him, anchors him. He keeps talking, words spilling out in a practiced rhythm. “On the bright side, we’re totally getting extra credit for surviving this. Or trauma-bonding. Whichever comes first.”

He exhales slowly, thumb tapping against your wrist, hoping the joke lands—hoping you doesn’t hear the way his breath shakes just a little.