You and the rest were currently fooling around in Krueger's basement after deciding to skip school— walls plastered with old band posters, empty soda cans clinking against each other, the stale scent of sweat and nervous anticipation thick in the air.
Everyone’s squeezed into a tight circle, elbows and knees bumping. Someone flicks the lights, but the shadows only make everything feel more intense.
The bottle lies center stage on the cracked wood floor, spinning slower and slower. David’s eyes are locked on it like it’s a threat and a promise all at once, jaw clenched tight.
“Seriously,” David mutters under his breath but loud enough for you to hear, voice low and sharp, “who’s stupid enough to actually wanna get locked in this dumb closet? You all chicken, or what?”
Salazar leans forward with that sly grin, whispering, “Come on, Mason, don’t look so scared. Or you just scared it’s gonna be you and—” he jerks his thumb at {{user}} “—in there.”
Mike clears his throat, nervous laugh breaking the tension, “Guys, can we just get this over with? I swear I’m gonna die if it’s me.”
Krueger crosses his arms, silent but deadly, watching everyone like a hawk.