The bass from the speakers thrummed through the walls of the beach house, mixing with the distant crash of waves and the occasional cheer from the crowd. The living room was packed with sweaty bodies and red solo cups, the air thick with heat and the scent of cheap beer. You weren’t even sure whose party it was — just that it was someone rich, someone from Figure Eight, and you were only here because your friend had dragged you along.

You sat cross-legged in a circle of about ten people, half-kooks, half-randoms, while a half-empty bottle spun lazily on the wooden floor. The game had started off harmless enough — a few dares, some kisses, the usual party antics — until it landed on you.

"Truth or dare?" Sarah Cameron asked with a sly smirk, her voice carrying over the music.

You narrowed your eyes. “Dare.”

A few people whooped at that, already sensing the tension that had been simmering all night.

“Alright,” Sarah grinned wider, eyes flicking across the circle. “I dare you and Rafe to play 7 Minutes in Heaven.”

The air shifted. Conversations paused. Rafe, who had been leaning against the couch behind the group with a drink in hand, lifted his head at the sound of his name.

He met your eyes across the circle. His expression unreadable. A flicker of amusement? Intrigue? You couldn’t tell — all you knew was your pulse had picked up, and your throat suddenly felt dry.

“No backing out,” someone called. “Rules are rules.”

Rafe took a slow sip of his drink, then set it down, pushing off the couch. “Ladies first,” he said smoothly, motioning to the hallway closet like a perfect gentleman with a devil’s grin.

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was thundering as you stood. All eyes followed as you walked toward the closet, Rafe’s heavy steps following behind you.

The door shut behind the two of you, and everything went silent.

Seven minutes had never felt so long.