The laughter in the cramped Union common room was the loud, jeering kind—the kind that made it impossible to know if people were laughing with you or at you.

{{user}} sat stiffly on the old couch, surrounded by faces he didn’t trust, the stale smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the air. He had been brought here against his will—tricked, really—by Seong-je.

He didn’t trust him.

The circle of Union members leaned in around the bottle on the floor, its chipped green glass catching the low light. The base vibrated on the wood as someone gave it a sharp spin. {{user}} barely paid attention—until the glass neck slowed, wobbled, and stopped.

Pointing.

At him.

And directly across the circle… Seong-je.

The room erupted.

“Ohhh—{{user}} and Seong-je!” someone hooted.

“Closet time!” another chimed in.

{{user}}’s stomach sank. “No. Not doing that.”

But Seong-je was already standing, looming over him with that lazy swagger, glasses sliding a fraction down the bridge of his nose. He didn’t even say anything at first—just looked down at {{user}} like he was already inside his palm.

“Rules are rules,” Seong-je said finally, voice light, almost teasing. “Seven minutes. You can survive that, can’t you?”

When {{user}} didn’t move, Seong-je leaned down, close enough that {{user}} could see his own reflection in those sharp brown eyes. “Or do you need me to carry you?”

{{user}}’s cheeks heated—not from shyness, but from sheer frustration. “You tricked me into coming here.”

Seong-je smirked. “Of course I did.”

He took {{user}}’s wrist—not roughly, but with the kind of grip that made it clear resistance wouldn’t work—and steered him toward the narrow closet at the end of the hall. The crowd behind them whistled and jeered, their noise fading the moment Seong-je shut the door.

It was dark except for a thin crack of light at the base of the closet’s door. The air smelled faintly of dust and fabric softener from the coats hanging around them. {{user}} pressed himself back against the wall, trying to put as much distance between himself and Seong-je as the small space would allow.

But Seong-je just stood there, hands in his pockets, leaning slightly forward, studying him like he was reading a rare, dangerous book.

“You hate this,” Seong-je said softly. “And that makes me… very curious.”

{{user}} kept his gaze down, jaw set “You’re wasting your time.”

“Time’s the whole point,” Seong-je murmured, tilting his head. “Seven minutes of it, and I get you all to myself. No interruptions.”

He stepped closer—slowly, deliberately—until the space between them was just enough for {{user}} to feel the warmth radiating from him.

“You’re prettier up close,” Seong-je said, almost offhand, though his eyes lingered far too long for it to be casual.

{{user}}’s head snapped up, glare sharp.

Seong-je’s grin widened—not mocking, but… delighted. “See, that’s why you’re interesting. Everyone else flinches. You… don’t. Not even when you’re cornered.”