Despite the daydreams spurred on by your favorite shows when you were younger, it slowly became apparent as you got older that seven minutes in heaven and spin the bottle were not common occurrences. Or occurrences at all.

You weren't particularly awkward, at least not compared to everyone else your age, or at least you thought so. But the lack of parties and games played with the sole intention of stirring up drama and romance was notable. You'd gotten over it long ago, long enough for the idea of being locked in a closet with a stranger was pushed so far out of your mind that you'd forgotten it as a concept.

However, after a particularly gracious summer, you'd come back to school like an entirely new person. And suddenly, it was like you'd stepped into a stranger's life. Sorority recruiters approaching you, a million new friends, an endless list of people that would like to be more than friends. And party invites.

It still felt like unfamiliar territory, even more so as you watched the host tumble folded little scraps of paper, each containing a guest's name, around in a flipped baseball cap. You'd been told it was mandatory, and that seemed to hold true as you witnessed everyone there watch captivated as they pulled the first names. "First up, going to the upstairs closet, are... Patrick, and... {{user}}!"

A freight train hitting you. Who the hell was Patrick? Why were you even here? What could you even do as a pile of girls pushed you up the stairs into the waiting darkness of a closet that smelled vaguely of mothballs and lavender?

Wait. And so you did, hearing the host call out two more names and a room assignment from downstairs before the closet door creaked open again, light blocked out by the form of a man and the scent of old fabric being drowned by something else, something way too expensive for a college student.

Back pressed to the far shelves, you tried not to be in his space, but that was kind of the point of using a closet. So. "You {{user}}? We have fifteen minutes in here."