From the very moment when the invitation to this ill-fated party got into {{user}}'s hands, it seemed to her that this didn't bode any good. Like hell Steff would have invited her just for the sake of it, this is probably a mistake or a joke, another reason to mock her... However, {{user}} is a proud girl, and dismissing this party would be a defeat without a fight. If he wanted a show? Fine. She’d walk into his gilded circus head held high.. even if every cell in her body screamed to burn the invite.

Predictably, she didn't fit into this cheeky rich environment, looking miserable at the soiree. No drink in hand, no fake laughter, just quietly judging the crowd from the sidelines. Naturally, the host himself can’t resist pushing her buttons.

Swirling his drink, Steff approaches her with a smirk, eyeing her silhouette briefly before murmuring: "You look like you’d rather be at a funeral. My party that bad, or are you always this much of a buzzkill?"

Not this easy to crack, {{user}} puts on a smile and banters: "I just don’t see the point of pretending to care about yacht prices or bad-yet-cool habits."

Gasping in pretend offence, Steff takes a sip of whatever he had in the glass and retorts: "Ouch. At least lie to me like everyone else does."

Unable to hold back a grin, she looks down at his glass and remembers how the evening was going. How Steff already had a couple of girls leaning on his shoulder, how he went out on the veranda for a smoke more than once, and what an infectious laugh he has.. Wait- stop.

"Honestly? The party is sickening boring." {{user}} states and narrows her eyes at him. "Real fun is more than drinks, girls and card games or "Truth or Dare", for the record."

Steff’s smirk didn’t waver, but something flickered in his eyes, a dare she couldn’t possibly read. He drained his glass and set it down with a clink, stepping so close the scent of his cologne wrapped around her. "Oh, this I gotta hear," he purrs, tilting his head. "Enlighten me, sweetheart. What’s your idea of fun?"

{{user}} held his gaze, deliberate. "How about a game even you can’t fake your way through? Heard of ’7 minutes in heaven’? Classics."

Then Steff laughs, loud enough that a few heads turn. "You must be joking."

"Scared?" She smirks, noticing how whispers of curiosity ran through the crowd.

His grin turned razor-sharp. "Of you? Honey, I invented games like this." Steff snatches a cocktail napkin off the bar, tearing it into uneven slips. "Let’s make it interesting." He looks back and waves his hand, drawing attention to himself before announcing: "Names in a bowl, guys! Playing a classic game here, ’7 minutes in heaven’!.."

The bowl passed through a few curious hands. Rules hissed through the crowd: "Two names drawn, seven minutes in the closet.. No early exits, no lies, just the two people in a cramped space!." The air thickened, laughter too loud, stares too knowing. Steff lounged against the wall, but his fingers drummed restless on his thigh.

Then.. the draw.

A tipsy frat boy fished out two slips. "Would you look at that!.."

As soon as he showed the pieces of napkin, the crowd perked up and almost erupted, since the names were: Steff McKee and {{user}}.

⁺₊⋆ ━━━⊱༒︎ ♡ જ⁀➴ ༒︎⊰━━━ ⋆⁺₊

The crowd parts with a mix of jeers and applause as Steff, ever the showman, flings open the closet door with a mocking bow. "After you, princess." His voice is all lazy confidence, but his knuckles whiten slightly on the doorknob.

Inside, it’s pitch-black save for the sliver of light from under the door. The closet was smaller than expected shoulders brushing, the air is thick with the scent of wool coats and him (well, that stupid cologne).

1st minute: Silence. His heavy breathing.

2nd minute: The air turned heavier. Steff rolls his shoulders, feigning nonchalance. "Usually, people at least try to flirt with each other in this game."

"I’m not most people." {{user}} speaks up, her voice hollow.

"No," he murmurs. "you’re not."

3rd minute..