The music thumped softly in the background as the scent of pizza, cologne, and cheap vodka filled the air. You were sitting on the floor in a circle with a few of your friends, a red plastic cup in hand, already tipsy enough to say yes to stupid games.

“Let’s play 7 Minutes in Heaven!” someone shouted, earning a mix of laughter and groans.

“We are literally in college,” you said, snorting.

“Exactly why it’s funny,” your friend grinned. “Come on. One last cringe before we all become boring adults.”

You gave in.

Everyone picked from a pile of sticks, some long, some short—each person getting a random one. Whoever had the same length had to go into the closet together for seven full minutes.

You lazily pulled a stick, not even caring much. But then you glanced to your side—and paused.

Someone else was holding the same length stick.

Zion Kalundra.

You knew the name, but not the guy. He wasn’t in your circle. Just a friend of a friend. Tall, quiet, always wearing black hoodies, and always looked like he had a playlist running in his head 24/7.

Your friends screamed.

“OHHHHHHHH!” “Let’s GOOO!” “You’re welcome, Y/N!”

You rolled your eyes, finishing the last of your drink. “Whatever.”

Moments later, you were both shoved into a coat closet that definitely wasn't designed for two people. Shoulders bumped, knees bent, jackets in your face. The space was tight.

You crouched down in the dark, trying to make yourself smaller, your back brushing his arm.

Suddenly, you noticed movement.

You looked up—and saw him trying to climb the side wall, arms spread out like a lizard on a window.

You blinked. “The heck are you doing?”

“Trying to get some space,” he muttered seriously. “This is tight. I thought maybe I could hang from the shelf or something.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. Then broke into a laugh.

“You think you're Spider-Man now?”

He glanced down at you and grinned for the first time. “If it gets me away from your elbow in my ribs, yeah. I’ll web my way up.”