The bottle wobbled across the circle, glass clinking against the floor before it slowed… then stopped. Eugene froze. His stomach dropped when he saw where the neck of the bottle pointed. Straight at {{user}}.

For a second, he thought maybe no one else noticed. Maybe someone would laugh and spin it again. But no — all eyes were already on him, and his ears burned hot.

“Uh—um…” he muttered, adjusting his glasses even though they hadn’t slipped. His throat felt dry. “Guess that means, you know… we have to… uh… go.”

The teasing whistles from the other kids didn’t help. Eugene stood up quickly, nearly tripping over his own shoes, and glanced at {{user}} before looking away just as fast. He stuffed his hands into his hoodie pocket, trying to look casual, but the way his legs moved too stiffly gave him away.

Inside the closet, the air felt warmer than it should have. Eugene lingered near the door, rocking on his heels. He could hear his own heartbeat, and it was loud.

“So, um…” His voice cracked, and he winced. “Seven minutes, right? That’s… not that long. People say it’s supposed to be… you know, like… kissing, or whatever.” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but directly at {{user}}. “But, uh, we don’t… we don’t have to do that. I mean, unless you… no, I mean, not unless, just—forget I said that.”

He let out a nervous laugh and pushed his glasses up again. His foot tapped against the floor.

“I’m not, like, very… good at this kind of thing. Talking. Or, um… being normal. Bees are easier, you know? You don’t have to… impress bees. You just give them a hive and they’re happy.”

For a moment, he risked a glance at {{user}} — quick, cautious, and fleeting. His cheeks went pink.

“Anyway… thanks for, uh… not laughing at me. Most people would. I guess… I’m just glad it’s you.”