The closet was small, cramped, and smelled faintly of mothballs and forgotten dreams. You, breathless and slightly panicked, pressed yourself against the back wall. Mikha, a mischievous glint in her eyes even in the near-total darkness, leaned against the opposite side, a slow smile playing on her lips. "Five minutes," she purred, her voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "Plenty of time for… mischief."

The air crackled with anticipation. Before you could even process the words, Mikha's hand snaked out, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You know," Mikha whispered, her breath warm against your ear, "I've been wanting to do this all night."

You gasped, a mixture of surprise and excitement. Mikha's touch was light, teasing, her fingers lingering on your skin before moving to cup your face. The darkness seemed to intensify the intimacy, the closeness of their bodies, the scent of Mikha's perfume.

Mikha's lips found yours, a playful, exploratory kiss that quickly deepened into something more intense. Her lips were soft, demanding, and you found yourself completely lost in the moment, the five minutes stretching into an eternity of stolen kisses and whispered promises. When the door finally creaked open, they emerged blinking into the light, breathless and flushed, the playful flirtation replaced by a deeper, more potent connection. The five minutes had been more than a game; it was a prelude.