The living room pulsed with music, the air thick with the smell of beer, cheap perfume, and too many bodies crammed together. You’d been leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing a drink and trying to ignore Harris across the room — his arm slung around his girlfriend, Alicia, like he owned the place.

That’s when someone yelled over the music, “Seven Minutes in Heaven!”

You rolled your eyes, ready to slip out the back before someone dragged you into the stupid game. But fate had other plans. A grinning classmate pulled a slip from the hat, read it out loud, and smirked.

“You… and Harris Bowers.”

The room erupted in laughter and catcalls. You shot Harris a look, expecting him to scoff, refuse, maybe toss some smart remark your way. Instead, he exchanged a quick glance with Alicia — who looked more amused than angry — and then stood up, sauntering toward the closet like he was walking into a dare he couldn’t lose.

“Come on, princess,” he said over his shoulder, the smirk clear in his voice. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

You hesitated for a beat, heat crawling up your neck, not because you wanted to go but because you refused to look like a coward in front of him — or anyone else here.

Inside the closet, the door clicked shut behind you, cutting off most of the party noise. The space was cramped, shadows swallowing the both of you. You crossed your arms, leaning back against the wall, meeting his eyes in the dark.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned.

He chuckled low, stepping just close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him. “Relax. I’m not gonna kiss you.” His pause was deliberate, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Unless you want me to.”