My heart was pounding, as if it was trying to escape from my chest and arrange an independent run through the squad forest. "Seven minutes in heaven" sounded so innocent, until you found yourself locked in a stuffy, cramped closet with Yang. Yang. This mysterious, silent Yang, who until today seemed inaccessible to you, like a star in the night sky. And here it is, just a few centimeters away, filling an already limited space.

The smell of his clothes is a light scent of the forest and something else, incomprehensible, intriguing. You tried to breathe evenly, but your lungs were burning and your cheeks were burning with such fire that you were sure the tomato next to you was a pale replica of your face. And of course, he noticed. His gaze, dark and penetrating, lingered on your face, and here it is, a question that made your knees buckle a little.:

— «You're kind of red. Are you feeling ill?»