The closet was cramped, the faint scent of jackets and coats hanging heavily in the air. Seven minutes. The rules of the game were simple.

Everyone else was laughing and cheering outside, oblivious to the slow, creeping panic building in your chest.

Tokoyami stood beside you, rigid, still, arms at his sides like a soldier at attention, and the shadows behind him shifted nervously, as if they, too, were aware of how awkward this moment had become.

He cleared his throat—deep, resonant, like a drumbeat in a quiet room. “This… is unusual,” he said, voice low, and you could feel the weight of Dark Shadow curling at his sides, sensing the tension.

He wasn’t wrong. Seven minutes was supposed to be fleeting. Fun. Lighthearted. Not this.

Tokoyami’s black feathers ruffled slightly, a subtle display of agitation—or maybe embarrassment. He shifted his weight, taking one careful step back and immediately having to correct himself as the space in the closet compressed further.

The silence stretched, oppressive, broken only by the faint scrape of coat hangers against the rod.

“I… do not usually participate in games of chance,” he admitted quietly, almost muttering to himself, though his gaze stayed locked on you. “This… proximity… is… uncomfortable.”

Dark Shadow twitched, a low rumble vibrating through the air as if it too disapproved. It shifted uneasily behind him, brushing a shadowy tendril along the floor, reinforcing the divide between you.

Tokoyami’s hand twitched, instinctively, perhaps to adjust the space between you—but he froze, realizing the gesture would only make it worse.

Minutes passed. You could hear the faint laughter outside, but in the closet, time seemed suspended.

Tokoyami’s breathing was steady, controlled, but you could feel the slight tension in his posture, the subtle rigidness that screamed: I have no idea how to handle this.

“I… am not suited to… frivolity of this sort,” he said finally, voice tight, almost cracking under the weight of social awkwardness.

Dark Shadow pressed closer to him, feathers bristling, creating an almost physical barrier. “Seven… minutes…” he glanced at a pocketwatch he had somehow pulled from his coat, “…is far too long for such… circumstances.”

His words were precise, formal, unnecessarily tense. The closet felt smaller with every passing second, and the shadows seemed to pulse, as though reflecting his inner turmoil.

Tokoyami’s gaze flicked to you and then away, a blush—or the closest thing to one a shadowed creature could muster—creeping across his feathers.

“And… I do not know what to say.” He inhaled slowly, trying to maintain composure, but the tremor in his hands betrayed him.

Dark Shadow twitched impatiently, as if sensing that Tokoyami’s inability to navigate human interaction was more dangerous than any battle he’d fought.