The plan was for everyone to split up into small groups then search as many rooms as possible. Simple, in theory and in practice, if it weren't for the tables that inevitably turned.

The veins mapped out across your hand grow more prominent as you clutch at the door handle, rattling it stubbornly. It isn't stuck, it's locked. Just what you needed.

"Trapped?" A quiet voice echoes from behind you. Feitan, who watches as your attempts are proven futile, hair falling slightly over his eyes. You huff in annoyance. "Seems like it."

The response prompts him to tilt his head. "What we do?" Clipped as his tone may be, you understand what he means. What are you planning to do? The answer is obvious. "Survive."

While you glance around to weigh your options, Feitan steps closer, each movement precise. You can soon feel the heat of his body without any direct contact, the tension radiating from his lean frame immense. The normal thing for him to then do would be to help, right?

Well, yes. But also no. Minutes stretch, air heavy. Feitan, ever the prick, decides to watch you fumble with the door lock instead.