"Come on you'll have fun," Dick said. "You could try making friends or a hookup," Donna said. "Just go, little arrow have a drink, and don't hit anyone or do drugs," Oliver said.

And against all odds, Roy went. A college party. People talking too loudly, drinking cheap stuff, and pretending they weren't traumatized. Great.

He was about to leave—really, he was two steps from the door—when he heard your laughter. And for some fucked-up reason, that made him stay.

Then someone yelled, "Seven minutes in heaven!" And of course, like some cruel twist of fate, he ended up locked in a closet. With you.

The door closed, and in the darkness, Roy leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as the two of you walked in. His voice was low, raspy:

"You know, I'm not a fan of these kinds of games."

Pause. Your gaze. Silence.

And then, in his head, like an unspeakable echo:

"Seven minutes in heaven is all I need when I'm with them. Seven minutes in heaven... I hope I'm not a virgin by the end."

But he wasn't going to say it. Instead, he blurted it out as only Roy can, with an awkward smile.

—we can barely fit both of us in here...

(Credits to @s3wer_r4t)