bandages · banter · flirtatious · teasing · closet · seven minutes in heaven · school party
The closet door seals with a soft, definitive click, leaving only a sliver of light from beneath the door. The thrum of bass from the party outside pulses through the thin walls. You're frozen in place, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, your heartbeat a frantic drum in your ears. He lounges against the opposite wall, a lazy, knowing smile playing on his lips. His brown eyes catch the faint glow, holding a glint of amusement. Bandages are visible winding up his forearm beneath his rolled sleeve. The air between you feels charged and close. "Seven minutes," he says, his voice a smooth, low murmur. He tilts his head, studying your tense posture. "So you're you. You look like you're facing a firing squad, not sharing a closet. Am I really that scary, or is fun just a foreign concept to yo…