Chapter Text
The bass from the speaker thumped through the floorboards, a steady rhythm to the chaos of their shared living room.
Empty beer bottles and chip bags littered every surface, a testament to a Friday night well-spent. Tutor leaned against the doorframe, a fond smile on his face as he watched his friends argue over a board game.
It was Yim who proposed the nuclear option.
“This is boring!” he announced, slamming his cards down on the coffee table. “We’re adults acting like we pay taxes for fun. Let’s play something real.”
A chorus of “What?” and “Like what?” echoed around him.
Yim’s eyes, bright with mischief and a few too many beers, scanned the room. They landed on the hall closet, the big one that held winter coats and forgotten luggage. A wicked grin spread across his face. “Seven minutes in heaven.”
The room erupted. Laughter, protests, a thrown pillow that hit Yim square in the chest.
“We’re twenty-five, not fifteen Love cried, though she was already scooting closer to the circle.
“Exactly!” Yim retorted, standing up. “Which means we can play it properly. No pecks on the cheek. Real rules. You get drawn, you go in. Whatever happens, happens. No judgment.”
Tutor felt a familiar twist of anxiety in his gut. This was a terrible idea. He’d had a low-grade, soul-crushing crush on his best friend Yim for approximately three years.
The idea of being locked in a dark, confined space with him, with this particular group of friends egging them on, was a special kind of torture.
His protest died in his throat as Yim found an empty bottle and placed it in the center of the circle.
“Come on, live a little, Tutor,” Yim said, catching his eye. The challenge in his gaze was playful, but it sent a jolt straight through Tutor. “Unless you’re scared?”
And that was that. Tutor couldn’t back down from a challenge, especially not from Yim.
The first few spins were harmless. Love and Milk ended up in the closet, emerging seven minutes later with Milk’s lipstick smudged and Love’s face bright red.
Next was Por and Teetee, who came out laughing, claiming they’d just spent the whole time complaining about their bosses.
Tutor’s heart hammered against his ribs with every spin. He willed the universe to let it land on anyone else. Anyone but him and Yim. Or, a traitorous part of his brain whispered, only on him and Yim.
The universe, it seemed, was in a mischievous mood.
Yim gave the bottle a fierce spin. They all watched, breath held, as it slowed, wobbled, and pointed definitively at Tutor. Before he could even process it, the bottle continued its dying rotation and settled squarely on Yim.
The room exploded. This was the jackpot. The pairing everyone low-key wanted to see but never spoke about.
“NO WAY!” Teetee yelled, already shoving Tutor toward the closet.
Yim just laughed, that loud, unselfconscious bark that Tutor loved. He got up, a swagger in his step, and let himself be pushed along. “Looks like you’re mine, Tutor,” he teased, and Tutor’s brain short-circuited.
The closet door was yanked open. They were shoved inside, a tangle of limbs, and the door slammed shut behind them. The click of the lock was deafening.
Darkness. Total, suffocating darkness. The thump of the music was muffled here, replaced by the sound of their own ragged breathing. The air was thick with the scent of old wool and cedar.
“Well,” Yim’s voice came from a few inches away, laced with amusement. “This is… cozy.”
Tutor could feel the heat radiating from Yim’s body. The closet was smaller than he remembered. Their shoulders were touching. “Yeah. Cozy.”
An awkward silence descended, punctuated by the muffled catcalls of their friends from the other side of the door. Tutor was hyper-aware of every point of contact, every shift of fabric.
“We don’t actually have to do anything, you know,” Tutor mumbled, trying to sound casual. “We can just wait it out.”
Yim was quiet for a moment. Tutor could almost hear him thinking. “They’ll know,” he said softly. “They’ll give us shit for eternity if we come out and nothing’s even rumpled.”
“So what? Let them.”
Another silence. Then, Yim shifted. Tutor felt a hand brush against his arm in the dark, sending a spark of electricity up his spine. “It’s just seven minutes, Tutor. It’s not a big deal. It’s just a game.”
Tutor’s breath hitched. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying…” Yim’s voice was closer now, a low murmur right by his ear. “A few kisses won’t ruin our friendship. Right?”
The words were a permission slip Tutor never knew he needed. All the repressed want, the years of stolen glances and ‘friendly’ touches that lingered a second too long, came rushing to the surface.
“Right,” Tutor breathed, the word barely a whisper.
He didn’t know who moved first. Maybe they both did. Suddenly, Yim’s lips were on his.
It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t a joke. It was hungry and deep, a collision of pent-up everything. Yim’s hands came up to cradle Tutor’s face, his thumbs stroking his jawline.
Tutor groaned, his own hands finding Yim’s hips, pulling him flush against him until there was no space left between them, until Tutor could feel the frantic beat of Yim’s heart against his own.
This was not a game. This was a revelation.
Yim kissed like he did everything else—with full, reckless abandon. His tongue swept into Tutor’s mouth, tasting of beer and something uniquely, addictively Yim.
Tutor gave as good as he got, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of Yim’s shirt, anchoring himself as the world tilted off its axis.
They broke apart, gasping for air in the stifling dark.
“Yim…” Tutor started, his voice ragged.
“Shhh,” Yim whispered, connecting their mouths again. This kiss was slower, more exploratory, but no less intense.
It was a kiss that asked questions Tutor was terrified to answer. Yim’s body pressed him back against the wall of coats, the hangers rattling softly with the movement. Tutor let himself be maneuvered, his head spinning.
He slid his hands under Yim’s shirt, splaying his fingers across the warm, smooth skin of his back. Yim shuddered against him, a broken sound escaping his throat that went straight to Tutor’s core. This was crossing a line. They were burning the whole map.
Yim’s mouth left his, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down his jaw, his neck, nipping at the sensitive spot just above his collarbone. Tutor’s head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, a moan torn from his lips.
“They’re going to hear,” he gasped, even as he tilted his head to give Yim better access.
“Let them,” Yim growled against his skin, echoing Tutor’s earlier sentiment but with a completely different, devastating meaning.
The handle of the door jiggled violently. “TIME’S UP!” someone, probably Love, yelled. “Come out, you animals!”
They froze, panting in the dark, their foreheads pressed together. The real world came crashing back in, harsh and blinding.
Yim pulled back first. Tutor heard him smooth down his shirt, take a steadying breath. Tutor did the same, his hands trembling. He could still feel the brand of Yim’s lips on his, the ache of his stubble on his skin.
The door swung open, flooding the closet with light. Tutor blinked, his eyes stinging. Their friends’ grinning faces peered in, ready with jokes that died on their lips.
The atmosphere was too charged. The air too thick. They looked… ravaged. Tutor’s lips were swollen, Yim’s hair was a mess, and both their shirts were crooked.
“Whoa,” Por said his eyes wide. “You guys… really played the game.”
Yim was the first to recover. He forced a laugh, slinging an arm around Tutor’s shoulders. It felt like a brand. “Told you we would,” he said, his voice impressively steady. “Nothing we can’t handle. Right, bestie?”
He looked at Tutor, and for a split second, Tutor saw it—the same wild, terrified confusion that was currently shredding his own insides. Then the shutters came down, and Yim’s expression was all easy-going charm again.
“Right,” Tutor said, the word ash in his mouth. “No big deal.”
But it was a very big deal.
That night, things were never the same again. The easy camaraderie was gone, replaced by a tense, electric current that crackled between them every time they were in the same room.
A casual touch now felt like a lightning strike. A held glance lasted a moment too long, filled with unspoken questions and the searing memory of seven minutes in the dark.
Their friendship hadn’t been ruined. It had been set on fire. And Tutor had no idea if they could ever put it out, or if they were both just going to let it burn.