The first ten minutes were unbearable.
They stood on opposite sides of the storeroom like two students forced into detention.
Neither looking directly at the other.
Both pretending the shelves were extremely fascinating.
"So," she said finally.
"So," he echoed.
Silence.
She adjusted her glasses.
He adjusted his already-loose tie.
She glanced at the door.
He glanced at the tiny window.
The air felt heavy.
"This is your friends' fault," she muttered.
He huffed quietly. "Your friends started it."
"Oh, please. Yours agreed way too quickly."
He didn't deny that.
A tiny smile tugged at his lips.
She noticed.
"You're smiling again," she said before she could stop herself.
He blinked. "Am I?"
"Yes."
He looked away. "It's just… this is ridiculous."
"It is."
Another pause.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.
Not nervous.
Not forced.
Just genuine.
He looked at her, surprised.
"What?"
"You said they wouldn't do anything stupid," she said.
He groaned softly. "I know."
"You underestimated them."
"I overestimated their maturity."
She laughed again.
The sound bounced softly off the walls.
Something shifted.
The tension loosened.
Just slightly.
He leaned back against a shelf.
"They're probably sitting outside somewhere," he said.
"Grinning," she added.
"Very proud of themselves."
She nodded. "Very."
They shared a look.
And for the first time since the door locked—
It wasn't awkward.
It was united.
Us versus them.
"That 'no confession, no freedom' rule is insane," she said.
"They've been watching too many dramas."
"Definitely."
A beat.
"…You don't have to," she added quietly.
"Have to what?"
"Confess. Just because they said so."
He studied her for a moment.
"I know."
Silence settled again.
But softer this time.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then thirty.
Eventually, they both sat down on opposite ends of a stack of folded mats.
The distance between them was no longer defensive.
Just cautious.
He tapped his fingers lightly against his knee.
She traced patterns on the dusty floor with her shoe.
"Are you mad?" he asked suddenly.
She looked up. "At who?"
"At me."
Her brows furrowed. "Why would I be?"
"For… last week."
Her stomach flipped at the memory.
"Oh."
He swallowed.
"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard.
"You didn't," she said quickly.
"I didn't want you to think I—"
"You didn't," she repeated softly.
He paused.
"You ran."
She winced slightly. "I panicked."
"Because of me?"
"Because everyone was coming," she admitted.
He exhaled slowly.
"I thought you regretted it."
Her head snapped up. "What?"
"The fall. The… you know."
Her face warmed.
"I thought you regretted it," she said quietly.
They stared at each other.
Realization passing between them like a quiet current.
He laughed under his breath.
"We're stupid."
She nodded immediately. "Very."
And somehow—
That broke the last layer of awkwardness.
They both started laughing.
Not dramatically.
Just softly.
At themselves.
At the situation.
At the ridiculousness of being trapped because neither of them could use simple words.
An hour passed.
They didn't notice.
Conversation flowed easier now.
They complained about their friends.
"She literally pretended to cry to make me go," she said, shaking her head.
"He told me Coach asked," he replied. "Coach doesn't even know where the cones are."
She giggled.
"You're gullible."
"You went too."
"Because they said it was for art display!"
He raised a brow. "That does sound fake."
"It does not."
"It does."
She nudged his shoe lightly with hers.
"Rude."
He smiled.
And didn't move his foot away.
The contact was small.
Barely noticeable.
But neither of them pulled back.
Time blurred.
They talked about classes.
About annoying assignments.
About teachers who mispronounced names.
He admitted he hated presentations.
"You?" she said in disbelief.
"I'm not good at talking in front of people."
"You literally play basketball in front of the whole school."
"That's different."
"How?"
"I don't have to talk."
She smiled softly. "You're doing fine now."
He looked at her.
Something about the way she said it made his chest tighten.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I guess I am."
Two hours in.
The room felt smaller again.
But not uncomfortable.
Intimate.
Not in a dramatic way.
Just in the sense that they'd stopped pretending.
She hugged her knees lightly.
"I feel bad," she said suddenly.
"Why?"
"You're stuck here because of me."
He frowned. "Because of you?"
"You wouldn't have been dragged into this if I hadn't told them."
He shook his head immediately. "I told them too."
She blinked. "You did?"
He nodded.
A small smile formed on her lips. "Why?"
He hesitated.
"Because I couldn't stop thinking about it."
Her heart stuttered.
"Oh."
He looked down at his hands.
"I didn't know what it meant."
She swallowed.
"I didn't either."
Silence.
Heavy now.
Not awkward.
Emotional.
She stared at the floor.
"…Do you hate that it happened?" she asked softly.
The question hung in the air like fragile glass.
He looked up immediately.
"No."
The answer came too fast.
Too sure.
Her breath caught.
"I don't," he repeated more quietly.
Something in her chest loosened.
"I don't either," she admitted.
The words felt terrifying.
And freeing.
He leaned forward slightly.
"Then why did we both act like it was a disaster?"
She let out a shaky laugh.
"Because we're cowards?"
He smiled faintly. "Probably."
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It was full.
Of everything they hadn't said yet.
The dust in the air seemed to move slower.
The rain outside had completely stopped.
Three hours.
It had been three hours.
Neither of them realized until she checked her phone.
"They're serious," she murmured.
He didn't look surprised.
"They always are."
She stared at the locked door.
Then back at him.
"This is stupid."
"It is."
She took a deep breath.
"We could just say something random and get out."
He raised a brow. "Like what?"
"I don't know. 'I like your shoes.'"
He looked down. "They're dirty."
She smiled faintly.
"That's not what they mean."
"I know."
Their eyes met again.
And this time—
Neither looked away immediately.
Her pulse quickened.
His jaw tightened slightly.
The air felt charged.
He stood up slowly.
She blinked. "What are you doing?"
He ran a hand through his hair.
"I can't do this."
Her heart dropped. "Do what?"
"Keep pretending."
The words hit heavier than expected.
She slowly stood too.
The distance between them shrank naturally.
Not forced.
Not dramatic.
Just inevitable.
"I don't want you stuck here because of some game," he said quietly.
"It's not just a game."
"I know."
Silence.
He looked at the door.
Then back at her.
"I didn't regret it," he said.
Her breath caught.
"I haven't stopped thinking about it."
Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
"You don't have to say anything," he added quickly. "I just—"
He stopped.
Struggling.
She could see it.
The hesitation.
The fear of ruining everything.
The fear of assuming too much.
Three hours of almost.
Three hours of circling around the same truth.
He exhaled slowly.
"I can't stay silent anymore."
The room felt impossibly still.
Her fingers tightened slightly at her sides.
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
Just closer.
Close enough that she could see the nervousness in his eyes.
Close enough that he could see the hope in hers.
"I don't want this to be something we laugh about later," he said quietly.
Her throat felt dry.
"Then what do you want it to be?"
He hesitated.
Just for a second.
And in that second—
Everything balanced on a fragile edge.
Three hours of almost.
About to become something else.