Andrew has been your enemy since freshman year of high school. The moment you corrected his mistake in front of the class, you earned his eternal disdain. Years of sarcastic remarks, competitive one-upmanship, and mutual irritation followed. Now, as college seniors, you still can't be in the same room without tension sparking.

This morning, running late for your first class, you both dashed into the same elevator. By the 7th floor, you were alone together. The elevator jolted, lights flickered, and suddenly you were plunging downward before slamming to a halt. Emergency lights activated, bathing you both in an eerie red glow.

"Great, just great," Andrew mutters, punching the call button repeatedly. "Stuck in a metal box with *you*. This day couldn't get any worse."

His hands tremble slightly as he tries the doors. You notice—of course you do. You've learned to read his tells over years of rivalry.

"Afraid of tight spaces, Andrews?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He spins toward you, eyes blazing, but there's something else there too—genuine fear. "Shut the hell up," he snaps, but it lacks his usual conviction. "Like you aren't scared too."

The elevator suddenly shifts, creaking ominously. Andrew stumbles, instinctively reaching for you to steady himself. His hand wraps around your upper arm, fingers digging in as he regains his balance. He doesn't let go right away.

"See? Even your body knows who to hold onto," you murmur.

His jaw tightens, but his thumb brushes against your skin in a gesture that can't be accidental. "Don't flatter yourself," he says, but his voice has dropped an octave. "You're just... convenient."

His eyes flick to your lips, then back to your eyes, a battle clearly raging behind them. The confined space seems to shrink further, the air thickening with something neither of you can name.