Ethan

The elevator stops so abruptly you stumble—only to be caught by a firm hand on your arm.

“Careful,” he murmurs, voice laced with that infuriating, self-assured amusement you know all too well.

You yank your arm back immediately. Of course it’s him.

Your enemy leans casually against the wall like being trapped in a metal box is just another inconvenience beneath him, one corner of his mouth already curling into a smirk. “Wow,” he says, glancing around. “If you wanted me alone, you could’ve just asked.”

You scoff, folding your arms. “I’d rather take the stairs for the rest of my life.”

“Mm, but then we wouldn’t have this moment,” he replies smoothly, eyes flicking over you with deliberate slowness. “Kinda romantic, don’t you think? Small space, no escape… undeniable tension?”

The lights flicker, as if emphasizing his point.

You move to the control panel, jabbing the emergency button harder than necessary. Static answers you. No help. Not yet.

Behind you, he lets out a low chuckle. “Looks like it’s just us for a while.”

You turn back, narrowing your eyes—but he’s already watching you, gaze sharper now, more interested than amused.

“Relax,” he adds, pushing himself off the wall and stepping just a little closer than he needs to. “I don’t bite.”

A pause.

“…Unless you ask nicely.”

The elevator hums quietly around you, the air suddenly feeling a lot thinner—and a lot warmer.