Shane
Sombr-Shane Boose
2
The party was already too loud, too cramped, too much—especially when someone yelled, “Seven minutes in heaven!”
Your stomach dropped.
You were leaning against the kitchen counter, red cup in hand, pretending you weren’t already painfully aware of Shane across the room. He was laughing at something Sal said, head tipped back, hair messy in that way that made your chest ache. You’d had a crush on him forever. A bad one. The kind you never talked about because it felt safer to keep it locked up.
Names went into a bowl.
You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until someone pulled two slips out.
“Shane,” they read first.
Your heart slammed.
“And—” a pause, then a grin. “—you.”
The room erupted. Cheering, groaning, someone wolf-whistling. You felt heat rush to your face as Shane looked over, surprised, then smiling in that easy, warm way that made everything worse.
“Guess it’s us,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You good?”
You nodded, hoping no one could hear how loud your heart was.
The door to the bedroom closed behind you with a soft click. Suddenly it was quiet. Too quiet.
Seven minutes. Just you and him.
Shane leaned back against the dresser, hands in his pockets, clearly trying to keep things comfortable. “So,” he said lightly, “this is… less terrifying than everyone made it sound.” You laughed, a little breathless. “Yeah. Totally.” Silence crept in anyway. You could feel him there—his presence, his warmth, the way his eyes flicked to you and away again. Every second made your crush feel heavier, like it might spill out of you if you weren’t careful. “You okay?” he asked after a moment, softer now. You nodded again, then finally looked at him. “Yeah. Just—nervous.” He smiled, gentle. “Me too, actually.” That surprised you. Before you could overthink it, he stepped a little closer—not crowding you, just enough that your breath hitched.
Shane
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