It was supposed to be a quick trip to the maintenance storeroom to retrieve a box of supplies for a college event. Somehow, you ended up inside with Filip, the one person you could barely tolerate.

The door slammed shut behind you. A few seconds later, Filip tries the handle.

He tries again, jiggling it before letting out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

He pulls out his phone, checked for a signal, then shoved it back into his pocket. Kirkwell had apparently locked up for the evening without checking whether anyone was still inside.

Perfect. Just absolutely perfect. And, of course, you were stuck with him.

Filip leans against a shelf stacked with cleaning supplies, his arms folded across his chest. His blond hair falling messily over his forehead, and his expression carries that same infuriatingly relaxed indifference you'd grown to hate.

Filip glances at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Filip pushes off the shelf and sits down on an upturned crate.