7 Minutes in Heaven

The set of the ‘Boys Like You’ music video was a chaotic symphony of tangled cables, blinding strobe lights, and the lingering, sweet, intoxicating scent of artificial fog mixed with the spiked punch the girls had managed to sneak into the backstage area. It was supposed to be a Halloween house party theme, and the five members of ITZY were dressed as angels—though their current behavior was anything but heavenly.

Y/N stood near the monitors, a towering figure at 188cm and a solid 90kg of meticulously sculpted muscle, clad in a bespoke, dark charcoal Italian suit that usually commanded instant respect and obedience. Usually. Today, however, his strict, professional European demeanor was unraveling by the second. His dark brown eyes, normally sharp and calculating, were currently narrowed in profound, simmering exasperation. His short black hair was slightly ruffled from running his large hands through it, and the crisp, white collar of his dress shirt was currently missing its silk tie.

"You’re completely red, Y/N! Admit it, you lost!" Ryujin’s voice rang out, melodic and thick with the playful slur of someone who had enjoyed one too many cups of the forbidden punch. She leaned heavily against a prop table, pointing a manicured finger at him and giggling uncontrollably.

Beside her, Lia was practically vibrating with mischievous glee. She dramatically puffed out her chest, where the shimmering silk of Y/N’s stolen tie was scandalously tucked straight down into the deep, plunging neckline of her angelic costume. "The rules were simple, Mr. Manager," Lia purred, batting her eyelashes with exaggerated innocence. "Twenty-four hours. No complaining. No scolding. No matter what we did. And what did you just do?"

Y/N exhaled a long, heavy breath, the sound rumbling deep in his broad chest. "I politely requested that Ryujin stop using my shoulders as a personal jungle gym, and I calmly noted that stealing my tie and stuffing it into your cleavage constitutes a severe breach of workplace decorum. That was an observation, Lia, not a complaint."

"Wrong!" Chaeryeong chimed in, clapping her hands together, the sheer, glittering fabric of her angel sleeves fluttering like real wings. "You sighed! It was a very loud, very upset sigh! And your jaw did that incredibly scary clenching thing! You lost the bet, Y/N. Fair and square."

The idols had been a nightmare all morning. They were giddy, slightly drunk, and acting like feral teenagers, entirely leaning into the chaotic house party vibe of the video shoot. The more Y/N tried to remain objective and polite to secure his win—which would have earned him a month of their unquestioning obedience—the more diabolical they became. And now, they had him cornered.

"Fine," Y/N conceded, his deep voice carrying a dangerous, velvety edge that sent a visible shiver down the spines of the girls. "I lost. What is the punishment?"

The five girls exchanged wicked, conspiring glances. The air crackled with palpable tension.

"Since we are shooting a party scene," Ryujin began, her eyes gleaming with wicked delight, "we decided to play the ultimate party game. Seven Minutes in Heaven. In the backstage supply closet."

Y/N’s dark eyes swept over the five girls. "You want me to stand in a dark, dusty room with one of you for seven minutes. To accomplish what, exactly?"

"To suffer," Yuna piped up, crossing her arms. She bit her lip, her eyes dragging up and down Y/N’s imposing, broad-shouldered physique, lingering on the V-shape of his torso beneath the tailored wool. "And to see if the big, scary manager can actually loosen up for once in his life."

Before anyone else could speak, Yeji stepped forward. The studio lights caught the pale pink streaks woven through her long, dark brown hair, making them shimmer. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, an ethereal vision wrapped in a dangerously small amount of fabric. She wore a white, halter-style, strapless top held up by thin, almost invisible translucent straps that looked like they would snap under the slightest pressure. A single, large white feathered wing was draped elegantly over one shoulder, trailing down her delicate back. Her makeup was soft—a subtle, flushed blush high on her cheekbones and a light, glossy lipstick that made her lips look wet and devastatingly kissable. Pearl-like earrings with delicate dangling elements brushed against her slender neck as she moved.

Yeji looked up at Y/N, her dark, cat-like Asian eyes locking onto his with a predatory intensity that made the breath catch in his throat. She saw the way his jaw ticked. She knew he was handsome—devastatingly so—but right now, looking at the restrained power radiating from his massive frame, a sudden, heavy coil of raw heat pooled low in her belly. She bit her glossy lower lip, a genuine spark of pure, unadulterated lust overriding her playful teasing.

"I'll do it," Yeji said, her voice dropping an octave, slipping from idol-sweet to something darker, richer. "I am the leader, after all. It’s my responsibility to sacrifice myself and make sure our manager pays his debts."

Yuna let out a dramatic, frustrated groan, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, come on! That’s so unfair! I wanted to go into the closet with Y/N. Look at him, he looks like he wants to murder someone. It’s incredibly hot."

"Too late, maknae," Yeji smirked, never breaking eye contact with Y/N. She stepped closer to him, the sweet, intoxicating scent of vanilla, cherries, and warm feminine skin washing over his senses. "Lead the way, Manager Y/N."

Chaeryeong giggled wildly, her cheeks flushed as she pointed toward the heavy wooden door of the equipment storage closet at the back of the room. "Love ITZY challenge time! Get in there, you two! We’re setting the timer!"

Y/N maintained his stoic expression, his broad shoulders stiff as he turned and marched toward the closet. He opened the heavy door, revealing a pitch-black, narrow space smelling faintly of cedar wood, metallic camera equipment, and dust. He stepped in, his massive frame taking up more than half the available space. Yeji followed gracefully, her wing brushing softly against the doorframe. As soon as she was inside, the door slammed shut behind them, plunging them into absolute, suffocating darkness, save for a razor-thin sliver of neon light seeping beneath the door crack.

The click of the lock turning echoed loudly.

"Seven minutes starts now!" Ryujin yelled from the other side, her voice muffled by the thick wood.

Minute 1: The Standoff

The silence in the cramped space was immediate, heavy, and thick with an electric charge. The temperature seemed to spike instantly, the sheer body heat radiating from Y/N’s massive, 90kg frame filling the small pocket of air. Y/N stood with his back pressed firmly against a rack of cold, metal shelving, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He could hear the soft, rhythmic sound of Yeji’s breathing in the dark, the faint rustle of her feathers as she shifted her weight.

"This is ridiculous," Y/N stated, his deep, resonant voice vibrating in the tight space, sounding louder and far more intimate in the pitch black. "I hope you understand, Yeji, I won’t do what people normally do in 'Seven Minutes in Heaven'. We are simply going to stand here, wait out the timer, and then get back to work. I am your manager. I maintain professional boundaries."

Yeji let out a soft, breathy laugh that sent a strange, hot shiver down Y/N’s spine. The sound was too rich, too knowing. In the darkness, her eyes began to adjust to the faint bleed of light from the floor. She could see the imposing silhouette of him, the sheer width of his shoulders blocking out the back wall.

"You're so stubborn, Y/N," Yeji teased softly, her voice carrying a playful, lingering warmth. "Always the strict European professional. But no one is watching now. The cameras are off. My members are outside. What’s the point of pretending you don't feel the tension in this room?"

"There is no tension. It is just a lack of ventilation," he replied smoothly, though his heart was already beginning a slow, heavy, traitorous thud against his ribs.

"Liar," she whispered, the word floating toward him like a physical caress.

Minute 2: The Provocation

The first minute ticked by, and the static electricity in the air grew unbearably dense. The scent of Yeji’s perfume was intoxicating, wrapping around Y/N’s throat like a silk noose. Yeji took a slow, deliberate step forward, her white sneakers completely silent on the concrete floor. The space was so narrow that her movement brought her dangerously close to him.

Her body brushed against him, seemingly by accident, but the friction of her soft hip against the tailored wool of his trousers was explosive. The sliver of light from the floor cast upward, illuminating the sharp, delicate lines of her collarbones and giving Y/N a distinct, heart-stopping glimpse of her soft, inviting cleavage pushing against the fragile white fabric of her top. Her dark, cat-like eyes glinted in the dimness, staring up at him with a look that stripped away every ounce of his authority.

The thin, almost invisible straps of her halter top looked so incredibly fragile against her pale, flawless skin, making her look both angelic and sinfully inviting. Slowly, deliberately, Yeji raised her small, delicate hand. Her fingertips made contact with the fine fabric of his suit jacket. Y/N flinched slightly, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth, but he didn't pull away.

Her fingers trailed slowly, agonizingly up the lapel of his suit, tracing the firm, hard muscle of his chest beneath the layers of clothing.

"You weren't thinking about work when you looked at me on set earlier," she murmured, her voice a sultry, velvet purr that made his pulse thunder in his ears. "Don't deny it. I saw you, Y/N. When we were rehearsing the choreography... you were looking at my legs."

Y/N’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He tried to summon his cold, authoritative tone, but it came out husky and strained. "I was checking the costume for wardrobe malfunctions. The slit in your skirt is unacceptably high for the dance routine."

He tried to sound indifferent, but his breath hitched uncontrollably as her small, warm fingers left his lapel and grazed the sensitive skin of his neck, her nails lightly dragging over his rapidly beating pulse.

"And did you find any?" Yeji whispered, taking another half-step forward. She leaned in, closing the final inch between them. Her cute, small breasts brushed firmly against the unyielding, muscular wall of his chest. The contact was electric, burning straight through his shirt and suit jacket. Her cat-like eyes searched his, looking for the cracks in his armor. "Or do you need a closer look?"

Y/N squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching at his sides. He was fighting a losing battle against his own biology.

"You’re always so strict, so perfectly professional," she continued, her voice dropping into a breathless, intimate register. "It’s exhausting, Y/N. Why don’t you just... let go for seven minutes? The girls can't see you. The cameras aren't here. There’s no agency, no contracts. It's just me."

Minute 3: The Breaking Point

The third minute bled into existence, and the closet felt like the inside of a furnace. Yeji wasn't backing down. She rose onto her tiptoes, the delicate dangling elements of her pearl earrings chiming faintly with the movement. She was entirely in his space now, the heat of her small, 46kg frame pressing intimately against his massive 90kg bulk.

She ran both her hands boldly over the hard, rigid plains of his chest, her palms sliding over the dense muscle of his pectorals, feeling the erratic, violent pounding of his heart beneath his dress shirt. She tilted her head back, offering the long, elegant column of her pale neck to him, her beautiful cat-like eyes half-lidded, heavy with a potent mix of alcohol-induced bravery and raw, dripping desire.

"Look at you," she teased, a wicked smile playing on her glossy lips. Her thumb brushed daringly over his nipple through the fabric of his shirt, drawing a low, involuntary groan from deep within Y/N’s throat. "You're a giant, muscular man, and you're shaking because a girl is touching your chest. Loosen up, Manager-nim. Enjoy the view. Enjoy... me."

She rolled her hips forward ever so slightly, the soft cotton of her skirt brushing against the front of his trousers. Y/N’s hands, which had been rigidly glued to his sides, twitched. His large fingers curled into fists to stop himself from grabbing her waist and crushing her against him. He was a man drowning, and she was the water pouring down his throat.

Minute 4: The Demonic Angel

If the first three minutes were a slow simmer, the fourth minute was a raging boil. The sweet, innocent angel act completely evaporated, leaving behind a creature of pure, unadulterated provocation. Yeji leaned closer, her soft, glossy lips hovering mere millimeters from his ear. Y/N could feel her sweet, alcohol-laced breath puffing hot and damp against his skin, sending a violent shudder down his spine.

Her words became explicit, dirty, and dripping with slutty intent, shredding the last remnants of his iron-clad self-control.

"I bet you think about it," she breathed into his ear, her teeth lightly grazing his earlobe. "I bet when you're alone in your hotel room, you think about pulling these stupid invisible straps down. I bet you think about what I look like underneath. You want to ruin this pure white outfit, don't you, Y/N? Tell me you want to ruin me."

She let out a soft, breathy moan as she ground her hips against his thigh, her hands sliding up to tangle in the short, dark hair at the nape of his neck.

Y/N’s mind went blank. The tether snapped. The manager was dead; the man was completely, ferociously awake. This angel is a fucking demon, he thought, a rush of primal heat flooding his veins.