Hey! Just reiterating that consent is key! Unfortunately there's a hazy situation here involving the kiss (I know, spoiler, but this is important!) because I couldn't figure out how to include a line of consent without diminishing the 'shock' of the scene.

So please keep in mind that consent is always, always, always key, and that this chapter is in no way taking away from that. Happy reading!

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☆

[y/n]

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HE'S PLANNING SOMETHING.

I can feel it like a voice in the back of my head, and it's been whispering the same thing for what felt like eternity. He's planning something, he knows something, he's got a trick up his sleeve. Call it paranoia, if you will, but I think he's just playing mind games purposefully.

We had chosen to play a game of 'laser-tag' to settle this dispute (childish, if you ask me, but it's better than circling like vultures on an empty stage).

If I win, he has to admit that he stole the notebook page.

If he wins...

"Nothing," he had said, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jumper, "if I win, you have to do nothing."

Those words caught me off guard, and I instantly started wondering what was going on in his mind. Nothing? You can't tell me that this notebook thief is a saint. It's almost as if he's pitying me for giving in to this whole thing.

"Are you serious?" I frowned.

He shrugged. "Do I look like I'm not?"

He sent me a blank stare, his eyes dulled down until they looked like blank sheets of hazel. This is why I don't trust actors—some can play a character, but some can play games—and you'll never know which one it is.

When we reached our destination, he held the door open for me.

I didn't say thank you.

Neither of us said another word, even as we prepared to play the game that would settle our divide. Neither of us said anything as we paced through the concrete hallways, our shoes sounding like broken pendulums as we walked. Neither of us said anything, even as we were given our gear and explained the instructions—but all we could focus on was each other's lingering presence.

But we spoke when we were asked a simple question.

"Pick your color," the worker said, "it'll help you determine who wins."

"Yellow," Louis said.

"Green," I said after.

And then the game started.

The whole aspect of Laser-Tag was to shoot at your opponent, racking up enough points to win the game. There was a vest each person had to wear, and if you hit it, it would buzz and give your side a point. In my case, the room would flash green if I won. It would flash yellow if Louis won.

I'm praying for Green.

Closing my eyes, I held my laser-gun in my hand tightly. We were on opposite sides of a dark room, neon obstacles separating us. I didn't know where he was, which side he would start on, and how good his accuracy was. But I had to win.

Time to play.

Where should I go first—right or left?

Left. Louis' left-handed and is more likely to go towards the left, and if I go to my own left, I'll surprise him from the back and be able to catch him off guard. I could score an easy point. Weaving in between the neon walls, I scanned the darkness for any signs of movement. It was almost like I was dancing around an empty room, watched by the eyes of my own paranoia.

But then I caught a flash of yellow from his vest trailing behind a wavy-shaped column, and grinned. Kneeling, I squinted my eyes, pulling the trigger of my pointer at my target.

Bzz!

Louis flinched in surprise, flipping around with daggers in his eyes. I knew he was bothered by the smug look on my face, but I didn't care. I had 500 points now, and that meant I was closer to reaching the 3,000 goal.

"Didn't see that coming?" I grinned, cocking a brow, "guess you aren't as 'ace' at this game as you thought."

Bzz!

I didn't understand where the noise was coming from, until I felt a soft buzz against my chest. It flashed a pale shade of green, and I felt my heart sink, swallowed up by disappointment.

Louis had gotten in a shot.

"Not my fault you stalled," he smirked, "don't talk if you can't play."

Narrowing my eyes, I moved behind an obstacle, firing another shot towards him. He dodged, disappearing once more. We were tied. Filled with a sudden urge of anger, I stalked through the room, desperate to get another shot in. It seemed like he was too, because as soon as I turned an unfamiliar corner I felt another buzz on the back of my vest.

And then it was chaos.

Bzz! I managed to make a hit.

He fired back. Miss.

Bzz! He caught me lurking by the wall.

Bzz! Bzz! Bzz!

The noise became a sick dread to hear, leaving you wondering if you were hit or if you missed. I felt my breath getting heavier from exhaustion, and I wondered how long we had been playing. Nearly an hour, I'd guess.

2,500 to 2,500.

Bloody Hell, we're tied.

Whoever made the next shot would win the game. God, the stress is killing me. Louis probably noticed it too, and that meant I had to give it my all. I needed to win.

Lurking by the walls, I tried not to let my nerves get the best of me. It was eerily silent, with only the tinny sound of music streaming in through the speakers, and the sound of my trainers hitting the stone ground as I paced. Where was he?

I regretted asking that, because I heard the thud of a shoe hit the ground and flinched. I ducked just as Louis' laser shot right over my head. Wobbling off balance, I stumbled towards the wall for balance.

But I wanted to win.

When Louis raised his gun again, I grabbed his arm, holding it away from my vest and raised my own—which he pushed off with his. We were stuck in a stalemate. Neither of us could shoot unless the other let go.

"We're tied," I said, narrowing my eyes, "scared?"

He smirked, bowing his head slightly. "Guess."

"I thought you hated guessing games."

"I do," he said, "but winning them makes it so much better."

I was about to question what he meant, when suddenly my back hit the wall, and his lips were pressed against mine. He was kissing me. He was kissing me. My body wanted to melt into it, but In that moment, my brain remembered everything.

"Could I kiss you?"

No, now is not the time [y/n], stop remembering.

I'm not normally this stupid, but I just got so many butterflies in my stomach, that they seem to have taken my brain and floated off with it. Still in dreamy shock, all I could muster was the same question.

It hurts to remember.

And so he kissed me.

In a way that almost made me have to pinch myself to check if I was dreaming or still alive. What kind of magic was he using on me?A moment of pure bliss, where the both of us were rocking back and forth like a ship on the ocean.

What happened to us?

And I could only hold my breath as I felt his lips connect with mine, sending me lost inside my own thoughts. It was a perfect kiss. It was like the clicking of a puzzle piece into place, the turning of a key in its lock, and the feeling of falling down a rabbit hole, only to land perfectly safe in his arms.

Every single time I had kissed him in my dreams, it reminded me of something painful. I remembered feeling like my stomach was full of butterflies, like I was standing in an ocean breeze, and I remembered feeling like I was a piece of a puzzle that had been unsolved for long.

But now I felt like I was home. Back to a place that I loved, and that I felt peace with—back to him.

He pulled away, eyes glazed over with something I couldn't understand. I didn't know how to speak. Or think. Or breathe. Even as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, telling me that I was right this whole time—he had been planning something.

Bzz!

The lights of the room began to glow a neon yellow, and l I felt a buzz against my chest. Looking down, I noticed Louis' gun pressed right at it.

He smiled. "I win."