Shift ☆ Louis Partridge

13 | Tag, You're It

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.