bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter twenty-three, part two.

Sweat beaded along Case's hairline. His chest hurt, his breathing ragged from exertion and laughter. He lunged for the ball, his arm stretching so far even his fingers were strained.

C'mon . . . just a bit closer.

His fingertips grazed the ball, sending it twirling into a hookshot. The ball spun midair like a planet caught in rapid orbit.

Sir lurched to block the shot. The ball arced wide and fast. He swung, the ball soaring past him.

"YES!"

"Aahh—good save."

Case had thrown the first few rounds. Too wary of Sir being a sore loser. But, instead, Sir had encouraged him to play harder, put more effort in. And now, Case was winning and Sir was still having fun. They were having fun. He collected the ball, ready to serve.

"Why don't we make a little wager?"

Case paused. He squeezed the firm rubber, aware that his inner-alarm bells weren't screaming Caution! Danger! His mind and his gut were quiet. The kind of calm you'd see on a drizzly morning at the beach, where the cloudy sky and the gray, still ocean seem to meet as one.

"Is that like a bet?"

"Sure."

"What else is there that you'd want from me that that you can't just take?"

"Alright, that's fair," Sir said, raising his hands in good-natured defeat. "How about, if you can beat me in a game, I'll let you have one thing you really want. Within reason."

Of course. Within reason. That meant freedom was off the table. Same with a phone call home, or access to his social media. He probably wasn't gonna be allowed an hour of sunshine and fresh air, either—and even prisoner-prisoners got that kind of privilege. So, what did that leave him? A TV with Netflix, or maybe that Nintendo Switch he'd asked for months ago? Wow, great consolation prize. It occurred to Case he could ask for The Lord of the Rings, and the immediate thought afterward was that he should have gotten it already. Suddenly, the gray calm he'd felt was disturbed by a clashing storm of emotions. Entitlement. Unfairness. Recklessness. Spite.

"I want you to suck me off."

Sir flinched. Surprised creased his brow.

Case waited for him to react. For his voice to go dark, for the threats and punches. For Sir to go all Jekyll-Hyde and turn into the sinister persona that'd gone missing for the last month.

"And here I thought you were gonna ask for a pizza."

Case gave a shaky laugh. A gasp as much as it was a laugh. How the hell had he gotten away with that?

Because he likes you, said the voice. He's not going to hurt you now.

He raised his chin, staring down his nose at Sir. "You can throw in one of those, too. Up the stakes. Give me something worth playing for."

Case waited another beat, giving Sir an extra chance to prove him wrong and go feral. Then, without warning, he served the ball.

Sir blinked, coming to attention like a computer sputtering to reboot. The ball shot off the wall, sharp and fast. He lurched, backhanding the ball last second.

He's playing, the voice noted. Guess that's a yes.

Game on.

They played, volleying the ball back-and-forth with sharp precision. Instead of banter and laughter, the only sound in the basement was the hollowed pop-pop of the ball meeting the concrete floor and wall. Instead of moving freely, running to catch wild shots, Case and Sir were planted in position, their stances rigid with focus. The ball bounced between them in a V formation. The same quick sharp rhythm as a spray of bullets.