entry #49 | dєвυg

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Eventually, the lights flickered back on but Tristan had yet to return. (Y/n) was pretty sure he would and she really didn't want to stay obediently in the gymnasium waiting for him. Did she have a plan? No, not exactly, but if she did, it was going to involve a lot of window breaking and parkour.

But logically, it was still better than running off and getting lost, and then thrown over some caveman's shoulder and locked back up. Besides, they still had their bet. She wanted her laptop even though the bet obviously wasn't leaning in her favor.

Tristan returned a few seconds later. His collar was undone and his sleeves rolled up. He clapped the nonexistent dust off his hands and picked the ball off the floor. 

"Let's get back to it, shall we?" He said, spinning the ball between his hands. "How about we change the rules. If you can get seven baskets before I get twenty, you win. It'll give you more opportunities to win."

He wants me to score five more times? (Y/n) pondered her options carefully. But I guess if it's not he's going to win. He's at nine and I'm at two.

"Fine. You can even shoot first."

That was probably a dumb idea, especially when they were taking turns shooting the ball instead of playing a one on one.

He shrugged, not really caring. "Suit yourself." 

Her attempts at sabotage weren't exactly the best, she had to admit, but you had to understand her options were limited. She couldn't exactly pull out the rest of the balls from the storage and throw them at him, could she?

Oh wait, she could. They weren't locked up, were they? That meant she could help herself.

When it came for her to shoot, she stood as close to the basket as she could and threw a volleyball up into it. He never specified it had to be a basketball, did he? 

Tristan watched with raised eyebrows as the ball bounced off the rim of the basket. "Setting aside the fact you're cheating, you still couldn't make it in?"

"T-that was a warmup," she argued, trying to cover up her embarrassment. "This is the real one."

"Yeah?" He took a step back, crossing his arms. "Don't mind me; go on."

(Y/n) fought the urge to swear at him as she took another step closer to the hoop and narrowed her eyes. Stupid basket. I'm going to get it in this time. Just you watch. Summoning her inner Michael Jordon—he'd shake his head if he saw this—she threw the volleyball with all her might.

It got stuck in one of those ceiling rafter things.

Huzzah.

"I meant to do that," she cleared her throat. "See? Told you I'd win. That should be five points right there."

"The gods of basketball will strike you down."

She stared at him. He looked away. "Was that a joke?"

The blue-haired male cleared his throat, looking awfully embarrassed despite it only being a small action. An action unlike him but a small action nonetheless. "P-perhaps. What's it to you?"

"You'd be a great actor."

He tilted his head with a frown. "What?"

"That was a joke."

His mouth opened and closed like a fish as whatever he was trying to say refused to come out. He coughed into a fist to regain his composure and spun around, his back facing her. "Anyway, I really got to be going. I still have paperwork to catch up on—Kim has made me lose out on a lot of that."

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