━━━━༻ ♦ ༺━━━━ spy 00100000 ━━━━༻ ♦ ༺━━━━

Tristan kept his word. That was good. What also was good was the fact that he didn't try to pull her into idle conversation like Jaehyun keeps doing. And she appreciated that. (Y/n) wasn't sure if she would be able to keep herself from saying something that would get herself killed or worse, get Reese killed.

Honestly, she still wasn't sure how far these people could go. Questions were buzzing around in the back of her head, hanging on the tip of her tongue, but she made no move to voice them. Who did Mr. Howards really kill? Who killed Isla? Is superstition the only reason the headmaster's continuing these Games? How does he decide when to host the next one?

The elevator opened. They were in the basement but she wouldn't have known had she not peeked at the elevator buttons. The decorations were fanciful, giving the basement an air of luxury and sophistication with its plush, dark red, velvet rococo armchairs clustered around an unlit fireplace. Everything was mahogany and dark; the rooms were dimly lit. It looked more like a parlor than a basement.

He led her down another hall. They arrived at a door at the very end of the hallway. It looked like an innocent wooden door, the kind anyone would pass by without a second glance. There was no window, nothing for her to peek into.

Tristan rapped on the door sharply, one, two. "Grayson," he said as it the name was foul. "Are you awake?"

"Go screw yourself, you filthy Axe-wearing perfume ad—"

"I don't understand what insulting my cologne has anything to do with this. And for your information, I do not wear Axe."

She heard the redhead's familiar scowl. "Did I ask?"

"Reese!" She couldn't help herself. The room quieted before Reese spoke again.

"(N/n)?" He asked in a confused voice that switched between relief and anger, not sure which one to settle on. "What are you doing here? Knight—what the hell are you—"

"I'm unlocking the door," the blue-haired male interrupted, pulling a golden key out of his pocket. "You have five minutes."

"Only five?" (Y/n) gaped at him. But her attention was fixated at the sight of the wooden door swinging open. But much to her dismay, there was another door between them, this one made entirely out of iron bars.

"I'm not opening that," Tristan said before she could say anything. "I believe five is enough for you, is it not? Or were you planning to do something else?"

He— She took a deep breath and let it out, a fair of her anger dissipating away. "No, of course not." She tried to keep the anger from her voice lest he changed his mind. "T-thanks."

He didn't say anything. He merely inclined his head and throwing one last dark look at the red-haired male, he turned the corner, no doubt waiting at the other side. As soon as he was gone, she turned back to her friend, her hands curling around the bars as if she could melt them with her touch. She might as well be able to with how high her body temperature had risen.

Reese was on the other side in the instant, his forehead smacking into the bars. "Ow." He frowned and rubbed his reddening forehead. "Your existence was so bright it blinded me. Literally, amirite?"

She rolled her eyes at his antics. "How are you not melting?"

"Hell is cold, (N/n). Cold as the slice of cake I left in the fridge to save for later—oh my God Carter's going to eat it!"

Carter was Reese's older brother. (Y/n) rarely saw him; the older Grayson was fresh out of college and already an acclaimed diplomat. The last they heard from the guy who used to troll them by saying he hid Easter eggs for them but really didn't was when he was in Rwanda clearing up the tensions since the Rwandan Genocide.

"I thought your brother was still in Africa?"

Reese shrugged, his hair falling over his shoulder in the process. "He could be at the bottom of the ocean for all I know, making peace between the crabs and the fishes. Fish lives matter."

She frowned. "Fishes is a word?"

"It is. Right?"

(Y/n) shrugged. "I dunno, my vocabulary is too small for that. Anyway," she gave him a hard look. "How the hell did you get kidnapped again as soon as I found you?!"

"Woah, woah, woah! Calm down, woman!" He held his hands up in front of his protectively even though there were iron bars separating the two.

She threw the closest thing she could grab at him; it happened to be a stalk of some grass thing that grew in a nearby ornate vase. "I don't know the meaning of calm! Actually, take the whole vase!"

"You know, I liked you better when you were sleeping and not abusing me!"

"Well sucks for you. There's no campaign called 'tomato lives matter!'"

They calmed down, jokes over. For your information, the vase hadn't been thrown into his room-slash-cell; it was too big and heavy to lift, let alone throw. (Y/n) quieted, fiddling with the end of her turtleneck. "What happened when you got an attack?" She asked in a quieter voice. "Did you see who did it?"

He furrowed his brow in thought and shook his head. "All I know is that it's a guy," he admitted. "Or a girl who has big feet and likes wearing fancy shoes. Sounds like someone I know."

"I'll kick your fat arse to your home planet Mars."

"Wow, rude." He looked down at his hands and sighed. He plopped down on the floor, leaning back on his hands. The room around him was austere but it wasn't the typical cell you'd expect to see in movies—even the P4's prison cell was fancy with clean white walls and glass furnishings. There was sparse furniture littered here and there. The space was small compared to the rest of the house, but it was the same size as her bedroom at home.

She crouched down to meet his eyes as he spoke. "I may or may not have angered them before all this started," Reese began with a guilty expression. "I, uh, might have seen Knight's pet Rottweilers and Dobermans and thought they were stray dogs, so I kind of fed them chicken when they were on a diet and I...um, kind of released them into the wild."

Of all the things she was expecting, Reese's foolish actions were not one of them. This time she couldn't hold back a facepalm and a groan. "When you see a chained up dog that's neatly groomed or whatever fancy life it's been living," she said slowly. "Then it's common sense that the dog is obviously not a stray. What did you think Fortuna was, a zoo?"

"It kind of is when you think about it. Fortuna students are wack—"

"That's beyond the point. Even if you did that, I don't see why they'd lock you up here for that." She inspected his face for any sign of injury. "Did they do anything to you?"

"Ah, you mean the four-that-shall-not-be-named?" He flexed his arms and struck a pose. "With these guns? Nah, bro. I'd flatten them instantly."

"Considering the fact I'm talking to you from the other side of a metal gate, that's not very reassuring. Death-Ray over there would obliterate you with a single glare."

He pulled something out of his pocket and held it up with a cheeky look. (Y/n) nearly throttled him. "Of all the things you could've brought to help yourself, you brought an Uno reverse card?!"

He shrugged, waving the card in her face. "It's useful. Gets on their nerves."

"Uh-huh, I can tell. You really meant it when you said you'd annoy any murderer or kidnapper that comes your way, huh?"

"Annoy? Psh, they're marveling at my awesomeness! I mean, who could ever dislike the great Reese Grayson?"

"Hilarious."

"Time's up." Tristan's voice came from behind them, cutting through the warm and fuzzy atmosphere like a knife. Or more like a chainsaw, shredding every single cotton ball up into itty bitty pieces. He came towards them, stopping a few feet away. "It's time to go, (Y/n)."

She glanced at him for a brief second before looking away. "We'll get out of here," she promised the redhead. "Don't be too annoying. Actually, be as infuriating as possible."

Reese cracked a smug grin and patted his chest. "I have a Ph.D. in being a quote-unquote 'little sh*t.' Ask anyone who knows me." He then rose from his crouched position of the floor and rested his hand against a nearby pillar for added drama, since his proud declaration obviously wasn't dramatic enough.

"If you're talking about me, I'll have to agree."

Tristan cleared his throat. "(Y/n)," he said in a half-growl. "Now."

"I'll go when I feel like it," she snapped back. And to Reese, "Jas' still in the school. Jason too. But I have no idea where they are—"

"(Y/n). This was not the deal."

"Okay, fine!" She wanted to pick up a vase and throw it at his annoying face. Not that she had the strength or accuracy to do so anyway. "I'll see you later, Reese!" She added the last part just to irk Tristan more. And it worked; she saw the subtle tick in his jaw.

"Bring me ten bottles of strawberry ramune next time!" Reese called just as Tristan slammed the door on his face and locked it. "Wait, and some pasta! Actually no, I want sushi! Wait, make that a Subway sandwich instead—or maybe some teriyaki chicken instead? Nah, I'm in the mood for some spicy crawfish right now—"

Tristan pulled her sharply away, ignoring her shouts of protest. When they were finally in the elevator he let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair. "Does he always talk this much?" It was more to himself than to her.

She shrugged and grinned. "You'd be surprised."

He groaned and muttered something about how there were two Fujikawas in the house now and they'd be the death of him. It only made her grin wider. Maybe he'd even release Reese soon with how much he was getting on his nerves.

Or maybe he'd pack him in a crate of tomatoes and ship it all to the Mariana Trench. She wouldn't blame him if he did that. Okay, maybe a little.

The elevator ride was one of silence. His aura was stifling, and the elevator was in no way small—it was framed by polished golden metal that gleamed in the light. The rest of it was made out of delicate-looking glass that was hard at the touch and impossibly clear. She could see the entire ride up; every single potted plant and marble statue that fell away beneath her as the elevator rose. The glass slipped up into a marble chamber slowly and the doors opened, revealing a long white hallway framed by ivory pillars.

Tristan stepped out first, ignoring her awe, and made it only a few steps before he paused. Not turning around, he said, "You have legs. Use them."

Wow. At least he didn't say something like "are you coming?" in that haughty voice of his. It would've made her arguably angrier.

(Y/n) huffed and quickly got out of the elevator, stumbling over the gap and falling over. She straightened, walking ahead with her head held high as if nothing had happened. "You have a head," she muttered. "Use it to learn some common courtesy."

A side of his mouth discreetly quirked up into a grin. "I do have manners," he said as he followed behind her. "I just chose not to use it."

She spun around, spluttering. "You're a prick. You know that?"

"I've been called worse." His smile flashes in the fluorescent light, dazzling and yet restrained at the same time.

"Well, that's great. You probably deserve it," she told him as blasé as possible. She wanted to hurt him with those words. She wanted to show him he had nothing over her; she wouldn't cower under her circumstances. She wouldn't be intimidated. "If they're calling you all those names, it really says something about you."

He didn't seem affected as he inclined his head nonchalantly. "I do not care for their opinions. If they cannot put actions to their words, they are nothing but empty talk."

"Great. I didn't ask."

In another life, (Y/n) could see herself getting along with him. His no-nonsense attitude was not bad, but it would be suffocating to get along with for long periods of time. Not to mention he could be secretly plotting behind your back. As you eat—um, burgers, or something—with him, he's probably coming up with a thousand ways to ruin your life. And you wouldn't notice until it was too late.

Not the greatest friend material, I know.

"May I say something?" He raised his hand almost mockingly, his expression one of amusement. She scowled, glaring at him.

"You may speak, peasant."

He shifted his eyes to the hallway they were heading into. "You're leading us the wrong way."

"There is no wrong way when we weren't going anywhere to begin with so ha, the joke's on you."

"No really, that way's the direction of Fujikawa's rooms."

That was enough to send her reeling in the other direction. (Y/n) clenched her teeth, ignoring the sound of his laughter trailing behind her. She stopped in her tracks and crossed her arms over her chest

"If you're so smart then lead the way," she huffed.

The male faked a bow, his lips twitching as the last of his laughter died down and another threatened to burst out. "As you command, Ms. (Y/n)."

"You have legs. So use them."

"Touché."

She was in a basketball court before she even realized it. (Y/n) looked around in confusion before turning to the male. "Did you get lost in your own home?"

He rolled his eyes but there was no force behind it. "That would make for a pretty sad story. Relax, this is where I intended to bring you."

"A basketball court?" She trailed after him like a lost bird as he went into one of the storage rooms. "Am I missing something? Is there like a secret room here when you throw a ball into the hoop?"

"Not quite." He came out with a gleaming basketball in his hands. He held it in one hand as he shrugged off his blazer, tossing it to the side. (Y/n) watched with wide eyes as the expensive white fabric fluttered through the air and landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. Okay, the floor looked like she could skate on it but still. This was Tristan they were talking about. He probably refuses to eat in his bedroom.

He suddenly tossed the ball to her. She fumbled a bit before catching it. She looked at it. Then at him.

"It's a basketball, (Y/n)—"

"I know that!" The (h/c)-haired girl scowled. "Why are we here though?"

Tristan shrugged as he rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt. "I enjoy a game of basketball in my free time. I must admit I'm a bit rusty; it's been a while since I've last played."

"You literally just took me to see my friend that you're keeping hostage and now you want me to play a friendly game with you?"

He shrugged and gestured to the ball. "I promise you'll enjoy it."

"I don't know if you've seen my file yet—you probably have, you can get into anything, but I'm an Autumn Hall student. Not Summer."

"If it helps, I'm not expecting much from you," he said, ignoring her barb.

Oh, it worked alright. The dismissive tone and his flippant words made her blood boil, her nails digging into the side of the basketball. This guy did not just say that.

"Fine," she said, bouncing the ball on the ground. "One game. Let's make a bet."

"Name your terms."

"If I win," she started. She was tempted to say "let us go" but she knew he'd never agree to that. "If I win, you'll give me my laptop back."

His eyes narrowed but he didn't argue. "And if I win?"

"I don't know, you decide."

He turned her words over in his head, processing it, analyzing it, before finally agreeing. "Alright. Best out of ten, hmm?"

"That's fine with me."

As much as (Y/n) would love to say that with so much on the line she was finally able to show her hidden LeBron James moves, it was the complete opposite. The ball bounced off her foot so many times she's lost count, as even Tristan started giving her a pitying look.

Stop pitying me. Why are you pitying me? It's annoying.

Somehow she had magically been able to get two baskets in. The first one was when she stood right in front of the hoop and the other was when she stood under it. She was pretty sure she wasn't allowed to do that but hey, Tristan didn't say anything so why did it matter?

Let's pretend Tristan totally did not have eight points right now even when he was going easy on her and was about to win.

The blue-haired male lifted the ball up with his hands, his piercing aquamarine eyes barely looking at the hoop as he landed another basket. He was barely sweating and his breathing didn't change but (Y/n) was already sounding like a dying horse. Or a pig in its death throes. Pick your poison.

He watched her shot land miserably on the floor, not coming anywhere near the basket with a lifted eyebrow. She scowled, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. "Got something to say?"

"No," he said. Then he was on her, crossing the distance between the two with a single long stride. (Y/n) stiffened involuntarily and mentally scolded herself for responding. No reaction, remember?

But that was easier said than done. She felt too aware of his presence as he came behind her with the ball, taking her wrists in a gentle grip that surprised her. She felt like a mannequin as he pressed the basketball into her hands and rearranged her arms up in the air.

"Like this," he said softly, leaning closer to her ear. Something like fresh morning dew and irises filled her nose. She held back the urge to sneeze. "Your form is all wrong. You're shooting the ball, not throwing it."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Are biscuits and cookies the same thing?"

"No, sir."

"Here," he lowered her elbow and made her straighten by applying light pressure to the small of her back. "Shoot with your fingertips, not your palms. Mhm, like that." He took a step back and she almost let out a sigh of relief. "Try it yourself."

"If I fail I'm blaming it on you," she said, eying the basketball with distrust. Her arms were starting to hurt. Here goes nothing!

It landed on the floor. Typical.

Tristan eyed the ball that landed close to the hoop but not close enough. Then he leveled a straight look at the female. "This really isn't your forte."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you for the last ten minutes! Someone give this guy a medal for finally figuring that out."

He picked the ball up and easily sent it into the hoop with one hand. Okay, she had to admit. That was kinda impressive. "Let's try again, hmm?" He said, making a humming sound at the back of his throat. "You'll get the hang of it. Eventually." Even he didn't sound sure of himself; it was a pleasant change from his normally arrogant tone, but it didn't make her feel any better.

"I didn't think I'd get a new gym teacher this soon," she muttered under her breath. A sharp pang lanced through her chest at the memory of the silver-haired teacher. Was he alive? Or was he too, like Isla, killed in mysterious circumstances?

"You have the basic amount of muscles for breathing," he commented, eying her arm with his arms folded across his chest. "I take it you haven't been exercising regularly, have you?"

"Actually I haven't seen the sun in years."

He stared at her. She stared back.

"You could've kidnapped me next week, you know," (Y/n) added, breaking the awkward silence. "Could've gotten my vitamin D sooner. Why the rush?"

"As I've said before, you are not being held hostage—"

"Okay, maybe not 'hostage,'" she drawled sarcastically. "I'm being kept here against my will, me and Reese. What's the word for that again? Apparently it's not 'hostage.' You're supposed to be the smart one here, not me."

A fleeting flash of icy poison in his eyes was the only indication he gave of his underlying irritation. "Perhaps we could reword it to a 'permanent stay.' You are neither a guest or a prisoner in this dorm. Naturally, we will not stay here forever; it is still on campus grounds."

Suddenly the room felt way too small. "Y'know, this place is not bad. I'll stay here, y'know, help clean up and stuff. You guys can leave for, um, wherever you're going. I like it here better."

"It was not a request, (Y/n)."

A storm was brewing in the gymnasium and both of them knew it. He waited silently, gauging her reaction, waiting for her to explode or bite both her anger and pride back. Neither of the two options was very appealing—both had their consequences. But if she was to crash and burn anyway, (Y/n) preferred to do it with a bang, dragging as many people down with her as she could.

"Do you ever get tired of riding that white horse of yours all the time?" She fumed, her eyes boring into his pale blue ones. "Have you never even tried to see things from other people's perspectives? See how not all of them are willing to go along with your stupid plans? Okay, you want to take the position of headmaster from your father. Great. I don't care. You can do all that sh*t but don't involve anyone else in it—you think I'd be appeased with a nice hotel room to stay in and a couple of dollar bills tossed in my face when you did all"—she made a vague sweeping gesture with her hands—"This?"

His eyes blazed with blue fire, lit with intelligence and intensity that almost—almost—made her breath catch in her throat. (Y/n) has seen many different kinds of eyes in her life; lying eyes, crying eyes, angry eyes, murderous eyes, laughing eyes, mocking eyes...even hateful eyes. But she's never seen anything like his, filled with countless emotions and yet his surrounding features were as monotonous as ever.

He took a step closer—she instinctively took one back but caught herself, and forced her body to stand her ground. His expression didn't waver, didn't change, betraying nothing as he stopped right in front of her, easily towering over the (h/c)-haired girl. The male raised a hand and she bit her lip, steeling herself in case he decided to strike.

Tristan canted his head, his expression one of curiosity as he ran his fingers through a lock of her hair. "If you're aiming to be a lawyer like your father," he murmured, his eyes tracing the silken (h/c) strands as they fell through his fingers. "You've picked the wrong profession."

Wow, okay. "Thanks a lot," (Y/n) scowled. She found the energy she really didn't have to break away and put well-needed space between them. "That just makes me want to do it more. See the look on your face when I drag you to court."

"I look forward to that day," he chuckled, obviously not believing her.

"I mean it, po—uh, you prick!"

"I'm aware you do, (Y/n). You've never let me down when you challenged me. And"—his voice dropped into a whisper that raked icy claws up her spine—"I prefer to keep it that way."

Her face felt like it was frozen and on fire at the same time. "Shut up. I'll destroy you again like last time. What are you, a masochist?"

"Some call me a sadist," Tristan shrugged carelessly. "Others call me a bastard."

"You're really loved, aren't you?"

He frowned. "Is that a term of endearment nowadays?"

"It's called sarcasm, Buster. Clearly you need to take a few classes. All you do is throw facts and threats in people's faces."

He cleared his throat. "I can make jokes."

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow incredulously. "You've made jokes with me before?"

"Well, i-it's not fairly common and I'd like to keep it that way, but yes, I s-suppose I have. A couple of times."

"Really? Name one time you've made a joke with me."

He opened his mouth and closed it immediately after.

"See? Sarcasm and joking aren't in your dictionary." But that's fine, she added silently. If he sticks to whatever script he follows, it makes him more predictable. I don't need him going off his rocker now if I'm to outsmart them. Pfft, imagine me trying to outsmart a guy with an IQ of 180 when I have what, two brain cells?

"That's—"

But before he could retort, the gods of all things unholy and unfortunate decided it was a great time to screw up the power source. Pitch black darkness wrapped the gymnasium in an ebony velvet blanket as the lights died all at once. (Y/n)'s eyes flew open in shock. She didn't scream—she was never a screamer.

"That's odd," Tristan murmured. She could hear him shuffling in the darkness. "The power never fails. The electrician did the monthly maintenance just last week. How peculiar."

(Y/n) heard him move away deeper into complete darkness and the strangest part of her wanted to call out to him and ask him to stay. She was no stranger to blackouts and claustrophobia—it wasn't the demons hiding in the shadows that scared her. It was her demons, the ones that hid in the darkest corners of her mind, waiting to strike as soon as she showed any sign of weakness in her mental state.

Once she broke down. Another time she fell under a red haze, killing Neveah before she realized what she was doing. (Y/n) wasn't sure what she'd do this time, and she really didn't want to find out.

The shadows concealed everything around them, indicating there was going to be a dark murder. Or something worse, something she didn't know. (Y/n) took a tentative step in the direction she was pretty sure the exit was, her hands held out in front of her.

Swallowing her pride, she called, "Tristan? A-are you there?"

His reply was immediate. "Yes, I'm looking for my phone. It should be in my jacket but it seems like I've misplaced it." He made a frustrated sound through his teeth. "I truly apologize that our time has been cut short, (Y/n). I'm sure the others have noticed and are fixing the power right now. It should turn on at any time."

She hated to admit it but hearing his voice through the shadows gave her a small sense of comfort, reminding her that she wasn't alone. Another whisper in the darkness and her unease melted away, replaced by a sense of lulling calm that soothed her, nearly drove sleep back over her senses.

Not his hand but his aura seemed to reach out to her, placating her, soothing her, grounding her even with her vision robbed of her. "It'll be fine," he said in a gentler tone. "We can't call in anyone right now because of the Game but Matthews is decent at fixing things. It's only a matter of time."

"Y-yeah." (Y/n) hated how her voice faltered. She coughed loudly to mask her emotions and said again in a stronger voice, "Okay."

Still, he seemed to catch on the capricious unease and stepped forward, still cloaked in shadows, outlined by ebony against even more blacks. All she heard was her breath, steady but deep, and his, soft but shuddering against the cold draft that swept through the gymnasium.

"It's best not to wander in a blackout," Tristan said slowly, taking her hand in leading her blindly towards something. "Come, let's sit down. It'll be fine."

He led her to a wall. She slid down it gratefully, pressing her back into the smooth surface as she stared wide-eyed into nothingness. It was good her area didn't get hit by tropical storms often. She wouldn't want things like this to be a common occurrence.

Only after a long, stretched out moment of silence did he decide to talk. "Are you afraid?" He asked quietly. "Does the dark bother you?"

She made a disbelieving sound. "If it does, you think I'd be able to sleep so soundly?" As if I'd tell him any of my fears.

"Fair enough." He made a sound that was not quite a laugh. "Then you wouldn't mind if I left to check on Matthews, do you?"

Well, fudge. "U-uh, of course not?"

Even through the cover of the darkness, she was able to make out his amusement and the outline of his mouth lifting into a smirk. "Are you sure?" He said in a teasing tone that surprised her. "I don't mind staying—"

"Just go!"

"You didn't say please."

"Goddammit popsicle."

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A/N: I found a better Tristan picture. Had to edit the eyes though.