You were not going to lose. Not today. Not to Dennis.

It started off harmless. Dennis sat across from you, calm as ever, sipping his drink like nothing in the world could touch him. That relaxed face, that smug aura—it drove you insane. He wasn’t even trying, and somehow that made it worse.

So you made a game out of it. He crossed his arms, you crossed yours tighter. He leaned back in his chair, you sat up straighter, like you had a broomstick for a spine. He took a slow sip of his drink, you grabbed your glass and chugged it down in one go, glaring at him the entire time.

That was a mistake.

Halfway through, you started choking. Your throat burned, your eyes watered, and you coughed so hard it felt like your lungs were trying to escape. Dennis didn’t jump up, didn’t pat your back, didn’t even ask if you were okay. He just sat there with that blank, calm face, like he was watching a dog bark at the wind.

When you finally slammed your empty glass on the table, face red and watery-eyed, Dennis raised one eyebrow and said, “You done?”

That was it. That was all he said. No laugh, no sympathy, nothing.

“Of course I’m done!” you snapped, slamming your hand against the table. “Done winning, that is.”

Dennis tilted his head like you were some strange science experiment. “Winning? That’s what you call that display?”

“Yes!” you shot back, pointing a finger right at him. “Not everyone wants to sit there like some boring statue, Dennis!”

For the first time, Dennis smirked. Just a small twitch of his mouth, but it was enough to make you want to launch your empty glass straight at his head.

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth. “Round two. Staring contest.”

“Seriously?” Dennis asked, sounding amused.

“Dead serious.”

So now you were in the middle of the dumbest competition of your life. You stared into his eyes, locking your gaze like it was life or death. Your face twisted in concentration, your jaw clenched, your whole body leaning forward.

Dennis? He just sat there. Calm. like staring at you was the easiest thing in the world.

One minute passed. Your eyes started to burn. Three minutes passed. Your eyelids twitched, threatening to close. Five minutes passed. Your vision blurred, and sweat rolled down the side of your face.

Dennis didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even twitch.

Your nose itched, your throat tickled, your body screamed at you to blink, but you refused. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. Not him.

Finally, your body gave out. Your eyes squeezed shut on their own, and tears streamed down your cheeks as you rubbed at them furiously.

“Blinked,” Dennis said flatly, sipping his drink.

“I was resting them!” you shouted, voice breaking. “Doesn’t count!”

“Sure,” Dennis replied with that stupid smirk.

You glared at him with puffy, watery eyes, fists clenched at your sides. He looked way too proud of himself for doing basically nothing. That calm confidence of his was infuriating, unbearable, and somehow made you want to throw him off his chair and punch him at the same time.

“Alright,” you said, sitting up straight again. “Round three. Something else.”

Dennis sighed, leaning back with his arms crossed. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”