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"Isn't white a bit much?"
"I think it's sharp. Or — black suit, white socks?"
"...How about blue?"
"Blue feels cheap. Oh, what about this?" Jasmine held up something with traditional-style closures and a mandarin collar.
"Let's not. We're going to the Capital Exhibition. I'd rather not show up looking like I got lost on the way to a costume party." Max turned the price tag over. "Also, why does something with fabric this thin cost nineteen thousand dollars?"
"You said this city has inflated prices."
"I said inflated, not delusional. There's a difference. This same outfit would sit on a clearance rack back home."
"Alright, alright. Breathe." Jasmine put it back. Her eyes moved along the rack. "Dark green. This one — it actually works with the white hair. Somehow."
Max looked at it. Considered.
Inside the clothing store, rotating through options Jasmine kept producing from the racks, Max felt something he hadn't expected to feel in a shopping context: uncomplicated happiness. Not excitement, not relief — just the specific warmth of being looked after by someone who was paying attention.
He was old enough to know how rare that was. The older you got, the more you understood what the absence of it had actually cost.
So no matter how abstract Jasmine's taste occasionally ran, he tried everything she picked up. Without complaint.
Jasmine noticed. She set down the jacket she was holding.
"So," she said, looking at him directly. "Why games? Like — the industry itself is fine, I'm not questioning that. But why are you so committed to it?"
Max thought about it for a moment.
"It's not really commitment in the way you mean. It's more like — wanting to share. The things I like, the things I think are worth experiencing. I want other people to encounter them and recognize something in them. To agree, maybe. To feel what I feel about them." He paused. "VR makes that possible in a way nothing else can. I can take what's in my head and put it somewhere people can actually walk around in. If I can do that — if I have that ability — what reason is there not to use it?"
The store lights clicked on automatically as the evening sensor triggered. Light fell on Max — slightly flushed, white hair, the expression of someone who had just said something more honest than he'd planned and was deciding whether to be embarrassed about it.
"Does that sound ridiculous?"
Jasmine stared at him.
You man.
You are playing with fire.
She had intended to take this slowly. Military patience. Don't startle the target. Maintain the appearance of a reasonable person splitting rent. All of that.
She put it aside.
Before Max could register the shift, she had crossed the distance, wrapped both arms around his waist, and kissed him.
"Jasmine, what—"
"Quiet. One more."
Boys should be more careful out in the world.
Facing Jasmine's extremely definitive approach, and then the sequel to it, Max widened his eyes and then, after a moment, closed them.
Jasmine was objectively beautiful. He was not, on reflection, at a loss here.
"How many people have you kissed?" Jasmine pulled back, studying him. "You're not even out of breath."
"Lung capacity?"
"You're blushing. I'll believe you." She grabbed his hand. "Let's go."
"Where? For what?"
"Home. I brought my console."
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