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"Isn't white a bit... much?" Max asked, staring at his reflection.
He was wearing a stark white, double-breasted suit. With his white hair and pale skin, he looked less like a game developer and more like a cult leader or an anime villain about to monolog one about the nature of humanity.
"It's flashy," Jasmine admitted, circling him like a shark. "But maybe too flashy. You look like you're about to sell me a time-share in Florida. Take it off."
"Thank god," Max muttered, retreating to the changing room.
He came out wearing a black suit with white socks.
"No," Jasmine shook her head immediately. "You look like Michael Jackson. Next."
"Blue?" Max suggested, holding up a navy jacket.
"Too corporate," Jasmine dismissed it. "You're an artiste, not an accountant. We need something with edge."
She rummaged through the rack and pulled out a dark green velvet jacket.
"Try this," she commanded. "It matches your eyes. And your... broodiness."
Max tried it on. It was... surprisingly good. But then he looked at the price tag.
"Three thousand dollars?!" Max choked. "For this? Jasmine, feel this fabric. It's rough. It feels like a glorified scouring pad. Back in my hometown, you couldn't sell this at a thrift store for ten bucks."
"Stop complaining," Jasmine chided, smoothing the lapels. "This is the City. Everything is overpriced. It's called the 'Cool Tax.' You're paying for the brand."
"I'm paying for robbery," Max grumbled. "If I'm paying three grand, this suit better come with superpowers. Or at least a built-in air conditioner."
Despite the exorbitant prices and the endless changing, Max didn't feel tired. In fact, he felt... happy.
Growing up, and especially after losing his parents, Max had gotten used to doing everything alone. He shopped alone, ate alone, lived alone. The loneliness was a cold, constant background noise.
But now, having someone fuss over him? Having Jasmine straighten his tie, critique his cuffs, and argue with the sales clerk about the fit? It felt warm. It felt like he wasn't just a solitary unit anymore.
He looked at Jasmine in the mirror. She was focused, her brow furrowed as she adjusted his collar. She looked beautiful.
"You know," Max said softly, catching her eye in the reflection. "I really appreciate this. The help. The clothes. Everything."
Jasmine paused. Her hands lingered on his chest. She looked up at him, her expression softening.
"So," she asked, her voice quiet amidst the bustling store. "Tell me something, Max. Why games?"
"Huh?"
"Why do you make them?" she clarified. "You could do anything with that brain of yours. You could code banking software and make millions. You could build defense systems. Why are you so obsessed with games?"
Max blinked. He thought about it.
"That's... a hard question," he admitted. He turned around to face her.
"It's not really about the games themselves. It's about... sharing."
He gestured vaguely with his hands.
"I have all these worlds in my head. These stories. These feelings. And in the real world... sometimes it's hard to connect. Words aren't enough. But in a game? I can show you exactly what I mean. I can make you feel it."
He looked at her, his white hair catching the store lights.
"I want people to see what I see. I want them to love what I love. It's validation, I guess. When I see someone playing my game and smiling... it makes me feel less alone."
He smiled—a genuine, unguarded smile that reached his eyes.
"Just like I like seeing you smile, Jasmine. If I can make the world smile like that... then all the sleepless nights are worth it."
He scratched the back of his head, looking a bit embarrassed. "Does that sound too chuunibyou? Like a cheesy anime protagonist?"
Click.
As if on cue, the track lighting in the store shifted, a spotlight hitting Max perfectly. He stood there in the dark green suit, looking handsome, vulnerable, and incredibly earnest.
Jasmine felt her heart skip a beat. Then it started hammering against her ribs like a jackhammer.
She looked at him. This brilliant, dense, sweet idiot. He didn't realize the power he had.
You man... Jasmine thought, her eyes darkening. You are playing with fire.
She didn't say a word. She dropped the tie she was holding.
She took a step forward. She grabbed the lapels of his expensive jacket and yanked him down.
"Jasmine?" Max yelped.
She didn't let him finish. She smashed her lips against his.
It wasn't a gentle, movie-star kiss. It was an ambush. It was a takeover. It was the kind of kiss that declared ownership. She kissed him with the intensity of a starving woman at a banquet.
Max's eyes went wide. His brain short-circuited.
System Error. Input Overload.
He tried to pull back, just out of reflex, but Jasmine was stronger. One of her hands tangled in his white hair, holding him in place, while the other wrapped firmly around his waist, crushing him against her.
It lasted for what felt like an eternity. When she finally pulled back, they were both breathless.
"Jasmine!" Max gasped, his face burning red. "You...!"
"Shut up," she growled. "Stop talking."
She kissed him again. Harder this time.
Max decided that resistance was futile. And honestly? He didn't want to resist. He closed his eyes and melted into it.
Boys are told to protect themselves when they go out, but in the face of a Valkyrie who has made up her mind... surrender is the only option.
Finally, Jasmine released him. She stepped back, looking flushed but triumphant. She licked her lips.
"You bastard," she panted, looking at him with suspicion. "You said you were single since birth. How are you not out of breath? Where did you learn to kiss like that?"
Max leaned against a display rack for support, his legs feeling like jelly.
"I... I don't know," Max wheezed. "Maybe... high lung capacity? I swim?"
Jasmine narrowed her eyes. She scanned his face. He was blushing furiously, looking completely bewildered.
"Fine," she decided. "I'll believe you. This time."
She grabbed his hand. Her grip was iron.
"Let's go," she commanded, dragging him toward the exit.
"Wait!" Max stumbled. "Where? We haven't paid for the suit!"
Jasmine threw a credit card at the stunned sales clerk without breaking stride. "Put it on my tab! Keep the change!"
"But where are we going?!" Max cried as she towed him out of the store and onto the street. "What for?!"
Jasmine looked back at him. Her grin was wolfish.
"Home," she said.
"Home?" Max asked innocently. "To... play games?"
Jasmine laughed. It was a wicked sound.
"Oh, we're playing something alright," she purred. "Remember that mattress you unboxed yesterday? It needs a stress test."
Max's eyes widened.
"Oh."
"Yeah," Jasmine winked. "Oh. Move it, soldier."
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