"Bold of you to assume I’d let you." She stood and collected plates with the brusque efficiency of someone who’d worked food service at some point in her life. The bike shorts rode up slightly as she reached across the table for Aurora’s bowl, and I kept my gaze firmly on the ceiling fan because I had already used up tonight’s allowance of looking at things I shouldn’t.

The ceiling fan was very interesting. Multiple speeds. Brushed nickel finish.

"Right." Addison dropped the dishes in the sink with a clatter that said washing them was tomorrow’s problem. She dried her hands on a dishtowel, tossed it over her shoulder, and turned to face both of us with an expression that meant the evening was about to shift gears. "I’m bored of eating. Let’s play something."

Aurora perked up from her post-dinner slouch on the couch. "What kind of something?"

"The violent kind." Addison walked to the entertainment center beneath the flat screen and pulled open a cabinet that held a gaming console I recognized as this world’s equivalent of a Switch, along with four wireless controllers and a stack of game cases arranged by genre. She rifled through them with the discerning speed of someone who’d played each one enough times to have opinions about their meta. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

She held up a case featuring a chaotic splash of colorful characters mid-combat, fists and weapons and explosions rendered in the exaggerated art style of a fighting game that didn’t take itself too seriously. The title read CLASH LEGENDS in chrome letters with a tagline underneath: "Everyone fights. Nobody survives."

"Clash Legends," Addison announced. "Three-player free-for-all. Last one standing wins."

Aurora groaned. "You always pick Clash Legends."

"Because I always win Clash Legends."

"You win because you play Markov and his stupid counter is broken."

"His counter is fine. You just walk into it every single time."

This was clearly an old argument. The kind that got replayed at every game night because neither participant was willing to concede and both enjoyed the friction.

I took the controller Addison tossed at me. The weight felt good in my hands, familiar in a way that connected to my previous life where gaming had been approximately sixty percent of my personality.

"I’m in," I said. "What are the stakes?"

Addison’s lollipop clicked against her teeth. Her violet eyes found mine, and in the warm glow of the living room with the kitchen still smelling like garlic and the string lights painting gold patterns on the walls, she looked like trouble wearing eyeliner.

"Strip rules," she said.

Aurora sat up straight. "Oh, we’re doing strip rules."

"Every time you lose a stock, you remove one article of clothing. Three stocks per round, standard tournament format." Addison dropped onto the couch and pulled her legs underneath her, controller balanced on one knee. "Whoever’s naked first loses everything."

"Define article of clothing," I said, because I’d played enough strip games in my previous life to know the devil lived exclusively in the definitions.

"Shoes count. Socks count individually, left and right are separate. Jewelry doesn’t count because Aurora wears nine pieces at any given time and that’s basically armor."

"I wear seven," Aurora corrected, settling onto the couch and tucking her feet beneath her.

"Seven is still excessive for a combat student."

"Fashion is my secondary ability."

Addison looked at me. "You in or are you scared?"

"I’m wearing a jacket, a shirt, jeans, two socks, two shoes, and boxers. That’s eight items." I counted on my fingers. "You’re in bike shorts, a tank top, and whatever’s under those."

"Bra and panties."

"So four items total."

"Five. The hair tie counts."

"The hair tie does not count."

"My game, my rules." She bit down on the lollipop and grinned around the stick. "What, you need a handicap against a girl in bike shorts?"

I sat down between them on the couch. Aurora on my left, her bare knee pressing against my thigh. Addison on my right, close enough that I could smell her perfume, something dark and floral that mixed with the lingering scent of garlic and butter from dinner.

The game booted up. The character select screen showed maybe forty fighters, each one drawn in that specific over-the-top animation style that Japanese developers loved, proportions exaggerated for maximum visual impact. I recognized the genre immediately. This was this world’s version of Smash Bros, chaotic platform fighting where positioning and timing mattered more than combo memorization.

I’d been a terror at Smash in my previous life. Top two percent online. The kind of player who made strangers disconnect out of frustration.

Addison picked her main. A tall gothic knight with a massive greatsword and a counter move that apparently triggered Aurora’s PTSD. Aurora chose a fire mage with flashy projectiles and excellent aerial mobility. I scrolled through the roster and found a spear user with a moveset that reminded me of my actual fighting style, quick pokes, good range, solid offstage game.

"Ready?" Addison asked.

"Born ready."

"Cringe."

The match started.

The first round lasted ninety seconds. My previous life’s muscle memory kicked in like someone had flipped a switch. The spear character moved exactly how I expected, and within the first exchange I’d read both of their playstyles. Aurora was aggressive but predictable, always approaching from the air with the same three angles. Addison was patient and reactive, using that broken counter to punish anything unsafe.

I took Aurora’s first stock at forty seconds with a spike off the right platform. She screamed.

"WHAT."

"Remove an article of clothing," Addison said without looking away from the screen.

Aurora kicked off her left sock. One down.

Addison came at me with the greatsword’s huge hitbox, but I spaced around it and punished the whiff with a three-hit combo that launched her off the top of the screen. Her stock counter dropped.

Addison stared at the screen. Then at me. Then at the screen again.

"Take something off," I said.

Her jaw worked around the lollipop. She pulled the hair tie from her bun, and black and purple hair tumbled down around her shoulders and framed her face in a way that made my controller grip tighten for reasons completely unrelated to gaming.

"Hair tie," she said flatly.

"That shouldn’t count."

"My game. My rules."