Charles ducked behind a pillar, breath shallow, the hum of neon lights and electronic beeps of laser fire echoing through the maze-like arena. Shouts and laughter bounced off the walls—friendly chaos, the kind that made birthday nights out memorable. He grinned, peering around the corner, ready to make his move.

Then—bam. A sharp force knocked him backward, slamming him into the wall.

“What the—?”

He barely had time to register what had hit him when a familiar figure stepped into view.

You.

“Hi,” you said casually, flashing him a disarmingly sweet grin.

Before he could respond—before his brain could fully catch up—you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. Soft. Brief. Shockingly confident.

His breath caught as you pulled away, eyes still locked on his. His whole body stilled, frozen in place, his mind a blur of static and adrenaline. A slow, dawning flush crept across his face.

Then zap.

You tagged him right in the stomach, the sensor on his vest flaring red. He looked down, then back up at you, stunned.

A smug, almost devilish smirk tugged at your lips. “Whoops,” you said with a light laugh, tossed him a wink, and turned on your heel to disappear into the maze.

Charles stood there, blinking, heart pounding like he'd just run a mile—not from the game, but from you.