Sylus, Please. It's a Mannequin.

The mannequin has no head, and Sylus is still making sure he wins.

Remember that bit in Magnum Opus where you can introduce a shop mannequin as your new boyfriend? Yeah. That one. Sylus actually goes over to compare himself with it, because apparently we need to establish who's taller and who has the better body before this relationship can continue. And then he points out that the other boyfriend doesn't even have a head. Thank you, Sylus. I was struggling to choose.

I adore this nonsense.

There is a particular pleasure in watching a man volunteer for a competition nobody needed to hold. Sylus could let the compliment pass. He could be secure in the knowledge that the mannequin is unlikely to text her later. Instead, he participates. Enthusiastically enough to start measuring. Oh, so we do care where her attention goes. How inconvenient for the dignity.

This is the jealousy I have a soft spot for. A little vanity getting caught with its coat off. He wants her to think he's gorgeous, and apparently being gorgeous is insufficient without some acknowledgment from the person whose opinion counts. Fair. Embarrassing, but fair. I would hate for all that effort to go unappreciated.

Calling it jealousy doesn't mean I think a plastic torso has exposed some terrible wound in his soul. The joke is allowed to be a joke. I don't need to send him away for emotional repairs because he wants to be the prettiest thing in a clothing store. I want him to keep talking until he accidentally makes it obvious how much he likes her. That's where my interest is. Carry on, sir.

The mirror trick gives him his turn. He claims to have spotted a girl he likes behind the heroine, who turns and finds her own reflection. She's been teasing him, and now she's walked into his teasing. Annoying. Effective. I would like to register my annoyance while leaving the effectiveness entirely undisputed.

What makes this fun for me is that she gets to be a nuisance too. She's contributing to the ridiculousness. A romantic scene can become awfully airless when one person does all the smirking and the other exists to blush on cue. Give her something wicked to do with a perfectly innocent display. Let her enjoy knowing exactly which compliment he wanted for himself.

We still need the fitting room.

My defense does have an opening, though. He takes the clothes to the checkout before she can try them on.

Sylus. The fitting room.

I know being spoiled is part of the appeal. I am not immune to a man being generous. But if I'm about to discover that a pair of trousers does something unforgivable at the knee, I would prefer to discover it before anyone buys them. Wait five minutes. You can remain devastatingly attractive outside the curtain.

That small objection matters to my enjoyment more than some grand declaration that he's a perfect boyfriend. Perfect would be a nuisance to write about anyway. I like having something to argue with. Affection gets more convincing when it can survive a complaint about trousers instead of requiring me to wave every complaint away.

Pride has another appointment.

Shared Lanterns gives his pride another excellent problem. A princess who wants his company, and is quite prepared to be a pest about it.

She bets on a weiqi game to secure an outing, loses, and tries to overturn the board. It is fixed to the table. A disastrous day for dramatic exits. Eventually, he agrees to accept her invitations despite the loss.

Good. I was not going to sit here demanding that this woman master weiqi before she could have a date.

That concession is what I want from all the sparring. At some point, somebody has to make room for the other person. Otherwise, we're watching two attractive people preserve their pride until the shops close. I enjoy the evasions more when I believe there's an answer coming, even if getting there requires a deeply unsuccessful attack on the furniture.

In one ending choice, Sylus acknowledges that they've chosen each other. There. An answer. He can afford one. It doesn't spoil the appeal for me to hear that the woman doing all this pursuing has actually reached him.

I wouldn't use that moment to explain every version of Sylus, or pretend these two Memories settle how he'd behave with a serious rival. I'm talking about the pleasure of this particular game between them. The little bids for attention. The satisfaction of catching someone invested when he's been trying to look so wonderfully above it all.

So yes, give me a jealous Sylus. Let him be a little ridiculous about wanting the compliment. I will be terribly sympathetic to his struggle, provided he keeps giving himself away this entertainingly.

And somebody thank the mannequin. It worked very hard at standing there.