Amelia’s apartment smelled of coffee grounds and lavender detergent. The kind of cozy that happens by accident, not design. Books in stacks, one lamp too bright, a couch that had clearly chosen a side in the war against gravity.
Chase arrived carrying a paper bag of takeout – a local Mexican place, with more soul than polish – and immediately tripped over a laundry basket left in the hallway.
“I’m getting Paperboy flashbacks over here,” he said, catching his balance and setting the bag down.
“Think of it as a security measure,” Amelia called out. She was barefoot, hair up in a messy bun, wearing yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt. “If you survive the obstacle course, you earn food.”
“I didn’t expect Amelia Winter’s place to be so..,” he said. “Disorganized.”
She grinned, taking the bag. “Winters tend to be messy.”
They ate on the couch, cross-legged, watching some streaming show neither cared about. Every now and then, their conversation brushed the edges of real things. His stress at the firm, her “rebranded” clinic, but neither wanted to let the world invade what they were having.
“Everything okay at work?” she asked, biting into her quesadilla slice.
“Depends who you ask,” he said. “Gunther might’ve been sacrificed to appease our overlords.”
“Sounds barbaric.”
“Oh, it’s corporate America. We just use nicer fonts.”
Her smile was sympathetic and a little sad. “You think that’s it. You’ll spend the next thirty or forty years at Micheal & Cole, then retire?”
He thought about it. “More often than I care to admit.”
“Then maybe you should start admitting it, see if that’s what you really want.”
They fell quiet again, the hum of the oscillating fan filling the air.
He stood to grab a napkin and caught sight of something at the back of her open closet—a flash of color. A gold key, a blue ribbon, a faint shimmer of fabric half-hidden behind a denim jacket.
“Old uniform?” he asked, teasing, walking closer.
She hesitated, looking up. “Something like that.”
He pulled it out gently. It was the Lucy Heartfilia costume, bright and well-loved, the edges slightly frayed but the colors still vibrant.
“Oh,” he said, smiling. “I figured AnimeVerse wasn’t a one-time thing.”
“Please don’t—”
He was already flipping through the hangers. “Nami. Videl. Sakura. Wait, is this—seriously?”
She froze. “What?”
He held up a green tunic and a very short skirt.
“…Link,” he said. “You cosplayed Link.”
“I said Zelda,” she replied defensively. “It’s the costume they gave me. I worked with it and hung out with other gender-bent characters.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s basically the same character archetypally.”
He bit back a grin. “That’s an opinion that’s gotten people banned from Reddit.”
“Congratulations,” she said dryly, snatching the hanger from him. “You’ve found the ghosts of my life before Orangeside.”
“I think they’re adorable ghosts,” he said.
Her blush betrayed her. “They’re embarrassing ghosts.”
“Embarrassing ghosts,” he said, stepping closer. “Look good on you.”
She threw a pillow at him, laughter came naturally when he caught it.
Looking up, he was closer than she expected. The laughter died down, replaced by a sudden, heavy gravity.
The silence that followed was the kind that didn’t need answers.
He kissed her – slow, warm, tentative enough to feel like permission. She kissed him back with a steadiness that surprised them both, a release of two years of unspoken feelings and almost-moments.
They stood like that for a long moment, the only sound of their breathing syncing in the quiet apartment. “You know this doesn’t fix anything?” her voice feathered.
“Of course not,” he said softly, his hand resting on her waist. “Can’t fix something that was never broken… So let’s start something that doesn’t need fixing.”
“Good,” she murmured. “The world’s been broken for a while.”
Later, after helping her stack the takeout containers. They stood by the door, the air felt charged, fragile.
She said it first.
“You could stay, you know. Just… tonight.”
He looked at her, tired but lighter than he’d been in months. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” she said. “The couch unfolds, but the bed’s a lot more comfy.”
He smiled. “Noted.”
It wasn’t the kind of night that demanded fireworks. It was the kind that felt like finding the right frequency after years of lost signals.
Plans, half-jokes, the kind of maybe-future you build when the lights are out. They talked in the dark until exhaustion won.
At one point, she mumbled, “Maybe you should move in. Less unscheduled ‘Paperboy’ games.”
He chuckled, shifting the blanket. “I have more square footage and fewer death traps.”
“So… compromise.”
Vincenzo replayed the test footage of his “Spark Myths” stream, frame by frame, every word polished, every smile placed. But his mind wasn’t on the numbers. It was on a photo open in another window – Amelia Winters at eighteen, cosplay ribbon in her hair, sunlight catching on synthetic gold.
He ran background checks before. He knew exactly who was holding the camera in that old video. He knew the history of her life.
“Chase,” he murmured, tapping the glass. “You’ve found a diamond in a bloodline of coal. Lucky boy.”
He leaned back, the leather chair groaning. He had offered Chase the carrot. A simple consulting gig, the easy money.
Chase had slapped it away. Chase was proud. Chase wanted to be “real.”
So, the carrot was out. It was time for the diamond stick.
Vincenzo picked up his phone. Opening a secure line to the asset management team overseeing the newly acquired “El Viento Animal Wellness” portfolio.
He typed: Bring the ‘PawsCity Vibes’ in line with the new operating model.
Send.
Then he opened a second thread, this one to the liaison handling the Michael & Cole retainer.
He typed: The Gunther scandal is a liability. Begin comparative counsel evaluation.
Send.
He set the phone down, watching the screen go dark. He didn’t need to scout them. He needed to starve them. When the rent was due and the hours were cut, they wouldn’t look at his cameras as selling out. They would look at them as a lifeline.
“You want to be authentic, Chase?” he whispered to the empty room. “Authenticity isn’t free.”
He stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the skyline reflected in the glass. For a second, in the ghost glass, he thought he saw a second silhouette behind his own, dark, tall silhouette. A long-banished, wandering eye, still and patient, a silent partner waiting for his cut.
When he blinked, it was gone.
Vincenzo smiled, checked his reflection, and turned off the lights.