Amelia’s apartment smelled of coffee grounds and lavender detergent. Old manga and anime discs were piled in precarious stacks, a green shaded bank-lamp burned in the corner.
Chase arrived carrying a paper bag of Mexican takeout, immediately tripping over a laundry basket in the entryway.
“I’m getting Paperboy flashbacks over here,” he said, catching his balance and setting the bag on the coffee table. “Is the obstacle course part of the security system, or do I need to worry about a rogue skateboarder in the kitchen?”
Amelia called out from the back, her voice light. “If you survive the hallway, you earn the quesadillas, Chase. Winters tend to be messy.” She emerged barefoot, hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing an oversized t-shirt that swallowed her frame.
They ate on the floor, cross-legged, an old anime playing in the background. The conversation brushed the edges of the real world—the tightening atmosphere at Michael & Cole, the “rebranded” clinic—but they kept the shadows at bay.
“You really think you’ll stay there?” she asked. “Thirty years at the firm, a gold watch, and a retirement plan that covers the therapy you’ll need while surviving it?”
He thought about it. “More often than I care to admit. It’s the safe option, Amelia. Or it was.”
“Then maybe you should start admitting it,” she said, her eyes meeting his. “See if the ‘safe’ version of Chase Wright is actually the one you want to live with.”
He stood up to grab a napkin and caught a flash of color in her open closet—a shimmer of fabric half-hidden behind a denim jacket. He walked closer, his curiosity piqued. “Wait, is this what I think it is?” He pulled it out gently. It was a Lucy Heartfilia costume, the blue-and-white fabric well-loved, the edges slightly frayed, the colors still vibrant.
“Oh,” he said, a grin breaking through. “I figured AnimeVerse was a one-time thing, but this looks like a commitment.”
“Please put that back,” she said, giggling. “Please don’t go through my ghosts.”
He was already flipping through the hangers, his eyes widening. “Nami. Videl. Sakura. Wait—is this actually a green tunic?” He held up a very short skirt and a matching cap. “You cosplayed Link.”
“I said Zelda,” she replied defensively, standing up to snatch the hanger back. “It’s what the goober at the store gave me. I worked with what I had. Besides, it’s basically the same character archetypally.”
“That is an opinion that has gotten people doxxed,” he said, stepping closer. “But I think they’re adorable ghosts, Amelia. They look good on you.”
The laughter died down. The space between them, once filled with banter and old memories, turned electric. He reached out, his hand resting tentatively on her waist. He kissed her—slow, warm, and tentative. She kissed him back with a steadiness that surprised them both.
They stood like that for a long moment, their breathing syncing in the quiet. “You know this doesn’t fix what’s going on, right?” she whispered against his shoulder.
“Of course not,” he said softly. “I’m not trying to fix the world tonight. I just want to start something that doesn’t need fixing.”