From the far end of the couch, Grey Elwin watched them.
He wasn’t playing actively anymore. His Count Chocula was hovering in a Milk Puddle, slowly charging his Sugar Rush meter.
He watched Chase and Vincenzo bicker like the old rivals they were. He watched Amelia laugh, leaning into Chase’s side, her guard completely down.
Data point: Rapport is high, Grey noted internally. Nostalgia is the ultimate lubricant.
He glanced at the game screen. The tagline for the Story Mode scrolled by in the ticker: The Great Cereal Rebellion. Mascots fighting against the Board of Breakfast to avoid being homogenized.
It was ironic. Chase and Amelia thought they were playing a silly game about rebellion. They didn’t realize they were currently sitting in a very real Silver Spoon Spire, being fed snacks by the Board.
They don’t see me, Grey thought, a flicker of amusement crossing his mind. To them, Elvis Santiago is just a blurry background extra from a previous season. No longer part of the dream cast.
“Hey, Grey!” Vincenzo called out. “You awake over there? You’re losing.”
Grey blinked, sliding the mask back into place. “I’m lurking,” he said dryly. “Waiting for the third act twist.”
He tapped a button combo. On screen, Count Chocula unleashed his Final Smash, trapping Vincenzo’s Tony in a chocolate coffin that exploded.
“GAME!” the announcer shouted.
“Okay,” Chase said, staring at the screen. “That was rude.”
Grey allowed himself a small, genuine smile. “Just don’t call it a comeback.”
The car ride back was lighter. The rain had stopped, and the city lights reflected on the asphalt.
“He’s not that bad,” Amelia said, staring out the window. “Vincenzo. I mean, I know he’s… intense. And the contracts are scary. But tonight? He just seemed like a guy who misses his friend.”
“Yeah,” Chase said. He sounded relieved. “I forgot that side of him exists. The branding, the streams… I think it’s just an act, Ames. A really loud, expensive act. Underneath, he’s still the guy I used to cut class with.”
“I’m glad,” Amelia said. “It makes the Dudleytown trip feel less… ominous.”
She thought about Snakes in the lobby, muttering his strange prophecies. She thought about Tabitha’s smoking cabin doodles.
Weirdos, she told herself. Just dramatic weirdos who don’t know him like Chase does.
“Except Tabitha,” Amelia murmured aloud.
“Hm?” Chase asked.
“Tabitha,” Amelia said firmly. “She’s not a weirdo. She’s just a friend who cares.”
“Agreed,” Chase said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “A friend who cares. And who is getting a T-shirt from a Twenty One Pilots concert.”
They drove on, comforted by the nostalgia.
Nostalgia worked. It always did.