Proto skated in little circles as he waited. It was only after she’d been in the bathroom a full minute that he realized, he hadn’t heard any noise from inside yet.

  Maybe . . . ? He decided not to speculate.

  When the door finally opened, there still hadn’t been any sound from inside. His lips quirked up. “Did you forget to flus—”

  Then, he saw her, and words failed.

  “Did I forget something, Proto?” Red sweetly asked. “I thought I’d remembered everything!”

  She was wearing a sleeveless, low-cut magenta swimsuit, bunny ears, a bunny tail, and nothing else. Except her skates, of course.

  “Um. No. Absolutely nothing is amiss or out of place. My mistake,” he assured her, struggling valiantly not to stare at what her shirt had been hiding. “Carry on, Blue!”

  “As I thought,” she tittered, touching her lips. “Also, it’s Bunny Kallen, please and thank you.” She held a hand out. “Shall we?”

  He took her hand. “Ready whenever you are, Bunny Kallen.”

  “Let’s get hopping!” she affirmed.

  And off they skated. Hand-in-hand they went for a while.

  Eventually, they parted so that Proto could try skating backward for the first time in ten years. And, thanks to Lady Luck, Fate, and Flua-Sahng, he succeeded rather than falling on his rump.

  Red arched her brow. “Showing off your skillz?” She made sure to hold the Z.

  “Mad skillz,” affirmed Proto, continuing to skate backward.

  “You’re gonna bump into something,” noted Red. “You should really look behind you sometimes.”

  “I can’t. I blame you.” Proto gestured at her Bunny Kallen outfit.

  Her lips curved up. “Well, Sir, ogle at your own risk! Don’t come crying when you bump a shelf and a million Forever Fajitas fall on your head.”

  “Worth it,” shrugged Proto.

  “If I have to freeze-heal you for two more years, there’s gonna be big trouble when you wake up!” she warned.

  “As long as I wake up to that.” He gestured at her outfit.

  “Oh, for the love of—!” she griped, as he laughed. “By the way, there are the coffee bushes. Shrubs. Trees. Whatever.” She pointed at a row of plants beneath low-hanging artificial lights. “Hydroponic farming! Cool, huh?”

  Proto eyed the berry-covered plants. “The guy really thought of everything, huh?”

  “Thank Heaven for rich preppers!” affirmed Red.

  “Thank Heaven for opportunistic redheads!” declared Proto.

  “Oh, is that what I am to you?” she bantered. “Your red-haired ticket to opportunity?

  “That, and my favorite—” Proto grunted as he bumped into the wall behind him.

  “Your favorite? How sweet!” She beamed. “Also, told you so.”

  “If only someone had been there to warn me when I got close,” grumbled Proto.

  “You’re close!” she offered.

  Proto rubbed his head. “Thanks, Partner in Crime.”

  “Yep! Speaking of partners,” she mused, “I’ve been thinking about surnames.”

  “Surnames?” He blinked. “‘Speaking of’ . . . !”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “Now, your last name is very nice. I’ve thought so ever since I found it on that public records site.”

  Proto looked up at Heaven. “Just in case you weren’t sure if this was a stalker romcom—”

  “They’re all the rage now!” She giggled. “At least, they were until the sky fell. Anyway, I’m perfectly happy to be traditional. But I really do like my last name. What do you think of Fyrst, Proto? Or, should I say, Proto Fyrst?”

  “Um.” Proto thought about how to reply.

  “It’s so appropriate, right?!” she said. “First, ‘Proto’ already means ‘first’—like prototype, right?—so you’d sort of be ‘First Fyrst’!” She teeheed.

  “Second,” she went on, “Fyrst is even more appropriate, since you’re my first, and I’m your first. Right? Am I right or am I right?!”

  Proto blinked. A yawning pit opened in his breast. A yawning Black pit.

  Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth.

  “Meaning, you’re first place in my heart! And vice versa, I hope. First place.” She tittered. “What, what’s that look on your face? What were you thinking?”

  “I . . . was thinking you look radiant today, Bunny Kallen,” he managed.

  “Well played, Sir.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I like Proto Volucre. I’ll take Volucre. We can use Fyrst for something else. Like this mountain. Mount Fyrst, maybe? Fyrst Peak?”

  “Fyrst Summit? Fyrst Range?” suggested Proto, feeling awfully relieved.

  “Hrm.” After a moment of pondering, Red’s eyes lit up. “Fyrst Rocks! Because ‘rocks’ is a cool way of saying ‘mountain.’ And because Red Fyrst rocks.”

  “Once more, the W goes to Red,” declared Proto.

  “Yup yup, Red Fyrst takes first,” she agreed.

  Proto held a hand toward her. “In a thousand years, that’s what people will call this place: Fyrst Rocks!”

  Red held a hand toward him. “In a thousand years, that’s what all the little Volucres will call this place!”

  Proto blinked.

  “Hee hee.” Red leaned her head on his shoulder, and bunny ears tickled his face. “Anyway, here we are! Home at last.” She opened a door near where Proto had bumped the wall.

  Looking inside, Proto did a double-take, wondering if this was all a dream after all.

  It was his room.

  After a baffled second, squinting closer in the dim blue glow, he realized that wasn’t quite true. The CRT T.V. was a bit bigger than his. The No Fires sign was red rather than blue-green. There was a random door where he’d had a blank wall. The couch was cleaner. The bed was made. Yeah, definitely not my room.

  And yet it was too. Everything was exactly in place. The SNES even had Illusion of Gaia inside!

  “What do you think?!” Red was quivering with excitement.

  “I think . . . you were right. I’m home,” answered Proto, eliciting a happy nod from her. “Also, whoever designed this place was inspired.”

  “Inspired and modest, huh?” she observed. “You have good taste, Sir. You should’ve invited me over!”

  “We’ll have to make up for lost time,” he replied. “But that does raise a good question.”

  She tilted her head. “What’s that?”

  “Given that you never visited me”—he blinked twice at her—“how did you know exactly what my room looked like?”

  Red cringed a smile out. “Yeaahhhh, about that. It does seem impossible, doesn’t it?”

  “I mean, not strictly impossible. For example, one hypothetical explanation would be if someone happened to visit your Facebook a long time ago, and save a bunch of your pictures to her hard drive, several of which showed your bedroom. And, to make herself feel better about your absence after your car accident, she looked through your photos a lot, and decided to buy an SNES and a giant old CRT T.V., so she’d feel connected with you out there somewhere. An SNES and T.V. that she happened to have in her car, since she was going on a trip and happened to need some entertainment while she was there, and she was really into Illusion of Gaia, and she wasn’t about to go several days without playing it. And then, once the world ended, and she needed a bedroom, she and Chub scrounged up some furniture from local ski cottages that no one will be cottaging in anymore. Such as an old couch and a bed. And, if she had to pick some way to organize all that furniture, why not organize it in exactly the way that reminds her of what makes her happiest?!”

  “That’s one possibility,” she concluded, “and I’m sure there are others.”

  “Stalker romcoms, take note!” Proto exclaimed up at the ceiling.

  “Careful, I eat noses.” Red bunny-chomped her teeth. “And rump!”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Proto studied the room further. “Wait. Wait wait wait.” He pointed. “That mini-fridge died a couple years before my accident. And I made all my old Facebook albums private after that. Since they were full of red solo cups and stuff. So . . . when you said you saved my photos ‘a long time ago’ . . . ”

  “Um.” Red pondered, then winced out a smile. “That was back when you still got caramel macchiatos rather than cold brews, right?” She double-gunned him meekly.

  “Sheesh!” he cried.

  She threw up her hands. “What can I say, you were my Tracksuit Guy with the Nice Face for a long time before you were my Slick!”

  “Fair enough,” shrugged Proto. “You were my Starbucks Barista Girl, before you became a libidinous bunnywoman.”

  “Libidinous?!” Red planted her hands on her hips, and he laughed.

  He had come home. He’d come back where he started. And it wasn’t even this room’s appearance that made him feel that way.

  It was his realization that all these weird, recent events in his life—technically speaking, in a chronological sense—had started with Red. The very first event in this sequence of strangeness was when he’d gone to ask out “Starbucks Barista Girl.” Then he’d had his crazy week, followed by Somnus’ Palace. And now, after all that, he was back where he’d started, with the first girl he’d met during that period. Red Fyrst.

  “So.” Proto scanned the room. “Since this room is based on an old photo, I take it you didn’t include my PS5?”

  “Look, Slick, 16 bits are better than 0 bits!” chided Red, waving at the SNES. “Imagine how SOL you’d be without me!”

  “Fair point,” he acknowledged.

  “Hope you’re looking forward to synthesized orchestras with strong melodies, precision platform jumping, and insane difficulty curves!” said Red. “Side by side with a foul-mouthed late Millennial!”

  “What about side by side with a friend?” Proto smoothly double-gunned her.

  “You’re friend-zoning me? After all this?!” pouted Red. “I saved you a red holiday cup! I saved you Illusion of Gaia!”

  She sighed wistfully. “They say, don’t be too nice. Did Red listen? Nope! She dressed up as a bunny. In a floozy outfit. With floppy ears. Look at me flopping!” She hopped up and down.

  Watching her flopping, Proto felt giddy. “It’s a dream come true,” he offered assuagingly.

  “What makes you so sure we’re not dreaming?” she challenged him. “What if this isn’t real?”

  “Maybe it’s a dream and it’s real!” suggested Proto, feeling that Somnus would’ve approved.

  Red leaned and bunny-nibbled his nose. “Did that hurt?”

  “It felt great.” He lifted her hand and nibbled at it. “Did that hurt?”

  “No. It was lovely. Do it again?” she requested.

  “I guess we must be dreaming,” shrugged Proto.

  “Well, let’s keep dreaming!” declared Red.

  “‘Keep your dreams close enough that you can get back to them,’” he found himself musing.

  “What? Is that another Proto-ism? I should frame it and hang it on the wall,” replied Red. “No, really. Like that.”

  Following her pointing finger, Proto saw a piece of framed art, which consisted of some embroidered text: “I think it’s cool. -Slick”

  After a confused moment, he laughed in recollection.

  “What! It made me feel better,” she protested. “You can’t laugh at me for doing what you said you’d do. Not allowed!”

  They were interrupted by a meow. A white and yellowish cat with a blue collar slunk in.

  “Proto!” gasped Red. “My, you’re looking fine today.”

  “Um. Thank you?” replied our hero.

  “You?” She frowned. “You’re looking disheveled and rumpled. But you, Proto”—she mussed the cat’s nape and neck gently—“are looking awfully fine.”

  “ . . . really?” he replied.

  Red giggled. “I toollllddd yooouuuu! A cat named Proto. Just like I promised.” She rubbed the cat’s pate, and he purred. “I found him outside. It was clearly meant to be.”

  “So,” said Proto. “We’ve got a cat. We’ve got a bunny. We’ve got an SNES. Everything we need in life, except one.”

  “What’s missing?!” cried Red.

  “Rump!” he replied. “Where’s the rump?”

  “Oh. Right here,” she answered.

  “Oh.” Proto scanned the room. Are we going to eat in here?

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Here in the room?” he said. “I mean, that’s cool with me. I rarely bothered going to the kitchen.”

  “The kitchen? Ooh, exciting,” mused Red. “Maybe next Rump Romp.”

  “Huh?” blinked Proto. “Okay.”

  “I mean, I probably owe you more than one Rump Romp, right?” she went on.

  “Well, if you’re offering . . . ” he shrugged.

  “Good! Licking my lips just thinking about it.” She smiled. “And then afterward, we can grab some food. Once we’ve worked up an appetite.”

  Proto stared a moment.

  Then, he blinked. His eyes widened.

  Her cerulean gaze widened right back, glimmering at him. She ran a hand through her hair—that long, long hair, flowing down her shoulders, then curving out, then tumbling onward to her thighs.

  He searched for words.

  “Nothing to say?” observed Red lightly. “Or is it my hair? You keep staring at my hair. Did you prefer it when—?”

  “No! No,” he managed.

  “Because I can scrounge up some black dye, easy-peasy,” Red went on. “Or blonde! Lots left over at the abandoned shop, right down—”

  “Nope! Nope, don’t go to any trouble for me,” he assured her.

  “It’s not trouble if it’s for you,” she said. “Because what makes you happy, makes me—"

  “Please don’t,” he said.

  Red blinked. “Proto.” She tilted her head at him. “Do you have a thing for red—?

  “Yes,” he answered.

  Red’s cheeks matched her hair as her lips curved up. “Well!”

  “Love at first name. What can I say?” he mused.

  “Oh? A thing for Blues, is it?” She ran a hand through her hair. “Well, blue can be arranged. They have blue dye at the shop too.”

  “Umm, what did that blue genie say in Aladdin? Beeee yourself!” urged Proto, patting her hair.

  “So. He likes red, huh? Redhead Red is so ready for this plot twist!” she cried. “How did I not know about this . . . this predilection!”

  “I must’ve forgotten to wear my ‘I have a thing for Reds’ shirt,” grumbled Proto.

  “It’s okay, as long as you keep wearing that ‘I have a thing for Reds’ face!” She patted his cheek.

  “It’s the only one I’ve got,” he said.

  “And let’s keep it that way, Slick! There’s plenty of Red right here for you.” She twirled her hair around her finger.

  “That much?” Proto ran a hand down her hair, pausing at her shoulder blade.

  “All that and more.” She grabbed his hand and slid it down along her hair, her eyes and mouth widening faintly as she did so, all the way down to the bottom of her hair. “All that and more.”

  “ . . . more?” Proto blinked twice at her.

  Red tilted her head, then reddened. “That’s not what I—sheesh! First the handwashing, now—hmph! Stop making me feel like I’m being inappropriate!” she cried, as he laughed.

  “It’s okay, making vaguely inappropriate but ultimately endearing remarks is what makes Red Red.” He patted her red cheek. “Which, as you know, is fine with me.”

  “Yeah, I bet! Here, you thirsty, Red-man?” She reached into the mini-fridge and tossed him a red Faygo soda.

  Proto studied it. “Does the soda match the can?”

  “What, you’ve never had Faygo—” Red cut off, blinking, then regarded him with hands on hips. “Proto!”

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  “You’re asking about my can?!” she asked. “How dare you!”

  “Suppose I’ll have to forgive it!” she sighed after a moment. “Making wildly inappropriate and ultimately disturbing remarks just makes Proto Proto-er.”

  “What, you have a thing for Protos?” he asked.

  “A thing. Wish I’d known about your thing earlier,” she grumbled. “Lifetime of ginger jokes. Weekly black dye since high school. No more jokes that way, right? And wouldn’t you know it?! I find my dream guy, and after years of quietly pining from afar, twiddling my black hair around my fingers, I find out he’s a joker with a thing for Reds! Probably should’ve guessed it from all those red solo cups in his Facebook photos!”

  “And what does he do, when the moment of truth comes? In the red-hot heat of the moment? When the red chips are down?” she ranted on, as Proto laughed. “He asks about my can! A good cup o’ coffee girl like me!”

  Proto opened his can and raised it. “To Reds!” He sipped. Not bad, actually.

  “To answer your question, Proto, yes,” she said. “The coffee matches the cup. It’s red, not black, if you must know.”

  Proto blinked and almost dropped his soda.

  “Yes,” she concluded, “that first drink I made you was a redeye in a red cup, not a blackeye in a red cup. Are we satisfied?”

  She smiled, as his brow furrowed. “What? What’s that look for? Wait, you thought—oh, my!” She covered her lips. “I may be vaguely inappropriate, but I’m not wildly inappropriate. You thought that Blue, out of the blue, would just . . . serve you a blackeye? I may be a quirky redhead, from top to bottom, but even I have my limits!”

  Proto’s head was spinning from following her repartee. But he was here for this. “I’m having some doubts about this.”

  “What?!” Red’s lips curved comically downward.

  Proto winced and nodded. “About whether . . . you know. The coffee really matches the cup.”

  “Oh?” Red pursed her lips in thought. “Can you think of any way for me to prove it to you?”

  “Seeing is believing,” he suggested.

  “True. But appearances can deceive. As you’ve seen!” Red patted her formerly black hair. “Maybe you’ll need some long, hard study? Of all the ins and outs of this deep question?”

  “Yes. This delicious, open . . . question,” he concurred.

  “I can’t wait to fill this gap in my . . . knowledge!” she enthused.

  “I may have an answer or two,” he said.

  “More than that, I hope. I love answers,” she breathed.

  “Three or four?” he offered.

  “Why impose limits?” she shrugged.

  “Three or four each day?” he offered.

  “I’m inexhaustibly questioning, Proto! I can never get enough . . . answers!” she exclaimed.

  “I may need something to keep me going,” he mused. “Say, a good . . . blackeye.”

  “A redeye, Proto. Have we learnt nothing?” she cried. “Three or four redeyes each day. Or ten! Inexhaustible redeyes. Red and delicious, top to bottom!”

  Laughing quietly, Proto licked his lips. “I could use one now, actually.”

  “I thought you’d never ask! Wait here.” She opened the random door and strolled through it, closing it behind her.

  The sound of a zipper ensued, followed by a dribbling of liquid onto liquid.

  Proto blinked. Again?! Far too many redeyes . . . !

  “All done!” she eventually called from within. “You can come in now.”

  He opened the door, not really sure what to expect here.

  As it turned out, it wasn’t a bathroom. It was a mini-kitchen. An espresso machine was dribbling a few last droplets into what looked like a glass of cold brew. Ah.

  He sipped it. “Wow. This redeye’s even better than red pop.”

  “That’s good!” Red called sweetly. There was a door at the far end of the mini-kitchen, and she was speaking from the other side of it. “Can you think of anything else red you’d like right now?”

  Welp, the moment had come. He skated up to the door, lips quirked upward, and opened it.

  Before Proto was a big and empty room, with its floor painted to look like . . . an arena? It was green with a big white circle at the center.

  No one was in sight. Just a discarded pair of skates.

  Confused, he skated into the room.

  “Red used Scald!” exclaimed a voice to his side.

  He found a cup of warm water being tossed into his face.

  He blinked stupidly, then rubbed his eyes, turning to face Red.

  “Slick tried to attack, but he’s paralyzed!” yelled Red.

  He blinked the water from his eyes. “Slick used Recover!” he managed.

  “Red used Clothes Toss!” She took off her bunny ears and threw them at Proto.

  “Slick used Chase!” He skated toward her, and she turned and fled.

  “Red used Clothes Toss!” She pulled off her bunny tail and threw it at him over her shoulder.

  “Slick used Chase!” He rollerbladed in her wake.

  “Red used Clothes Toss!” she cried, continuing her attacks as she ran. “Red used Clothes Toss! Red used Clothes Toss! . . . Uh oh! Red’s all out of clothes! Red used Flee!”

  “She failed to get away! Slick used Chase!” He skated toward her.

  “Ahh! It’s a dead end.” She turned to faced him.

  Proto looked her up and down. “Red indeed! That certainly answers that question.”

  “Yes, well,” she retorted, blushing, “I’m still waiting for my answers!”

  “Slick threw a Proto-ball!” He wound up and released.

  “Red caught it and threw it back!” she cried.

  “Ah! I’m caught!” He curled up in a fetal position. “All I see is white and red!”

  “Question, Slick.” She sidled up to him. “What’s hot and white and red all over?”

  “Do I get three answers?” he asked.

  “Do I get three answers?” she riposted.

  Proto laughed. “As long as the answer’s you, Blue, you can question me as many times as you’d like.”

  “I’m beginning to question something, Slick!” she said. “Do I need a big red sign pointing you where to go?”

  “Red, the signs have been there since the day I met you,” he replied.

  The barista itched her hair. “Aww . . . ”

  “But”—he skated toward her—“the big red sign is also helping.”

  Red looked down, then back up again, reddening. “Proto!”

  He clasped her hips and lifted her up. “Red!”

  “Pro—oh! Oh!”

  And so, after a long dream and a journey afar, after a hop, skip and skate, after many drinks were drunk, after many questions asked and answered, in places red and white and red all over, our hero woke and dreamed on and came home.