Pecola's Pov
The Realm Café was breathing again.
It wasn't loud breathing — more like the kind you do when you've been laughing too hard the night before and your chest still aches, so every inhale is careful. The walls creaked faintly as they settled. A chair leg tapped once against the floorboards, like a sleepy heartbeat.
Light poured through the stained-glass windows, melting into shapes that didn't belong to this world — a fox made of roses, a teacup with wings, a woman's hands holding an hourglass with sand spilling up instead of down. The colors stretched across the wooden floor in slow ribbons, painting everything they touched in soft pastels. Even the shadows were quiet.
I didn't move.
Antic's shoulder was warm under my cheek. Warmer than the blanket draped around us, warmer than the lingering heat from the café's heartbeat. My braid was caught against him, the coarse ribbon scraping faintly against his skin when I breathed.
I could hear him — not the way you hear people in conversation, but the smaller things. The hitch in his breath when I shifted slightly. The faint tremor in his chest when he almost spoke but didn't. The slow drag of his fingers through my bangs, like he was fixing them but couldn't decide if he wanted to let them go.
"You're quiet," he murmured finally, so low I wasn't sure if it was for me or himself.
"I'm always quiet," I answered without lifting my head.
He made a small sound, not quite a laugh. "Yeah, but… this feels different. Like you're somewhere else."
I thought about telling him. About the pieces of a dream still clinging to me like the glitter in my hair — impossible to brush off. The smell of jasmine. The fire. The lullaby with no words I understood but still felt in my chest.
Instead, I said nothing.
He didn't push. Just let his fingers rest lightly against my temple, like he was holding the shape of my skull in memory.
Somewhere across the room, Dolly's porcelain heels clicked faintly against the counter as she climbed onto a barstool. No words. No snide remarks. Just the sound of her legs swinging slowly, like she too was listening for something.
Grin entered quietly. His boots made almost no sound, but the air shifted when he moved — heavier, slower, carrying the kind of silence that settles before someone says something that will matter. He set a steaming mug on the table without looking at us. "When she wakes," he said simply.
I stirred at that, my fingers twitching in my lap before I even realized it. Antic froze under me.
"See?" he whispered, the relief breaking through his tone before he could cover it. "She's still here."
I lifted my head, finally looking in his direction — though I couldn't see him. "Where else would I be?"
His answer came quick, almost defensive. "Don't joke about that."
I tilted my head, not understanding. "Why?"
His hands moved away, raking back through his own hair instead. "Because last night, you scared me."
I almost asked how — but then my fingers grazed the edge of the mug Grin had left. Warm. Real. A tether back to this room.
Somewhere inside me, the dream fragments shifted again.
The red hair. The voice that trembled. That impossible warmth and impossible loss tangled together.
I held the mug between my palms, feeling the heat sink into my skin. "I think… I saw someone who used to love me," I said softly.
Antic didn't answer.
But I could feel the way his shoulder tensed — and how, somehow, he didn't pull away.
The steam from the mug curled upward, twisting into shapes before disappearing into the café's still air. I kept both hands around it, the warmth grounding me in ways I didn't expect.
"I think it was a memory," I said finally. "But it didn't feel whole. It was… stitched together. Rough. Like someone tore it out of something bigger."
Antic shifted beside me, his knee knocking mine in what felt like an accident but probably wasn't. "Tell me."
I breathed in. The smell from the mug was cinnamon and honey — nothing like the dream. "There was a woman. Her hair was red… not like fire, but like the embers after. Fading, but still alive. She was singing. I didn't understand the words, but I understood the sound."
Dolly's voice drifted lazily from her perch on the bar. "And the second one?"
I hesitated. "Storm eyes. Not gray, not blue — both. Like they couldn't decide if they were calm or dangerous."
Grin's low voice came from behind me. "…And the scent?"
My fingers tightened around the mug. "Jasmine. And smoke. Like she'd been near fire but didn't belong to it."
For a moment, no one spoke. Even Dolly didn't fill the air.
Then Antic leaned in, elbows resting on his knees, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "You're sure you didn't just dream this because of the love potion latte and the sugar fairy's glitter bomb?"
I turned my head toward him. "This didn't feel like something made up. It felt like something… remembered."
He exhaled, a low sound, then sat back. "Well… guess we're adding 'mystery women who smell good' to our ever-growing list of problems."
Dolly finally swung her legs down, porcelain clinking faintly as she landed. "Oh, how tragic — haunted by beautiful women. Whatever will you do."
Antic smirked without looking at her. "Probably swoon dramatically into a plate of pastries."
"That's my move," Dolly shot back.
Grin finally came forward, setting a second mug — darker brew this time — in front of me. "Drink this too," he murmured. "Dreams like that have teeth. Best not to let them bite too deep."
I lifted the mug, the heat blooming in my hands again. This one smelled different — earthier. Stronger.
Antic was watching me. I could feel it, even without sight. "If you see them again," he said, voice low, "you tell me. First thing. No wandering off into dreamland without a chaperone."
I tilted my head, pretending to think. "…Are you volunteering?"
His grin was lazy, practiced — but softer around the edges. "Sweetheart, I've been volunteering since the day we met."
Dolly gagged. Grin just shook his head.
But I smiled — small, almost hidden — and took another sip.
I set the mug down, the faint clink loud in the quiet. My fingers lingered on the rim. "When I woke… after the dream… my chest felt strange."
Antic raised an eyebrow. "Strange how?"
"Warm," I said simply. "Not fever warm. Different. Like someone had lit a small fire and told it to stay."
Dolly, of course, couldn't help herself. "Congratulations, you're in love. Or you've swallowed a coal."
I turned toward her voice. "Is that what love feels like? Fire?"
Antic made a sound halfway between a choke and a laugh, leaning forward like I'd just threatened to end him personally. "That is… not a casual question, No Eyes."
"I'm not being casual."
"Yeah, that's the problem." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Love isn't… one thing. Sometimes it's fire. Sometimes it's… other stuff. Good stuff. Weird stuff. Stuff you can't really put in words without sounding like you've been drinking bad poetry."
"You bled from your nose when I fell asleep on you," I reminded him.
Dolly cackled, smacking the bar for emphasis. "And there it is."
"That was not love!" Antic snapped, pointing a finger at her, then at me. "That was a highly unfortunate side effect of—"
"—being in love," Dolly finished sweetly.
Grin, without looking up from the notes he was scribbling, murmured, "…Definitely related."
Antic groaned and dragged his hands down his face. "You're all against me."
I tilted my head, studying the outline of him in my mind. "If it's not love, then why does the fire in my chest grow when you talk? Or when you play music? Or when you…" My voice softened. "…touch my hair."
His hands froze mid-motion. He went absolutely still.
"…You've been keeping track?" he asked carefully.
"I notice things," I said. "Even if I don't understand them."
Antic exhaled sharply, leaning back like he needed more air than the café had to offer. "Gods help me, you're going to be the end of me."
"I don't want you to die."
"Not in the literal sense!"
Grin smirked faintly. Dolly was now openly enjoying herself like she'd bought a front-row seat.
I wrapped my fingers around the mug again. "I think I like the fire," I said quietly.
Antic froze for a beat too long — then laughed. Not his usual loud, showy kind. The soft, unguarded kind. "Yeah… me too."
Antic was still smiling in that quiet way when the chair across from us creaked.
Grin had shifted forward, long elbows resting on his knees, his scythe leaning lazy against the wall. "…We should leave," he said slowly. His voice always felt like it came from far away, even when he was sitting right there. "The forest will wake soon. And it might… help."
Dolly, sprawled like royalty on a barstool, groaned. "Help what? Her love life? Your mood?"
Grin didn't look at her. His gaze — or whatever it was he did without really looking — rested on me. "Help… whatever's happening."
Antic turned toward him, suspicion flickering over his face. "You're suggesting we go outsidetogether? Voluntarily?"
"…Yes."
Dolly sat up straight. "Wait. Is this… a picnic suggestion? From you? Grin-the-Perpetual-Funeral?"
Grin's mouth curved just barely. "…Call it whatever you want."
Antic pushed to his feet instantly, pointing at him like he'd just caught a god sneezing. "Hold on — you can't just drop a picnic suggestion and act like it's normal." He spun to me, eyes bright. "No Eyes, you're hearing this, right? This is history."
I tilted my head. "What's a picnic?"
Antic froze. Blinked. Then grinned slow, dangerous. "Oh, sweetheart. You're about to learn."