“So. Moo.” Black arched a brow. “Or should I say . . . Porno?”

  Proto rolled his eyes, lips curving up.

  “Hey, you do you! Live and let live!” approved Black.

  “Agreed, Karen!” he replied. “Life’s about owning up to who we are.”

  “ . . . okay. Deal. No more Porno or Karen.” Black eyed his cup. “Wait, three straws in one drink? Is this what I think it is?”

  “None other,” he confirmed.

  “Oh, that’s just sugary sweet.” Her lips curled as she smirked. “Like a 1950s teen romance. Set in Utah.”

  “I guess it’s all mine now.” Proto leaned and drank.

  “No, the house gets a cut.” Black took the other two straws in her mouth. Meeting his gaze, she leaned deeper and deeper down the straws.

  Then, abruptly, she sucked up everything that was left.

  Proto’s eyes went wide.

  “What?” Black batted her lashes innocently. “You’re looking at me like I just ate someone up. Or did you want more? I’m game!”

  Proto blinked. He felt like his dance partner had started leading him. “A little sugary sweet for me.”

  “Mm, I didn’t notice,” shrugged Black. “You only taste sweetness with the tip of your tongue.” Her narrow eyes gleamed. “Anyway, I’m just here to grab my bag. So, if you want to dance on a table or something, just wait till I leave. Jakeson can enjoy that show too.”

  Jakeson glanced up from polishing a glass, frowning.

  “In fact, I forbid him to stop you. Dance away!” urged Black.

  “First, a question,” Proto said.

  “What, are you asking me to dance, Moo?” Black tilted her head and put her hands on her hips. “Share a drink, then a dance? Here, I’ll play Earth Angel.”

  “No. Well, yes, actually,” replied Proto. “But my question is, if I wanted to give someone a gift that totally changed how she thought about everything, what should it be?”

  “Well, how many times are you willing to give it?” Black instantly replied.

  Proto opened his mouth, then blinked again. “Um. Let’s say this is a gift for a younger relative.”

  “Well, how many times are you willing—just kidding.” Black touched her lips thoughtfully. “Hm. My secret is, guys tend to buy me what they really want. So I just buy that for them.”

  “Ah.” Proto tried to remember if he’d given Black any gifts.

  “My favorite was when a guy bought me an Xbox so we’d ‘have something to do together’ at my place,” she recalled. “Like, F you!”

  “Or not, as the case may be,” mused Proto.

  Black laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Moo. You know me!” She strolled off into the back room.

  As she walked away, he eyed the blue and red skull on her shirt, which didn’t quite reach her shorts—not because it was a crop-top, but just because it was really small. She’d always worn her shirts that way. And, to her credit, she continued to pull it off.

  Proto had never been much of a Deadhead. Maybe he should be. He started whistling The Music Never Stopped.

  Black returned a moment later with a dingy old backpack on.

  “No coat?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m still feeling warm fuzzies from our three-straw thing,” she replied.

  Proto nodded. “Good, feeling all comfy womfy?”

  Black’s lips quirked up. “Yeah. Also, it’s a short walk to my apartment. You should see it sometime. Like, I’m all grown up now. I’ve framed my band posters and put my liquor in a cabinet.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Great, we can play some Xbox,” suggested Proto.

  “I never set it up. But we’ll make do,” replied Black, zipping her backpack. “Just two grown-ups doing grown-up things. Ciao, Moo.”

  He waved. “Too-da-loo.”

  She scoffed at him. “Sound like my mom. Or my niece,” she muttered as she strode away.

  He watched her sway out of sight—somehow both curvy and skinny, graceful and irreverent. With clothes that were two sizes too small, yet couldn’t possibly fit better.

  She had that look that everyone had wanted before words like “thicc” existed. It was just her bad luck that the era of sex, drugs, rock and roll, and skinny bad girls had ended right when she reached puberty.

  Well, the world might not realize what it was missing, but he did. He smiled in admiration.

  And for a brief moment—even knowing the world might end, knowing the future lay in his hands—he felt that all was right in the world.

  Black’s Rock finally had that peaceful quietude that Proto had come here to find. An empty bar, with Clapton strumming in the background. Finally, he could turn to planning out tonight’s dream.

  But . . . he didn’t really feel like it anymore. Now, his mind was full of hard spirits, and swimming in their midst were thoughts of Black. Muse Concert Girl. His first. The one he’d thought had used him to get a concert ticket.

  “Like you thought we were using you as a ticket out of Somnus’ Palace!” came an ambiguous voice that could’ve been Astrid, Lilac or Dahlia. “Always doubting us!”

  Proto wasn’t sure what the voice was talking about. As far as he recalled, they had been using him. Each of them had hoped he’d pick her as “true love” and give her a way to the breathing world. Right?

  Something tickled at his memory.

  But maybe it was just that three-strawed Tokyo Tea. Those things hit hard.

  Or maybe it was Helen and Himari’s banter earlier. They were awfully quick, weren’t they? Funny, witty. So similar, but also such a contrast between them—blonde and black hair, English and math, large and small. But a good contrast.

  Indeed, wasn’t contrast the secret of musical harmony, haute cuisine, and all the high arts? And if those things, why not other things? Why not . . . maybe . . . ?

  Finding himself smiling lamely at nothing, Proto tried to shake away the warm fuzzies. But doing so just shook the tingling all through his body. It felt nice. He sipped some mezcal.

  You’re just having a grand old time, aren’t you! accused Miss Beatrice’s voice. And for a moment, he felt guilty.

  But in reply came that deeper voice, mingling Somnus with middle-aged-lawyer Proto: That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? This young man is out to save the future. I daresay he’s a hero. Why, any ordinary fellow in his place would be using his future knowledge to get rich and powerful. Instead, he’s just drinking with peers at a modest establishment, then going home alone afterward! He’s resigned himself to a future where, merely months from now, a car knocks him comatose, utterly smashing his body, leaving him a scuttled ruin, requiring a procedure so experimental and bizarre that no victim in his right mind would agree—

  Proto winced and cut off the voice. Alright, I get it!

  Like a bucket of cold water in a sauna, that voice sure could douse heats quickly.

  Having thus cooled down, he managed to focus on Mercune’s upcoming dream. Alright. I need to ask her something about Yemos. Or give her a gift. Could I do both? Or would two tweaks ruin the A/B test? He pondered intently.

  Yet minutes passed, and he felt his mind was getting nowhere. Just breaking down what he already knew and rebuilding it in different ways.

  It’s not often that you find something both new and true in life. But when Proto had done so, he’d been led there not by his mind—not by logical deduction—but by something else. Something deeper. He wasn’t sure how to put it in words.

  All he knew was this: Back when he’d been at Somnus’ Palace, chasing true love that’d always been lurking just beyond reach, he’d learnt a lot about himself. Much more than he’d learnt in prior years of careful cerebral thinking. Something about that chase had led him toward new truths that previously had eluded him.

  Was it the chase itself? “The fun lies in the chase, not the catching. People get so good at getting what they want, they miss what they need!” Anima had told him. Was she right?

  Or was he missing Anima’s point? There was something else she’d said. He struggled to recall it. And yet all that glimmered in his recollection were her pink gaze and her gossamer wings.

  Why can’t I remember it? he wondered.

  Are you sure you don’t? asked that ambiguous voice that could’ve been Astrid’s, Lilac’s or Dahlia’s—or even Anima’s, he supposed.

  Whoever it was, Proto wasn’t sure what she meant. And, at this point, he was starting to get tired. Welp, you can be mysterious, and I’ll be getting some sleep.

  The ambiguous woman’s laughter echoed in his head and faded.

  He sighed. “Save tomorrow for tomorrow. Or tonight for tonight,” he mumbled.

  “What’s that Dude? Another round?” called Jakeson. “By the way, that absinthe is tubular.” He sipped from a mirky green glass.

  “Tubular?” repeated Proto. “Like, the bottle is cylindrical?”

  “Look Dude. I’m a part-time bartender who dropped out of high school. I don’t know what the F ‘cylindrical’ means.” Jakeson held up one finger. “But I’m going to make one difference in the world. I’m going to bring back the word ‘tubular.’”

  Proto raised his brow. “Well. I have nothing to say except—this song is tubular.”

  It was, actually. Strange Brew, by Cream.

  “Alright. Alright, let’s do this!” exclaimed the bartender, fistbumping Proto. “We’re gonna make this happen!”

  Yes, the song felt fitting. Proto sipped the last of the three-strawed Tokyo Tea, then ambled out in a haze of spirit and spirits.

  Dusk’s air felt fresh upon his face. The evening star was twinkling yellow in the west.

  He wasn’t terribly worn out. And he wasn’t even slightly prepared for tonight’s dream. The fate of the future lay in his hands! It should’ve been keeping him awake.

  Yet rarely had he felt so ready for sleep. Rarely had he felt so good. Tubular, even.

  And off he strolled into the mirk of twilight.