“Wait.” Proto shook his head. “At no point in this story did you mention having an AirBNB.”

  “Oh, I didn’t, did I?” she replied. “Yeah, part of me thought it was perfectly sensible, going to spend the night at a cryogenics facility on a random date I heard in a dream. But the other 99% of my brain was telling me, ‘You really should get a hotel just in case, Red.’”

  “The problem was, there were no hotels near here,” she explained. “There was an AirBNB. But it cost like $2,000 a night, since it’s massive. Soo, I rounded up some friends, pretended this was some awesome scenic vacation spot, and got them to go in on it with me!” She beamed. “I’d feel guilty about it. But in the end, I did save them from the end of the world. I think we’re even.”

  “So, yeah, I went back to my AirBNB,” said Red. “Pandaemonium unfolded, the raining fires eventually dwindled, we got stuff in order, so forth and so on.”

  “Then, the second date came. The other date that Wentsworth and Uberta had mentioned,” she recalled. “I went back to the cryogenics place like they told me to. I wasn’t sure why—the world already had ended, right?—so I just wandered around the facility. Eventually, I stopped outside your room to . . . um, pay my respects, I guess.”

  “That’s when I saw that your room, unlike all the other rooms, had a fogged-up window. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it seemed awfully significant! So I chilled there for a few hours,” she said. “Until, all of a sudden, some finger swabbed a clear spot on the window.”

  Proto’s lips curved up. “And the rest is history.”

  “Yep!” Red was gazing on the sparkling sky. “Funny. I was afraid the sky was gonna fall again, and that’s why I had to go back to the cryogenics place. Instead . . . ”

  As she trailed off, he faced her curiously. She was beaming at him, lips pressed, and her eyes were shimmering.

  Proto looked over his tracksuit and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Instead, even worse, huh?”

  She leapt and threw her arms around him.

  Blinking, Proto caught her, backstepping with her weight and closing his arms around her, as wisps of red hair flew about his face. He felt his heart beating against hers, and he felt her form against his. He felt giddy.

  “I’ll show you ‘worse’!” she mumbled into his shoulder. “If you ever disappear on me again.”

  “We may be stranded together at the end of the world,” he noted. “But on the bright side, I’m highly unlikely to have another car accident.”

  “Hmph.” Red just hugged him tighter. And Proto held her and did not object.

  Part of him was busy marveling how everything had fallen in place—how Red was here, safe and sound.

  The problem had seemed insoluble: He couldn’t risk doing anything to alter the future before his crucial dream visit with Mercune. And once he was at Somnus’ Palace, he wouldn’t remember Red. So how could he save her from the Elements’ fiery destruction?

  His solution had been to provide instructions on how Red could stay safe—but break them in half and split them between two groups of people. Red had gotten half the instructions from the text he’d sent right before his accident. The other half had gone to Wentsworth and Uberta. He’d also instructed them not to share that information with Red until after the date of his visit to Mercune. As a result, by the time Red had known enough to change the future, Mercune’s crucial dream already had happened.

  Part of Proto felt awfully proud of that stroke of genius.

  But a much bigger part was focused on the abundance of warm and pleasant feelings within him, and on the feeling of warm and pleasant Red. She was right—Little Red Riding Hair, she was not—and Proto hardly could be happier.

  When she withdrew, her face looked as red as her name. She was grinning ear to ear. Judging by her quivering lips, she was trying hard not to spontaneously titter.

  “So,” Proto managed. “Lots for me to catch up on, huh. Big changes.”

  Indeed, big changes. Large. Firm changes. And yet simultaneously soft—okay okay, rein it in, Proto.

  “Yes! Lots for us to catch up on,” Red agreed giddily. “As for changes, yes and no. Yes, the world has been fundamentally altered forever. And no, it hasn’t stopped me from living exactly like I dreamed of. Right. Down. To. The last. Detail.” With each of those final five sentences, she tapped one of his fingers, thumb to pinky. Her eyes met his, and her lips stayed faintly apart.

  To Proto, she felt as inevitable and irresistible as sunset. Perhaps she was. But it wasn’t sundown yet.

  Oddly, he found himself recalling that painting in Somnus’ lounge of the old man watching the two youths on the beach.

  “The last detail, huh?” he bantered. “Last and least?”

  “‘Saving the best for last’—is that what you’re fishing for, Proto?” Red asked lightly. “Well, I hope you like fishing. It’s how we get our food here!”

  “Would you believe that’s the life I always dreamed of living?” he asked. “Fishing, I mean?”

  “Psh, always? I bet you wanted to be a wizard before that,” she replied.

  “Wizard or Pokèmon trainer,” he admitted.

  “We are two trainers in a battle, aren’t we?” giggled Red. “Wish fulfilled?”

  “The problem is, you’re Red and Blue,” he observed. “So who am I?”

  “I dunno,” shrugged Red. “I guess you did just come out of a ball. Proto-chu? Proteon?”

  Proto pursed his lips appraisingly. “Hrm, Proteon’s got a nice ring. But what’s my element?”

  “I dunno. Can’t be ice, that one’s taken. Sleep? Dream?” she suggested.

  Proto chuckled quietly. “Sounds about right.”

  “Speaking of which, tada! My dream come true!” Red pointed ahead.

  They’d just rounded a corner on their trail up the plateau. Before them loomed what looked like a Swiss ski lodge—a quaint and sprawling edifice of pale wood, surrounded by balconies on each floor.

  Proto blinked. “Wow.”

  “Right?!” cried Red. “How about, ‘OMG! WTF! BBQ! Tubular!’”

  “Does it come with skis?” asked Proto. “Can you ski out back?”

  “No and maybe, it depends how brave you are,” answered Red. “But what it definitely is, Sir, is my café on a mountain! My dream come true!”

  “That’s right.” Proto found his lips curving up, as he recalled that very first conversation with Red. “I think you owe me a Red’s Red Eye.”

  “Thank you for the reminder, but quite unnecessary!” she rejoined. “Quirky redheads always keep their promises.”

  “Ah, but you had black hair then,” Proto pointed out, finger raised.

  “Whatever! Bottom line is, I wanted a Michelin Star, but there are no Michelin Stars anymore,” she said. “So! I’ll have to settle for your approval.”

  “Well, I haven’t had the coffee yet,” noted Proto. “But this place looks gnarly. Radical. Mondo, even.”

  “Ooh. Mondo,” admired Red. “Tubular, you have a challenger! Are we on Star Road here?”

  “Speaking of which,” said Proto, “what’s it called? The café, I mean.”

  “I don’t know.” She blinked twice. “I hadn’t thought about that!”

  “Did it have a name before?” he asked.

  “The AirBNB? People don’t name AirBNBs, Proto,” she replied. “Although there was an old store here, a gift shop they ran up front.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “What was its name?” he asked.

  “I don’t know!” she exclaimed. “Old store, I guess.

  “Well, there you go. You’re Oldstore,” he said.

  “Not Redstore? Too on the nose?” She wrinkled her nose. “Alright, Oldstore it is.”

  “Belladrengr, watch out! Oldstore’s where it’s at!” declared Proto. “We’ll name something else after you. I’m sure we can find something.”

  “Maybe. There’s not much nearby,” she noted. “Just a cow farm, run by some nice young couple from the city. Biggest bulls I’ve ever seen!”

  Proto’s lips curved up. “Well. You could—”

  “If you say one word about ‘Red bulls,’ Proto, I’m putting you back in that pod.” She strode toward the doorway, and he laughed and followed.

  “So, time for a tour?” he asked.

  “Yes! Time to see the old shack,” she affirmed. “Excuse me, Oldstore.”

  The picturesque lodge didn’t look like much of a “shack” on the outside, and this was equally true of the inside. The furniture was elegant and wooden. The walls were either wooden or wood-paneled. Everything else was either burnt orange or the various colors that turkeys have. It looked, in short, like a 1970s issue of Architectural Digest, and it reminded Proto vaguely of the hotel in The Shining and the ski lodge in The Spy Who Loved Me.

  There were also people—about a dozen chatting, eating, laughing people, scattered at tables across the wide room. Many were playing cards.

  Proto nodded approvingly. “I could get used to this.”

  “Yep! A little dust, a little grime when we got here. Bit of elbow grease fixed that.” Red flexed. “Still, one pair of elbows only goes so far. Hint hint.”

  “Welp, now we’ve got a pair of elbows and a nice face.” Proto yawned.

  Red frowned. “Excuse me? I’m the elbows, you’re the face? I feel like we’re getting this backward. Can we go back to the 1950s so I can urge you to be a man and swat you?”

  “Sure, if I can swat you.” Proto lowered a hand by the rear of her pants.

  Red put a hand coyly to her mouth. “I never!”

  “I never miss.” Proto double-gunned her.

  “So cheesy,” giggled Red. “It’s the end of the world, but we’ll never have a cheese shortage. Not with Un-Slick around.”

  “Speaking of Un-Slick.” Proto frowned slightly and brushed his hair. “Does Oldstore have a comb anywhere? And a bathroom? And, um, a blazer?”

  “Yes, yes, and—believe it or not—yes!” answered Red. “You match the former owner’s size. His style’s a little 1950s, but that’s okay, right?”

  “All the better, Dame!” Proto made as though to swat her rear.

  Red bonked him on the head. “Your terminology’s off by a couple decades, Slim.”

  “I survive a 212 horsepower impact and being frozen solid,” mused Proto, rubbing his head. “Only to fall to a Broad’s fist.”

  Red raised her fist again.

  “Excuse me, a Fair Maiden’s righteous retribution!” Proto raised his hands in cringing defense.

  “Ah, is that what you said?” Grinning, Red approached a nearby window, and Proto joined her. “Now you’re a century or two off, but I’ll take it.”

  Through the window, he could see the sun declining westward over the water. A small beach lay below, cutting off where the mountain’s sheer face curved into view. The foam-jawed waves bit vainly at the bluff, and seagulls soared.

  He found himself smiling.

  “Something funny?” Red’s gaze glimmered at him. Then—maybe seeing more in his face than she’d expected—she squeezed his hand. “Yeah. I feel the same way.”

  For a full minute, they stood there, side-by-side and silent.

  Then, Red clapped her hands together. “Welp! I think it’s coffee time, don’t you?”

  “Good idea.”

  The pair turned from the shining prospect and headed toward the counter. As they walked, Proto observed that the cards on the tables were not only the Euchre and Wild Rummy kind, but also Magic: The Gathering and Pokèmon.

  Odd. Eying the card players, he didn’t even look at the counter till he was just a few yards from it.

  And, lo and behold, who should it be but Chub standing there, handing out drinks?

  Proto did a double-take on seeing the familiar face in this unfamiliar place. But his eyes did not deceive him.

  Balder than ever, but less chubby now, Chub was wearing a knit scarf, long and black, with red edging and red-and-white balls all over it. He was busy serving coffees and pastries to a couple customers.

  “How in the world . . . ?” Proto realized after a second that he’d spoken aloud.

  “Chub Chub, you mean?” replied Red. “Right, so, like I said, this AirBNB was like $2,000 a night. Sooo, I convinced Chub and some friends from my gaming group that they needed a vacation too. You can probably tell, huh?” She gestured at a nearby table, where some guy was complaining about mana burn and eating mozzarella sticks.

  “Do you have caviar too . . . ?” mumbled Proto, nonplussed.

  “Hm? Not currently. But maybe we can!” Red looked excited. “I’ll ask Fiske, he knows about fishing.”

  “Anyway, here we are!” she concluded. “Me, my gaming group, and Chub. And Chub’s family. The kids are loving this. . . . Speechless, I see?”

  “I’m just amazed you have collectible card games after Armageddon,” replied Proto. “But I guess it wouldn’t be postapocalyptic fantasy otherwise.”

  “Right?” agreed Red. “But yeah, cards are almost like our currency at this point.”

  “Beats bottle caps,” he shrugged.

  “Sheesh, nerd,” she said. “You’ll fit right in.”

  “Speaking of which,” responded Proto, “I’m surprised things are so . . . chill, after the end of the world. And people aren’t busy working.”

  “Oh, we all work! Chub and I work here. And the others fish. Lots and lots of fishing. Lucky there were rods here,” she said. “Fiske’s good at it. The others are getting better. But yeah, in case you’re wondering why a group of CCGers look tan instead of pasty-faced, it’s cause they’re in the sun all day.”

  “So, you all fish,” observed Proto slowly. “But Chub is serving pastries?”

  “Patience! All will be clear,” she assured him.

  “Whoa! Tracksuit Guy!” exclaimed Chub.

  The line had cleared, and the former Starbucks employee now was facing him.

  “Long time no see, Chub Chub,” said Proto.

  “You remembered!” said Chub. “Nice to see you’re doing well. Last I’d heard, that, um, hadn’t been the case.”

  “Looks like you’re doing well yourself,” Proto replied.

  “Less hair, less chub.” The man shrugged and patted his belly. “End of the world will do that to you. Maybe just Chub now, not Chub Chub.”

  “Speaking of hair changes.” Proto turned to Red and tilted his head at her.

  “Ah.” Her lips quirked up, and she ran her hand through her red hair. “You like it? When you had your accident, I thought about wearing black, but I already had all this black.” She tapped her hair. “So instead, I stopped dying it black, which I’d been doing since my gothy high-school days, and I let it grow out instead.”

  “Ah, gothy high school Red. I never knew thee,” said Proto.

  “I did,” noted Chub. “You didn’t miss much, besides Hot Topic clothes and Edward Scissorhands quotes.”

  “Didn’t miss much! I’ll show you not missing!” Red grabbed a half-eaten pastry and threw it at Chub. It didn’t miss.

  “Waste not, want not.” Chub lifted it a took a bite.

  “Hmph! Keep it up and you’ll be Chub Chub Chub!” declared Red.

  “Throw one my way, maybe?” suggested Proto. “Been a while since I’ve eaten. A year or two, you know.”

  He actually hadn’t felt hungry when he woke. That quadruple smash burger had still been in his stomach, having been frozen along with him. But by this point, he’d walked it off.

  “Good point. What do you feel like?” asked Red.

  “Um.” Proto looked around but didn’t see a menu. “What’s best here?”

  “Rump,” Red immediately answered.

  “Um.” Proto glanced at her, but she didn’t seem to be kidding. “That works. I’m starving.”

  “Well, the rump’s not quite ready yet,” replied Red. “But we’ve got pastries and some roast beef from that cow farmer to tide you over. Or fish. There’s always fish. But save some room for rump!”

  “Will do,” he agreed.

  Two pastries, some roast beef, and a bagel full of smoked salmon later, Proto patted his belly.

  “I hope that was a belly pat of ‘that tasted great, when’s the entrée?’ and not ‘I’m so stuffed I can’t move for three hours’!” said Red.

  Proto burped. “Welp, that cleared some room. Now I’m just sleepy.”

  “That won’t do. Thankfully, waking up sleepy people is my whole career path!” Red strode to the espresso machine and started pushing buttons.

  “Not gonna ask what I want?” said Proto.

  “Proto, I’ve known what you wanted since before you did! Sit back and be happy,” she commanded.

  His lips curved up. How right you are.

  Within moments, Red was holding an iced coffee in a red Starbucks holiday cup.

  “Been saving this one for a special occasion!” She handed it to him.

  “They don’t make ‘em like this anymore,” observed Proto, studying the cup.

  “Don’t and won’t!” she agreed. “Well, go on.”

  “What a cup.” Proto playfully marveled at it, turning it in his grasp. “This is the second reddest thing here!”

  “Get tasting!” Red chided, waving her hands at him. And he did so.

  The beans weren’t fresh. The espresso machine wasn’t world-class. But seeing the hopeful arch in Red’s eyebrows, the press of her lips and the dimpling of her cheeks, her eager blinking as she watched him drinking, brushing a strand of long hair off her face, Proto felt sure he’d never enjoyed a coffee so much, awake or dreaming.

  Seeing him looking at her, she quickly turned and started cleaning the espresso machine.

  He continued drinking, feeling that all was right in the world.

  “Sooo?” she asked a moment later, as she polished some metal.

  “The peak of coffee bliss,” he replied.

  She glanced skeptically at the coffee beans, then back at Proto. “Are you making fun of me?” She planted her hands on her hips.

  Then, seeing his face, she blinked. “ . . . no? Well, good.” She pressed her lips, but couldn’t quite press her smile away. “Good. Because I was gonna give you a black black eye for that.” She balled up a fist and drew it back menacingly.

  “Ahh, not the R-button punch!” exclaimed Proto, raising his arms defensively.

  “R-button punch!” cried Red, swinging dramatically.

  “Question though,” said Proto. “How in the world do you have coffee beans here? Have you been saving them?”

  “Good question! Yes, we have lots saved,” she answered. “But we’re also taking steps to make sure we won’t run out.”

  “Are you . . . growing a tropical rainforest in the back yard?” questioned Proto.

  “You’ll see!” she said.

  “Ah. Well, I owe you for the drink,” he said, “but all I’ve got to pay you with are dollar bills. Which probably aren’t worth much these days.

  “That’s okay! You drink free here, remember?” she replied. “Here, let me ask the boss to confirm: ‘Hey Boss! Can Proto drink free here?’ She turned and faced where she’d been standing a second ago and spoke in a gruff, manly voice. “‘Yep! Look how he’s dressed! Rumpled. Unfashionable. I’m not gonna take his last dollar!’”

  “Thanks. Thanks for that.” Proto brushed off his tracksuit.

  She giggled. Then, she adopted her gruff voice again: “‘And give him some food too! Looks like an underfed twig. Maybe some rump!’”

  “Speaking of buying things”—Proto turned to Chub—“I’m curious where you bought that awesome scarf. Not that that’ll do me much good, with the world ended.”

  “This awesomeness?” Chub fingered a red and white ball on his scarf. “I didn’t buy it. But, lucky for you, you happen to be in the only place in the world where they’re available.”

  “Ahem! If I decide they’re available,” noted Red.

  “If Her Redness makes them available,” agreed Chub.

  “She coffees and she knits?” said Proto.

  Red blew imaginary smoke off her finger. “Only for nice people! In nice clothes. Or with nice faces.” She patted his cheek.

  “Yeah, I’m not sure where I fall in that,” observed Chub.

  “And lovable coworkers with Saturn Returns,” added Red.

  “Ah, there we go,” nodded Chub. “Yep, you definitely give the best Saturn Return gifts.”

  “I try,” waved Red. “It’s a big deal! Only happens once every 29.5 years.”

  “Speaking of which, today’s my Saturn Return,” recalled Proto.