On and on they walked together, talking as they went. Black seemed unusually flighty.

  Proto eventually realized that they’d strayed far from his office. This would be a looong lunch break, but that was fine. No one cared as long as he got his work done. Just like they didn’t care if he wore a button-up and slacks or a tracksuit. The perks of a non-client-facing job.

  Black stopped in front of a blocky building with a sign in front: “Skeithir Gynecology, P.C.”

  “And . . . here we are.” She slowed and eyed him.

  For some reason, faint alarm bells were sounding in Proto’s head. He had no idea why.

  It’s probably like school fire alarms. They’re just there to teach you that most alarms safely can be ignored, he supposed. I’m probably just feeling some outmoded masculine hesitancy about going to a female-inflected place!

  “Wait, weren’t you just here the other day?” he asked.

  “Yep. Just here now to pick up, um, a new prescription,” she answered. “Probably take twenty minutes, given how these things go.”

  “Ah. Well, let’s get moving then, right?” He opened the door and waved her inward.

  Black frowned at him, lips curving up. “Oh? Need a check-up?”

  As Proto held the door, he saw a faraway figure approaching from down the road, staring at her phone.

  It was Red. Proto barely managed not to gasp.

  He forced himself back into the moment. “This isn’t a joking matter, Black! Health is an important concern for all of us.”

  “Right.” She smirked. “Let’s start with the concert, see how things go, and then we can talk about ‘ginacologist dates.”

  He nodded agreeably and waved. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers? It’s not like I get whisky here, Moo.” She strolled past him. “But I do make a mean Leg Spreader.” She disappeared down the hallway.

  Proto released the door, stuck his hands casually in his pockets, and immediately began walking.

  About a second later, Red looked up, right as the door slammed shut. She blinked at him. “Whoa. Slick!”

  “Heheh, wow. What are the chances?” Proto hoped he looked surprised and not terrified.

  “Mm, caught you by surprise, huh?” observed Red playfully. “I’m alllways watching!”

  Proto laughed nervously. “No kidding, Miss I-Found-Your-Number-on-a-Public-Records-Site!”

  Red giggled. “Hey! It worked out. It was a good date, right?”

  “Good whisky, better company,” affirmed Proto.

  “Aw.” She smiled.

  Whew. Crisis averted! He felt like James Bond and Jason Bourne rolled smoothly into one.

  Welp, as long as Red was here, he should take advantage of it for purposes of saving the future. Something at yesterday’s whisky tasting had accelerated the world’s end by several centuries—something involving Ausrine. Red was Ausrine’s friend. Did it involve Red too?

  As Proto pondered, a woman behind him called, “Hey, you still out here? Oh, there you are.”

  His eyes went wide. His blood froze. He looked behind him.

  Black walked up from the gynecologist’s doorway. “You left your credit card on the bar, so I grabbed it.” She handed it to him.

  Then, Black saw Red’s face clearly. “Oh, hey. Long time no see, V-friend!”

  “V-friend! What’s up?” greeted Red.

  “Hope this dope isn’t bothering you,” replied Black.

  “Dope? Nope! We’re friends. Not V-friends though,” giggled Red.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “V-friends till the world ends!” Black and Red made peace signs at each other, then fistbumped them interlockingly.

  “What’s a V-friend?” asked Proto.

  “It means we always see each other at the girl doctor, and we made friends!” explained Red.

  Proto tilted his head inquiringly. “Not GD-friends? GD, girl doctor. Why V?”

  The two girls eyed each other.

  “Yeah, no, we’re not going to give you the satisfaction, Proto,” said Black.

  “Nope! Not a chance, Vajojo,” affirmed Red.

  Black wrinkled her nose and laughed at her.

  Proto nodded grimly. Yes, the spirit of Astrid was haunting him and laughing.

  “What’s shared among V-friends, stays among V-friends!” Red went on.

  “V-stuff at least,” said Black.

  “Yes. We’re happy to tell you about other things. Like each other’s cats,” agreed Red.

  “But maybe not our kitties,” noted Black.

  Now it was Red’s turn to wrinkle her nose and laugh.

  Thus far, Proto had been very lucky. He should’ve retreated at this point. He should’ve noted some prior commitment he had, made-up or not, and scurried away while he still could.

  Instead, like a Blackjack player going double or nothing, Proto tested his luck. “So you’re friends because of V-stuff? And not because Black works above your Starbucks and Red works below your bar?”

  The two exchanged a stare.

  “What?” said Black. “You work at that Starbucks where that nice chubby bald guy makes my coffee?”

  “What?” said Red. “You work at that bar that sounds like my dad’s FM radio with the bass cranked up?”

  “Can I meet your dad?” Black asked eagerly.

  “Can I get a discount on whisky?” Red asked excitedly.

  “Deal!” declared Black.

  “So, wait,” said Red. “I know you from the girl doctor. I know Proto from serving coffee. And you know Proto because . . . he goes to your bar?”

  “What? No.” Black shook her head. “I know Proto because I asked him out eight years ago, after he started asking me and then chickened out. Then we went to a Muse concert, and he broke up with me a few weeks later.”

  This new line of discussion made Proto somewhat uncomfortable, but he couldn’t resist. “I think you’re leaving out some important details!”

  “What, that day we picked up that guitar from my aunt’s basement? Those details?” Black replied evenly.

  Oh for F’s sake! Proto didn’t dare test her further. Judging by Black’s face, she was entirely ready to play this game of chicken.

  Red glanced back and forth between them. “Ah! Well, puppy love, right? Funny how silly it all seems now!”

  “You’d think so. Then, a guy doesn’t talk to you for eight years . . . ” mused Black.

  Red blinked, then smiled cheerily.

  Proto tried to force a similarly cheerful face. “Well, look at us, all grown up now!” He slapped his leg.

  “Grown up?” Black shrugged. “My tastes have improved—in music and whisky—but I’m otherwise exactly the same girl.”

  “My whisky tastes are getting better too, thanks to Slick over here!” remarked Red.

  “What? Who the Hell calls him Slick?” Black flicked the Saturn logo on his tracksuit. “Also, what do you mean?”

  “A whisky tasting last night! Lots of fun, right?” Red asked Proto.

  “That tasting at the distillery? Where we just walked from?” Black tilted her head at Proto. “Where you . . . left your credit card. Ah.”

  “You two walked from there just now?” Red frowned. “But that’s like three miles . . . ”

  Red and Black turned and looked at each other. Then, they looked at Proto.

  Then, they looked at each other. Their eyes narrowed.

  Ohhh boy.

  Red eyed her watch. “Oh, looks like I’m late. Better hurry up to the vadoctor.” Her voice sounded unnaturally calm.

  “Time flies when we’re having fun, huh, V-friend?” mused Black calmly.

  “Yes, this will be fun, V-friend,” affirmed Red. “We’ll chat later, Slick!”

  “Catch you soon, Moo,” said Black.

  “Sooner than eight years, I hope!” Red laughed microoffensively.

  “Oh, he’ll come when called I think! Judging by past experience.” Black smirked.

  “Mm. Thanks for the tip,” said Red.

  They stared at each other, Red’s cerulean eyes wide and Black’s hazel eyes narrow.

  Then, they turned and strode inside, barely squeezing through the door at the same time.

  Ugghhhh.

  Brooding about what had just happened, he started walking home by rote. He was halfway there by the time he realized it was lunch hour—or, in this case, lunch two hours—and rushed back to the office. By the time he got through his daily A/B testing, it was pitch-black outside.

  Working late was frustrating. It’s not like he had any long-term job advancement prospects. Even if he somehow avoided his car accident, or he came back here from Somnus’ Palace, civilization would be gone. A/B testing jobs probably wouldn’t exist for a millennium or two.

  And the pay he’d saved up? Worthless! The first thing to go in every postapocalyptic world was fiat currency. If he were smart, he’d be buying non-perishable survival supplies, Fallout-style, and storing them somewhere safe.

  In fact . . . Proto made a note to do precisely that. Then, he shut down his computer and headed home.

  By now, his angst at Red and Black’s new rivalry had waned a bit, but his weariness more than made up for it.

  It helped to hear Dream of the Shore Bordering Another World playing serenely when he got home. It reduced his feelings, dark and light, to a ghostly and faded pastel, a mere mirage made of mists.

  Shaking his bleary head, he lay in bed and planned what to do in Mercune’s dream tonight.

  Till recently, Proto had been a twenty-seven-year-old with an exceptionally ordinary life. It took a lot to motivate him to achieve the extraordinary. One such motive, he’d learnt, was the pursuit of true love. It turned out saving the future was another. This was a good thing, because coming home from a day of A/B testing to plan more A/B testing in his sleep took an extraordinary effort!

  Lying in bed, he pondered a while before his sense and senses started melting into those ghostly mists again. Eyes drooping, coaxed along by strains of dreamy music, he drifted toward that sea of mists. They swelled and billowed before him. He felt as suited for them as a bird for the heavens, or a soul for Heaven.

  He couldn’t see what lurked beyond those mists. But even as he closed his eyes and accepted the inscrutability, it became scrutable to another part of him.

  Part of him reeled and wondered, What in the world . . . ? But that world wasn’t where he was anymore.