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

  “What?! You’re kidding me! This is the biggest news in months!” cried Red. “ . . . wait. You’ve been frozen in a pod for two years. How could you possibly know that? I didn’t tell you today’s date.”

  Proto, abruptly anxious, found himself checking if mist was swirling up from the floor. Old habits die hard.

  “Um, I saw a clock in my room when I got out,” he fibbed. “Showed the time and the date.”

  “Ah.” Red tilted her head at him. “And your first thought upon emerging from cryogenic hibernation was, ‘Ah! Look at that date. That’s my Saturn Return! Who woulda thunk it!’”

  Proto winced. “Um.”

  “Don’t get me wrong! My opinion of you just jumped a notch,” Red assured him. “Here I am like, ‘I’m looking for a ten of ten, have you seen one?’ And you’re like, ‘Nope, I’ve been busy elevening over here.’”

  Proto laughed, shaking his head. What an absurd world I live in.

  “The fact that you’re cracking up, and not like ‘what the F does that mean,’ says it all,” said Chub.

  “Huh? What the F does that mean?” Red asked the bald barista.

  “It means, even a Nidoqueen has her Nidoking,” replied Chub.

  “Excuse me?!” cried Red. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just compare me to a chubby dinosaur, lest I throw coffee in your face!”

  “This is getting awfully nerdy,” noted Proto. “I feel like even the Powers That Be, looking down on us, are lost at this point.”

  “Unless they’re nerdy too!” Red pointed out.

  “That”—Proto pondered Flua-Sahng and Somnus—“is a very fair point.”

  “Anyway, to return to a much less nerdy topic, I can’t believe it’s your Saturn Return. What are the odds?!” exclaimed Red. “They say you come back to your roots on your Saturn Return. It’s a homecoming. And, lo and behold.” She spread her arms gleefully toward Proto. “Everything is coming together! . . . Except your outfit.”

  Proto nodded grimly. “Had to throw that in somewhere.”

  “Sorry, Old Man!” She beamed. “You had an excuse before. But now, you’ve hit your Saturn Return. Time for collared shirts! And not the stretchy kind! Enjoy shorts while you still can. You lose those next Saturn Return. Possibly hair too!”

  “Oh, he might not have to wait that long.” Chub itched his shiny pate.

  “Yes, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it!” waved Red.

  “Who knows, maybe you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it!” Chub pointed out.

  “Ha! I could lose half my hair and still have enough for two Reds!” Red cast her long hair back imperiously.

  “And enough left over to support the local bonfire,” noted Chub.

  “Oh, was that a redhead joke? Sorry, it was hard to tell,” replied Red. “Your gibes are like random mob encounters—they’re all low-level and underpowered. I level up on your quips! I farm them for exp! I tap buttons and pay no attention to them! I have ninety-nine of all their loot!”

  “Jeez.” Chub frowned grimly, as Red giggled. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two to your elevening.” He retrieved a Game Boy Color from beneath the counter and unpaused it. “I’ll just be random-mobbing it up over here.”

  “I’m just kidding, Chub Chub. You’re at least a major NPC.” She patted his hand.

  “You sure know how to make a guy feel better.” Chub fiddled with his Game Boy. “Ninety-nine of all their loot. Hmph.”

  Meanwhile, Proto had scanned the room again, and his eyes had caught on a middle-aged woman playing cards. She was apparently Japanese, judging by the language she was speaking, and her hair was dyed red.

  Where have I seen her before . . . ?

  “Hey, you remember Hisoka?” asked Red, evidently following his eyes. “She joined my gaming group last year, a while after the two of us met her. Remember? She’s the one who laughed at you.”

  “Ah, that one,” grumbled Proto. “That narrows things to half the women in the region.”

  Red laughed, then blinked. “Half?” She peered at him with exaggerated suspicion. “Sonna ni . . . ? Motemote kamo! Chotto happoubijin ne! The region? Hana o tsundeiru na no? Iroirona hana? Akai hana?!” She ran a hand through her hair, looking at Hisoka’s red hair, then back at Proto.

  Hisoka had overheard this. Now, she was covering her mouth and laughing at him.

  “You see? It happens even if I say nothing.” Proto wondered if he was blushing. “Laugh, laugh, laugh.”

  “Yes, laughing! So much laughing!” Red went on, waving a hand dramatically. “Hitobito, waratteiru! Hanabana, waratteiru! Akai hana . . . bana?” With the last word, she’d turned from Hisoka to Proto and widened her eyes at him, curling her hair around her finger. “Nanbon? Nannin?!”

  Hisoka was applauding now. She pointed at Proto’s face. “Akai mono to ieba . . . !”

  “Ne? Akakute, kitanakute, demo minikukunai mono!” lamented Red.

  “Eeee? Kawaisugi!” the other woman enthused. “Aien kien, ne? Akai kami, akai kao, akai bakappuru.”

  “Baka baka to ieba . . . !” frowned Red at Hisoka, who tittered back.

  “‘Baka’ wa kirai, ‘baka baka’ wa ai!” the woman observed mischievously.

  “Hmph!” Red failed to suppress a smile, then leaned in toward her. “Mou sukoshi. Kowagaraseru na!” She cocked her head toward Proto.

  “Un! Wakatta.” Hisoka nodded twice eagerly and gave Red two peace signs.

  Then, she returned to drinking her coffee and playing cards, with only occasional excited glances.

  Proto flashed two peace signs to Red. “She another V-friend or something?”

  “L-O-L, Proto,” laughed Red. “L-O-F’ing-L.”

  “Welp. You’ll have to introduce me to all these fine people at some point,” he said.

  “Speaking of which, I should introduce myself!” declared Hisoka, drawing a startled blink from Proto. “As long as we’re living together at the end of the world. Name’s Hisoka. Nice to meet you . . . ?” She thrust her arm toward him.

  “Proto,” he managed, trying not to look shocked as he shook her hand.

  “Kowagarasenai tte!” Red complained to Hisoka. “Sorekara, eigo hanasu?!”

  “Of course! I also sew, bake cakes, and give excellent foot rubs,” noted the middle-aged Japanese woman.

  “Maybe you can tell me about these things later, Hisoka-chan!” Red suggested sweetly. “Soretomo nihongo de.”

  Hisoka tittered, glancing at Proto. “Wakatta, wakatta. Ganbatte!”

  “Un! Go-buun o inotte!” affirmed Red.

  “Go forth and conquer!” Hisoka thrust her fist into the air.

  “Kowagarasenai tte!” complained Red, glancing at Proto. “Anyway, Chub Chub, I have a favor.”

  “Good, I could use a favor,” the bald barista replied.

  “Don’t be cute with me, Sir!” she scolded. “I need you to man the counter for a while. Be a man, will you? I need to go downstairs.”

  “My manliness is quite sufficient as-is,” retorted Chub. “And I don’t approve of your hooky-playing habits.”

  “Habits. Psh. It’s been years! And you’re still whining about it?” Red planted her hands on her hips. “I cloned you my Mewtwo! I made you a scarf!”

  “Just joshin’,” said Chub. “Me and my Mewtwo got this place covered.”

  “I’m not sure what’s harder to believe,” observed Proto. “That you have electricity after the end of the world, or that you’re using it to charge Game Boys.”

  “Oh, the power station has a million batteries, and my friend Elding’s an electrician, so he rigged something up for us,” replied Red. “Anyway, thanks, Chub Chub!”

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  “No probs, Your Redness.”

  As the red-haired girl led Proto down a staircase behind the counter, Proto felt a pang of déjà vu, then an echoed pang of wistfulness. Life might be a dream, but even dreams involve making choices.

  He felt like scolding himself for feeling wistful at a time like this. But I guess it’s only by letting our feelings paint with their full palette that we see the full beauty of contrast, he mused to himself.

  Excuse me! the Queen of Heaven’s voice interrupted. That was certainly not you musing to yourself! Did you really think you came up with that? Hmph. First you use me as an inner voice for your own bad thoughts. Then, when I share a wise thought with you, you claim it as your own!

  Proto had to hold in a chuckle.

  Oh, you think it’s funny? You would! admonished Flua-Sahng. You’re all like that. But it’s my fault, I suppose. We took your rib, you take our good ideas.

  Proto silenced the queenly petulance. “Soo, where we headed?”

  “You wanted rump, right?” Red replied from further down the stairs.

  Proto frowned. “Oh, it’s down here?”

  “It will be soon!” she answered.

  “Cool, okay.” He supposed the kitchen must be downstairs. To some, this might’ve seemed odd. But he’d just spent months at Somnus’ Palace, whose kitchen was also downstairs beneath the lounge.

  This was an awfully long staircase, though. He followed Red the rest of the way down, around a corner, and through a doorway.

  There, he beheld a warehouse. It was enormous, with shelves stretching at least thirty feet high, brimming with non-perishable goods—row after row of food and supplies. He could barely see the other end of the room. It would take several minutes just to walk there. He’d seen nothing remotely like this since visiting a Walmart Supercenter in suburban Ohio.

  “Sooo?” Red asked excitedly. “It’s not exactly Whole Foods. But, for postapocalyptic purposes, I think I did pretty well, right?”

  “What in the world is this?” asked Proto.

  “Looks pretty self-explanatory to me!” Red walked up to a shelf chock-full of dehydrated meals and grabbed something labeled Survivor’s Steak. “You need instructions or something? Add water. Heat. Eat!”

  Proto hadn’t seen so many Patriot’s Pastas, Forever Fajitas, and Two-Minute T-Bones since clicking into the wrong news article in November 2020. He marveled at the assortment.

  “So, yeah, we don’t just eat fish,” noted Red. “You should try the Freedom Fries! A little all-purpose seasoning, you’d swear they’re from Arby’s. And we have a ton of all-purpose seasoning.”

  “Impressive. But I have to say,” mused Proto, “I’m curious how you came to own a café slash ski lodge with a warehouse in the basement.”

  Red’s lips quirked thoughtfully. “Well, ‘own’ is . . . a relative term after the end of the world,” she philosophized. “This was someone’s AirBNB. Now, it’s mine and not an AirBNB!”

  He frowned. “Ah. That clears things up.”

  “Alright, you asked for it! In short,” Red cried, “some family lived in the house upstairs for 200 years. During those 200 years, this whole area became a state park. Building houses was banned. But the house upstairs was grandfathered in. Problem was, the best view in the park is right here on this plateau. The state wanted to take over the place. Eminent domain and all that. Problem was, they got an appraisal done, and apparently, this land is crazy valuable. Is, was. Like $50 million. So they told the owner, who was the last guy left in that family, ‘We’ll give you $5 million if you let people walk on your land, you let tourists use your bathroom, and you run a little gift shop.’ He agreed. Then, during the dot-com boom, he turned his $5 million into $100 million.”

  “Did he move to the Caymans and frolic with the 0.01% till the end of his days, like a sane person? Nope! He dug a hole!” She waved at the sprawling basement. “Meaning, he dug out this place and filled it with Patriot Pasta. Enough non-perishables that even Vault-Tec would be jealous!”

  “Then, after decades of prepping—preppering?—he took a three-day trip to California. And wouldn’t you know it?! The world ended!” Red clapped her hands to her head. “All that preppering for nothing.”

  “Soo, it’s mine now. Mine, ours?” She quirked her lips in thought, then shrugged and smiled. “Mine.” As she spoke, she was strolling toward a storage closet.

  “Welp, you’ve done well,” observed Proto. “This is the nicest underground Sam’s Club I’ve seen.”

  “Yep! Good use of $100 million.” Red looked at the ceiling. “Thanks, Old Owner! You were right—the end of the world was nigh! Even if it wasn’t the Russians, or the fluoride, or the globalists.”

  As she opened the storage closet door and began rummaging inside, Proto surveyed the warehouse. “How long does it take you to walk from one end to the other?” he asked.

  “Not so long at all if you’re wearing . . . LOL-lerskates!” she exclaimed, whirling from the closet and thrusting something toward him.

  It was an actual pair of LOL-lerskates—rollerblades with the word LOL stickered all over them.

  Proto received them in two reverently cupped hands, like a Communion wafer or a newborn baby.

  “Speechless, I see?” Red was holding her own pair of skates now. “You should be! I was too, when I found the stickers. It’s like the owner really did aspire to be a one-stop supershop!”

  “I’m impressed you guessed my size,” observed Proto.

  “I’m just a good guesser,” shrugged Red. “Or, perhaps, a very thorough researcher on public records sites.”

  “Truly a top-notch stalker,” he observed.

  Red beamed. “The only value in this valueless world is what you share with someone you’ve stalked!”

  As she spoke, she’d begun putting on her skates. So, he did the same. Why not?

  “Did you polish these?” he asked. “They’re shiny.”

  “One might even say . . . Slick.” She grinned, as he nodded grimly. “I’m sorry for that. Please don’t leave me.”

  So, in a weird world where weird things were fated, Red and Proto skated.

  Alone in the warehouse, the two rolled up and down the rows and aisles. He hadn’t done much skating in a decade, but it came back quickly. She, in contrast, skated like she were on her way to the X Games in 1994.

  “You’re actually pretty good!” She casually did a backward transversal as she watched him. “Do you do this a lot?”

  “Rollerblading and I go back a long way,” he replied. “We have a complicated relationship now.”

  “Yeah, the last couple years, my relationship’s been on It’s Complicated too.” She glanced at him, lips quirking up.

  “Same here,” he replied. You have no idea.

  She frowned. “WTF? You’ve been frozen!”

  Proto pondered what he could say to explain his reply.

  “OMGWTFBBQ,” he said instead.

  “BBQ? I don’t think so!” observed Red. “How about OMGWTF-block-of-ice!”

  “Oh, I was just reading my skate,” noted Proto. Indeed, there was an OMGWTFBBQ sticker, sandwiched between an LOL and a ROFL.

  “Ah. Of course!” nodded Red.

  And on they skated, sipping at their coffees, brushing hands from time to time, feeling like two teens of the 1950s having a date in the 1990s.

  Proto had been worried he’d eaten too much earlier. But before long, he’d actually cleared some room.

  “Soo, where’s that rump?” He hadn’t seen any kitchen as they were skating.

  “Where? That’s a funny question to ask.” Red put a hand on her hip and regarded him curiously. “You in a rush or something?

  “Oh, not at all,” he assured her. “Just wondering about the layout down here.”

  “Ah, the layout? You should’ve said so!” she exclaimed. “Here, I’ll give you the tour.”

  Proto blinked, feeling like he was missing something.

  Or maybe Red was just being Red. If he didn’t like quirkiness, things probably wouldn’t have worked so well between them.

  “Cool, we can do our eating afterward,” he concurred.

  “Yes, we’ll do our meating soon,” she nodded. “Our Rump Romp.”

  “Good. I’ve waited years!” replied Proto.

  “You have no idea!” agreed Red.

  She skated ahead, and he followed, until she stopped by a door almost hidden behind some shelving. Maneuvering toward it on her skates, she opened it and gestured inside.

  There, Proto saw a toilet.

  “This is our Secret Bathroom. It has a bathtub. It has a shower. And no one knows about it but me!” Red explained proudly. “And now you.”

  “Nice,” Proto said politely. “I was born in a bathtub, you know.”

  “I didn’t know!” Red replied with interest. “How was it?”

  “I sort of bumped my head,” he answered. “Probably something they should’ve thought of in advance, what with the angle and—”

  “Getting a little TMI, Proto!” she sang. “But thanks for that visual.”

  He frowned. “I mean, ‘how was it’? What were you hoping for? ‘It went very smoothly. Like greased lightning.’”

  “Ugh! I said ‘TMI,’ not ‘MI, please!’” she complained.

  “As you give me a tour of your bathroom,” he noted.

  “Yes. Speaking of which, out with you,” she said.

  “What, are you ‘putting on something more comfortable’?” he asked.

  “Ha, is that why you think I’m undoing my belt?” She started undoing her belt. “No such luck, Mister! Priority #1 is #1! Sorry, can’t hold it anymore. Coffee, coffee, coffee.”

  Proto widened his eyes and skated away, as Red giggled at his back.

  As he waited outside, he absently wondered if there was still plumbing here. It certainly became clear, after a moment, that there was still water in the toilet.

  Soon, the door opened, and she skated out, buckling her belt. “Much better!”

  “How was it?” he asked.

  “Why, it went very smoothly! Like greased lightning!” she declared. “How’s that? TMI enough for you?”

  “Perfect,” replied Proto. “Except I didn’t hear you wash your hands.”

  Red blinked.

  “Just kidding. I’m sure we just don’t have running water, right?” he said. “With the world in ruins and all?”

  “Um.” Red blinked twice more. “Be right back.”

  She dashed back into the bathroom. He heard sounds of water running and hands vigorously being rubbed.

  Then, she emerged, face thoroughly pink.

  “So.” He paused. “I see there’s still plumbing after the end of the world.”

  “Yes. Yes there is, Proto.” Red stood stiffly. “Well water. Our own system.”

  “Ah.” He regarded her pleasantly and amiably. “Still soap too?”

  “Yes, Proto!” Red retorted.

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  “Of course, the one time!” she muttered. “Here I am, all excited, thinking happy girly thoughts. Thinking about today, and tomorrow, and all our many tomorrows. But Slick here!”

  “Ahem,” she corrected, “Un-Slick here, in his rumpled tracksuit, with disheveled hair, without a bath this year, teeth unbrushed for a year, decides to make an observation about someone else!”

  “Just being helpful!” Proto replied happily. “We all can forget things at times.”

  “Helpful, thanks!” she exclaimed. “When someone burps, do you help by saying, ‘Forget your breath mint?’ When someone trips, do you help by saying, ‘Forget your walking lessons?’ Sheesh!”

  She shook her head grimly. “Here I am, trying to set all this up just right, our year-plus reunion. Our reunion at the end of the world! And Proto’s like, ‘Hey, you got pee on your hands.’”

  Proto just laughed harder.

  “Got any more questions?” she went on. “‘Hey Red, you forget your lipstick back in town? You know, the one wiped out by fire? Forget your makeup today?’”

  “Red, all the makeup in the world couldn’t make you more beautiful than you are right now,” Proto found himself answering.

  She blinked up twice at him, her cerulean eyes gone wide.

  Then, she clasped one of his hands and leaned toward him, going tippy-toe on one of her skates. Her faintly parted lips met his.

  Perhaps it was from there that this red-blooded feeling, rushing through his veins and tingling red-hot, was flowing into him. Or perhaps it issued from his own heart. All he knew was, he sought more of it—from Red’s lips, and her clutching hands, and the softness of her frame, leaning tiptoe against him.

  His mind was all misty warmth, rising from her; and against those mists, thoughts swirled into view, like sightless forces whirling through the aether.

  Do likes or opposites attract? Somehow, she was both to him. Does she fill a gap in me? Or is she the one space where I fit? Somehow, both were true.

  He felt like his whole world was a yin-yang that, until this moment, had been missing its yin. Except it wasn’t white and black. No, in the swirl of red longing within him, all that was missing was more Red.

  In time, as one, they started to withdraw. She was red-faced, breathing a little huskily. Perhaps he was too. They just stared at each other and smiled for a while.

  Then, suddenly, she leaned to his neck and kissed him there, sucking as she did so.

  Proto blinked in surprise. He wondered if he’d inadvertently romanced a vampire, and whether this might be a modern-day urban romantasy after all.

  Then, remembering his last date with Red, he ahhed inwardly. Grinning, he ran a hand through her long, long hair.

  When she finished, her blue eyes sparkled up at him. “Did I do better this time?”

  He checked the bathroom mirror, rubbing the new spot on his neck. “Yeeeppp. That won’t be washing off.”

  “Of course not! Like I said, no lipstick here.” Red puckered her lips and beamed. “I’m afraid you’re marked now, Proto. Branded! Property of Her Redness! HMS Slick!”

  “Hm.” Proto eyed the mirror. “Well, my nose is unscathed, this time.”

  “Ooh. Was that a request?” Opening her mouth faintly, Red leaned toward Proto and closed her lips lightly around the tip of his nose—then nibbled delicately and withdrew. “Sorry! Got a little hungry.”

  “Can’t blame you. I’m looking forward to that rump too,” replied Proto.

  She nodded. “Yes. More by the minute!”

  “Well, we have meating to do, Your Redness.” Proto lifted her hand as though to kiss it—then nibbled on it.

  “Sheesh, good thing I washed that, or you’d be needing a breath mint and a toothbrush!” she exclaimed.

  Proto chuckled, forgetting her hand was in his mouth, and his teeth squeezed on her finger.

  “Ouch! Excuse you.” She swatted his head lightly. “We all want red meat, but you’re going entirely too far! Anyway, come on, we’ve got rumps to romp.”

  “Let’s get rumping,” he agreed.

  “Yes. Um, after I do one thing.” Red skated back toward the bathroom.

  Proto stared. “Didn’t you just . . . ?”

  “Coffee coffee coffee!” She slammed the door behind her, and Proto chortled quietly.