Tsitsi was the last person he’d talked to—

  and after that, Crys stopped having that dream that always began with the same strange weightlessness.

  …Not that it was unusual for months to pass without it.

  So maybe it was more accurate to say

  things had simply gone back to normal.

  Still—

  after meeting Tsitsi again and again, Crys had assumed there would be a next time.

  That he’d see her again,

  whether he wanted to or not.

  But the next night—

  and the night after that—

  he slept through, deep and dreamless.

  Night after night,

  nothing happened.

  He tried downloading Arix.

  Villa too.

  He launched them, just to see.

  But nothing came close to that dream—

  that unnervingly sharp immersion,

  where his awareness and senses snapped into focus.

  Three days in,

  he started telling himself what Tsitsi had said

  wasn’t even worth thinking about.

  A week in,

  he’d already forgotten the feeling

  of living inside some other reality.

  When October began, Halloween decorations started popping up everywhere.

  Huge pumpkins sat on porches like trophies.

  Gravestones were planted in front yards like flowers.

  Spiderwebs and bat stickers were plastered messily across doors.

  Some houses even wrapped colorful bulbs around every tree—

  as if they meant to drag it straight into Christmas.

  Crys hated Halloween more than Christmas.

  Witches. Wizards. Superstitions.

  The whole town filled up with it until you couldn’t look away.

  Grown adults pretending to be ghosts,

  throwing sheets over their heads—

  it was idiotic.

  And Cillian—

  handing out candy to kids who came to the house,

  as if he didn’t know,

  or didn’t care,

  that his son hated this season—

  Crys couldn’t stand it either.

  Here it comes again.

  That miserable time of year.

  That’s what he’d thought—

  and yet.

  The garish decorations,

  the supermarket candy aisles cashing in on the event—

  none of it got under his skin.

  The moment he realized that,

  Crys felt thrown off.

  Ever since Amelia died,

  he’d avoided Halloween like it was an enemy.

  But now—

  he couldn’t even grab onto why.

  He didn’t know how to treat it anymore.

  How to face it.

  It was like beating a boss

  and then realizing you had nothing left to do.

  When had it started?

  This feeling—

  “Hey, Crys. Crys—hello?”

  Crys hadn’t even realized homeroom had ended.

  He looked up at Larry,

  his expression sour.

  Since running into Junaid last month,

  Larry had finally stopped talking to him like before,

  and Crys had been enjoying the peace.

  So of course.

  Larry bounced in place, restless—

  a boiled-egg-looking boy wobbling up and down—

  and shoved a hand-drawn ticket toward him.

  “Tomorrow. I’m having a Halloween party at my place, so come over.

  It’s not like anyone else is inviting you, right?”

  “None of your business.

  I’ve already got plans tomorrow.”

  Of course it was a lie.

  Someone talking to him at all was already rare.

  There was no way he had anyone who’d actually invite him.

  But Larry seemed to take the bluff seriously.

  His tiny eyes went so wide they looked ready to pop.

  He drew two bold lines through the date on his hand-drawn ticket, scribbled in a new one,

  and shoved it at Crys again.

  “Then what about the day after?

  It was supposed to be just family and relatives, but…

  I guess I could let you come.”

  “I’m busy today, tomorrow, and the day after.

  I’m busy forever.

  I need to go.”

  Crys made a show of checking his smartwatch, stood up,

  slung his backpack over one shoulder,

  and turned his back on Larry.

  —That’s it.

  Done.

  Or so he thought.

  “Hey, hey—just for a little while!

  Come on!

  My grandpa made me Jimmy’s outfit.

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

  You know Jimmy, right?

  The character from that anime Ulysses—the one who’s good at kicks.

  I even practiced Jeet Kune Do for Halloween!”

  Crys couldn’t help it.

  He laughed.

  Larry, dressed up as Jimmy—

  the stylish uniform, the cool pose?

  Yeah.

  More like a bouncing Humpty Dumpty.

  He turned, ready to throw something mean at him—

  and then.

  His eyes met Neria Ellington’s.

  Crys looked away on reflex.

  It was nothing.

  Just coincidence.

  He was overthinking it.

  Except—

  Neria walked over, with Genesis Cooper and Susanna Harris beside her,

  and stopped in front of them.

  “Hey, you two.

  Can I steal a second?”

  “Of course!

  Crys is in a hurry, so I’ll listen!”

  “It’s not that serious. It’s fine.”

  Crys exhaled.

  “…What.”

  Only at times like this did Larry cut in, like he belonged here.

  Crys clicked his tongue under his breath.

  Neria smiled—soft, apologetic.

  “Sorry.

  I know you’re in a rush.”

  And then she held out an invitation.

  Not like Larry’s hand-drawn ticket.

  This one was neatly printed,

  with bright, poppy illustrations—carefully done.

  “Tomorrow, I’m having a party at my house.

  I’ve been inviting everyone in our class, and…

  if you want,

  would you two like to come too?”

  Crys stared at Neria, caught off guard.

  Invite us—the class nobodies—to a party?

  That couldn’t be real.

  —Is she messing with me?

  He thought so.

  But Neria’s eyes weren’t joking.

  Behind her, Genesis and Susanna leaned close, whispering.

  A faint crease between their brows—as if they wanted to stop this

  before the “weird kids” took it seriously.

  Crys did what he always did when he didn’t know what to say.

  He reached up and touched the back of his neck.

  “I’m in, I’m in! I’ll even wear a costume! It’ll be awesome!”

  Larry cut in between them.

  He snatched the invitation like it was his,

  then—without missing a beat—struck some dramatic pose.

  “Like this character, you know!”

  The girls let out small laughs.

  Friendly, maybe.

  Or maybe not.

  The kind you couldn’t tell.

  Neria kept smiling, but her gaze shifted back to Crys.

  She tilted her head slightly—

  waiting.

  “So, Crys?

  What about you?”

  “Uh… I…”

  The moment he started—

  “No, no!”

  Larry cut in, way too loud.

  “Crys can’t! Not today, not tomorrow, not the day after!

  I asked him too, and he turned me down!”

  He even waved his hands, making a whole show of it.

  “He’s not coming, okay?”

  Neria didn’t look at Larry.

  She looked straight at Crys.

  “I’d really be happy if you came…”

  Her voice softened.

  “…Are you busy?”

  —Yeah. If I could go, I’d want to.

  Crys felt heat rush into his cheeks.

  He dropped his eyes like it was an escape route,

  pretended to steady his breathing,

  and answered.

  “Uh… yeah.

  I can’t.

  Have fun, all of you.”

  That was all.

  He left the classroom like he was running.

  He bit his lip the whole bike ride, wishing he’d said something smarter—

  but by the time he reached the Metro, it had already started to twist into frustration at Larry.

  —Sure. I’m the one who said no.

  But Larry—

  he didn’t have to tell Neria.

  She’d actually talked to me.

  And he—

  …No.

  By the time he got off the Metro and started walking toward Nash’s counseling room,

  Crys corrected himself.

  It was better this way.

  There was no way someone like him—who couldn’t even fit in at school—

  would manage a party.

  He’d just stand there while everyone else went wild,

  Halloween giving them permission to lose their minds.

  And he’d end up as the joke.

  Larry alone was enough of one.

  By the time he finished telling himself that,

  he was standing in front of the counseling room.

  Crys exhaled, switching gears,

  and knocked on the pale green door.

  “Happy Halloween!”

  It wasn’t even Halloween yet, and Nash threw the door open like she’d been waiting all day.

  A double-layered pumpkin dress.

  A spiderweb sticker tattoo on her cheek.

  Butterfly wings on her back.

  She was even holding a wand with a little star at the tip.

  Only her trademark glasses—usually rimmed in loud hot pink—were black today.

  No theme. No logic. Just… everything.

  And that thought made Crys laugh.

  Even for someone like him,

  who didn’t bother hiding how much he hated Halloween,

  Nash was the exception.

  She wore it so confidently

  it didn’t even look like a costume.

  It looked like… her.

  “Come on in. I’ve got a ton of things you like today.”

  Maybe there was wire in the hem—Nash shuffled along in tiny steps,

  and guided him into the small sitting room.

  The moment Crys saw the sweets covering the round table,

  something in his chest loosened.

  Candy corn.

  Marshmallow ghosts.

  Bat-shaped gummies.

  Cutout cookies.

  And pumpkin pie—

  still faintly warm.

  Spice drifted up through his nose.

  For Crys, who’d been avoiding Cillian’s cooking,

  this time with Nash—when Halloween crept closer—was special.

  Almost the only time

  eating still felt like something good.

  He finished the slice of pie she offered him,

  then crunched on cookies loud enough to make a point of it.

  He downed a cup of herbal tea that smelled like sweet potato in one long breath,

  then sank back deep into his chair.

  He watched—half-dreamy—

  as Nash poured him another.

  “Coming here makes me think Halloween might not be so bad.”

  “Right? Halloween isn’t just the magic you’re scared of, or people acting stupid.”

  “I’m not scared!”

  Nash smiled mischievously.

  “I’ll let you have that,” she said.

  Careful not to spill her cup, she walked over and leaned against the wall near the bay window.

  The pumpkin dress didn’t seem built for sitting on a sofa.

  After a sip of her herbal tea, Nash looked at Crys—

  with the look only an older sister could give.

  “So. How was this past month?”

  “I think I’m fitting in better. Today, a classmate even invited me to a Halloween party.”

  He popped a marshmallow into his mouth and said it like it meant nothing.

  Nash’s eyes lit up, and she leaned forward.

  “That’s wonderful! You’re going, of course?”

  “I’m not going. It’ll be the exact kind of loud stupidity you keep saying I’m ‘scared of.’”

  “That’s not necessarily true. You just said my Halloween wasn’t so bad, didn’t you? If she invited you knowing you, I bet you’d like it.”

  “I’ve barely talked to her. She said she invited everyone in the class.”

  “…Everyone,” Nash echoed.

  She lifted her brows, deliberately.

  Then she dropped cat-shaped sugar cubes into her tea, poured in milk,

  and stirred with a broom-shaped swizzle stick.

  She sipped her tea, holding back the rest on purpose.

  “What. If you have something to say, say it.”

  Nash tapped her index finger against her chin like she was thinking.

  Then her purple-painted lips curved lazily.

  “Secret.

  Until you understand how girls feel.”

  That word—secret—

  hit something deeper in him.

  —Secret.

  Until the day you’re meant to know.

  For a second, Tsitsi’s voice layered over it,

  soundless.

  “Are all women like that?”

  “Oh.” Nash’s eyes sparkled.

  “So it was a girl. The kind who says ‘everyone in class’ on purpose—yeah. I had a feeling.”

  Her excitement rose—almost glowing.

  “Did she say anything to you about… girl stuff?”

  “It’s not… that. Neria—she’s not the one who invited me.”

  Crys touched the back of his neck,

  as if to cover the way he’d let the name slip.

  “The night I came here last time,

  I saw a girl in a dream.”

  So he told her.

  The girl who called herself Tsitsi.

  The room of the heart.

  The glass case in the center.

  And then—seeing her in the library the next day.

  As he spoke,

  the shape he’d thought he’d forgotten

  came back with unsettling clarity.

  “In the dream, it was definitely real.

  But when I wake up, I tell myself it was just a dream.”

  He paused.

  “…And still, part of me can’t fully believe that.

  It makes me stop trusting my own senses.”

  Nash bent down in that awkward dress,

  and with a pen topped by a jack-o’-lantern,

  she started taking notes at an almost ridiculous speed.

  When Crys’s voice dropped,

  she looked up—like she meant to pull him back up.

  “Crysie. A dream is a dream. No matter how real it feels.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen it.”

  Crys shook his head.

  “My thoughts—my senses—everything’s the same as it is right now.

  It’s like only my awareness moves somewhere else and lives there…”

  He swallowed, then added quietly,

  “You said once I might never wake up from a dream.

  I get it now.”

  Nash lifted the jack-o’-lantern pen toward him.

  Behind the black frames, her long-lashed eyes turned unusually serious.

  “What I mean is—

  even if it feels real, it’s not something that can hurt you.

  As long as you choose to stay in this reality.”

  Crys didn’t answer.

  He picked up his cup.

  On the tea-colored surface, his dull face stared back.

  He shut his eyes and drained it, then took another bite of pumpkin pie.

  “So you think it’s a dream.”

  “Believe it or not, I’m a realist.”

  Crys almost spit out the pie.

  “That’s a hilarious joke. Dressed like that?”

  “Oh, I’m serious.”

  Nash grinned.

  “Halloween started as an autumn harvest celebration.

  Christmas, as a winter solstice one.

  It’s not all spirits and Santa—the things you hate.”

  Then Nash lowered her voice a little.

  “Recurring dreams themselves aren’t rare.

  If something has your attention.

  If you’re sensitive.

  If you’re trying to work through trauma…”

  A beat.

  “Or if you play games right up until you fall asleep.”

  “Then what about the library? Seeing her there?”

  “Attention bias.”

  Nash said it in a tone that practically announced: professional counselor speaking.

  “You just saw a girl with similar features and projected Tsitsi onto her.”

  Crys still didn’t buy it, but he nodded anyway.

  “If my mind’s stuck on it… does that mean I’ll see her again?”

  “I can’t say you won’t.”

  Nash’s round eyes blinked, wide and earnest.

  “But remember this.

  A dream is a dream.

  No matter where you go, no matter who you meet—

  you will wake up, and you’ll come back to your everyday life.”

  Crys couldn’t nod right away.

  To wake up, you had to do it on purpose.

  That world had rules.

  He couldn’t stop thinking that.

  “Then what about what was in the glass case?

  The fact that it was all stuff that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “The ‘magic,’ you mean.”

  Nash repeated it—like she meant to.

  “That’s because you—”

  BZZZT.

  The chime—maybe glitching—rang louder than usual, filling the room.

  Nash jolted like she’d been shocked.

  Crys stared after her as she hurried to the door.

  Just now—

  again—

  he felt like he’d heard words he recognized.

  A while later, Nash came back, her brows tilted with apology.

  “I’m sorry. A client showed up—said they needed me right now.”

  “That’s fine. Just tell me one thing.

  What did you say a second ago?”

  “Uh…”

  Nash’s gaze drifted.

  She blinked, again and again.

  “…What was it?”

  “If you don’t remember, forget it.”

  Crys stood.

  He grabbed one more slice of pumpkin pie.

  Then he scooped up a few wrapped sweets and stuffed them into his pocket.

  Nash squeezed her eyes shut, guilty.

  “Sorry I can’t walk you out.”

  And then she jammed his other pocket full too—cookies and chocolate, until it bulged.

  “See you next month.”

  Crys lifted one hand in a light goodbye,

  then bit into the pumpkin pie with a grim look on his face.

  —Because you were born a magician.

  The words cut off by the chime—

  Tsitsi’s voice completed them.

  No.

  That wasn’t right.

  Nash had said it too.

  She had. She must’ve.

  And yet she couldn’t remember.

  Tsitsi in the library.

  That echo of the same phrase.

  Calling it coincidence left a dull weight in his chest.

  No matter how stupid he tried to make it sound,

  Crys rode the Metro home

  with a restlessness he couldn’t shake.

  He was full, so even after getting off at his station,

  he didn’t stop by his usual burger place.

  He went straight home.

  A shower.

  Sweats.

  Headphones.

  Then he sat down to his assignment.

  Even while copying answers straight from the workbook,

  Nash’s words wouldn’t leave him.

  Maybe what he’d wanted—

  was for Nash to say, What you experienced was real.

  If even a self-proclaimed realist could accept ghosts and Santa as culture,

  then why not accept a “second reality,” like a metaverse?

  The more Nash insisted it was a dream,

  the more stubbornly Crys felt it had truly happened.

  If he told Tsitsi, she’d probably laugh and say,

  “Yes. This is real.”

  Maybe that was the problem.

  Thinking while he worked made him slower than usual.

  He kept shifting spots, jumping sections, losing his place.

  By the time he finally filled everything in and tossed the workbook into his backpack,

  Crys powered up his PC

  and opened the game.