Antic moved ahead of me like gravity was just a polite suggestion. His boots barely skimmed the moss-covered cobblestones before he was in the air again, spinning half a step backwards so he could face me.
"I heard—listen, you're gonna want to hear this—rumors, whispers, forbidden secrets, the kind of things you'd sell your soul to overhear," he said, his grin sharp enough to cut glass. "The Realm of Lost Things Café just opened again."
He leaned closer, voice dropping like he was about to confess a sin. "And they've got Love. Potion. Lattes."
Grin, walking just behind me, shifted the scythe on his shoulder. "...You mean a cup... of regret... and magically-enhanced... bad decisions." His voice rolled out like slow thunder, deep enough to make the stones underfoot feel heavier.
"Exactly," Antic said without missing a beat, turning it into a sales pitch. "Caffeinated destiny, Grin. They say one sip makes you bold—love, lust, raw confessions, the kind of things that change lives forever."
From her perch on Grin's bony shoulder, Dolly snorted. "How the hell are you hearing whispers and secrets? You've been with us the whole time."
Antic's grin didn't falter. "I'm very good at multitasking."
I brushed a bit of dirt from my sleeve. "A latte that makes you… feel emotions?"
It was an honest question. Love, lust—these were vague concepts to me, like constellations I'd heard described but never seen.
Antic froze. For half a heartbeat, the ever-present smirk on his face cracked.
Then blood burst from his nose like someone had just punched him between the eyes.
"YOU—uh—hah—no, it's not—!" He clamped a hand over his face, words breaking apart like glass underfoot. "I just think they're tasty, alright?!"
Dolly tilted her head at him with slow, venomous delight. "Oh, he's in deep. This is courtship, Pecola. Fluttering around you, grinning too much, and now spontaneous bleeding? That's textbook mating display."
I blinked at her. "…He's injured?"
Grin's skeletal shoulders shook with that slow, wheezing laugh of his. "...He wishes."
I didn't answer. My hand stayed on Antic's sleeve while we walked. His pulse was fast—whether from embarrassment or caffeine dreams, I didn't know.
The Realm unfolded around us like someone had stitched a dream together with the wrong thread. Streets bent in directions that didn't make sense. Cobbles spiraled out, then back in, like a path trying to hypnotize you. Buildings leaned against each other for support—towers built from stacked teacups, kiosks shaped like hollow boots, an entire library made of half-written letters and unopened packages.
Everything hummed. Not with life, exactly. With want.
Songs with no singers drifted past us. Teddy bears with torn ears whispered to dolls missing limbs. Every object's voice was a quiet plea to be remembered.
I slowed. "Everything here… feels like it's weeping."
Antic was at my side immediately, boots hitting the stones without a sound. He looked at me instead of the street. "Yeah. They all want to be remembered. Even socks."
He stooped, picked up a single mitten—frayed, mismatched—and hooked it onto the crooked railing of a stall as if it belonged there. He didn't even smirk when he did it.
It caught something in my throat.
Grin followed at his own pace, the scythe resting like an extension of his spine. "...This place... will eat you alive... if you're not careful."
Dolly adjusted her position on his shoulder, eyes darting to me. "That's why you stick close to your boy here. Not that he'd admit that's what he wants."
''Also not too much on my home town!'' she shouted.
Antic didn't look back, but I noticed the way his jaw tensed.
The café appeared like it had been waiting for us.
It was wedged between a broken wishing well and a music box that sobbed when opened. The walls breathed. The lantern light inside flickered to a slow heartbeat. The door… blinked.
When we stepped through, the air shifted—thicker, sweeter, pulling at the edges of my senses.
Every table was occupied by something strange: a teapot with teeth arguing with a sentient éclair, a sugar plum fairy sitting in the corner trying to unstick her wings from a frosting spill, a couple made entirely of mismatched chess pieces holding hands across a plate of lemon tarts.
The walls were built from music-box parts, gears turning in slow rhythm to a deep, sultry jazz.
Antic stopped just inside the door, eyes wide, lips twitching like he was holding back a confession. "Two Love Potion Lattes," he called, voice warm and confident, like the request was for something far more dangerous.
A waitress with no face but impossibly sharp heels floated to our table. She set down two cups, each one glowing faintly—pink foam swirling with flecks of gold. The scent was sharp with cinnamon, softened with something floral… jasmine, maybe. And something else underneath. Something like old promises.
I sniffed it. "It smells like spring… and heartache."
Antic already had his cup tipped to his lips, the corner of his mouth curling around the rim. "And bad decisions," he said, swallowing like he was testing how much he could handle before breaking.
I took a sip.
The world didn't shift. But he did.
The sound of his voice landed differently—still bright, still quick, but richer now. Solid. The way thunder feels when it's far enough away to admire.
"You're… not annoying right now," I said before thinking.
He blinked. Then his face went red, his hand shot to his scarf, and blood started running from his nose again.
Dolly fell over on Grin's shoulder in a fit of laughter. 'BAHHHAAHHAAAA..'''
Antic's nosebleed dripped onto the saucer. He didn't move at first, as if pretending it wasn't happening might reverse it. Then he finally yanked his scarf up, pressing it to his face.
Dolly cackled from her perch. "You do realize, right? She just said you're not annoying. That's basically a love confession from No Eyes. You can die happy now."
"Shut—" Antic muffled himself into the scarf, eyes darting to me and away like I was suddenly more dangerous than a nest of venomous wasps.
Grin sat back in his chair, sipping something dark and bitter. "…For the record… I'm impressed… it took this long… for one of you to bleed on the drinks."
I took another sip of mine. The warmth coiled under my ribs, slow and unsettling, like someone had tucked a candle inside me. "It's… strange," I said, setting the cup down carefully. "My hands feel warmer. My hearing is sharper. Your voice sounds… different."
Antic froze mid-dab. "…Different how?"
I looked at him, tilting my head. "Heavier. Like it knows where it's going."
For a fraction of a second, his expression softened—unguarded in a way I didn't expect. Then he ruined it by leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. "Guess that's just my natural charm coming through once the caffeine hits."
Dolly snorted. "Yeah. Charm. That's what the kids are calling it now."
I ignored her. The café's atmosphere was thickening—conversations at other tables dissolving into laughter, mismatched couples leaning closer over pastries. The air seemed to push people together.
Antic leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the table. He didn't smirk this time. "Pecola… you don't have to understand everything I mean. You just have to… let me be here. Near you. That's enough."
Something in my chest pulled tight.
Dolly's voice cut through before I could answer. "Look out—"
A sugar golem, carrying an overloaded tray of éclairs, stumbled. Antic moved without thinking—up, around, catching the tray before it could dump onto my lap. The motion was fluid, practiced, unfairly graceful.
But in the process, the lattes tipped. Pink foam cascaded over his tunic in a perfect heart shape.
I stared at the mark. "You're stained."
He grinned now, all reckless light again. "Guess I'll wear it like a badge."
The first strike was quiet. Too quiet.
Dolly slid down Grin's shoulder, hit the table, and strolled toward the counter like a general inspecting enemy defenses. Her porcelain heels clicked against the polished floor—sharp, deliberate. She paused at a dish of pastel sugar cubes, plucked one between two fingers, and sniffed it.
Then she lobbed it at a fairy.
The cube bounced off a glittery cheek. The fairy gasped, turned beet-red, and whipped a spoonful of whipped cream at Dolly.
Dolly ducked.
It hit Antic in the side of the face.
I blinked at the blob of cream sliding down his cheek, the pink latte stain on his chest now crowned with white. "You're… more colorful."
His eyes slid to mine. "Trying a new look." He swiped the cream with his finger and popped it into his mouth. "Sweet. Like you."
Before I could answer, Dolly shouted, "OPEN FIRE!"
The café erupted.
Pastries became projectiles. Cream-filled éclairs streaked through the air like sugary torpedoes. Cupcake dragons took to the rafters, dive-bombing tables with icing breath. A teapot bared its teeth and started hurling hot scones.
Grin moved slower than anyone else, his voice somehow calm even as an eclair exploded against his back. "…This is… excessive."
Antic was already on his feet, dragging me sideways as a pie dish went spinning past. "Come on, Pecola, duck or you'll end up a frosted statue."
I ducked. I did not let go of his sleeve.
The air grew thick with powdered sugar, clinging to our hair and clothes in a ghostly film. Antic kept glancing at me through it, grinning like this was exactly where he wanted to be—dodging chaos with me at his side.
Dolly, of course, was at the center of it all—standing on a toppled cake stand, dual-wielding pastry bags and firing jets of frosting at anyone who dared get close. "THIS IS MY KINGDOM!" she screamed. "BOW BEFORE THE QUEEN OF SUGAR!"
One of the cupcake dragons swerved, wings catching my hair. Antic stepped forward, batting it away with one hand. "Not touching her," he said to the creature, "unless you want a fight."
It hissed frosting at him. He wiped it from his jaw, looked at me, and smirked. "Guess you're not the only one who thinks I'm sweet."
I stared at him. "Do you ever stop?"
He leaned in, low enough that his voice dipped into that velvet tone again. "Not when it comes to you."
Something cracked against the back of his head—an entire layer cake. He stumbled forward, nearly into me, and frosting smeared across my shoulder.
We both froze.
Then I reached up, swiped a fingertip across the icing, and licked it. "Too sweet," I murmured.
His nose started bleeding again.
The war ended in crumbs.
The café smelled like burnt sugar and regret. Tables lay on their sides, chairs splintered, the walls dripping in pastel icing. The cupcake dragons were grounded, licking their own wings. Somewhere in the back, the faceless waitress was muttering darkly about "love potion hazards" and "never again."
Dolly sat on a spoon like a conquering queen, arms folded, porcelain hairpiece askew. "Victory," she announced, "tastes like frosting and other people's humiliation."
Grin, slouched in a chair that still had half its legs, stirred his tea with slow, deliberate circles. "…And cavities."
Antic dropped into the seat beside me, clothes stiff with dried latte foam and cake frosting. His scarf hung limp around his neck, dotted with powdered sugar. He was smiling—still smiling, even through the wreckage.
I didn't understand how he could keep doing that.
"You're staring," he said without looking at me, voice quiet now.
"I'm trying to understand why you're… still warm," I answered.
His brow quirked. "You say that like it's a problem."
"It is," I said, because it was. "It feels like… summer. And I'm always cold."
That got him to look at me—really look at me. His usual lazy grin softened, his voice dipping into something heavier, something without the jokes. "Then stay close enough to borrow it."
I should have said something. Anything. Instead, I leaned my head against his chest. The steady rise and fall, the quiet thump of his heart—alien and grounding all at once—was enough.
"Just so you know," he murmured, "I'm fine if this is all I ever get. You next to me."
I closed my eyes. My breathing slowed. I didn't mean to, but I fell asleep there, with the warmth under my cheek and the faint smell of cinnamon still clinging to him.
Somewhere above me, I heard Dolly snort. "Pathetic."
Grin's voice followed, slow and deliberate. "…You're just jealous."
Antic chuckled under his breath.
And for once, there was no blood from his nose. Just the slow, steady beat beneath my ear.