They were supposed to go on a date tonight. Jeremy and Amalia. Alone. With Peri smiling awkwardly, waving them off like the supporting cast member he very much was.
Except—Jeremy was not here.
Which meant Peri was walking beside Amalia at sunset, still covered in grime from the bandit fight, sore as hell, and uncomfortably aware of how the city kept watching them like a giant porcelain doll waiting to blink.
Nihil could already feel it — the plot creeping in. Shoving him forward with the kind of smug inevitability that made him want to lie face down in the street and just disassociate.
"This was supposed to be the romance chapter," he thought grimly, rubbing at a spot on his arm where something had definitely tried to bite him earlier. "I had one job: avoid the dinner. Sleep. Let the birds chirp and the heterosexual tension flourish. Why am I the one booking a table?"
Ahead of him, Amalia's stomach growled. Loudly. She flinched, face flushed.
Peri stared at her. "...Really?"
"I didn't eat today," she mumbled, voice small.
He sighed. Deeply. "Fine. Come on. I saw a place earlier. Looked like a pocket of sanity in this haunted porcelain nightmare."
She blinked. "Are we really—"
"Yes," he cut her off, already turning a corner. "Before you collapse and I have to princess-carry you, which would solidify me as the male lead, which we are not doing."
The diner looked like it had teleported from a better timeline.
Warm yellow lighting. Brick walls covered in hand-painted murals of sleepy cows. Wooden booths with cushions. The scent of bread, real bread, drifted out like a prayer.
It was nestled between a cursed-looking crystal merchant and a taxidermy boutique. Neither of which seemed to acknowledge its existence.
Peri led the way in, holding the door open for Amalia, who looked like she'd just stepped into the first day of spring.
"I love it," she whispered.
"Don't say that too loud," he muttered. "The city might send a wraith to collect taxes."
They sat in a booth by the window. The waitress—a tired-looking woman with soft eyes and flour on her apron—gave them water, menus, and a smile that didn't feel like a threat. Peri almost cried.
Amalia scanned the menu with reverence. "They have soup. And dumplings. And candied yams."
"It's almost suspicious how normal it is," he said, resting his chin on one hand. "Maybe it's a trap."
"Do you think everything is a trap?"
"Yes. I've survived this long, haven't I?"
She giggled. The tension in her shoulders slowly eased. Peri noticed.
And that annoyed him.
This is Jeremy's job, Nihil thought sourly. He's supposed to make her laugh. He's supposed to swoop in with noble charm and tragic backstory and all that main love interest garbage. I fight the monsters. I hold the bags. I sulk in cutscenes. That is my role.
The mirror in his coat didn't respond. Dead weight. Thanks for nothing, divine intervention.
They ordered food—Amalia practically bouncing in her seat when the soup came. Peri picked at his plate of grilled vegetables and seasoned meat, watching her from the corner of his eye.
She still looked a little tired. But less haunted.
She sipped the soup carefully, like it might disappear if she didn't respect it enough. "Thank you," she said quietly.
He blinked. "What?"
"For bringing me here," she murmured. "You didn't have to."
He scratched the back of his neck. "Didn't have much of a choice. You looked like you were gonna cry."
"I wasn't—!" She flushed, nearly spilling her spoon.
He smirked. "Right, right. Stoic warrior princess. My mistake."
"Shut up," she muttered, cheeks red.
And for a moment... it was peaceful.
Outside, Halmun still loomed. Still listened. But inside the diner, everything was warm and quiet and oddly untouched. Peri almost let himself relax.
Almost.
After dinner, they stepped back into the chill air of the city. The warmth left like a curtain falling. Lanterns flickered in the distance. Shadows stretched too long.
They walked in silence for a while.
Then:
"...Do you think he's okay?" Amalia asked, voice small.
Peri didn't answer right away.
"Jeremy's probably just being held up," he said eventually. "You know how noble houses are. They treat schedules like vague suggestions."
She nodded, but looked unconvinced.
Peri hesitated... and then added, "He'll come. Just not when you expect him. That's his style, right?"
Her eyes flicked to him, surprised. "You remember that?"
"...Not really," Nihil muttered. "I think the synchronization thing is leaking into my brain."
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "We'll find an inn. Sleep. He'll show up tomorrow. Dramatic cape swish, probably. It'll be fine."
She smiled a little. "Thanks, Peri."
He grunted. "Don't thank me. I'm just trying to stay on script."
But in the back of his mind, something twisted. A thought he tried to bury:
What if Jeremy doesn't show up at all?