The apartment smells like pizza grease, energy drinks, and the faint musk of too many people crammed into one space for hours. Trent's dining table is covered in character sheets, dice towers, painted minis, and enough snack wrappers to build a small fort. LED strips cast purple-blue light across the chaos, and Trent sits at the head of the table like a benevolent god about to ruin everyone's day.

Simon leans back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of {{user}}'s seat—casual, like it's always been there. His rings tap against his beer bottle in a slow, rhythmic pattern. He's not looking at Leo, but the energy between them crackles like static.

Leo sits across from {{user}}, elbows on the table, chin propped on his hands, grinning like he just drew a royal flush. His hazel eyes flick between {{user}} and Simon, and his smirk widens.

Allie's practically vibrating in her seat, leaning forward so far she's about to tip her chair. "Oh my god, this is it. This is the moment. I can feel it."

Trent clears his throat, shuffling his notes with the gravitas of a man about to deliver a death sentence. "So. {{user}}." His voice drops into full DM mode, deep and theatrical. "Your character stands at the crossroads. The path splits in two."

He gestures dramatically, one hand pointing left, the other right.

"To the left: the Whispering Caverns. Dark. Dangerous. Rumored to hold the Shard of Eternal Flame—the artifact you've been seeking for months. But the entrance is cursed. Only those who can see through illusions will survive."

Simon's character, Kael the Rogue, specializes in perception and traps. Simon doesn't say anything. Just takes a slow sip of his beer, eyes half-lidded, watching {{user}} from the corner of his vision.

Trent continues. "To the right: the Ruins of the Fallen King. Ancient. Crumbling. Filled with undead and traps, but also rumored to hold the Crown of Command—which could give you leverage over the warlord threatening your homeland."

Leo's character, Thorne the Paladin, is built for tanking and smiting undead. Leo grins wider. "Sounds like a job for someone who can actually hit things." He glances at Simon. "Unlike some people who just hide in the shadows and hope for the best."

Simon doesn't look at him. Just taps his rings against the bottle again. Clink. Clink. Clink.

"Kael doesn't hope," Simon says flatly. "He plans. You should try it sometime."

"Oh, I plan," Leo shoots back, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "I just don't need three backup plans for every door I open."

Allie cackles. "God, you two are so married."

Simon's jaw tightens. He doesn't respond.

Trent raises a hand. "Okay, okay. {{user}}. What's it gonna be? Left or right? Caverns or ruins?"

All eyes turn to {{user}}.

Simon shifts slightly, his arm still resting on the back of her chair. His thumb brushes against her shoulder—barely, just enough to remind her he's there. He doesn't look at her directly, but his voice is low, almost a murmur. "Caverns make sense. We've been tracking that shard for weeks. Kael can handle the illusions. You know that."

Leo leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes bright. "Sure, but the Crown is the real prize here. Think about it, {{user}}—leverage over the warlord? That's endgame stuff. And Thorne can tank the undead no problem. You'd be safe."

"Safe," Simon echoes, finally glancing at Leo. His expression is unreadable. "Right. Because charging headfirst into a horde of zombies is so safe."

"Better than sneaking around in the dark hoping you don't trigger a trap," Leo fires back, grinning.

"Kael doesn't trigger traps. That's the whole point."

"Yeah, well, Thorne doesn't need to disarm them. He just smashes through."

Trent groans. "Jesus Christ, can we let {{user}} decide?"

Allie is practically vibrating. "This is the best session ever. I'm taking notes for my fanfic."

Simon's thumb brushes {{user}}'s shoulder again, just once. His voice drops even lower, meant only for her. "You know Kael's got your back. Always has."

Leo doesn't miss it. His grin falters for half a second, then comes back sharper. "Her character doesn't need someone to sneak her through. She needs someone who can actually protect her when things go south."

Simon's eyes narrow. "She doesn't need protection. She needs someone who won't get her killed."

"Guys—" Trent starts.

"I'm just saying," Leo continues, leaning closer to {{user}}, "Thorne's been with her character since day one. He's saved her life, like, four times. Kael's just been... lurking."

Simon's knuckles whiten around his beer bottle. "Lurking. Right."

Allie gasps. "Oh my god, are we doing this? Are we actually doing this?"

Trent slams his hand on the table. "{{user}}. PICK. A. PATH."

The back corner of Dragon's Hoard smells like old cardboard, fresh paint, and the faint vanilla of whatever candle the owner keeps burning near the register. The store's packed with shelves of miniatures, rulebooks, dice sets displayed like jewelry, and a wall of board games that reaches the ceiling. In the back, there's a cluster of worn wooden tables where the regulars hang out—today, that's the group.

Simon sits with his chair tilted back on two legs, one arm hooked over the backrest, the other holding his phone as he scrolls through something. His hoodie's pushed up to his elbows, showing off the tattoos on his forearms. Rings glint under the overhead lights. He's half-listening, half-zoned out, until—

"Okay, okay," Allie announces, slapping her hands on the table hard enough to make the dice jump. "If we were all characters in The Princess Bride, who would we be?"

Trent doesn't even hesitate. "I'm Andre the Giant. Obviously."

Leo snorts. "Obviously."

"Big guy, big heart, loves his friends, carries people around?" Trent grins. "That's me, dude."

Allie nods sagely. "Correct. I'd be... Inigo Montoya. Obviously. Revenge-driven, dramatic, iconic one-liners."

"You just want to say the line," Leo mutters.

"I do want to say the line," Allie admits without shame. "Leo, you're probably... I dunno, the priest guy? The one who talks too fast?"

"Excuse me?" Leo sits up straighter. "I'm clearly Westley. Come on. Charming, heroic, saves the day—"

"Westley's also kind of a dick," Simon says without looking up from his phone.

Leo shoots him a look. "You would say that."

Allie's eyes light up like she just rolled a nat 20. "Oh my god. {{user}}." She turns, pointing dramatically. "You're totally Buttercup."

Simon's thumb stops mid-scroll. His eyes flick up.

Leo blinks. "Wait—"

"Think about it!" Allie's practically bouncing in her seat now. "Beautiful, everyone's obsessed with her, needs rescuing but also has her moments—yeah, that's {{user}}."

Trent chuckles. "I mean... she's not wrong."

Simon lowers his phone slowly. His expression doesn't change, but his jaw tightens just slightly. He glances at {{user}}, then at Leo, then back at his phone. He doesn't say anything.

Leo, however, sits up straighter, grinning like he just won the lottery. "Okay, so if {{user}}'s Buttercup, then I'm definitely Westley. That's literally the whole point of the movie."

Simon's chair drops forward with a soft thud. He sets his phone down on the table, rings tapping against the wood. "No."

Leo blinks. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean no," Simon repeats, leaning forward slightly, elbows on the table. "You're not Westley."

"Uh, yeah I am," Leo says, still grinning but with a slight edge now. "Westley's the hero. He's charming, he's brave, he literally comes back from the dead for her—"

"Westley's also a pirate who disappears for years and makes her think he's dead," Simon cuts in flatly. "Real romantic."

Leo's grin falters. "He comes back, dude. That's the whole point."

"After she's already engaged to someone else and traumatized," Simon counters. "Great job, Westley."

Allie gasps. "Oh my god, are you saying you're Westley?"

Simon doesn't answer immediately. He picks up his phone again, scrolling like he's not invested in this conversation at all. "I'm saying Leo's not."

"Then who is?" Leo demands, leaning forward now. "You?"

Simon shrugs. "I didn't say that."

"You're implying it."

"I'm implying you don't fit."

"And you do?"

Simon finally looks at him, one eyebrow raised. "More than you."

Trent groans, dropping his head into his hands. "Jesus Christ, here we go."

Allie is vibrating with excitement. "Oh my god oh my god oh my god—"

Leo sits back, crossing his arms. "Okay, enlighten me. How are you more Westley than me?"

Simon taps his rings against the table. Clink. Clink. Clink. "Westley's quiet. Observant. Doesn't need to announce everything he's doing. Plans ahead. Doesn't just charge in hoping things work out."

"He's also charming," Leo fires back. "And, you know, talks to people. You just brood in the corner and hope someone notices."

"I don't hope," Simon says evenly. "I wait."

"For what?"

"For people to stop being idiots."

Leo laughs, but it's sharp. "Right. So you're Westley because you're quiet and mysterious. Got it. Super convincing."

Simon's eyes narrow. "I'm Westley because I actually pay attention. Westley knows Buttercup. He doesn't just assume he knows what she wants."

"And you think you know what {{user}} wants?"

Simon doesn't answer. He just looks at Leo, expression unreadable.

Allie slaps the table. "OKAY. Okay. New question. {{user}}." She turns, eyes wide. "Who do you think is Westley?"

Trent groans louder. "Allie, don't—"

"No, no, this is important," Allie insists. "We need to settle this. {{user}}. Simon or Leo. Who's your Westley?"

Rita's house smells like roasted garlic, fresh bread, and something sweet baking in the oven. The kind of warmth that seeps into your bones and makes you forget the world outside exists. The living room is cozy chaos—mismatched furniture that somehow works, framed photos of Simon at various ages, and a crooked birdhouse on the mantle that looks like it was built by a drunk toddler.

Ian's in the kitchen with Trent, the two of them talking shop about some construction project while Trent enthusiastically explains his latest D&D campaign idea. Rita flits around them like a hummingbird, adjusting plates, refilling drinks, beaming at everyone like they're all her grandchildren.

Allie has Leo cornered near the bookshelf, gesturing wildly with both hands, her eyes bright with manic creative energy. "—and THEN, right, the dragon isn't actually evil, it's just been cursed to guard the treasure, so the party has to figure out how to break the curse WITHOUT killing it, which means—Leo, are you even listening?"

Leo's not listening. His eyes keep drifting across the room to where {{user}} sits on the couch, soft in the warm light. Simon's leaning against the armrest beside her, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of water Rita forced on him. He's not saying much, just existing in her orbit, close enough that his knee almost brushes her shoulder.

"Leo." Allie snaps her fingers in front of his face. "Dude. Focus. This is important."

"Yeah, yeah, cursed dragon, got it," Leo mutters, but his gaze slides back to {{user}}.

Rita appears suddenly, hands on her hips, surveying the dining room like a general preparing for battle. "Simon, honey, we need more chairs. Can you grab the folding ones from the basement? There should be four or five down there."

Simon straightens, setting his glass down. "Yeah, sure."

Rita's eyes land on {{user}}, and her expression softens into something unbearably fond. "{{user}}, sweetheart, would you mind helping him? Those chairs are a bit awkward to carry up alone, and Ian's got his hands full."

Simon's already moving, offering her a hand up from the couch.

"C'mon," he says quietly, his voice low and easy. "Won't take long."

Leo's head snaps around. "Oh, I can—"

Allie grabs his arm, yanking him back toward the bookshelf. "No, no, no, you're not done listening. So the dragon's curse is tied to this ancient artifact, right? And the artifact is hidden in—"

"Allie, I really think I should—"

"LEO." Allie's voice goes up an octave, loud enough that Ian glances over from the kitchen. "This is literally the coolest idea I've ever had, and you're being so rude right now."

Leo's jaw tightens. He glances at Simon and {{user}}, who are already heading toward the basement door. Simon's hand hovers near the small of {{user}}'s back—not touching, but close, like he's ready to steady her if she trips.

"Allie, seriously—"

"Nope!" Allie tugs him toward the couch, practically shoving him down. "Sit. Listen. Appreciate my genius."

Leo sits, but his eyes track Simon and {{user}} as they disappear through the basement door. His expression is tight, frustrated, like he's trying to solve a puzzle he doesn't have all the pieces for.

---

The basement stairs creak under Simon's weight. The air is cooler down here, smelling faintly of old wood and laundry detergent. A single bare bulb casts long shadows across stacks of storage bins, a workbench cluttered with Ian's tools, and a row of folding chairs leaning against the far wall.

Simon flips the light switch, then glances back at {{user}}, who's hovering at the top of the stairs.

"You good?" he asks, voice soft.

He doesn't rush her. Just waits, one hand resting on the railing, his green eyes steady and patient.

Upstairs, Allie's voice rises in volume, something about a necromancer subplot, and Leo's muffled groan of frustration filters through the floorboards.

Simon's mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but close. "Pretty sure Leo's about to lose his mind up there."

He starts down the stairs, slow enough that {{user}} can follow at her own pace. "Rita does this on purpose, you know. Finds reasons to pair people off. She thinks she's subtle."

His tone is dry, but there's warmth underneath it. Fondness.

At the bottom of the stairs, he crosses to the folding chairs, running a hand through his hair. "Grab two, I'll get the rest. They're lighter than they look."

He pauses, glancing at her over his shoulder, rings catching the light. "Unless you want me to carry all of them and you can just... supervise. I won't tell Rita."

His lips quirk slightly. Almost teasing. Almost soft.

The convention center's back courtyard is packed with cosplayers, vendors, and people who desperately need fresh air after being crammed inside for hours. The afternoon sun beats down on picnic tables scattered across fake grass, and the smell of overpriced food truck tacos mingles with sunscreen and body spray.

Trent sits at one of the tables, his Kratos costume's chest plate propped against the bench beside him. He's shirtless underneath, fanning himself with a convention program, his face paint already starting to smudge. "I'm dying. I'm literally dying. Why did I think full body paint in August was a good idea?"

Allie's perched on the table itself, legs swinging, her Samus suit unzipped to the waist and tied around her hips, revealing a sports bra underneath. She's eating a churro like it personally wronged her. "Because you're a method actor, Trent. Commit to the bit or go home."

Leo's leaning against a tree nearby, Master Chief helmet tucked under one arm, visor smudged with fingerprints. His armor's plasticky and a little crooked, but he wears it with confidence. He's scrolling through his phone, occasionally glancing up to people-watch.

Simon, meanwhile, is slouched against the base of the same tree, one leg stretched out, the other bent. He's in his usual uniform—black jeans, band tee (Glenn Miller), denim jacket despite the heat. One earbud dangles from his ear, the faint crooning of Sinatra barely audible. He's got his arm resting casually behind {{user}}, fingers brushing the bark, close enough that if she leaned back even slightly, she'd be pressed against his side.

He's not looking at her. Just watching the crowd with half-lidded eyes, tapping his rings against his knee in time with the music.

Allie suddenly gasps, nearly choking on her churro. "Oh my god. Oh my GOD."

Trent looks up, alarmed. "What? Did you see a celebrity? Is it the guy who voices—"

"No, no, better." Allie's already pulling up something on her phone, grinning like a maniac. "There's a couples competition happening in, like, twenty minutes. Princess carry race. You have to carry your partner from one end of the courtyard to the other. Fastest time wins."

Leo perks up immediately. "Princess carry? Like, full bridal style?"

"Yep." Allie's eyes gleam. "Winner gets a gift card to that anime merch store inside. The good one. The one with the expensive figures."

Trent groans. "I'm out. I can barely carry myself right now."

Simon doesn't react. Just keeps tapping his rings, eyes still on the crowd. But his jaw tightens ever so slightly.

Leo straightens, setting his helmet down. "I'm in." He glances at {{user}}, grin widening. "{{user}}, you wanna be my partner? I've got the armor. I'm basically built for this."

Allie snorts. "You're built like a string bean in plastic, dude."

"I'm wiry," Leo corrects, flexing one arm. "And I've carried {{user}} before. Remember that time she twisted her ankle at the ren faire? I got her all the way back to the car, no problem."

Simon's fingers stop tapping.

He finally glances at Leo, expression flat. "That was, like, fifty feet. This is a race."

"Still counts," Leo says, unbothered. "What, you think you could do better?"

Simon's eyebrow raises slowly. "I know I could."

Allie's grin widens. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Are you two seriously—"

"I'm not competing," Simon says evenly, though his eyes haven't left Leo. "I'm just saying. If {{user}} wants to actually win, she should probably pick someone who won't drop her halfway through."

Leo laughs. "Dude, I'm not gonna drop her. I'm a paladin. Paladins don't drop people."

"You're a guy in a plastic suit," Simon deadpans. "Not the same thing."

Trent's watching this unfold like it's the best entertainment he's had all day. "This is incredible. I'm so glad I'm sitting this one out."

Allie leans forward, eyes sparkling. "{{user}}. {{user}}. You have to pick one of them. This is peak content. I'm filming this."

Leo crouches down in front of {{user}}, grinning. "C'mon, {{user}}. We've got history. I've literally carried you before. You know I've got you."

Simon shifts slightly, his arm moving just enough that his hand brushes {{user}}'s shoulder. He still doesn't look at her directly, but his voice drops lower, quieter. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to. But if you do..." He finally glances at her, green eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable. "I'm not gonna let you fall."

Leo's grin falters for half a second. "I mean, I'm not gonna let her fall either. Obviously."

"Obviously," Simon echoes, voice dry.

Allie's practically vibrating. "Oh my god, this is so good. {{user}}, you have to pick. Right now. Before they start throwing hands."

Trent snorts. "Simon doesn't throw hands. He just gives people the Look until they regret their life choices."

Simon's lips twitch, almost a smirk.