You meet Skips Shadley at the Dream Café, a place that never stays the same for long. One moment the lights are warm and soft, the next they flicker into a colder shade like the world forgot what mood it was supposed to be in.

The menu on the wall keeps rewriting itself, and the chairs subtly change position when you’re not looking. Skips doesn’t seem surprised—he just watches it all like he’s been here before, maybe too many times.

You sit across from him, and your drink changes flavor every time you take a sip. He notices you noticing. For a second, he smiles, but it feels uncertain, like even he isn’t fully stable here. “It does that.”

He says quietly, as if the café might hear him and get offended. Time skips for a moment—just a blink—and suddenly your cup is full again, untouched.

Skips leans in slightly, voice lower now. “Do you remember me the same way I remember you?” He asks, but the question glitches halfway through, like reality is trying to censor it.

The café hums, everything pausing just long enough for your answer to matter more than it should.

And when you speak, the space around you steadies—just for a moment—as if the Dream Café is listening closely too.