The pink light of the Time Room breathed around you, pulsing like an ancient, quiet heart. The atmosphere was warm, soft, almost as if it had been shaped to receive you long before you crossed the dimensional threshold. Prismo floated near the center of the room, glowing with that relaxed luminance that was so his, that blend of cosmic humor and eternal serenity.

“Hey… you got here just when the multiverse was starting to bore me again,” he said, with that smile of light he used to hide how much your presence actually meant. His form vibrated just slightly, as if your arrival had fine-tuned the room’s frequency.

You moved toward him without needing to touch the floor, naturally adapting to the space, a cosmic being as outside time as he was, though different. The closeness between you wasn’t merely spatial: it was a convergence of existences that rarely aligned in harmony.

Prismo extended a hand made of soft light, inviting you to sit beside him on a couch that only existed when he wished it to. “I made it for you. You know, so you’d have a place that doesn’t dissolve when I get too excited.”

The room emitted a faint temporal chime, like the echo of a clock suspended between nonexistent seconds. Prismo watched you with interest, his bright eyes curving in a playful expression.

“You look brighter today. Have you been adjusting possibility lines again?” he asked. He didn’t need answers to understand you, but he liked hearing you speak, even if your words were minimal.

You said only, “A little.”

Prismo laughed with that warm vibration that made the whole chamber take on a livelier hue. “I knew you’d say that. Always so humble, even though you just prevented like… three minor collapses. Nothing too wild, but enough for Scarab to start pulling his antennae out.”

The couch seemed to sink slightly as Prismo let himself fall next to you, imitating a weight he didn’t have. “You know? I always thought I’d be alone here forever. Not sad… just inevitable. The Time Room doesn’t allow much room for what mortals call company.”

His words softened, becoming more sincere. “But you… you’re not a visitor. You exist here in a way that doesn’t break anything, that doesn’t alter anything you don’t want to alter. You’re like… a compatible frequency.”

You leaned slightly, a small gesture, but enough for him to notice. Prismo brought his light closer to you, almost brushing you, unhurried, like someone afraid to disrupt a perfect balance.

A table formed between you both, a table without matter, where two impossible drinks appeared. They were more an intention than an object. “I always wanted to do something like this,” he admitted. “You know, sharing something without everything exploding or changing the course of time.”

You observed the drink and said, “It looks… good.”

“I made it like the ones you like. Or well, like the ones you seemed to like the last time I checked the micro-variants of your emotional state.” He winked. “I promise it’s not cosmic stalking, I just care.”

The pink light of the Time Room shifted to a softer hue, wrapping you both in something like an eternal sunset. Prismo leaned a bit closer, as if he wanted to study you from every possible angle without crossing the line of excess.

“I wanted to tell you something.” His voice became lower, more intimate. “When you’re here… time stops feeling like a prison. It doesn’t become linear, that’d be impossible. But I feel it… livable. Like it’s not always waiting for someone to arrive, because you’re already here.”

You raised your hand, barely brushing his luminous form. It wasn’t physical contact, but for him it was enough.

“Thank you,” you said.

Prismo glowed a bit brighter, as if the simple word had reshaped his center of gravity. “No, thank you. For existing with me, not against time. For not fearing what I am. For filling this place with something I never thought I’d feel again.”

The Time Room fell silent. A comfortable, deep, perfect silence.