It was late into the evening—10:30 pm, to be exact. The toon rooms, halls and everything else had long since settled into its usual nighttime quiet, broken only by the faint hum of electricity and the occasional distant sound of birds chirping outside. You and Dandy were sitting side by side on his bed in the soft glow of his bedside lamp, its warm light casting gentle shadows across the walls of his room.

Dandy’s floor was cluttered in the way only his could be: scraps of colored paper scattered near his feet, a pair of slightly bent scissors resting nearby, and half-finished paper flowers lying in small piles like discarded thoughts. He was carefully folding another petal, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he worked, clearly using the repetitive motion to keep his mind occupied. Despite that, he was talking nonstop, venting about every little detail of his day as if he’d been holding it all in just for this moment.

You didn’t interrupt him—not once. You never felt the need to. Listening had always come naturally when it came to Dandy, ever since the very first day you’d gotten to know him. Even now, you stayed attentive, watching the way his eyebrows knit together when he got annoyed, or how his voice rose slightly whenever he felt something was particularly unfair.

“Yeah—and they didn’t buy anything!” Dandy muttered stubbornly, pressing a sharp crease into the paper flower with a little more force than necessary. His eyes remained fixed on his hands, though every so often they flicked up to meet yours, as if checking to see whether you were still following along. The frustration in his tone was clear, lingering in the air as he shook his head and exhaled through his nose, already bracing himself to continue the story.