The last confetti of fake blood had barely settled before the real world came rushing back. Months had passed since the Chucky finale, and Zachary still couldn’t walk past a TV playing reruns without smiling. It had been strange, growing up on set, trading jokes between takes, and screaming at a murderous doll for hours. But for a while, it felt like home.

Now it was over.

Björgvin was the first to say they should hang out again, like normal people. No cameras. No interviews. Just two friends who had spent years pretending to survive horror together.

On a quiet Friday evening, they met in a small café in Toronto.

“Can’t believe it’s done,” Björgvin said, stirring his coffee. “Feels like we should still be running lines or something.”

Zachary chuckled and leaned back in his seat. “Yeah. My brain still expects a call time.”

They laughed for a while, remembering bloopers, Chucky malfunctions, and all the memes that came after the finale. Between the laughter, though, there was a new kind of quiet.

Zachary checked his phone, smiling at a text. Björgvin noticed. “She texted?” he asked, half teasing.

“Yeah. Emma,” Zachary said. “She’s just asking if I’ll make it home for dinner. She’s been great. Keeps me grounded.”