...he didn't ask for Milliways when he was stepping out of his shower stall and yet Milliways is happening anyway. This must be plot!

So, from Eiðemann's P.O.V., this sparkly pink-haired teenager walks into a bar entirely naked and still wet as if he was literally just showering, because he was.

...but from the pink-haired teenager's P.O.V. his boyfriend is just. Sitting there. In Milliways. "Ed?"

"Well, you're not the one person in all of Creation who usually calls me that," the twink comments, turning to face him.

He's not Ed. Well, he looks a great deal like him – but he's... perfected. His hair is frozen in place, not a strand moving against the whole. His skin is pale and unblemished, with a precise rose-petal blush spotting his cheeks. Every feature in local maximum.

Also, he's in a medieval prince's courtly regalia. Silver crown, black satin, breeches around-

Hm.

That is a considerably larger codpiece than is typical for this era of fashion.

You say that as if Pete has literally any idea what size codpieces are meant to be or, actually, that codpieces exist at all. Pete is many kinds of nerd but "aware of medieval men's preoccupations with their cocks" is not one of them.

"I heard that capital-C there but I'm not sure it makes sense for there to be one of those," he says, walking over to the counter. "You're... not Edmund Pevensie?"

"There did once exist someone named Edmund Pevensie, and I was, at that point in time, that person. There's lots of worlds but one Creation – Creation the tree, every leaf and fruit and twig a world."

His gaze falls to Pete's crotch, at tree, then returns to eye-level.

It would be inconvenient for Pete's tree to sprout any larger right now (though that's admittedly mostly because he finds it really hot to have a big floppy and he's indulging in that around an AU version of his boyfriend) so it doesn't.

Anyway, he thinks that tree thing is probably not true! ...it might be locally true. Like, for a certain value of local. "Does the word 'Narnia' ring a bell?"

"No. Does the – oh fuck off... hang on."

He darts his eyes over some kind of text in front of him, which is definitely not in front of Pete. Snorts and pokes the air.

"As I was saying. Does the word 'Erogame' ring yours? While we're asking."

"...not as an individual title but yes as a genre? Kind of?" At the counter: "Bar, it's always lovely to see you. May I have a towel? Thank you kindly." He starts towelling himself off. "So there's like a lot that's gonna go on here but the thing you said just now was kind of concerning, do you need a hug about whatever caused you to no longer identify as Edmund Pevensie and make those faces about it?"

"N-"

Pause. Squint.

"If I want a hug I'll let you know," the Ed-alike grumbles, poking the air again. (Harder, this time.)

Oh he is so lying. And if he's an Ed he's gonna figure out that Pete is thinking this from looking at him. Pete isn't even trying to hide it he's actually thinking it very loudly and hoping Ed will hear it.

"Is it like a gamer fic?" he asks, laying the towel on a stool and hopping onto it. "Maybe a bit more physical in its interface, only you can see it, but with stats and EXP and skills and whatnot, and... ero?"

"A... gamer..."

Sigh.

"Yes, apparently. Will you please be mutually visible? This is embarrassing us both."

"You are embarrassing every entity whether they exist or have the common dignity not to."

"...I mean, if you can find her? I'm not sure how many levels of meta we're playing with right now but if you know about her—well, I guess you are a gamer fic. And nice to meet you."

"I assume if you meant the Spirit you'd have said it so I guess you mean instead the thing that's, like, above the Spirit and who may or may not be—fuck I wish I had thought to memorize Vivian's words—a femme adjacent, uhh, something from California, but like, one level up? Or something along those lines?"

"I would hate to interrupt this incredibly stupid conversation," the twink demurs.

"I'm going to need a disambiguating nickname for you. Before I figure out how much to explain, are you from a late twentieth or early twenty-first century Earth or close enough and sufficiently online that if I talk about AU fanfic you'll know that I mean?"

"...I have memories from a late twentieth century Earth. Edmund was born in the seventies. AU fanfic is still word salad. And my name's Eiðemann, you can call me Eiðin if you really must, that should disambiguate."

"Okay so moderate amounts of explaining. I'm Peter Tarleton, Pete for short, because the world I just came from has—well, lots of Peters, obviously, but most relevantly to my immediate social circle is Peter Pevensie, my boyfriend Edmund Pevensie's brother. It's 2023, but that means less than it could because it's not a standard Earth. Which part of everything I just said needs the most explaining?"

"...hm. None of it strictly speaking but it's sort of alarming there's a me, since that would imply he exists."

"You are the third you I am aware of! Admittedly I haven't met the first you, because he's fictional, but that hasn't ever stopped anyone, as far as I know."

"Generally not, no. Someone wrote a book about the poor idiot? Were they trying to empirically learn the Dewey Decimal number for pornography, snuff?"