The convention center had thinned out hours ago. The panels ended, the meet-and-greets wrapped, and the last of the younger fans had been shuffled out by security. What remained was the after-dark crowd—streamers, mods, industry people—and they'd migrated across the street to a bar called The Low Res.

The place was packed. Neon signs buzzed over the pool tables, some generic synthwave track thumped through the speakers, and the smell of spilled beer and fried food hung in the air. Y/n had barely made it through the door when a body slammed into their shoulder.

Behind him, a taller guy with curly black hair and glasses shook his head, trying not to laugh.

The two of them launched into a bickering bit without missing a beat, but ElasticDroid's eyes flicked to Y/n with an apologetic half-smile.