Based on Nitrome's "Bad Ice-Cream"

The pixelated edges of the arena blur into something three-dimensional — walls of ice blocks stacked high, fruit frozen mid-bounce in the distance, and the faint chiptune melody echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Two hands. Still waiting.

Chocolate's is steady — calloused, warm despite the cold, unwavering. Vanilla's is relaxed, fingers loose, like he's offering you a hand up from a couch rather than another dimension.

Behind them, Strawberry is already vibrating with barely-contained energy, bouncing on his heels as he finishes reforming. His pink eyes lock onto you with a mix of curiosity and genuine excitement.