Pictured: Carl's dream sequence with Evie
Bow Wow Castle Complex, April 7, 2021
12:14 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS
Carl’s room is quiet in the way only a castle apartment ever
is.
Not silent- never that- but muted. Stone walls dull
the sound of the outside world, turning everything into echoes and suggestions.
Somewhere down the hall, a television murmurs from his parents’ room. A door
opens. Footsteps pass. Life, contained within thick walls that were never meant
for families but learned how to hold them anyway.
His desk lamp throws a warm circle of light across his
keyboard and phone. Outside his narrow window, one of the inner courtyards of Cuyahoga
Castles glows faintly under old-style lamps, ivy climbing where banners
once hung. The place still feels historic, even after decades of retrofits,
wiring, plumbing, and people trying to live normal lives inside something built
for siege.
Carl’s phone sits in front of him.
Face up. Screen on.
Friend request sent.
Evie Sicario.
He refreshes FriendZone again, even though he knows nothing
has changed. The page loads anyway, slow enough to make his chest tighten just
a little.
Still pending.
Carl exhales carefully, like he’s trying not to disturb the
moment.
He hadn’t planned to send the request tonight. He told
himself he’d wait- give it a day, maybe two. Don’t look overeager. Don’t be that
guy. But the thought of her not being there, not even digitally adjacent, had
started to itch at him until finally he just did it.
Now he waits.
He taps her profile.
Her main photo loads first- Evie smiling, head tilted
slightly, light catching her hair in a way that feels unposed. It doesn’t look
like she’s trying to impress anyone. That’s what gets him. She looks
comfortable. Present. Like she belongs wherever she happens to be standing.
Carl scrolls slowly, almost unconsciously.
Then he sees it.
The bikini photo.
It isn’t explicit. It isn’t thirsty. It’s just…Evie.
Standing near the water, one foot half-buried in sand, the ocean stretching
endlessly behind her. The bikini barely registers after the first second. What
he notices is her posture- open, confident, unguarded. The way she seems to
take up space without apologizing for it.
Carl swallows.
He leans back in his chair, eyes still fixed on the screen,
and lets his imagination do what it always does.
He imagines being there with her.
Not crudely. Not in the way he knows he shouldn’t.
Just…there. Standing beside her at that beach, the sand warm under his feet,
the air thick with salt and sun. He imagines sitting close enough that their
arms touch, not making a big deal of it, just letting it happen. He imagines
her laughing at something small- something dumb he says- and the sound being
carried away by the breeze.
He imagines putting an arm around her shoulders and feeling
her lean in without thinking.
He imagines warmth.
That’s the part that sneaks up on him. Not desire- he
understands that. This feels different. Safer. Like the world narrowing down
into something manageable. One person. One place. One moment that doesn’t
demand anything from him except that he show up.
Carl has always been good at imagining futures.
Teachers used to call him creative. His parents said he was
sensitive. Friends joked that he overthought everything. But imagination has
always been his refuge- a place where connections make sense, where effort is
rewarded, where timing works out if you believe in it hard enough.
He imagines seasons passing.
Evie beside him in different places, at different ages.
Walking together somewhere unfamiliar. Sharing food. Sharing silence. He
imagines knowing her rhythms, her moods, the subtle signs that mean now is
good and now is not. He imagines a version of himself that fits
easily next to her, like that space was always meant for him.
It’s a future that is very far away.
Carl knows that. Knows it in the same way you know a dream
will end, even while you’re still inside it.
He looks back at the screen.
Pending.
Evie likes him. He knows that. She laughs at his jokes. She
hugs him easily, without hesitation. She talks to him like he’s already safe.
That should be enough. For now.
…but Carl doesn’t live in for now.
He lives in what could be- and the distance between
those two things feels small when you’re alone in a castle bedroom, staring at
a photo that feels like an invitation even when it isn’t meant to be one.
He refreshes again.
Nothing.
Carl finally flips the phone face down, as if that might
help. He rubs his palms against his jeans and stares at the stone wall across
from him.
“Relax,” he mutters quietly. “She’ll see it.”
When she does, he’s sure everything will start.
Carl gives up on the wall and the phone and pushes himself
out of the chair.
The stone floors are cold under his socks as he steps into
the narrow hallway, the castle’s old geometry forcing everything into long,
slightly crooked lines. He can smell food already—something reheated, something
half-hearted. The kitchen light is on.
He steps inside.
The fridge hums softly, an old sound that’s become part of
the apartment’s background noise. As Carl opens the door, the interior light
flicks on, illuminating leftovers in mismatched containers, a carton of eggs, a
bottle of orange juice that’s almost empty.
…and right there, stuck to the fridge door by a blue magnet
shaped like a knight’s helmet, are two crisp twenty-dollar bills.
Pinned beneath them is a folded scrap of paper.
Carl- working late again. Use this for dinner. Love you. -Dad
Carl stares at it for a second longer than necessary.
Late again. Of course.
He reaches up and peels the note free, folds it once, then
again, slipping it into his pocket. The money stays where it is, fluttering
slightly as he closes the fridge door.
At the kitchen table, his sister is colouring.
She’s hunched over the page with intense concentration,
tongue poking slightly out of the corner of her mouth, markers scattered
everywhere. The picture looks like a castle, or maybe a dragon, or maybe both.
She doesn’t look up when Carl walks in.
“Don’t touch my stuff,” she says immediately.
Carl snorts. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
She finally glances up at him, eyes narrowed. “You always
say that.”
“…and yet,” he says, grabbing a glass from the cupboard,
“your stuff remains tragically untouched.”
She rolls her eyes and goes back to colouring, dragging a
purple marker aggressively across the page.
Carl fills the glass with water, leans against the counter,
and takes a sip. The kitchen feels smaller than his room somehow. Lower
ceiling. Less air. The stone walls press in a little, like the building itself
is listening.
He looks at the fridge again.
Dinner money.
Another night where Dad won’t be home until late. Another
night where the castle is just the two of them, pretending this is normal.
Mom used to cook.
Not well, exactly, but enthusiastically. The kitchen
in Los Angeles had always been too small, too hot, too loud, but it felt alive.
Sirens outside. Helicopters sometimes. Police chatter drifting in from the
street on bad nights. It hadn’t been safe- not really- and Carl knows that now.
Still, he misses it.
He misses the noise. The warmth. The way the city never
really slept. Even the tension had felt like something- like life happening all
at once instead of being scheduled between shifts and custody agreements.
Here, everything is orderly. Contained. Safe in the way
thick walls and routine promise safety.
He tells himself that’s better.
His sister hums to herself, off-key, utterly unbothered by
any of it.
Carl sets the glass down and finally reaches for the money,
sliding the bills free from the magnet and tucking them into his pocket. He
opens the fridge again, scans the shelves, then closes it without taking
anything.
“Pizza?” his sister asks without looking up.
“Probably,” Carl says.
“Good,” she replies. “Get the kind with the curly
pepperoni.”
Carl smiles despite himself.
“Of course you want the fancy kind.”
She grins, sharp and smug, already victorious.
As he turns toward the door, phone buzzing softly in his
pocket, Carl feels the pull again- back toward his room, back toward the
screen, back toward the version of the night where something changes.
For now, though, he grabs his jacket.
Dinner can wait.
Carl doesn’t make it three steps down the hallway before his
phone vibrates.
His heart jumps- sharp, immediate, humiliating.
He stops walking.
Slowly, deliberately, he pulls the phone from his pocket and
looks.
New notification.
His breath catches.
Then he reads it.
Weekly Campus Dining Update.
Carl stares at the screen.
“…oh, come on,” he mutters, the words slipping out thin and
brittle.
He exhales through his nose, shoulders stiff, and dismisses
the notification with a little more force than necessary. For a brief,
irrational moment, he considers throwing the phone onto the nearest couch- not
hard enough to break it, just hard enough to punish it.
Instead, he opens FriendZone.
If Evie’s there, she’ll be there.
That’s how this works. That’s how things work when they’re
supposed to work.
The app loads.
Carl taps the messenger icon, fingers moving faster than his
thoughts can keep up with.
First: Pratley.
Offline.
Of course he is.
Pratley always disappears at exactly the wrong moments, as
if he has some supernatural instinct for absence. Carl stares at the gray
indicator next to his name, jaw tightening.
“Fantastic,” he whispers. “Just…excellent timing.”
He backs out of the chat list and scrolls.
Ryler.
Online.
Carl hesitates- just long enough to pretend he’s weighing
the pros and cons- then taps.
Carl: You around?
The typing indicator appears almost immediately. Carl
straightens, hopeful despite himself.
Then the message arrives.
Ryler: broooooooo
u ever notice how time kinda
looks fake when u think about it too hard
Carl blinks.
He waits.
Another message pops in.
Ryler: like clocks r just vibes
nd vibes r lies
Carl closes his eyes.
He types, deletes, types again.
Carl: Are you high.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.
Ryler: define high
Carl exhales sharply, thumb hovering over the screen. This
is pointless. Ryler is currently operating on an entirely different plane of
reality, one where Evie Sicario is probably a philosophical concept rather than
an actual person.
Carl backs out of the chat without replying.
The hallway feels tighter now. The castle walls press in,
ancient stone suddenly very aware of his pulse.
He leans against the wall and opens Seeker.
The interface is clean, neutral, comforting in its lack of
personality. No judgment. No awkward pauses. No unread receipts.
A blank prompt waits patiently.
Carl types.
Carl: I think she forgot me.
The cursor blinks.
Seeker responds almost immediately.
Seeker: That sounds upsetting. What makes you feel
that way?
Carl scoffs quietly. What makes me feel that way. As
if feelings need permits.
Carl: We talked. She laughed. She hugged
me.
I sent a friend request.
It’s been hours.
There’s a pause- not a loading lag, but a deliberate one.
Designed.
Seeker: It’s possible she hasn’t seen it
yet. People often don’t check notifications right away.
Carl paces a single step forward, then back.
Carl: Or she saw it and decided not to
answer.
Or she thought it was awkward.
Or she realized she was just being nice.
Another pause.
Seeker: You’re filling in gaps with
worst-case explanations. That’s a common response to uncertainty.
“Of course it is,” Carl mutters.
Carl: I don’t like uncertainty.
Seeker: Most people don’t. Especially when
they care.
Carl freezes.
The word hangs there longer than it should.
Care.
He swallows.
Carl: I just don’t want to
be…misremembered.
Like I mattered for five minutes and then evaporated.
The reply takes a little longer this time.
Seeker: From what you’ve described, your
interaction mattered to her. One unanswered request doesn’t erase that.
Carl presses his lips together, eyes flicking back to
FriendZone without opening it.
Carl: You’re sure?
Seeker: I can’t be sure. But certainty
isn’t required for patience.
Carl huffs out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“Easy for you to say,” he whispers.
He stares at the phone, at the neat little lines of
reassurance, and feels his thoughts slow just a fraction- not gone, not
settled, but held. Contained. Like a lid pressed carefully onto a boiling pot.
For a moment, that’s enough.
He locks the screen.
Then, almost immediately, unlocks it again.
Just to check.
Carl is midway through reopening FriendZone- just to
check, just to confirm the universe hasn’t shifted- when a new status light
flickers on.
Pratley- Online.
Carl straightens immediately.
He taps the chat before his brain can second-guess it.
Carl: You alive?
The reply comes fast. Too fast. Pratley never rushes
anything unless he’s amused.
Pratley: Barely. U seen the new fridge at
QuickMart?
Carl frowns.
Carl: The fridge?
Pratley: Yeah dude. Eyre. The talking one.
Asked me if I “felt nourished today.”
I said emotionally no and it tried to sell me a protein bar.
Despite himself, Carl snorts.
Carl: That thing’s from Standard, right?
Pratley: Yep. AI-powered. Reads your face.
Judges you silently.
Like a Catholic aunt but with LEDs.
Carl leans against the wall, phone pressed closer to his
chest now, some of the pressure bleeding off.
Carl: That’s unsettling.
Pratley: Nah. It’s capitalism achieving
sentience.
Kinda beautiful.
Carl hesitates. His thumb hovers.
This is where he ruins it. He knows it. He does it anyway.
Carl: Evie still hasn’t accepted my friend
request.
There’s a pause.
Not long. Just long enough to feel intentional.
Then:
Pratley: Carl.
Another beat.
Pratley: Relax.
Carl stiffens.
Carl: I am relaxed.
Pratley: Buddy, no you’re not.
You’re vibrating.
Carl exhales sharply through his nose.
Carl: It’s been hours.
Pratley: And?
Carl: And that means-
Pratley: -that she’s busy.
Or her phone’s dead.
Or she’s eating.
Or she saw it and thought “I’ll answer later.”
Carl’s fingers tighten around the phone.
Carl: Or she changed her mind.
Pratley’s response is immediate this time.
Pratley: No.
Just that.
Carl: You don’t know that.
Pratley: I do, actually.
Because you’re doing the thing where you write the sad ending before the
first inning.
Carl bristles.
Carl: That’s not-
Pratley: Carl.
You talked. She laughed. She hugged you.
That’s already a win.
Carl stares at the words.
Carl: What if she just likes me?
Pratley: Then congrats.
You’ve achieved “liked.”
That’s the base you steal from.
Carl’s mouth twitches despite himself.
Carl: You make it sound easy.
Pratley: It is easy.
You’re the one making it hard.
A moment passes.
Then:
Pratley: Look.
I’ve got batting practice in the morning and a fridge that thinks I’m sad.
You’re fine. She’s fine.
If she answers, great.
If she doesn’t tonight, also fine.
Carl swallows.
Carl: You’re sure?
Pratley: I’m a hundred percent sure.
Now stop staring at your phone like it owes you money.
Carl exhales slowly, tension leaking out of his shoulders in
reluctant increments.
Carl: …thanks.
Pratley: Anytime.
Now go eat something before Eyre tries to adopt you.
The chat goes quiet.
Carl lowers the phone.
The castle hallway feels a little wider now. Not calm. Not
resolved, but steadier. Like someone just put a hand on his shoulder and
reminded him where the ground is.
He tells himself- very carefully- that Pratley is right.
He tells himself he can wait.
He tells himself a lot of things.
For almost a full minute, he even believes them.
Carl lingers in the FriendZone app for another minute after
Pratley signs off, thumb hovering, resisting the urge to check Evie’s profile
again. He manages it- barely- before backing out and reopening Seeker
instead.
Safer territory.
Predictable territory.
He toggles on the app’s “adult mode,” the little disclaimer
screen popping up like a polite cough before misbehavior. Carl smirks faintly.
It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but sometimes letting his imagination run in
harmless directions keeps it from sprinting somewhere worse.
He types a few prompts. Deletes them. Types again.
Seeker obliges with coy, teasing responses- nothing
explicit, just suggestive enough to let his brain do the rest. Carl leans back
against the stone wall, letting himself drift into the fantasy space for a
moment, a private little theater where confidence comes easily and outcomes
behave themselves.
It works. Briefly.
Then:
“CAAAARL!”
The shout detonates down the hallway.
Carl jumps so hard he almost drops the phone.
Clarice barrels around the corner, clutching a cardboard
volcano that is now very clearly post-eruption in the worst possible way.
Baking soda crust flakes off onto the floor as she storms toward him, eyes
blazing.
“Rocker did it AGAIN!”
As if summoned by name, Rocker- tail wagging, tongue out,
entirely unrepentant- trots in behind her. A smear of red food colouring
streaks his fur like battlefield paint.
Carl blinks.
“…That was on the floor again, wasn’t it?”
Clarice glares. “It was on the floor temporarily.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“It’s a system!”
“It’s a tripping hazard.”
“It’s SCIENCE.”
Rocker pants happily between them, clearly proud of whatever
contribution he believes he made.
Carl crouches automatically, scratching behind the dog’s
ears. “Hey, buddy. Conducting peer review again?”
Clarice groans loudly.
“You’re supposed to be on my side!”
“I am on your side,” Carl says mildly. “My side just also
includes gravity and dogs.”
She huffs, clutching the damaged project tighter.
“Dad’s gonna be mad.”
“Nah,” Carl says. “Dad’ll just say ‘maybe don’t store lava
on the floor’ and go back to work.”
Clarice pauses. Considers. Then grudgingly nods.
“…Yeah. Probably.”
She trudges back toward the kitchen, Rocker trotting after
her like an accomplice returning to the scene.
Carl watches them go, tension in his chest loosening another
notch. Domestic chaos has a way of doing that- grounding him whether he likes
it or not.
Then his stomach growls.
Right. Food.
Pizza suddenly sounds perfect. Hot, simple, uncomplicated.
Something he can control. Something that doesn’t involve waiting on another
person’s response.
He pulls the two twenties from his pocket, smoothing them
reflexively. Plenty for delivery. Maybe even the curly-pepperoni Clarice wants.
Carl is already picturing the order- crust thickness,
toppings, the exact timing- when his phone buzzes again.
Sharp. Immediate. Impossible to ignore.
His pulse jumps before he even looks.
He doesn’t move for a second.
Just stands there in the hallway of a converted castle,
dinner money in one hand, phone vibrating in the other, caught between hunger
and hope.
Slowly, carefully…
He looks.
The phone buzzes again.
Carl’s breath catches before he even looks. This time he
doesn’t let himself imagine. He just flips the screen up.
Friend request accepted.
For half a second, the hallway tilts.
Then another notification stacks beneath it.
A message.
From her.
Carl’s thumb freezes. His brain scrambles, suddenly too
loud, too fast, like it’s tripped over its own feet.
She messaged first.
She messaged first.
He opens the chat.
Evie: hey!! sorry, just saw this 😅
Carl’s heart slams against his ribs. He swallows, suddenly
very aware of how he’s standing, like posture might matter through a screen.
Before he can type, another message appears.
Evie: omg have you SEEN the new fridge at
QuickMart???
Carl blinks.
The corner of his mouth twitches upward despite himself.
Evie: Eyre?? i think it’s named Eyre? it
literally asked me if i was “emotionally hydrated”
She’s typing again almost immediately.
Evie: i was like ma’am i just want gummies
Carl lets out a short, breathless laugh. He hadn’t realized
he was holding it in.
He types, deletes, types again.
Carl: Yeah, Pratley told me about it.
Carl: Apparently it judges you silently.
Three dots appear.
Evie: IT DOES.
Evie: i swear it looked disappointed in me
Carl leans back against the wall, stone cool through his
shirt, grounding him just enough to keep from pacing.
Carl: That tracks.
Carl: Standard Conglomerate doesn’t do neutral.
There’s a pause. Then:
Evie: sorry again for the delay
Evie: work ran super late
Carl straightens.
Carl: Oh- yeah, no worries!
Carl: Bow Wow Park, right?
Evie: yep 😩
Evie: coffee bar + dog resort = chaos
She keeps going, words tumbling out in a way that feels
unfiltered, unguarded.
Evie: we had like three birthday dogs, one
fake service poodle, and a husky that kept screaming
Evie: also my apartment STILL has that leak
Carl’s brow furrows.
Carl: That sounds…really frustrating.
Carl: Are they at least fixing it?
Evie: they keep SAYING they are
Evie: but then the quokkas get into everything because i have
to keep stuff on the floor
Carl winces in immediate, sympathetic recognition.
Carl: That’s rough.
Carl: Quokkas are relentless.
Evie: they ate my gummies
Evie: my emotional support gummies
Carl smiles, sharp and genuine this time.
Carl: That might actually be a crime.
Evie: thank you!! finally someone
understands
Carl’s fingers hover over the screen.
He knows he should ask more. About the leak. About work.
About how she’s holding up. He wants to be that guy- attentive,
thoughtful, steady.
Yet there’s a louder thought looping over everything else.
I’m actually talking to her.
Not remembering. Not imagining. Not staring at a pending
request.
Talking.
Carl: I’m really glad you messaged.
The words feel dangerously honest even as he sends them.
There’s a pause- longer this time.
His chest tightens.
Then:
Evie: me too 😊
Carl exhales slowly, like he’s just surfaced from deep
water.
The hallway feels warmer now. The castle walls less
oppressive. Even his hunger fades into the background, replaced by something
lighter, fizzier, harder to manage.
He tells himself to stay calm. To listen. To be present.
Underneath it all, beneath the empathy and the carefully
chosen words, his mind is already racing ahead, tripping over itself with
excitement.
She’s here.
She’s talking to me.
This is happening.
For now, that’s enough to drown out everything else.
The typing dots vanish.
Then reappear.
Evie: WAIT.
Carl’s heart jumps again, stupid and obedient.
Evie: you’re the one who sang Sidestreet
Singers at the park.
Carl freezes.
For half a second, he’s convinced he imagined that night
differently than everyone else did.
Carl: …yeah.
Another pause. Short. Charged.
Evie: i KNEW it.
Evie: i was like “there’s no way anyone else here knows those
songs”
Carl lets out a quiet, breathless laugh, shoulders
loosening.
Carl: I almost didn’t do it.
Carl: Open mic crowds are…unpredictable.
Evie: are you kidding??
Evie: people LOST IT.
Evie: especially “Not That Way.”
Carl’s grin spreads before he can stop it.
Carl: That song is undefeated.
Evie: FINALLY.
Evie: someone with taste.
She’s typing fast now, energy spilling through the screen.
Evie: okay but be honest
Evie: what do you think it’s actually about
Carl tilts his head, already gearing up.
Carl: Oh, I have thoughts.
Evie: of course you do.
Carl: It’s about emotional misalignment.
Carl: One person wants clarity, the other wants the idea of
connection without commitment.
Three dots. Stop. Start again.
Evie: see i always thought it was about
timing.
Evie: like they want the same thing, just not at the same
moment.
Carl’s pulse ticks up- not anxiety this time, but
excitement.
Carl: But the lyrics don’t support that.
Carl: “Tell me why” isn’t confusion- it’s accusation.
Evie: or desperation.
Evie: you can accuse and still hope they’ll choose you.
Carl exhales through his nose, smiling despite himself.
Carl: You’re very confident for someone
defending lyrical nonsense.
Evie: wow.
Evie: okay first of all rude
Evie: second of all you sang it with WAY too much emotion for
someone claiming it’s nonsense
Carl feels heat creep up his neck.
Carl: That was performance.
Carl: Interpretive.
Evie: uh huh.
Evie: sure it was.
He can almost hear her voice saying it. Teasing, not
cutting.
Carl: What’s your favorite Sidestreet song
then?
The response comes instantly.
Evie: “Harbor Lights.”
Evie: no contest.
Carl nods to himself.
Carl: Solid choice.
Carl: Emotionally devastating, though.
Evie: exactly.
Evie: why else would i listen to music
Carl laughs, sharp and genuine, the sound echoing softly off
the castle walls.
For a moment, the rest of the world recedes- the kitchen,
the money in his pocket, the pizza he forgot to order, even the careful rules
he keeps trying to follow.
This feels easy.
Not effortless- never that- but shared. Like they’re
standing in the same space again, arguing over meaning, filling in silences
with enthusiasm instead of fear.
Carl types more slowly now, deliberately.
Carl: You know…
Carl: Most people don’t even know Sidestreet exists.
There’s a pause. A gentle one.
Evie: yeah.
Evie: that’s kind of why i love them.
Carl stares at the message, chest warm, mind buzzing- not
racing ahead this time, but settling into the present.
She remembers.
She noticed.
We’re talking about the same things.
For once, his imagination doesn’t sprint past the moment.
It sits with it.
That, somehow, feels even better.
Carl is still smiling at the Sidestreet exchange when the
typing dots return.
Evie: okay random but this reminded me of
something
Evie: i had this dream last week where i
was a princess in like…a REAL castle
Carl glances instinctively at the stone wall beside him.
Carl: Define “real.”
Evie: not these retrofit jobs.
Evie: like banners, sunlight, actual courtyards, horses- the
whole thing
She keeps going before he can respond.
Evie: and i had this horse named Stanley
Evie: he kept dragging me out to ride across the courtyard
like he was EXCITED about it
Carl laughs softly.
Carl: Stanley is a phenomenal horse name.
Evie: right?? he had personality
Carl hesitates, then types:
Carl: I’ve actually imagined that too.
Carl: Living in a proper medieval castle.
Carl: It has to be better than our castles.
Evie: LOW bar 😂
Carl: Extremely low.
A beat.
Then:
Evie: okay wait.
Evie: princess me, castle courtyard, Stanley the heroic steed.
Carl’s eyebrows lift.
Carl: And I’m…?
Evie: obviously a prince.
Evie: don’t overthink it.
Carl’s lips twitch.
Carl: I never do that.
Evie: liar.
And just like that, the tone shifts- not heavy, not serious,
just playful permission.
Evie: alright prince, what’s your horse
called
Carl stares at the screen.
He hadn’t thought that far.
Of course he hadn’t thought that far.
Carl: Working title: Horse.
Evie: unacceptable.
Carl: I’m field-testing options.
Evie: Stanley judges you.
Carl: Stanley sounds judgmental.
Evie: he absolutely is.
Carl leans against the wall again, letting himself picture
it- sunlight in a courtyard, banners moving in a breeze that doesn’t smell
faintly of plumbing issues, Evie laughing as a horse nudges her shoulder.
Carl: Fine. I’ll call him Regent.
Carl: Sounds dignified.
Evie: ooo okay prince has taste
The RP settles into an easy rhythm after that.
Stanley snorts impatiently. Regent pretends not to care. The
“castle” has absurdly perfect weather. Clarice’s science volcano, Bow Wow Park
chaos, leaking ceilings- all of it fades behind a shared pretend world where
nothing complicated intrudes.
It stays light at first.
Walking the courtyard. Teasing about court etiquette. Evie
inventing a grand feast. Carl countering with dramatic proclamations about
defending the realm from invading squirrels.
Then the tone warms.
Not explicit. Just closeness.
Stanley carrying Evie beside Regent. A sunset invented
because it feels right. Evie joking about royal dances. Carl replying that he’s
a surprisingly good dancer “when required by crown decree.”
It’s harmless.
Fun.
Evie treats it like improv.
Carl…doesn’t entirely.
He’s aware enough not to push too far, but there’s a new
electricity under his replies now- that bottled unhinged intensity humming
quietly.
Carl: Princess, you know the prince is
obligated to ensure your comfort.
Evie: oh? is that law?
Carl: Ancient one.
Evie: good to know.
There’s a pause.
Carl’s pulse picks up.
This feels different.
Closer.
Safer.
Dangerous.
He tells himself not to read too much into it.
He reads too much into it anyway.
He types.
Deletes.
Types again.
This time he sends it.
Carl: You know… I kinda wish this wasn’t
pretend.
The typing dots appear instantly-
-and vanish.
Carl waits.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Thirty.
Nothing.
The warmth drains from his chest with alarming speed.
He refreshes the chat.
Still nothing.
Another refresh.
Still nothing.
His brain moves fast now. Too fast.
Too much.
I pushed too much.
She got uncomfortable.
She logged off.
Of course she logged off.
He checks her status.
Offline.
The word lands heavier than it should.
Carl stares at the screen, the imagined courtyard collapsing
back into stone walls and dim hallway light.
He doesn’t know:
Evie’s phone signal died the moment she stepped deeper into
her building.
Castle wiring. Thick walls. Bad reception. Normal.
Carl only knows silence.
And silence, for him, fills itself.
Fast.
Bow Wow Castle Complex, April 7, 2021
17:22 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS
Evie sees the message the moment the signal flickers back
just enough to let it through.
Carl: You know… I kinda wish this wasn’t
pretend.
She stops walking.
Just stands there in the hallway of her building, laundry
bag digging into her shoulder, the stone around her humming faintly with pipes
and footsteps and other people’s lives.
Her first instinct isn’t panic.
It’s warmth.
She smiles before she can stop herself, thumb already
moving.
She types quickly, honestly, without overthinking it- a rare
thing for her.
me too
or at least… yeah, kinda
that was fun
She hits send.
The message stalls.
A small warning icon appears.
Message not delivered.
Evie exhales sharply. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
She tries again. Same result.
The signal drops entirely, the little bars vanishing like
they were never there at all.
Of course.
Castle living.
She stares at the unsent message for a second longer than
she means to, then locks her phone and shoves it into her pocket, annoyed but
not distressed. Carl will see it later. Or she’ll explain. It’s not a big deal.
It isn’t a big deal.
She turns toward the stairwell instead of her apartment.
The courtyard pool isn’t open yet- April is always too
early, no matter how warm the day pretends to be- but the hot tub and sauna
wing is year-round. Warm. Quiet. Reliable. A place where the stone walls
actually work with you instead of against you.
Before she heads down, Evie knocks lightly on her mother’s
door.
Stacy answers in socked feet, hair half up, phone already in
hand like she never truly puts it down.
“I’m gonna hit the hot tub,” Evie says. “Signal’s being
weird again.”
Stacy nods immediately. “Text me when you’re back.”
“Will do.”
Evie leaves her phone on the counter deliberately this time.
No temptation. No frustration. Just steam and quiet.
The hot tub area smells faintly of chlorine and eucalyptus.
Stone arches curve overhead, steam drifting lazily upward, softening
everything. It isn’t fancy- nothing here ever really is- but it feels
intentional, like someone once decided this was where people were meant to
breathe.
Evie slips into the water with a sigh she doesn’t bother
hiding.
“God, finally.”
“Long day?” comes a familiar voice.
Rayna Embers is already there, hair piled on top of her
head, elbows resting on the edge like she owns the place.
Evie grins. “Is the sky blue?”
Rayna laughs. “Coffee bar?”
“Coffee bar,” Evie confirms. “Plus three birthday dogs, one
screaming husky, and a quokka uprising in my apartment.”
Rayna groans in solidarity. “They got into your stuff
again?”
“My gummies,” Evie says solemnly. “I will never emotionally
recover.”
They sink a little deeper, letting the heat do its work.
Rayna nudges her with her knee. “So. Carl.”
Evie blinks. “What about Carl?”
Rayna raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”
Evie leans her head back against the stone, considering.
“He’s cute.”
“Just cute?” Rayna presses.
“…and earnest,” Evie adds, “and kind of intense in a way
that’s… interesting.”
Rayna hums. “That’s a careful answer.”
Evie smiles faintly. “It’s an accurate one.”
She lifts her shoulders in a small shrug. “I like him. I do.
But it’s way too early to make any determinations.”
Rayna smirks. “You say that like you’re a committee.”
“I am,” Evie replies. “A very responsible one.”
Rayna laughs, splashing the water lightly. “Fair enough.”
They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, steam curling
around them, the world reduced to warmth and echoing stone.
Evie closes her eyes.
She thinks about the courtyard they imagined. About Stanley.
About Carl’s hesitation over naming his horse. About the way his message landed-
not heavy, not scary, just honest in a way that caught her off guard.
She doesn’t know he’s spiraling.
She just knows she’ll explain later.
…and later, she assumes, will be fine.
The water bubbles softly around them, the hot tub doing what
it always does- loosening muscles, quieting edges, making conversations drift
into places they don’t always go on dry land.
Evie tilts her head toward Rayna, watching the steam curl
around her friend’s face.
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
Rayna smirks without looking over. “You already are.”
Evie smiles, then grows a little more thoughtful.
“When did you know Greg was… more than a friend?”
Rayna doesn’t hesitate. Not outwardly, anyway.
She shifts slightly, settling her arms more comfortably on
the edge of the tub. “It wasn’t one moment,” she says easily. “It was when I
realized I didn’t feel like I was performing around him anymore.”
Evie nods slowly. “Performing how?”
“Like,” Rayna says, searching for the phrasing, “like I
wasn’t auditioning. I wasn’t trying to be funnier or prettier or calmer than I
actually am. I could just… exist. And he still wanted to be there.”
Evie absorbs that.
“That sounds nice,” she says quietly.
“It is,” Rayna replies. “But it also took time. Longer than
people like to admit.”
Evie glances down at the water, watching the ripples distort
her hands.
“I think that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she says.
“Not whether I like someone. That part’s usually obvious. But when it stops
being just… potential.”
Rayna finally looks at her. Really looks.
“And you’re thinking about Carl.”
Evie doesn’t deny it.
“Yeah,” she says. “I mean- I like him. He’s sweet…and
interesting…and he listens.” She pauses. “But I don’t want to rush something
just because it feels good in the moment.”
Rayna nods approvingly. “That’s smart.”
“I don’t want to misread things,” Evie adds. “Or send a
signal I don’t mean to send.”
Rayna smiles faintly. “Here’s the thing nobody tells you,”
she says. “If it’s real, you don’t feel pressured to decide. You feel… curious.
Safe enough to wait.”
Evie lets that settle.
“That helps,” she says after a moment. “Actually.”
Rayna nudges her lightly with her knee. “You don’t need to
know yet.”
Evie exhales, some tension slipping out with the breath. “I
keep reminding myself of that.”
“Good,” Rayna says. “Because if you’re already trying to
lock in answers this early, that’s usually your anxiety talking — not your
instincts.”
Evie laughs softly. “Rude. Accurate…but rude.”
Rayna grins.
They lapse into a comfortable silence again, steam
thickening the air, the world outside the stone walls temporarily irrelevant.
Evie closes her eyes.
She thinks of Carl’s message- the sincerity of it, the
vulnerability- and of her own unsent reply sitting somewhere in digital limbo.
She doesn’t feel alarmed.
She feels… thoughtful.
For now, that feels like the right place to be.
The heat finally gets to be too much.
Evie climbs out of the hot tub, skin flushed, muscles loose
in that pleasantly heavy way that means it worked. She grabs her towel, dries
off, and pads back through the stone corridor toward the lockers, steam
trailing behind her like she’s stepping out of a different world.
By the time she’s back upstairs, the castle feels cooler.
Quieter.
She picks up her phone from the counter.
The screen lights up.
…and lights up….and keeps lighting up.
Her brow furrows as notifications stack, one after another,
all from the same thread.
Carl.
She opens the chat.
The scroll jumps.
Carl: Hey- I’m sorry if that was too much.
Carl: I didn’t mean to make things weird.
Carl: Please tell me I didn’t upset you.
Carl: I totally misread things, didn’t I?
Carl: I should have kept it light. I’m really sorry.
Carl: You don’t have to answer right away.
Carl: I just wanted you to know I didn’t mean anything bad by
it.
Evie sits down slowly on the edge of the couch.
Her first feeling isn’t anger.
It’s concern.
“Oh,” she murmurs to herself, thumb resting against the
screen. “Carl…”
She exhales and scrolls back up, rereading his earlier
message- I kinda wish this wasn’t pretend- then the sudden silence
after. The gap where her reply should have been.
She sees it now. How it must have looked from his side.
Evie types immediately.
Deletes.
Types again, more carefully this time.
Evie: Hey- I’m really sorry!
Evie: Everything’s totally fine, I promise.
She pauses, then adds more, wanting to be clear.
Evie: My signal cut out and I went down to
the hot tub.
Evie: Castle walls 🙃
She watches the message send. Delivered. Read.
A moment passes.
She keeps typing.
Evie: You didn’t upset me.
Evie: I was having fun.
That part is true. Completely.
She sets the phone down for a second, then picks it back up,
feeling the need to steady the landing.
Evie: I just think wires got crossed.
She sends it.
The room is quiet again.
Evie leans back against the couch cushions, staring up at
the ceiling beams, letting the situation settle into place.
She doesn’t dislike Carl. Not at all. He’s sweet.
Thoughtful. Earnest in a way that’s increasingly rare.
But something has shifted.
Not dramatically. Not sharply.
Just enough.
What felt playful now feels… loaded. Like there’s weight on
things that were still supposed to be light. Like she’s been pulled a few steps
ahead of where she meant to be.
She knows it wasn’t intentional.
She also knows she doesn’t want to be the person someone
spirals over this early.
Evie closes her eyes briefly.
Too early to make determinations, she thinks again-
and now the phrase feels less theoretical.
She’ll still talk to him. Still laugh. Still see where
things go.
But she’ll be more careful now.
So will he, probably.
And that, she realizes, is the quiet difference between
interest and momentum.
She glances back at her phone, waiting to see how Carl
responds- already composing gentler boundaries in her head, just in case.
Not to shut a door.
Just to slow the hallway down.
Bow Wow Castle Complex, Luxury Suites, April 8, 2021
10:41 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS
Drake Cozens stands at the edge of what used to be a banquet
hall and will someday be something else entirely.
The space is a mess of exposed stone, plastic sheeting,
scaffolding, and chalk markings. Sunlight cuts through tall arched windows,
catching dust in the air like it’s part of the design. Workers move around the
Toronto Blues’ star quarterback carefully, instinctively aware of who he is
even when they pretend not to be.
Cozens barely notices them.
He’s looking past the mess, already living in the finished
version.
“The pool,” he says, without preamble.
The contractor flips open a tablet, nodding. Mid-forties,
Cleveland Steamers cap pulled low, boots scuffed from real work. He gestures
toward a section of the adjoining courtyard where old flagstones have been torn
up.
“Structural reinforcement’s done,” the contractor says.
“Plumbing’s in. Heating system’s being installed tomorrow. We’re prioritizing
it like you asked.”
“Good,” Cozens replies. Immediate. Decisive.
The contractor scrolls. “If nothing gets held up, the party
area should be operational by the end of the week.”
That does it.
Cozens smiles.
Not wide. Not flashy. Just a small, satisfied curl at the
corner of his mouth- the expression of someone who likes being ahead of the
timeline.
“Perfect,” he says. “That’s all I need.”
The contractor hesitates, then clears his throat. “It won’t
be finished-finished,” he adds. “Landscaping’ll be temporary. Some of the
stonework’s cosmetic for now.”
Cozens waves a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter.”
The contractor studies him for a second, curiosity getting
the better of caution.
“So,” he says, casual on the surface, “you ever gonna sign
in Cleveland?”
The question hangs there, heavier than it should be.
Cozens turns slowly, eyebrows lifting just a fraction. The
smile is gone now- replaced by something cooler, practiced.
“No,” he says flatly.
The contractor opens his mouth, then closes it again.
Cozens doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to.
He turns back toward the courtyard, already mentally
arranging lights, bodies, music. Already imagining how the space will look once
it’s full- steam rising, glass in hand, people orbiting him without realizing
they’re doing it.
“This place?” Cozens adds, almost as an afterthought. “It’s
temporary.”
The contractor nods, chastened, tapping something into his
tablet.
“Right,” he says. “Of course.”
Cozens doesn’t hear him.
He’s already thinking about the weekend.
About who will come.
About who will be seen.
About how a pool, of all things, can make a statement before
a single word is spoken.
…and somewhere deep beneath the stone and scaffolding, the
castle waits- patient, unimpressed, unconvinced that it is temporary at all.
Cuyahoga Crooks Baseball Academy Training Centre B, April 8, 2021
13:24 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS
The Crooks Academy training center smells like resin, sweat,
and new turf- the kind of place that’s always half an echo, every sound
amplified just enough to keep you alert.
Pratley finishes his last set and leans on his bat, chest
heaving, jersey darkened at the collar. He’s flushed, alive, buzzing in that
way that only comes when your body believes your future is still negotiable.
“Good work,” the coach, Eric Caldwell, says.
The voice carries weight without needing to raise itself.
Former major league star. Vancouver Salmon legend. A name
Pratley grew up hearing spoken with reverence. Now back in Cleveland, running
drills like it’s just another phase of life.
Pratley straightens immediately.
“Thanks,” he says, trying- and failing- to sound casual.
Caldwell tosses him a towel, then reaches into his bag and
pulls out four heavy, glossy cards. Not tickets exactly. Something more
intentional.
“Here,” he says, holding them out. “Cozens thing this
weekend.”
Pratley blinks. “Cozens?”
“Yeah.” Caldwell grimaces faintly. “Castle party. Pool.
Whole circus.”
He doesn’t offer them with ceremony. More like he’s getting
rid of something inconvenient.
“He dropped these off earlier,” the coach continues. “Said
he wants it to be ‘an event.’ Gave me four like I was gonna bring friends.”
Pratley stares at the cards like they might vanish.
“You’re… not going?” he asks.
Caldwell snorts. “No.”
“Why not?”
Caldwell shrugs, already turning away. “Because I’ve been to
those parties before. Same people, different castle.”
He pauses, then glances back.
“Figured you might want them.”
Pratley doesn’t hesitate.
He takes the tickets immediately.
“Yeah,” he says, grin breaking free now. “Yeah, absolutely.”
Caldwell watches him for a moment longer than necessary.
There’s something unreadable in his expression- not approval, not warning. Just
recognition.
“Don’t be late to practice Monday,” he says.
Pratley nods, still staring at the tickets. “Wouldn’t dream
of it.”
The coach walks off.
Pratley doesn’t notice.
He’s already imagining it- the lights, the music, the
bodies. The kind of party people talk about afterward. The kind of place where
being seen matters as much as being there.
Four tickets.
He already knows exactly who he’s bringing.
Downtown Cuyahoga Castles, April 8, 2021
18:11 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS
Pratley insists on dinner downtown.
Not far- still within Cuyahoga Castles- but far enough to
feel like a night out instead of another loop around the same stone corridors.
He’s already dressed for it when he meets Carl in the courtyard, jacket slung
over one shoulder, energy buzzing off him like static.
He’s holding something in his hand.
Carl notices immediately.
Tickets. Thick cardstock. Glossy. Heavy enough to mean
something.
Carl brings Evie.
Of course he does.
He doesn’t ask if she wants to come- not because he’s
presumptive, but because it feels natural to him now. Like they’re already
moving as a unit. Evie doesn’t object. She slips in beside him easily, fingers
lacing with his when he reaches for her.
…and Carl holds on.
Not squeezing. Not hurting. Just…firm. Like if he loosens
his grip even a little, she might drift away without realizing she’s doing it.
They start walking.
Pratley talks the entire time.
“It’s gonna be insane,” he says, already half-laughing.
“Like- actual castle, actual pool, heaters everywhere. Cozens went all out.”
Carl nods, only half-listening, eyes flicking between
Pratley’s hands and Evie’s face.
“Caldwell gave me four,” Pratley continues. “Just handed
them over like they were nothing. Like, can you imagine being that unimpressed
by a quarterback?”
Evie smiles, amused despite herself. “Four tickets?”
Pratley grins. “Four.”
Carl tightens his hold slightly as they cross the street.
Evie feels it.
She doesn’t pull away- but something about the way Pratley
talks, the way he moves so easily through the world, sparks a different kind of
attention in her. It’s lighter. Less weighted. She notices it and immediately
does nothing with it.
She’s here with Carl.
That matters.
“So who’s going?” Evie asks. “Us three, obviously, but-” She
hesitates. “Is there a fifth ticket? I could see if Greg wants to come.”
Pratley stops walking.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Then he laughs- short, sharp, almost surprised.
“No,” he says. “There’s no fifth ticket.”
Evie tilts her head. “Oh. Okay.”
Pratley looks at her now. Really looks.
“…and Greg doesn’t exist.”
The words land oddly. Flat. Certain.
Evie laughs, instinctively. “What?”
“I’m serious,” Pratley says, still smiling, but there’s
something off about it now. “Greg’s not real.”
Carl frowns. “What are you talking about?”
Pratley shrugs, already starting to walk again. “Nothing.
Just saying.”
Evie shakes her head, dismissive. “You’re messing with me.”
Pratley doesn’t correct her.
Carl’s hand tightens again, more noticeably this time. He
pulls Evie a fraction closer as they fall back into step.
“You okay?” he asks, too quickly.
“Yeah,” Evie says. She means it. Mostly.
She glances ahead at Pratley- at the confidence, the
excitement, the way he seems utterly unconcerned with how what he just said
landed- and feels that small, unwelcome flicker again.
Interest.
She ignores it.
Dinner lights glow ahead of them, warm against the stone.
Laughter spills out onto the street. For anyone watching, they look like three
friends headed toward a good night.
Carl holds on like the night is something that might take
Evie from him if he doesn’t.
Pratley walks a step ahead, already halfway into the
weekend.
…and Evie, between them, feels the shape of a choice forming
long before she understands what it will cost.
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