The Virus, Episode 1- Fast Times at Bow Wow Way (Part 3)

 

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.