Roland premier Meat shop
Periun city, Kettlia Region
Ashtarium nation
North American continent
September 26th 2019
Jack drained the bottle of water in the shadowed rear of the shop, gulping as if the act alone could wash away the nausea clinging to him. He tried to hide it, but Sarah—who'd known him since their freshmen year of high school—could always read him, subtle as breath. She watched from across the room, noticing the tension in his jaw and the dull cast to his eyes.
She understood, in her way, how the scent of blood and raw flesh gnawed at him, how even the cleanest corners of the butcher's shop seemed to hum with something unwholesome. It had always puzzled her: Jack, a die-hard vegetarian, choosing to work in a place like this. It was an absurdity, really—a contradiction only poverty could justify. Still, she never questioned him about it. In Bedlam, jobs for teenagers were scarce unless you were willing to risk your soul for a little quick cash—run errands for gangs, ferry pills through alleyways, or worse.
She knew fragments of his home life, though Jack wore privacy like a cloak. She'd only met his mother once, years back, on a drizzly afternoon when a group project had brought her to his door. Lucy—Jack's mom—had been instantly memorable: warm eyes, an easy laugh, a steeliness beneath her kindness. Sarah recalled the way Lucy moved, with the caution of someone who'd learned too well that disaster could arrive on any ordinary day.
Everyone in Bedlam knew about the incident, even if the truth was always half-shadow. The news called it terrorism; the details blurred by official statements, sealed files, and whispers that slipped between closed doors. What Sarah knew for certain was this: Lucy was one of the few who had survived, and Jack had never truly come back from that day. Eli and Mark—who'd known Jack since kindergarten—sometimes spoke about who he used to be. But Sarah had only ever known the quiet, watchful boy who drifted at the edge of every room, always the first to step in when Joe's gang circled, always protective, always silent.
It was enough to make her wish, sometimes, that she'd known him before his world turned violent—before Jack learned that, in a place like Bedlam, survival and contradiction often walked hand in hand. Jack, finishing the last swallow of water, caught Sarah's gaze fixed on him—a look threaded with concern and a little exasperation. He managed a lopsided grin, hoping it might ease the tension.
"I'm good," he said, injecting a breezy confidence he didn't quite feel. "Yomen whipped up one of her toasted tomato sandwiches for lunch. Want some?" He gestured to the wax-wrapped packet resting atop a battered storage container.
Sarah shook her head, her lips quirking. "No, I'm good."
A beat passed, then she hit him with a look sharper than any knife in the store. "So, when are you going to ask Carrie out?"
Jack had just begun tearing open the sandwich when he froze mid-motion. The name hung in the air, heavier than he expected. He glanced over at Sarah, caught between irritation and embarrassment.
"You've been dodging this since you swore you'd ask her out at the start of the year," Sarah pressed, folding her arms. "I thought maybe, with your new powers, you'd finally grow a pair—but nope. Still the same old Jack."
"Hey! I was going to ask her after the last drama meeting," Jack protested, a little too defensive. "Joe butted in, remember?"
Sarah rolled her eyes. "That was weeks ago. You've had plenty of chances since, and you still haven't done it." Her tone softened, but not by much. "We both know how she feels about you. Stop being such a wuss and just ask her out already."
Before Jack could retort, Sarah gave his heel a quick kick—a half-hearted nudge that barely registered, though she winced, rubbing her toes as she retreated into the shop. Jack watched her go, the sandwich suddenly forgotten in his hand, the taste of courage lingering somewhere just out of reach.
****
Jordan Academy
Periun city, Kettlia Region
Ashtarium nation
North American continent
September 28th 2019
Jack hadn't expected to find the library so hollow and still. The plan had been simple—meet up with the study group, cram for the looming PSAT, and maybe snag a few laughs in between equations. But now the long tables stretched empty, chairs left askew, the only sounds the distant hum of the HVAC and the muted shuffle of a lone librarian. Mark, Eli, Sarah—even Carrie's usual crew—were nowhere to be found.
Frowning, Jack pulled out his phone, scrolling through the group chat. His earlier messages hung there, unread—no replies, no last-minute excuses, just digital silence. He tried to remember if Eli had mentioned anything back in chemistry lab that morning, but nothing came to mind. No warning, no hint they'd bail. Maybe he'd gotten the time wrong. Maybe he'd missed something obvious.
Sighing, Jack slung his bag over his shoulder, the fabric catching on the edge of a battered study table. As he turned, he nearly collided with her.
Carrie stood just a few paces away, framed in the slanting afternoon light—looking, as always, effortlessly radiant. Her golden hair was swept into a loose ponytail that caught the glow of the sun, framing her face in soft highlights. She wore an auburn cashmere sweater tucked neatly into a pleated skirt, pink leggings adding a playful note, and black Mary Janes that clicked softly on the tile. For a moment, Jack forgot all about group chats and study plans—he was caught instead by the easy warmth in her eyes, and the shy, uncertain smile she offered as if she'd been waiting for him all along.
"Looks like the others bailed," Carrie said, glancing around the empty library with a rueful smile.
"Yeah," Jack replied, trying to mask his confusion. "Weird. I wonder what's going on?"
Carrie leaned against the table, her ponytail swaying. "Honestly, I have a feeling this is one of Amber's schemes. She probably convinced everyone to ditch us—just to see what would happen if we were left alone together."
Jack let out a nervous laugh. The thought echoed what Sarah had teased him about all weekend, and now, seeing Carrie's knowing look, he realized she might be right. He fumbled for what to say, feeling the silence grow between them. "Uh…so, should we just…stay here and, you know, study…or—"
He trailed off, unsure, but before he could finish, Carrie's voice cut gently through the uncertainty.
"Do you want to get some boba tea with me?" she asked, her eyes hopeful and a little shy. "There's a really cute place around the corner."
Jack blinked, caught off guard—he'd been just about to suggest a coffee run himself, and now she'd beaten him to it. For a moment, he could only stare, heart thumping.
"Yeah," he said, voice softening into a genuine smile. "I'd love that."
Outside, the afternoon had mellowed, the city's usual harshness softened by golden sunlight that pooled along the sidewalks. The tea shop Carrie led Jack to was tucked between an old bakery and a stationery store, its windows aglow with the warm promise of comfort. Above the door, hand-painted letters spelled out Lotus & Leaf, and the scent of jasmine and roasted oolong drifted out each time the door swung open.
Inside, the world seemed to slow. Shelves of ceramic cups lined the walls, and light from paper lanterns dappled the small tables in honeyed gold. A gentle hum of quiet conversation and laughter filled the air, punctuated by the steady percussion of tea shakers behind the counter.
Carrie nudged Jack forward, and together they eyed the colorful menu on the chalkboard—choices swirling with names like Lavender Dream, Winter Peach, Matcha Bloom. Carrie grinned at Jack's indecision.
"I always get the rose milk tea," she confessed, eyes glinting. "With extra boba, obviously. What about you?"
Jack glanced from her to the menu, suddenly conscious of how close they stood—shoulders nearly brushing, the warmth of her presence as startling as it was comforting. "I'll try the same," he said, voice a little too earnest. "Figure I can't go wrong trusting your judgment."
She giggled, her laughter like the chime of a spoon in a glass. As they waited for their drinks, Jack tried to calm the flutter in his chest. He watched the barista pour, shake, and seal their cups, the drinks layered with swirling creams and glistening black pearls.
They found a quiet corner by the window, sunlight striping their table. Carrie stirred her straw through the drink, lips curled in a private smile. "You know," she said, "Amber's probably watching us from somewhere. She'll want a full report."
Jack snorted, relaxing into the moment. "I should've known there'd be a plot. I mean, she did threaten to tie me to a chair if I didn't finally talk to you outside of school."
Carrie's cheeks pinked, but she met his gaze, unflinching. "You don't have to be so nervous around me, Jack. I'm just…me."
He took a sip—the rose milk tea was sweet and fragrant, cool pearls bursting between his teeth. "That's kind of the problem," he said, quietly. "You're…you."
She laughed again, softer now, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, you're not so bad yourself."
Their conversation wound between sips of tea and sunlight—talk of study sessions, favorite movies, little confessions about childhood dreams. Outside, the world moved in its own rhythm, but inside the tea shop, time felt suspended, as if it had been waiting for them to find this quiet, golden pocket of the afternoon.
"So, I have to confess something," Carrie said suddenly, her eyes bright with mischief as she watched Jack across the little table.
Jack arched an eyebrow, trying to play it cool even as his heart stumbled. "Confess what?"
She hesitated, then grinned wider, the edges of her smile almost nervous. "I've always wanted to spend time alone with you. Like this."
Jack blinked, caught off guard. "Wait, really? No way."
"Truly." Carrie's tone softened. "Do you remember sophomore year? In biology, when Mr. Stein assigned us those group projects. You ended up with Sarah—"
Jack tried to feign nonchalance. "And you got stuck with…what's his name…" He trailed off, pretending to forget, but Carrie shot him a pointed look.
She rolled her eyes. "Brian. And I was…kind of jealous, honestly. I spent a whole week thinking you and Sarah were a thing."
Jack nearly choked on his boba, fighting not to spray tea across the table. "You did?"
Carrie blushed, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "Yeah. You guys weren't, were you?"
Jack shook his head, a crooked smile growing. "No, not even close. Sarah's got…well, let's just say I'm definitely not her type."
That answer seemed to please Carrie, who let out a small, relieved laugh. "Good. I mean, not good for Sarah, but you know what I mean."
Jack watched her, the realization settling in. "So you've…liked me since sophomore year? Is that why you never said yes to any of those guys who asked you out?" He remembered the rumors, the endless parade of admirers Carrie had turned down. Part of him had always been afraid to join their ranks, terrified she'd reject him too.
Carrie looked away, her cheeks warming. "Actually…I've liked you since before that," she murmured.
Jack stared, confusion flickering in his eyes. "Since when?"
She met his gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "Middle school."
He blinked again, struggling to process it. "That long? But…we barely even talked back then."
Carrie nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting in a shy, almost wistful smile. "You were the only person who was nice to me that first week I transferred. I never forgot."
Jack felt the weight of her words settle over him, all his old doubts and fears fading into something smaller—almost insignificant—against the soft honesty in her eyes. He barely remember it as that time was something Jack didn't like to think about. Back then, he was still recovering from the incident that had cost him everything. For a moment, the busy world of the tea shop fell away, leaving just the two of them, tangled in possibility and new beginnings.
By the time they finished their drinks, dusk had crept softly over the city, painting the storefronts in hazy indigo and gold. The air outside was cooler now, fragrant with blooming jasmine from a planter by the door. As they stepped out onto the quiet sidewalk, Carrie hugged her arms around herself, the last warmth of the day lingering on her cheeks.
They walked in companionable silence at first, the hush between them filled with everything unspoken. Jack matched his pace to hers, hands jammed in his pockets, glancing sideways whenever he thought she wouldn't notice. Streetlights flickered on overhead, casting overlapping circles of amber that chased away the shadows. Each step, each heartbeat, felt oddly momentous.
They talked—sometimes about little things, sometimes about nothing. Carrie told him about her mother's obsession with gardening and how she'd once tried (and failed) to keep a cactus alive. Jack laughed, telling her about the time his mom tried to cook vegan lasagna with coconut cheese and nearly set the oven on fire. Their voices blended with the night: soft, hesitant, edged with laughter that felt too easy and real.
They reached the corner where Carrie's street branched away—a tree-lined lane, quiet and tucked in, the kind of place that felt removed from the city's restless pulse. She stopped, turning to face him. The hush settled between them again, thick with anticipation.
Jack fumbled for words. He stared at his shoes, then at the patterns the streetlights made in Carrie's eyes.
"Hey, um…" he started, his voice rougher than he intended. He forced himself to meet her gaze, the nerves in his stomach twisting tight. "There's something I… I mean, I wanted to ask you earlier, but I kept chickening out."
Carrie waited, her expression tender, patient—almost as if she already knew.
Jack let out a breath, feeling the courage gather somewhere deep, where hope and fear mixed in equal measure. "Would you—would you want to go out with me? Like, officially. On a real date, not just…not just tea and study groups."
The moment seemed to expand, the world narrowing to the space between them. Carrie's lips parted, a small sound escaping, half a laugh and half a sigh of relief. Her eyes softened, shining under the glow of the streetlamp.
"Yes," she whispered, almost breathless. "I'd love that, Jack."
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, caught in the quiet certainty of the moment. Then Jack smiled—a real, unguarded smile, the kind he rarely showed anyone. Carrie smiled back, warmth radiating between them like sunrise on the horizon.
"I'll walk you the rest of the way," Jack said softly, his confidence growing in the wake of her answer.
They continued down the street, the world around them gentle and full of new promise. Their hands brushed once—twice—before Carrie finally, shyly, slipped her fingers through his. And together, they walked beneath the blooming trees, the night carrying them forward, step by hopeful step, into something that felt a little like magic.