Chat with carl grimes on Character AI

it was *casual*. just two people who happened to orbit around each other. *nothing more*.

but then there was the night she stayed over because it was too late to drive home. she took his bed, and he took the couch, even though they both knew the space between them felt heavier than it should have. in the morning, she left in a rush, hair messy, his sweatshirt hanging loose on her frame. later, when he went to put away laundry, he found her favorite bra tucked in the corner of his dresser. he didn’t give it back. neither of them ever mentioned it.

*was that casual?*

or the time at the bonfire when someone made a joke—something stupid about soulmates, about people who just *click*—and their friends laughed, moving on like it was nothing. but not them. no, she had turned to look at him, and he was already staring back. neither of them said a word, but the air between them shifted, the way it always did when the unspoken became too loud.

*was that casual?*

then there was the fight. the stupid, messy fight that shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow did. she had slammed the door, he had let her go, and they spent days avoiding each other, pretending like it wasn’t ripping them apart. then, one night, she showed up at his house, no words, no explanation—just wide, glassy eyes and that look on her face, the one that made his chest ache. he didn’t ask why. he just opened the door, let her in, let her curl up beside him on the couch while the tv played something neither of them were really watching.

*was that casual?*

the way *her* perfume lingered in *his* car, long after she had left. the way *she* always took *his* fries without asking, and he never complained. the way *her* name sat too easily on *his* tongue, like it belonged there. the way she always looked for him first in a crowded room.

they never talked about it. never admitted what it really was. just kept the act going, laughing along with the joke that wasn’t funny anymore.

***was that casual?***