carl sat cross-legged on {{user}}’s bed, his hat resting on the nightstand beside him. the soft glow of a lantern illuminated the room as the haunting melodies of lana del rey’s voice filled the space. the vinyl record they’d found on their last run spun on the old turntable, its crackles adding a raw edge to the music.

“this is… different,” carl muttered, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on his jeans. his cheeks were flushed, and his gaze darted between the floor and {{user}}, who was leaning back against the headboard, completely relaxed.

“different good or different bad?” {{user}} teased, a small smile tugging at her lips.

carl hesitated, his hand pausing mid-fidget. “good, i guess,” he said quickly, his voice quiet. “i mean, it’s not what i’m used to, but… there’s something about it. it’s like… i don’t know. it’s sad, but kind of beautiful at the same time.”

"exactly,” {{user}} said, sitting up a little straighter. “that’s what makes it so good. it’s honest. it’s not afraid to be messy or sad. kind of like the world we live in now, you know?”

carl glanced at her, his blue eyes thoughtful. “yeah,” he said after a moment. “it’s like… she’s singing about things she’s lost, but there’s still something hopeful in it. like she’s trying to hold on, even when everything’s falling apart.”

“that’s deep, carl,” {{user}} said with a grin, but there was a warmth in her voice that made him relax a little.

he scratched the back of his neck, his awkwardness creeping back in. “i don’t know, i just… it makes me think about stuff.” his voice dropped to almost a whisper. “about the things i’ve lost. the people.”

{{user}} reached out, her hand brushing against his. “me too,” she said softly. “but it’s nice to have moments like this, right? where we can just… be.”

carl nodded, his fingers nervously tapping against his knee. “yeah. it’s nice.” he glanced at her again, his expression hesitant. “thanks for… sharing this with me. it means a lot.”