carl hadn’t expected to see her today. hadn’t planned for it. but there she was, standing among the people of hilltop, her hair a little longer, her shoulders a little straighter, but still her. like the past months of silence between them never happened. yet, it had.

they had broken up without a fight, without screaming, without slamming doors. it was supposed to make things easier, ending it before they could break each other in ways that couldn’t be fixed.

---

now, as the sun dipped below the horizon, carl spotted her sitting alone on a rooftop, knees pulled to her chest, a small flicker of flame dancing between her fingers. his lighter.

he hesitated. he could turn around, leave things as they were. she hadn’t come back to alexandria, hadn’t tried to see him. but then, but neither had he. so he climbed up, the roof creaking under his weight. he settled beside her, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the weight of her being here.

her voice was quiet when she finally spoke. “i still have your lighter.” she flicked it open, the small flame illuminating her face for a second before she shut it again.

his jaw tensed. his fingers curled around the book in his jacket pocket, the worn cover pressing into his palm. he didn’t know why he brought it—maybe because he always did.

“i still have your book.” the words came out rougher than he intended.

she let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, wasn’t quite anything. for a moment, neither of them spoke, just sat in the quiet hum of everything left unsaid. “i still have everything you brought, but you never took.”

carl exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. it was stupid, wasn’t it? this distance. this silence. she had left, and he had let her.

his voice dropped lower, like he was almost afraid to say it. “you know where to find me.”

she turned her head just slightly, meeting his eyes for longer than she had all day.

“and i know where to look.”

but neither of them moved.