The sound hit like a physical wave, a tsunami of distortion and blast beats that seemed to shake the very air in Carl's small room. The guitars weren't melodic; they were serrated, the drums not a rhythm but a sustained assault. The vocals were a raw, guttural scream, less like singing and more like the sound of something tearing itself apart from the inside out.
It was loud. Obnoxious. The kind of noise that would have Mrs. Henderson from three doors down calling the police with a complaint about "satanic rituals."
And yet, for Ace, it was the most peaceful he'd felt in days.
He stood in the middle of the room, eyes closed, and slammed his head forward. His dark hair whipped around his face with each violent nod. He wasn't thinking about the empty house, the bruised ribs, the silent phone, or the heavy quiet of his grandmother's home. The noise was a scalpel, cleanly cutting away every worry, every memory, every coiled tension. It left behind only the pure, primal pulse of the sound.
Carl was right there with him. No longer the hunched, hesitant boy from the hallway, he was a dynamo of pent-up energy unleashed. He headbanged with a furious commitment, his own hair a messy blur. Every few beats, he'd turn and slam his shoulder into the wall with a solid thump, not in anger, but in a kind of joyous, physical punctuation. The posters of grim, shadowy metal bands behind him—Coffins, Spectral Voice—shivered on their tacks with every impact.
They'd been at this for what felt like hours but could have been minutes. Time had dissolved into the noise. There was no conversation, no need to fill the space with awkward words. The music was the conversation. A scream into the void, and the void screaming back in glorious, furious agreement.
Ace laughed then, a sharp, breathless sound torn from his chest mid-headbang. He opened his eyes to see Carl, caught up in the frenzy, attempt to leap onto his bed. He misjudged the spring, his foot slipped on the comforter, and he windmilled his arms for a hilarious second before crashing onto the mattress in a heap, his own laughter—a rare, unfiltered sound—mixing with the music.
The song seamlessly ripped into another, this one even faster, a chaotic swirl of sound that felt less like music and more like a panic attack set to a beat. Ace responded by launching into a series of mock martial arts moves, shadow-kicking and chopping at the air, battling the invisible demons the music conjured. He was a hunter, but this prey was made of sound and stress, and his weapons were ridiculous, exaggerated movements.
Carl, from his crumpled position on the bed, saw this and nearly choked, his laughter coming in wheezing gasps as he pointed a weak finger at Ace's intense, completely unserious face.
"WAIT—" Carl tried to yell over the cacophony, probably to comment on Ace's terrible form, but his voice was utterly devoured, lost in the roaring tide of sound.
Ace didn't care. He didn't need to hear it. The laughter on Carl's face was enough. He spun, kicked at another non-existent foe, and for the first time since stepping foot in this too-quiet, tension-filled house, the iron band around his chest felt loose. He felt light. Almost weightless.
Then—silence.
It wasn't a fade-out. It was a guillotine drop. One nanosecond, the room was a pressure chamber of noise; the next, it was a vacuum.
The abrupt absence was so shocking Ace physically stumbled, his latest kick leaving him off-balance, one leg still hovering in the air. He blinked, his ears ringing in the new quiet.
"What the hell?" he said, his own voice strangely loud in the void. He lowered his foot and turned to Carl. "Why'd you kill it? We were just getting to the good part!"
Carl wasn't looking at him. He was staring at his phone, its screen casting a pale blue light on his face. All the animated energy had drained from his body, leaving his shoulders slumped. He exhaled, a long, slow sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world. "…Time," he said, the word flat and final.
Ace frowned, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. "Time for what? It's Saturday. The day is, by definition, unserious."
Carl finally looked up, but his eyes didn't meet Ace's. They darted away, focusing on the zipper of his school bag. "I… have to go to cram school."
Ace stared. He couldn't have been more stunned if Carl had said he had to go polish a dragon's scales. His brow furrowed in pure, uncomprehending disbelief. "…On a weekend?" The words were laced with a kind of horrified awe. This was a new level of mundane tyranny.
Carl just nodded, already moving with a resigned efficiency. He climbed off the bed and started gathering notebooks and pencils from his desk. "Mid-term exams are coming up. Saturday sessions are mandatory."
Ace's shoulders slumped. It wasn't anger at Carl; it was a profound, soul-deep disappointment. The temporary fortress of noise had been breached by the blandest of realities. He let out a groan that was half-exasperation, half-sorrow, and flopped backward onto Carl's recently vacated bed. The springs squeaked in protest.
"Alright," he muttered to the ceiling, where a poster of a decaying cathedral stared back. "Fine. Abandon me for… some stupid cram school. We'll continue the concert later. It's a promise."
A ghost of the earlier smile touched Carl's lips as he shoved a thick textbook into his bag. "Yeah. Later."
Ace grabbed his phone from where it had been discarded on the floor. He pushed himself up, the lightness of moments ago replaced by a familiar gravity. He was halfway to the door when he stopped, a thought solidifying. He glanced back.
"Hey," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "Where is your cram school, anyway?"
"Near my school. Northgate Academy."
"Who's gonna drop you? Your dad?" Ace kept his tone carefully casual, neutral.
Carl shook his head, hefting the overstuffed bag onto his shoulder. It looked comically heavy on his slim frame. "I'm walking."
Ace nodded slowly, as if this were a critical piece of intelligence. His eyes did a quick tactical assessment—Carl's tired face, the oppressive weight of the bag, the long, quiet walk ahead through streets that probably felt anything but welcoming. A decision, simple and firm, clicked into place.
"I'll walk you there," he announced. It wasn't an offer. It was a statement of fact.
Carl froze, his hand on the doorknob. "You don't have to—" he started, the automatic, polite refusal of someone not accustomed to casual kindness.
"I want to," Ace cut in, his voice easy but leaving no room for debate. He pushed off the doorframe. "Sitting around here is making me twitchy. I need the air." It was only a partial lie. He did need air. But more than that, he couldn't stand the thought of Carl making that walk alone, back straight under the weight of the bag and everything else.
Carl hesitated, searching Ace's face. He found no pity, only a straightforward, almost bored determination. He gave a small, quiet nod. "Okay."
Ace grinned, a quick flash of teeth. "Cool. I'll be downstairs. Don't make me wait forever, or I'll start headbanging in the foyer and scare away grandma."
As Ace pulled the door shut behind him, Carl's eyes drifted back to the silent speakers. The quiet they left behind was no longer peaceful. It was the quiet of obligation, and it filled the room like a cold, familiar fog.
***
Ace pulled the curtain of his makeshift room aside and stepped out into the hallway. He'd been lying on his mattress for maybe ten minutes, scrolling through a pointless text argument with Marco about dinosaur combat styles, when the sound came.
Knock knock.
Not on a door. On the wall beside the curtain. A soft, hesitant rap of knuckles on plaster.
Ace paused, thumb hovering over his screen. He tilted his head, listening. "Yeah?"
"It's me," Carl's voice came, muffled through the fabric. "I'm ready. You… you still wanna walk me?"
Ace didn't hesitate. He shoved his phone into his pocket and swept the curtain aside in one motion. Carl stood there, his heavy bag making him list slightly to one side. "Yeah, of course, dude," Ace said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
They moved together toward the front of the house. In the living room, Sophie sat on the edge of an armchair next to Rose's recliner. The TV was on low, some gentle historical drama providing soft background noise. Sophie glanced up as they passed.
"Mom, I'm heading out for a bit," Ace called, keeping his tone light.
Sophie's eyes, always slightly watchful, softened. "Don't wander too far."
"Just getting some air. I won't."
The front gate let out a familiar, metallic creak as they stepped through it onto the pavement. Immediately, the atmosphere changed.
Ace slowed his pace, his gaze sweeping the street. The houses here weren't just houses; they were statements. They sat back from the road behind manicured lawns and clean, white fences. Each one was different but spoke the same language of quiet money—large windows, three-car garages, imported cars gleaming in driveways. The pavement was impossibly smooth, unblemished by cracks or weeds. Neat, modern streetlights stood at regular intervals like silent sentinels.
"Damn," Ace muttered under his breath, the word a soft exhale of surprise. "Rich neighborhood."
Carl glanced sideways at him, a faint, knowing look in his eyes. "Yeah. Most people around here work in the corporate district. Lawyers, executives."
Ace let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Figures."
For a few minutes, they walked in a silence that was more comfortable than empty. Their footsteps fell into a natural, syncopated rhythm on the perfect concrete. Ace kept his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his hoodie, his shoulders relaxed but his eyes constantly moving, cataloging the environment out of habit. He noted clean alleys, security system signs in front yards, the absolute absence of litter.
"So," Ace said, breaking the quiet as they turned a corner onto a wider, tree-lined avenue. "How's cram school, really?"
Carl gave the same slight shrug Ace was starting to recognize as his default. "It's… cram school. You sit. You listen. You take notes until your hand cramps."
Ace snorted. "Sounds like a special kind of torture."
"It is," Carl agreed, a hint of dry humor in his voice. He adjusted the strap of his bag. "It's about a thirty-minute walk from here."
Ace nodded, as if approving of a military route. "Good. Builds character. And calf muscles."
A faint, real smile touched Carl's lips. "I guess."
The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves of the meticulously pruned trees that lined the road. Ace tilted his head back, looking at the sky—a vast, cloudless dome of pale blue. It was the kind of calm, perfect afternoon that felt almost staged, like a picture in a brochure for this very neighborhood.
It was Carl who spoke next, his voice dropping, the words tentative, as if testing the strength of ice. "So… what about your dad?"
Ace blinked, caught off guard. He glanced at Carl, who was now intently studying a crack in the pavement (one of the few). He looked like he already regretted asking.
"I mean—" Carl rushed to backtrack, "you don't have to answer. I was just… curious. Never mind."
"It's fine," Ace said quickly, the automatic response. He focused on the road ahead.
Carl stopped walking for half a step, then hurried to catch up. "Where does he work?"
Ace scratched at the back of his neck, a familiar itch of discomfort. "Abroad. That's… what I know."
Carl looked genuinely surprised, his head turning fully toward Ace. "Really?"
"Yeah," Ace replied, his voice carefully even. "He works… overseas. Contracts. I don't really know the specifics." It was the practiced, half-true story. It felt flimsy here, under the clear suburban sky.
"Oh." Carl's pace slowed. The realization seemed to settle on him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
This time, Ace was the one who stopped walking.
Carl froze beside him, panic flashing across his features. He'd clearly decided he'd crossed a line, shattered the unspoken truce of their hangout.
Ace turned to face him fully, his expression serious but not angry. "Hey," he said, his tone firm, grounding. "You didn't do anything wrong. Okay?"
Carl swallowed, his eyes wide. "I just thought… maybe it was a sore subject."
Ace sighed, a sound that held more weariness than annoyance. "It's not a sore subject. It's just… a blank one. Hard to talk about someone you barely know, you know?" He offered a faint, wry smile and reached out, clapping Carl once on the shoulder. The gesture was brief, solid. "So, yeah. No big deal."
He felt the tension seep out of Carl's frame under his hand. The moment passed.
Ace deftly pivoted, steering them onto safer, if more treacherous, ground. "Your dad's a cop, right?"
The effect was instantaneous. Carl's shoulders, which had just relaxed, locked up again. His gaze dropped to his shoes. His hands, which had been swinging loosely, curled into loose fists at his sides. "…Yeah."
Ace noted every reaction but kept his own face neutral. "Northgate's crawling with rich kids, I bet," he said, his tone casually conversational again. "That true?"
Carl latched onto the lifeline, nodding vigorously. "Yeah. Most of them live in houses like these. Bigger, sometimes."
"Must be nice," Ace muttered, a dry edge to his voice. "My school's basically a zoo. Full of lovable degenerate pieces of shit."
That earned a quiet, genuine laugh from Carl. "Sounds… fun."
They crossed a quiet intersection. A sleek, silent electric car whispered past them, its dark tinted windows hiding the occupants. Ace watched it go, a symbol of the invisible world he was walking through.
"So," Ace pressed, "Northgate Academy. What's the vibe? Aside from rich."
Carl thought for a second, his brow furrowing. "It's… big. And clean. Like, really clean. Everything feels new." He paused. "Everyone's competitive. About everything. Grades, obviously. But also what clubs you're in, what sports, who got what internship… who has the latest phone. Even who has the whiter sneakers."
Ace smirked. "Sounds exhausting just thinking about it."
"It is," Carl admitted, a note of relief in his voice, as if confessing a secret. "It really is."
They passed a small, neatly kept pocket park. Empty swings moved gently in the breeze, their chains creaking a lonely song. Ace slowed, his eyes tracking the back-and-forth motion.
"You ever just… not go?" Ace asked, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial level. "To cram school? Just take a walk instead?"
Carl stiffened as if shocked. "N-no."
Ace raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. "Never? Not even once when the sun was shining just right?"
Carl hesitated. He kicked at a perfectly round pebble on the path, sending it skittering ahead of them. "…Once."
Ace's grin was swift and triumphant. "There it is. I knew it. What happened?"
"I got yelled at for weeks," Carl said, the memory making him wince. "My dad checked the attendance report the school texts out. It was… bad."
Ace's grin softened into something more sympathetic. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Figures."
They walked on, the pebble Carl had kicked now lost. The comfortable silence returned, but it was different now, layered with the small confidences they'd traded.
"You know," Carl said, his voice so quiet Ace almost missed it, "I didn't think you'd actually want to hang out with me."
Ace glanced over, surprised. "Why not?"
Carl shrugged, the gesture making him look smaller. "You're… different. From everyone here."
Ace snorted. "You can say that again."
"No, I mean—" Carl fumbled, trying to articulate it. "You seem confident. You don't… you don't look down at your feet all the time. You don't freeze when someone talks to you."
Ace felt a strange, hollow pang in his chest. He slowed his steps just a fraction. "You think I don't freeze?"
Carl looked genuinely confused. "Don't you?"
Ace exhaled a long breath through his nose, a sound like a released valve. "All the time, man. All the damn time."
Carl stopped walking completely.
Ace took two more steps before realizing and turned back. "What?"
Carl was staring at him, his expression one of utter surprise. "You don't seem like it. At all."
Ace shrugged, the motion designed to look casual. It felt anything but. "I just learned how to hide it better. That's all."
They resumed walking, the space between them a little smaller than before.
Just then, a group of three boys about their age came around the corner ahead. They wore the distinct, crisp blazers of Northgate Academy, even on a weekend. Their laughter was loud, carrying down the quiet street. As they passed, one of them—a tall boy with perfectly styled hair—glanced at Ace, then his eyes slid to Carl. A smirk touched his lips. He leaned and whispered something to his friend, who barked out a laugh. They didn't break stride, moving past without another look.
The air around Carl seemed to chill. He looked down, his shoulders creeping up toward his ears.
Ace didn't miss a beat. He clicked his tongue, a soft, dismissive sound. "Northgate kids?"
"…Yeah," Carl mumbled to the pavement.
Ace watched the group's backs as they turned another corner. His jaw tightened briefly before he forced it loose. "They seem… friendly."
Carl said nothing.
After a block, Ace tried a different tack. "You ever listen to music on the walk? Blast some Coffins to get you in the fighting spirit for calculus?"
Carl shook his head, his expression grim. "I'm not allowed to bring headphones."
Ace stopped dead. He turned to face Carl, his disbelief complete and unfeigned. "You're joking."
Carl offered a weak, apologetic smile. "My dad says it's a distraction. That I need to be 'aware of my surroundings' on the walk. He says it's a safety thing."
Ace stared at him for a long, hard second. Then he laughed—a short, sharp, humorless sound that held no joy. "Man," he said, the word heavy with a meaning he couldn't fully voice. "That's… rough."
Finally, the cram school building came into view—a modern, boxy structure of glass and pale brick, tucked between larger office buildings. It looked sterile and efficient.
Carl's steps grew slower as they approached the large glass doors. His fingers tightened around the straps of his backpack, his knuckles whitening. He stopped a few feet from the entrance, hesitating, looking at the doors like they were the gates to a fortress.
Ace noticed. He stopped beside him and nudged Carl's shoulder lightly with his own. "Hey."
Carl looked up, his eyes anxious.
"I'll come back," Ace said, his voice casual but carrying an ironclad certainty. "When your brain is full. Text me when you're done. I'll meet you right here."
Carl blinked. "You don't have to—"
"I know," Ace cut him off gently. "I want to. The walk back is boring alone."
Carl stared at him for another second, then the tension in his face eased, replaced by a look of quiet, stunned gratitude. He nodded slowly. "…Okay."
He gave a small, awkward wave, then turned and pushed through the heavy glass door. Ace stood and watched him go, a slight, solitary figure disappearing down a bright, fluorescent-lit hallway.
The smile Ace had maintained faded from his lips. The façade of easygoing calm dissolved, leaving his expression thoughtful and hard.
"Used to it," he muttered to himself, the words barely a breath. He wasn't sure if he meant Carl being used to the walk, the rules, the whispers… or himself being used to seeing wounds that couldn't be healed with a bandage or a blade.
He turned on his heel and started the walk back to the Ames house. The pristine neighborhood, with its perfect lawns and silent, expensive cars, seemed to watch him go. The air felt colder now, the sky less like a peaceful dome and more like a vast, indifferent ceiling.
The walk back felt infinitely longer.