Archive of Our Own

It was a chill Friday evening in Elmore. The cool breeze blew easily over the brightly illuminated town.

Warm, yellow glows emanated from buildings and streetlights, giving the night the kind of feeling you'd expect for an evening vibes hangout.

Which... was exactly what Carrie Krueger had planned for that day, only the plan had shifted slightly.

...

Earlier that day, Carrie had found out that the sequel to 'The Screamening' had just released and was now showing in the theatre.

She and no one expected the movie to actually get a sequel, considering it was heavily critiqued for its corny plot and poor direction.

However, even though the ghost girl knew that it would probably be ten times worse than the first, she didn't want to pass up the opportunity to see a slasher film; she found them fun to watch and make fun of, especially when she was making fun of them with somebody.

During lunch period, she had asked her boyfriend, Darwin, if he wanted to go see it with her. Unfortunately, she found that Darwin had already promised his little sister, Anais, that he would watch Daisy the Donkey with her that evening.

She always understood her beloved goldfish. He was kind enough to endure a poorly animated toddler show, just to make his little sister happy; she understood that Anais didn't know a lot of kids outside her family.

Besides, Darwin wasn't into slasher or horror films; if anything, he was actually more of an audience for Daisy the Donkey.

But now, this means she'll be watching a slasher film by herself. She didn't mind that too much; solitude was something she'd grown close to after being alive, or dead, for over hundreds of years.

But still, watching scary movies was obviously more fun when you have friends to be jump-scared with.

And so, in chemistry class, after lunch, an idea clicked in her mind when she got paired with a certain blue cat she had known since she started Junior High.

Gumball, in bulky lab goggles that made him look like a cat version of Colin, one of the egg twins, held a flask carefully in one paw, and he stroked his chin as if he had just discovered a breakthrough in science.

"Okay, this stuff looks like it was gathered from an alien planet or just from the grime on the bathroom walls." He said, grimacing.

Carrie hovered a little closer to the beaker, peering into the cloudy liquid. "That's probably because it was gathered from the grime on the bathroom walls."

Gumball's ears snapped upright. "What the what?"

Carrie shrugged, deadpanning. "Half our school supplies come from places that should be condemned."

Across the table lay their cheap-looking lab tray: a half-full flask, a stained test tube rack, and a laminated instruction sheet that had clearly survived at least three chemical wars.

Gumball adjusted his oversized goggles again, which, unknowingly to him, magnified his pupils to the size of basketballs. "Okay, so if we follow the directions exactly, nothing explodes, no one melts, and we get a B-minus. Easy."

Carrie flicked her gaze down the instruction sheet. "Step one: 'Combine Solution A with Solution B.' Step two: 'Stir gently.' And step three: 'Do not inhale.'"

Gumball stared at the paper, scoffing. "Why is 'do not inhale' always step three? Why is it never step one?"

Carrie tilted her head, smirking. "Because if you did it in step one, you wouldn't be able to read step two."

He opened his mouth, reconsidered, then nodded with reluctant respect. "Okay. Fair."

The kitten lifted the flask, careful and dramatic, "Alright, behold! The Mystery Sludge."

Carrie watched the liquid pour down into the beaker. It was the color of untrustworthy toothpaste.

Gumball leaned in slightly. "Uh, Carrie? It's bubbling."

Carrie leaned in the same amount. "That's normal."

He leaned in more, putting his ear to the beaker. "Is it supposed to hiss?"

"I think?" Carrie replied, unsure.

The beaker fizzed. And then a thin, suspicious vapor began to crawl up the glass.

Gumball drew back and fanned the air with his notebook. "Ugh! It smells like a wet sock trying to become a lawyer!"

"Stop making it sound ambitious." Carrie chuckled.

Gumball pinched his nose, fanning the vapor away. "We're supposed to add the other thingy now, right?"

Carrie pointed at the sheet. "You mean the catalyst? Yeah, it says, 'Add one drop.'"

Gumball held up the dropper, eyeing the tiny bead of liquid at the tip. "Define 'drop.'"

"Drop," Carrie repeated, like she was translating an ancient language for him. "Singular. One. Uno?'"

Gumball put a hand over his heart. "You think I'm irresponsible?"

Carrie stared at him, expressionless. "We all met you."

He squinted at the dropper, tongue sticking out a little in concentration. "Alright, fine. One drop, here we go."

The drop fell.

Then... the second one did.

Gumball froze. Carrie didn't blink.

The beaker went quiet for half a second, the hissing coming to a stop.

"Did it work-"

Then it popped.

A sharp little POOF blasted a cloud of purple foam straight upward.

The foam hit the ceiling tile, spread like paint, and then began to drip down in slow, mocking globs.

Gumball stared up at it, stunned, while drops of the purple substance splattered his face. "It... It's beautiful!"

Carrie lifted her hand and stopped a glob before it could land on her head. It floated there, trembling in the air like a jellyfish.

"Hm. It's alive," she said.

Gumball slowly turned his head toward her, swiping purple globs off his face. "No."

Carrie stared at the foam blob, smirking at it. "It's reacting to my presence."

The blob quivered again, then slithered out of her telekinetic grip, oozing onto the table like it had a conscience.

Gumball yelped and knabbed the instruction sheet. "AGH! What does it say we do if it starts—"

He stopped.

Carrie leaned in. "What?"

Gumball read, voice flat. "'In the event of a foam anomaly, calmly apply neutralizer and inform your teacher.'"

Carrie's gaze flicked to the front of the room.

Mr. Small, the school's counselor and certainly not a qualified chemistry teacher, was at his desk... doing something that looked suspiciously like knitting a tiny sweater for a stress ball.

The pony-tailed hippie cooed at the little sweater, "Oh, you are just the sweetest thing, aren't you? Yes, you are!"

Carrie glanced back at Gumball. "He will not help."

The foam began crawling toward their lab tray, leaving a trail of sludge.

Gumball snatched the neutralizer bottle. "Alright then, we spray it!"

Carrie held up a hand. "Ah! The sheet says 'apply.'"

Gumball's ears flattened, irritated. "Oh, I'm sorry, do you want me to massage it in gently like lotion?"

Carrie shrugged in response. "Hey, if it moisturizes, we should market it."

Gumball didn't wait. He squeezed the bottle.

A jet of clear liquid blasted out like a water gun.

It hit the foam, and the foam screamed.

Not with sound, exactly. With vibration. The air shuddered. The beaker rattled, and Gumball's goggles began to fog instantly.

Carrie's eyes widened slightly. "Now it's definitely alive."

Gumball panicked, "W-WHY IS IT MAD?!"

The foam inflated like it was taking his question personally. It swelled up, engulfing the neutralizer stream, then burped out a puff of vapor that drifted straight into Gumball's face.

"Uh oh, Gumball don't!-"

Unfortunately, he inhaled without meaning to.

He coughed violently as the vapor hit his nostrils.

Carrie floated there with a concerned look, ready to use magic just in case his lungs turned into jelly or something.

"Um, you good there?"

Gumball stopped coughing and then blinked. Then, very slowly, he looked at his paws.

His fur had turned... completely green.

He stared at Carrie. "C-Carrie? Am I... dead?!"

Carrie's eyes flicked up and down him. "By the looks of it, not yet."

He flailed. "Oh NO! I'm dying in chemistry class! Mom's going to get so mad!"

Carrie rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist without thinking and pulled him toward the sink. "Rinse. Now."

Gumball stuck his hands under the water and scrubbed at his fur vigorously. The green tint swirled off in faint streaks.

Carrie, meanwhile, lifted her other hand and made a small twisting motion, a spectral glow illuminating. The foam stopped moving in response.

It wobbled, confused.

Then it slumped, deflating in surrender.

Gumball blinked, his hands still dripping. "Whoa, how'd you do that?"

She shrugged, casual. "I stared at it like I was disappointed."

The kitten stared at her as if she'd just revealed a superpower. Then, remembering, "Wait. You do have superpowers."

The ghost floated back to the table and stared down at the collapsed foam. "You think we should still tell Mr. Small?"

Gumball looked toward his counselor again.

Mr. Small was now holding the tiny sweater up to the light, nodding as if it contained the secrets of life itself.

Gumball lowered his voice, shielding his mouth with one paw. "He's in a very delicate place."

Carrie sighed. "Fine. We'll dispose of it."

Gumball read the sheet again. "Ah Ah! It says 'do not pour down the drain.'"

Carrie eyed the classroom trash bin. "Well, we can't put it in there. Either."

Gumball's gaze drifted to the open window, his smile widening. "Or... We could return it to nature."

She turned her head toward him very slowly. "Uh, no. That's how horror movies start."

He sighed. "Right. Right, right."

They exchanged a look, the kind that said: We are both going to pretend this never happened, because this town punishes honesty.

The ghost flicked her hand, and the foam slid neatly into a sealed waste container like it was being escorted out.

Gumball exhaled in relief. "Whew. Crisis over!"

Carrie glanced at him. "Except now you're probably lightly traumatized."

Gumball stiffened. "What? Nah."

She didn't smile. "Just playing."

"You're enjoying this. You're enjoying my panic and suffering." He said, narrowing his eyes.

Carrie shrugged, her mouth twitching to a slight grin. "A little."

He shook the water off his hands, then adjusted his goggles again, returning to his usual rhythm. "Okay then, today's been extremely normal."

Carrie's thoughts drifted, not toward the foam, but toward the reason she'd picked him as a lab partner in the first place.

Not officially. Mr. Small had "randomly assigned" pairs, which in Elmore Junior High could mean anything from actual randomness to a pigeon dropping names onto a list.

But Carrie had been glad it was him.

Because earlier, when Darwin had looked at her with apologetic eyes and said he couldn't go, and explained the whole Anais-and-Daisy situation, Carrie had smiled and said it was fine.

It was fine.

It just wasn't what she'd wanted.

And now, watching Gumball wipe his paws with a towel like he was trying to erase chemistry from his life, she felt an old familiarity settle in.

He turned to her. "So what are you doing after school?"

Carrie glanced at him. The question was casual coming from him, and it was simple.

But her transparent chest tightened anyway, like her body was trying to remember how to have a heart.

"Nothing, really," she said, a bit quick.

Gumball's ears perked. "Nothing-nothing, or nothing like 'I'm going to stare into the dark abyss and the abyss is going to blink first'?"

Carrie's mouth curled into a smile, "Both?"

Gumball nodded like that made perfect sense. "Cool. Same."

Carrie tilted her head. "Same? Since when did you become all dark and emo?"

Gumball gestured vaguely. "Well, I was gonna go see that new movie."

She froze internally at that, but she kept her expression casual on the outside. "What new movie?"

The cat's face twisted with disgust and delight at the same time. "The Screamening 2. Apparently, the first one wasn't enough punishment for civilization, so now there's a sequel."

Carrie's hands clasped.

She kept her tone neutral. "Oh yeah, it came out today."

Gumball squinted at her. "How do you know that?"

Carrie stared back, as if she were obviously pointing something out. "I... keep track of slasher releases."

Gumball snorted. "Of course you do."

The ghost girl tried to maintain her casual tone. "I was going to see it tonight also."

"Really? I thought you were kind of over that genre already." Gumball mused.

Carrie shrugged. "Well, I still like watching people make terrible decisions."

The cat frowned. "But you hate people."

"I hate most people. But horror movie protagonists are different. I think of them as training wheels for stupidity." She corrected him.

The cat laughed. "Okay, yeah, no, I'd watch that."

Carrie tried not to look too eager. "So... go?"

Gumball blinked again, confused. "Huh?"

She stared at him, as if this was obvious. "Go to the theater. Watch the movie?"

Gumball hesitated. "Hm. I mean, I was going to go with Penny, but..."

Carrie lifted an eyebrow.

Gumball made a face, like he was remembering an embarrassing party. "But she told me her family's doing this weird Fitzgerald tradition thing tonight."

She hummed thoughtfully, "Hm, what is it?"

Gumball nodded solemnly. "She called it... 'The O'Fitzgerald Flame Step' or something? It's something that involves tap-dancing around a bonfire."

Carrie stared at him, expression flat.

Gumball held up his hands. "Don't look at me like that! Penny just said it was 'very important' and 'very cultural', and then she showed me a shoe she uses specifically for tap-dancing, and I got scared and stopped asking questions. I couldn't go with her anyway; apparently, it's blood family only. Besides, after going to her grandmother's birthday, I think I need a break from her house anyway."

Carrie paused for a moment, then let out a slow breath. "So you're free."

Gumball nodded. "Yeah. Also, Darwin and Anais are watching Daisy the Donkey tonight."

Carrie's eyes softened a fraction. "Yeah?"

The cat shuddered. "I don't want to watch that. I'd rather get chemically melted again."

Carrie glanced at the sealed waste container, smirking again. "Don't tempt fate."

Gumball looked at her. "So... you want to go see it?"

Carrie told herself to answer normally.

She told herself to stay cool.

She told herself she was a ghost, ancient and unbothered, and she didn't care about things.

She nodded once. "Sure."

The cat grinned, wide and easy. "Nice! But if it's bad, I'm going to complain loudly."

Carrie drifted toward him. "If it's good, I'm going to complain loudly."

Gumball took off his goggles, grinning. "Hmph. Now I remember why you're up there with Darwin." He said teasingly.

Carrie looked at him for one moment too long.

Then she said, "Meet at six? That's around when it starts."

Gumball bowed mockingly. "Yes, lord of darkness."

Carrie turned away before her transparent face could do anything embarrassing.

Behind her, Gumball added, "Also, remind me to drop out of chemistry."

Carrie scoffed at that, and, as if on cue, the sealed waste container gave one last tiny, offended squeak.

Gumball and Carrie both froze.

Then, without a word, Carrie flicked her hand again, and the container went perfectly silent.

Gumball whispered, "You see? Horror movie."

Carrie's voice was quiet. "Yeah."

Only she wasn't thinking about the foam anymore.

She was thinking about the fact that tonight, for the first time in a long time, she would be with just her best friend.

...

Carrie and Gumball had just exited the movie theater, the cold evening wind blowing into their faces as if to greet them.

The cat held a nearly finished slushie cup in one paw, and he tucked a candy bar into his pocket before going back to his film rant.

"Seriously, slasher has to be the most debatable and most difficult movie genre to take seriously. None of them makes good movies! It's just some stupid protagonist running into the worst possible hiding places just to move the plot forward! Do they even try?" Gumball complained, his ears twitching as he sipped the last of his slushie.

Carrie floated half a foot above the sidewalk, her hands falling lazily to her side. Her hair slipped over one eye in its usual curtain, and the little skull-with-wings hairclip sat on her head like a tiny warning label.

"I don't know," she said, voice flat. "I feel represented."

Gumball made a sound halfway between a laugh and a cough. "Huh?"

Carrie angled her head toward the streetlight, letting it shine through her like a flashlight through a bedsheet. "Think about it. If I were being chased by a serial killer, I'd definitely hide in a place that screams, 'Please kill me here.' Like a tool shed with exactly one exit. Or a room labeled Definitely Not a Safe Room."

"Except that's not a thing."

"It should be," Carrie said. "It would improve the genre. At least the protagonists would be honest about it."

Gumball spotted a trash can nearby, and he tossed his empty slushy cup towards it. It bounced off the rim and rolled away like it had plans.

He stared at it, offended. "See? Even the trash can has better survival instincts than those characters."

The cat started towards it to pick it up.

But Carrie didn't move. Telekinesis did the work for her. She held up her hand, and the cup scooted back as if embarrassed, plopping neatly into the bin. She made a tiny, satisfied hum, the closest thing she did to a smile.

Gumball turned back towards her. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"I didn't," she said. "I wanted to. I'm a force for evil."

"You're literally dating my brother," Gumball said, pointing at her like it was evidence in court.

"Well, even villains get hobbies," Carrie replied.

They started down the sidewalk, the town of Elmore spread out in its usual nighttime weirdness.

A billboard advertised a product that was just a picture of a taco with the word "YES" under it. Somewhere, a dog barked aimlessly at the sky.

Gumball walked with his paws shoved in his jeans' pockets, his arms hunched to his sweater against the cold, but his mouth was still doing that nonstop thing it always did: narrating existence.

"And don't even get me started on the music," he continued. "Like, oh no, the killer appeared, better play a violin screech so loud it shatters the audience's bones. Why not just have the killer enter politely and say, 'Hello, I'm the killer'?" he said in a mocking, elegant voice.

Carrie looked at him out of the corner of her visible eye.

Gumball's sarcasm came out like a reflex, quick and unfiltered.

It was one of the reasons she liked being around him. He made life feel less heavy, even when he was complaining about it.

"It's called atmosphere," Carrie snarked. "The violin is the spirit of the composer screaming from the afterlife because they're being paid in exposure."

Gumball snorted. "Okay, that was good."

Carrie smiled lightly and clasped her hands, like she was bracing against something.

Compliments from living people always felt... warm. Not physically, obviously. More like someone had placed a hand too close to a candle and realized, for a second, what "alive" meant.

Again, she was reminded that it had been a long time since it was just the two of them like this.

Most of the time, Gumball was always in shenanigans with Darwin. Or with Penny. Or in an entire chaotic parade of classmates who turned every hangout into an accident report.

Carrie liked those too. She floated through the chaos like a dark balloon at a birthday party, watching everyone bounce off each other and pretending she wasn't having fun.

But this time was different. It was quieter.

They passed the windows of Laser Video, the store Carrie and Gumball had once raided for horror DVDs like they were collecting cursed artifacts.

She remembered Gumball's face, all dramatic indignation, declaring that the scariest thing in the movie was "the plot."

He'd been so sure of himself back then. He still was, but now it came with more... dents. The kind you get from growing up in a town like Elmore.

Gumball glanced sideways at her casually. "You're being weirdly quiet."

Carrie raised an eyebrow. "I'm always quiet."

"No, you're like... extra quiet. Like you're buffering."

Carrie rolled her eyes. "Oh, sorry. My haunting software is out of date."

He grinned anyway, and the cold air fogged faintly in front of his mouth.

They kept walking and floating alongside each other.

A gust of wind blew at the trees, and the bare branches scratched at the sky. Carrie didn't feel cold or warm at any time, but she watched Gumball shove his paws deeper into his pockets, his ears flattening a little.

Without thinking, she drifted closer to him. Not to warm him. She couldn't do that. It was more like... proximity. A habit.

Gumball didn't move away. He never really did.

Which was, unfortunately, one of the first reasons she'd fallen for him.

Carrie let the thought surface like a bubble rising from a forgotten swamp.

I fell for him?

It sounded melodramatic, which annoyed her.

Feelings were supposed to be a private hobby you did alone in the dark, like listening to sad music and pretending you didn't like it. She was an "emo" by reputation, and she'd worked hard to be that brand.

But there it was, resurfaced.

Back then, she and Gumball had been close in a way that didn't need explaining. They were different flavors of the same problem. He was all frantic energy and big emotions, pretending he was above everything.

She was calm, gloomy, and showed small sarcasm, pretending she didn't care about anything. They met somewhere in the middle and called it friendship.

And the middle was where they found they had similar interests and worldviews. 

They were both into the same stuff.

Jokes, horror films, music, pranking. Telling people they're wrong in the most blunt and sarcastic possible, but doing it because they care.

She could never forget the first time Gumball had lent her his body so she could eat. It was before they really became close and shared their interests.

It was Darwin's idea, sure. But she knew that Gumball gave in because again, he cared.

And then she got... carried away.

When she first possessed his body, she not only got carried away with the junk food spree; of course, she didn't just possess his taste buds, but she could actually feel his thoughts. His worries. His conscience.

His mind showed that he had similar interests, which then gave her the idea to just talk with him after she had stopped doing junk food sprees in his body.

But the ghost also sensed his worries in his mind. The insecurities that were buried in the back of his head. 

She couldn't exactly read them because of how hidden they were. But she certainly felt them when she was in his body.

He acted carefree and outgoing all the time, so what was he keeping tucked under there?

And so with that, she wanted to know more about him, and thus, her best friend was now this snarky blue kitten.

Later, somewhere in this friendship, a small, inconvenient feeling had grown inside her.

It wasn't the obvious kind. It wasn't fireworks. It was more like a tiny lantern in a foggy forest, stubbornly staying lit.

She loved it when Gumball treated her like her ghostly nature was a unique part of her, and that alone was awesome in his view.

She loved how he treated her like she was normal.

Not "the ghost." Not "the dry creepy girl." Just Carrie. The girl who floated. The girl who could open portals and recite spells and still get invited to sit with them at lunch.

There was a comfort in that, being seen and not being stared at.

Gumball kicked a pebble as they walked. "You know what my problem is?" he said suddenly.

"That you complain about everything a film messes up on?" Carrie replied automatically.

He ignored that. "My problem is that horror movies think the audience is dumb. Like, yes, we understand the monster is behind the door. We have eyes. If the character opens the door anyway, it's not scary, it's just annoying."

Carrie's gaze slid to him again.

That's you, she almost said.

She wasn't referring to the dumb part, but the door part.

Gumball was the kind of person who opened doors he absolutely should not open, not because he didn't know better, but because he couldn't stand the idea of leaving something unresolved.

He could be cynical and snarky, but underneath it, he was still weirdly hopeful about people.

It was infuriating.

She found it kind of beautiful.

Carrie swallowed, though she didn't need to.

"You're quiet again," Gumball said.

Carrie's eyes narrowed. "Are you monitoring my brain?"

"Well, I can tell when you're deep in thinking because it feels like you're about to summon a demon or write poetry."

Carrie scoffed. "Those two actually go hand-in-hand in my world."

He laughed, and it was stupidly warm, and it tugged at that tiny lantern in her chest that she absolutely did not have because she was dead.

She saw how playful his face was. The way his ears perked whenever he was laughing, the way his tail swished as he kept walking.

The ghost would never say it out loud to him. But she can't deny it. She had always found him cute.

Sure, he was a cat, and most cats were always inherently cute. But she particularly found Gumball adorable.

She would pretend she wasn't looking at him intently by using her phone while he told a story, but she would use her visible eye to glance at him, admiring him.

A lot of the time, Carrie kept reminding herself that she wasn't supposed to be into cutesy things. But seeing the way Gumball grinned and flicked his tail only made her realize that she had to accept a part of herself she didn't know she would have to accept.

Blue fur. Ears. Little whiskers. Paws.

She couldn't help it; she brightened every time she saw or thought about his cute face.

Snapping back to her head, Carrie looked ahead, focusing on the sidewalk lines so she wouldn't have to keep looking at him since she could feel her cheeks starting to warm. Which wasn't fair because she wasn't supposed to blush, but she could anyway.

"You ever..." she started, then stopped.

Gumball's footsteps slowed a little. "Ever what?"

Carrie hated this part.

Not the part where you feel something. Feelings were manageable. You could lock them in a jar and label it DO NOT OPEN.

She hated the part where you might accidentally let someone else see.

Carrie's hand rubbed lightly at her shoulder, a nervous habit she'd stolen from the living.

"You ever think," she said carefully, "that maybe the reason horror movies are annoying is that... people don't act like themselves when they're scared?"

Gumball blinked, pondering. "Uh. Maybe?"

Carrie kept her voice level, but her words came slower now.

"Like... someone can be really funny. Or really bold. Or really... loud." She flicked her eyes at him for a second. "And then they get scared, and suddenly they're just doing whatever makes the fear stop the fastest?"

Gumball's expression turned thoughtful, then softened. "Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

Carrie nodded once, as if she'd proven a point.

There was a pause.

The wind hissed past them, carrying the distant sound of a car and the faint sound of crickets chirping.

Carrie said, very quietly, "I used to do that."

"Do what?"

Gumball didn't joke this time. His voice had dropped into something more careful.

She stared at the pavement.

"Try to make feelings stop fast," she said. "Before they... start running."

Gumball was quiet.

Carrie hated how easy it was to keep going once she started. Like the truth had been waiting behind her dead heart for centuries.

"I used to like you," she said.

It was so blunt that it almost sounded like a joke. Almost.

Gumball's steps froze for half a second, then resumed, slower. "Like... as a friend?"

Carrie gave a single, humorless snort. "We already did that part. I mean the other kind, you idiot."

Gumball's ears twitched. He stared ahead, mouth slightly open, as if his brain had stepped onto a rake.

Carrie continued before the silence could turn into a monster.

"It was a while ago," she said quickly, her tone quiet. "And it wasn't dramatic like you with Penny. I didn't write your name in blood or anything."

"Oh. That's... good," Gumball managed.

Carrie shot him a look. "Don't make it weird."

"I'm not making it weird! I'm just... processing things."

"Process faster."

Gumball let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I uh. Wow. I didn't... I didn't know."

Carrie's laugh came out sharp. "Yeah. That was the point."

Another stretch of silence.

Carrie's thoughts began to do an annoying montage sequence in her head.

The way he looked at her during class, sometimes when something absurd happened, like he was silently asking, Are you seeing this too?

How he still trusted her with his body to go on dates with Darwin, even though she was, objectively, terrifying those first few times with the junk food.

In fact, during the movie, Gumball allowed her to use his body to munch on some popcorn and sip on his slushie, trusting her that she wouldn't pig out again.

She remembered thinking, back then, that it would have been easy. To just... slide into the space beside him. To become part of his world.

And then Penny happened. Penny, with her bright and sweet steadiness, and the way she looked at Gumball as if he were worth the trouble. The way she made him want to be better instead of just louder.

Gumball had his eyes set on someone else.

And Carrie had watched that from the outside and felt something twist, but it hadn't been anger.

It had been acceptance.

Because she liked Penny, too. It was hard not to. She was also a close friend of hers.

And then Darwin happened for her. Darwin, who had so much softness and love, that it practically glowed out of his scales. Darwin, who looked at Carrie like her darkness was interesting. Darwin, who didn't try to fix her. He just... held her hand anyway.

Darwin reminded her of Gumball in a way; he, too, saw her and just... got her. The fish was outgoing and sweet, and... he was cute like his cat brother.

Yeah. She was attracted to guys like that, and she reluctantly accepted it at this point. Cute, outgoing, funny, and kind.

The difference was that Darwin had differing interests and a lot more optimistic worldviews, but Carrie found those to be an amazing part of him, just like how he saw her own to be amazing, too.

Like Gumball, she was attracted to the goldfish. She was attracted to both of them.

Gumball already had Penny, and so she chose Darwin because she liked him just as much.

Carrie had thought that would erase the old lantern she had for Gumball.

But it didn't.

It just changed it.

Now it was smaller, tucked away, and mostly quiet.

But nights like this, walking home from a stupid movie with Gumball, it flared up again like it had been waiting for an excuse.

Gumball finally spoke. "Did... did I do something?"

"What?"

"Like, did I do something that made you..." He waved vaguely, as if gesturing could untangle it all. "Stop liking me?"

Carrie actually smiled a little at that, because it was so painfully Gumball to assume this was about him messing up.

"Nah," she said. "You didn't do anything."

"Then why..."

Carrie exhaled, her breath not fogging.

"Because," she said, "I realized I didn't want to be the kind of person who tries to win a game no one agreed to play."

Gumball frowned. "What... the what is that supposed to mean?"

Carrie faced him.

His face was open in a way he didn't always let it be. His sarcasm had quieted, his usual defensive humor set aside like a weapon he didn't want to use right now.

Carrie's voice softened. "You had Penny, and I didn't want to make that complicated. And I didn't want to say something and make our friendship feel like it had strings attached."

Gumball's eyes widened slightly. "Oh..."

She held up a hand. "Also, you're incredibly stupid."

He made a face in mock-anger. "Hey!"

"I'm playing," she said, though her tone was gentle. "Mostly."

Gumball's mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

Carrie looked away again, staring at the darkened houses as they passed.

"I'm happy," she said, more to herself than to him. "I'm happy with Darwin. He's perfect."

Gumball nodded quickly. "Yeah. You two are... yeah, you're basically perfect."

Carrie hummed. "He's dumb in a different way, like he gets anyone but doesn't realize he does."

Gumball's laugh escaped, relieved. "Hmph. That's my brother."

Carrie's chest felt tight, and she was annoyed at that, too.

"And you," she added, "you're happy with Penny?"

The kitten's smile turned a little shy, which was rare for him. "Yeah. I am."

Carrie nodded. "Cool."

They walked a few more steps.

Gumball said, quietly, "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn't tell me stuff."

Carrie glanced at him, surprised at that.

He shrugged, eyes still forward. "I just... I don't like the idea that you were carrying something alone."

Then he snorted at himself, "Oh! Get it? Carrie? Like you were carrying something?"

Carrie scoffed at the corny joke, and she felt that lantern flare again, sharp and warm, and she hated it because it was sweet and she didn't want to be sweet. Sweet is just sappy.

"You're making it worse..." she muttered.

Gumball frowned. "How?"

"By being decent," Carrie said, like it was an insult.

He grinned. "I contain multitudes!"

Carrie laughed again.

She ended up subconsciously taking the long route back with him.

Carrie didn't realize it herself, but their path curved and wandered, avoiding shortcuts like they were allergic to goodbyes. Street by street, they stretched the night thin, neither of them ready to fold it up and put it away.

They finally reached the corner where their routes split. Carrie's manor loomed on one side, all gothic angles, while the Watterson house glowed warmly on the other, windows like cheerful eyes.

The streetlamp above them buzzed.

Carrie slowed, floating in place. Gumball stopped, too.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

The quiet sat between them, not awkward exactly. More respectful. Like they were both looking at something fragile and deciding not to poke it.

Carrie finally said, "So uh, now you know."

Gumball nodded. "Now I know."

She lifted her chin, slipping back into her usual deadpan demeanor. "And you're not going to make it a whole thing?"

"No, no, I'm not," Gumball promised, solemn as a wizard taking an oath.

Carrie narrowed her eyes. "If you tell Darwin, I will give you nightmares for eternity."

Gumball raised a paw. "I won't."

"If you tell Penny," Carrie continued, "I will haunt you and your descendants for eternity."

"I won't," he repeated, then added, "Also, I don't think I'm having descendants."

That earned a soft chuckle from her. "Honestly? True."

Gumball hesitated, ears twitching. "Can I say one thing?"

Carrie sighed. "If you say something embarrassing, I'm leaving my body behind."

"How does that-? You don't have a body?"

"Exactly," she said. "I'm leaving it behind anyway."

Gumball smiled, small and sincere. "...I'm really glad we're friends."

Carrie's invisible throat tightened in the most inconvenient way. "...Yeah. Me too."

"And for the record," he added, rubbing the back of his neck, "you're... awesome."

She stared at him, unimpressed in principle. "That was your one thing?"

"What? It felt important," he said.

She looked away, her cheeks faintly flushing ghost red. "Go home, Gumball."

"Okay, yeah. I'm going." He turned, then paused. "You too."

Carrie waved a hand like she was dismissing a servant. "I'll float dramatically into the night."

Gumball laughed and shoved his paws into his pockets.

Then Carrie cleared her throat.

"Actually," she said, as casual as possible, "before you go... can I... possess you real quick?"

Gumball looked up. He wasn't too surprised by the question, but he asked anyway. "Oh, for...what?"

"That candy bar in your pocket," she said. "I didn't get the chance to eat one yet."

The cat's face considered it, then shrugged. "Uh... Yeah, sure. Go for it."

"Okay," Carrie said. "This'll just take a second."

She slipped into him like a cold breeze through an open window.

Gumball's eyes rolled back, and he slumped slightly, completely unconscious.

Now Carrie was suddenly solid, and Gumball's eyes turned into that demonic form whenever she was controlling him.

She blinked and looked down at his hands. Actual, physical hands.

It was an odd sensation for her. She could feel his lungs and his organs moving inside. And she could still sense the lingering, insecure thoughts in his brain.

Carrie didn't reach forward into his mind. She reminded herself she wasn't a snoop.

She reached into his pocket and triumphantly pulled out the wrapped chocolate bar. "Jackpot."

The ghost unwrapped it and took a bite.

Her, er. Gumball's eyes widened when she tasted it. It was sweet, and she savored it before taking another bite.

After she finished the candy bar, she paused for a moment to just... be alive before she had to go back to feeling nothing.

Gumball's body was warm. 

And cozy.

She stared at his arms.

Her arms.

The candy bar wasn't the only reason she wanted to possess his body. She really wanted to see what it would feel like to...

Before she could overthink it, she awkwardly wrapped Gumball's arms around himself.

She had always wanted to do that to him, and this was her way of doing it.

It was soft and careful, like she was afraid the moment might crack if she squeezed too hard.

She rested Gumball's head briefly against his own shoulder, and she muttered a quiet, "Thank you."

She let go quickly, heart racing in a way she hadn't felt in centuries.

She straightened, wiped her face, then gently floated out of his body.

Gumball gasped and wobbled, steadying himself. "Whoa! Man, I never get used to that."

He then blinked rapidly, gaining his senses back. "So... you enjoy your candy bar?"

Carrie floated back, deadpanning. "It was... delicious. "Thanks for the snack."

Gumball smiled, "Yeah. No biggie."

He laughed and turned toward his street. "Alright. For real this time. Night, Carrie!"

"Night, Gumball," she replied softly.

Gumball put his paws into his pockets, and he swaggered down the road until he turned the corner and disappeared.

Carrie touched her hairclip lightly, then let her hand fall.

The old feeling inside her didn't vanish.

It was just... a ghost of a ghost.

It had loved him once, quietly, from the sidelines.

It had been young and stubborn and a little stupid.

But now it could rest.

Carrie exhaled, then pulled her phone from wherever she kept it. Her hand hovered over Darwin's name.

She didn't call yet.

Carrie just smiled faintly and started floating home, the wind moving through her.

Despite the night being dark. It felt... bright.