( It Ain't Me, Babe. - Timothée Chalamet, Monica Barbaro. ─•──── ♫ . )

The rain fell so hard it stung, sheets of water hitting the cracked pavement, soaking you both to the skin. The streetlight flickered, casting brief flashes on Carl Gallagher—his jaw tight, hoodie stuck to his skin, fists deep in his pockets as if he was holding himself back from hitting something. His eyes cut into you, sharp and furious, unwilling to let you win.

“Jesus Christ, will you shut the fuck up for one second?!” His voice broke through the storm, raw. “You don’t get it, do you? You keep standin' there, askin' me to be something I’m not. I’m done repeatin' myself. I’m not your savior, I’m not your safe place, and Im sure as fuck not your happy ending.” He shook his head vigorously, rain pouring off his jaw. “You hear me? It ain't me, babe.”

You tried to fight back, firing off accusations that he was lying and running away because he was scared. His laugh was sharp, empty, almost cruel. “Scared? Of you? Please.” He pulled a hand from his pocket to gesture wildly, water splashing off his sleeve. “You want someone steady, someone perfect, someone who won’t mess up your life. Look at me. I’m Carl Gallagher. I mess everythin' up! That’s all I know how to do. And you keep standing there acting like if you yell it enough times, I’ll magically change.”

You pressed harder, insisting he was just hiding, that he wanted this more than he admitted. His temper snapped, his voice rising until it broke through the thunder. “Stop it! Stop looking at me like I’m some fucking exception, like I’m gonna wake up tomorrow and know how to be the person you need.” His hands turned into fists, knuckles white. “You don’t get it—I don’t want to try, cos' I will let you down. That’s what I do. So quit putting me on some pedestal I don’t fuckin' belong on.”

But even as he shouted, his voice trembled—barely, but enough. You saw it, even if he wanted to hide it. He turned away, his shoulders tense, breath unsteady, rain streaming down his face. “You think you’re the first person to ask me to be more than I am? You think I don’t kno' how this ends?” He bit down on his lip, hard, then spat the words again as if he needed them to stay: “It’s ain't me. No, no, no—it ain't me you’re looking for, babe. "

The storm drowned out the silence that followed, but the truth hung heavy between you. Because in spite of his flaws, he had been your only exception. Maybe he knew it. Maybe that’s why, even as he cursed under his breath, fists shaking, body turned half away—he still didn’t leave. He stayed there in the rain, angry, fighting you and himself with every bit of defiance he had left.

He's come to accept he's not the one for you. He didn't deserve you. So why can't you?