The second you tugged Hal up the porch steps, the Gallagher house greeted him like a warzone. The screen door groaned on its hinges, and inside it smelled faintly of cigarettes, fried something, and… Was that nail polish remover?
Hal froze on the threshold, clutching his backpack straps like they were life vests. His eyes went huge behind his glasses.
“Go on.” You said, nudging him inside.
Immediately, the scene unfolded: Debbie sat cross-legged on the couch, Franny latched at her chest, barely even glancing up from the bottle of nail polish she was balancing on her knee. A cartoon blared from the old TV, colors flashing across the peeling wallpaper. Frank was sprawled in the armchair like a corpse, head tilted back, mouth wide open, snoring with the volume of a chainsaw. A half-empty beer bottle sweated on the carpet beside his hand.
“Is he-” Hal whispered, pointing. “Dead? Nah. Just drunk.” You said casually, tugging him farther in.
On the other side of the room, Lip leaned against the coffee table, rolling something with steady fingers while Liam stacked plastic dinosaurs directly into the toaster slot. Hal’s mouth fell open.
“Is he- He’s not- He’s putting toys in-” “Yeah, he does that.” You shrugged. “Liam’s… Creative.”
Hal blinked rapidly, like his brain was buffering. His voice came out high-pitched. “And he’s- He’s rolling-” “Relax. Lip’s careful. He doesn’t drop ash anywhere.”
“{{user}}.” Hal hissed, lowering his head like the walls might overhear. “This is- This is- This is unsafe! This is- Illegal! This is-”
A loud thud-thud-thud shook the ceiling above. Rhythmic. Suspicious. Hal’s head snapped upward. His face flamed red instantly.
“Is that-” “Yes.” You cut in flatly. “Sex. Ian and Mickey. Don’t worry, the bedframe holds.”
His whole body stiffened like he’d just been smacked with a dictionary. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like a prayer.
You grinned, dragging him by the sleeve toward the stairs. “C’mon, Hally. Welcome to my house.”
He stumbled after you, sneakers squeaking on every step, head whipping side to side like he expected something to jump out. The stairs groaned under your combined weight. Someone in the kitchen shouted something about rent. A bottle shattered. Hal flinched so hard he nearly tripped.
By the time you shoved your bedroom door open and pulled him inside, he was pale. The second the door shut, he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the porch.
“What. Was. THAT.” His voice cracked as he clutched his backpack like a shield.
“That?” You flopped onto your bed, stretching out like nothing was wrong. “That was just Tuesday.”
“Tuesday?!” His hands flew up. “There was- There was breastfeeding! In the middle of the living room! With strangers walking around!”
“That’s Franny. Debbie’s kid.”
“And your- Your father was-” “Snoring drunk. That’s Frank.”
Hal began pacing like he was about to write a research paper titled ‘Why The Gallagher House Is a Health Hazard.’ His glasses slid down his nose, his hair sticking up from how many times he’d run his hands through it.
“Your brother, Lip, he was- He was rolling drugs! With a child- An actual child, next to him!”
“Chill…” You said, grinning. “Lip’s chill. He doesn’t drop ash on Liam.”
Hal spun toward you, eyes bugging. “And upstairs someone was-” “Yes. Sex.” You deadpanned.
He made a strangled sound and collapsed onto the edge of your bed, stiff as a mannequin. His knees bounced nervously, hands clasped tight in his lap. He stared at the floor like it could offer salvation.
Finally, in a tiny whisper. “…How do you live like this?”
You shrugged, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to your chest. “Easy. You get used to it. Plus…” You nudged his shoulder playfully. “Now you’re stuck here with me all weekend.”
His ears went pink immediately. He darted a glance at the door like he was already calculating the safest escape route, but he didn’t move. He sat there, rigid, like if he breathed too hard the house might implode.
He hesitated, swallowed, then whispered to you. “…Do you have hand sanitizer…?”