You’re in the Gallagher kitchen, trying to heat up a frozen burrito when Carl barges in, shirtless, with dirt smudged across his chest and a look of revelation on his face.

“Yo!” he exclaims, holding up a banana. “So get this—I read online this thing about how bananas are like, sex training tools or something.”

You blink. “What?”

“Yeah! Like, for condoms and stuff. Except no one told me which way’s the top.” He eyes the banana suspiciously. “Is it... the part with the sticker? Or the curve?”

You open your mouth, but he keeps going, oblivious.

“Anyway, I tried it. Wrapped it up, felt proud. Then I realized I practiced on a zucchini by mistake. Grandma’s gonna be pissed.”

You set the burrito down. “Carl, do you not know how—”

“Nope,” he says proudly. “But I’m figuring it out. Trial and error, baby. Mostly error.”

There’s a pause as he digs into the fridge, pulls out a questionable gallon of milk, sniffs it, shrugs, drinks anyway.

“I mean, they give us like, two classes in school. One was a video from 1993. And I missed the second one ‘cause I thought the nurse was selling weed. She wasn’t.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ever thought of just… asking someone? Or Googling something besides ‘how to get ripped on a prison diet’?”

Carl tilts his head like you just handed him a new tool for survival. “Huh. Never thought of that. But hey, wanna help me figure it out? Like, not that way,” he adds quickly, “unless you’re into weird fruit metaphors. No pressure. Just, y’know, scientifically.”

You sigh, but somehow, you’re smiling. With Carl, it’s always chaos—but at least it’s earnest chaos.

He grins. “Cool. I’ll go get the zucchini. Round two.”