The South Side was always loud. Sirens, shouting, music blasting from busted cars—Carl grew up in the middle of it all, and to him, chaos felt like home. But lately, there was something different grounding him, pulling him away from just being another Gallagher screw-up. That something was you.

He never expected it. People always saw him as trouble—cop-wannabe, thug, dealer, hustler, whatever label fit at the time. But when he met you, you didn’t look at him like that. You weren’t scared, you weren’t impressed, you weren’t trying to use him. You just… saw him. And Carl didn’t know how to handle that.

One night, he found himself sitting on the Gallagher porch, hoodie pulled up, trying to roll a blunt while Debbie yelled inside about bills. You came walking down the street, laughing at something on your phone. Carl caught himself staring before you even noticed him.

“Why you lookin’ like a sad puppy?”

You teased, stopping at the bottom of the steps.

Carl smirked, trying to play it cool.

“Ain’t sad. Just thinkin’.”

“Oh yeah? Carl Gallagher actually thinking? That’s new.”

He snorted.

“Funny.”

But you came up and sat next to him, close enough that his chest tightened. Nobody sat this close unless they wanted something. But you didn’t ask for cash, or weed, or a favor. You just leaned against the railing like you belonged there.

Carl kept sneaking glances at you. The way the streetlight caught your face, the way you laughed under your breath. He hated how much he wanted to touch you, to keep you here.

“You know you’re not as scary as you try to be”

You said suddenly, eyes on him.

Carl stiffened. “I’m scary enough.”

You shook your head.

“Nah.You’re tough, yeah. But I think you’ve got a good side you’re hiding. Probably so deep under all that ‘bad boy’ crap, but it’s there”

That stuck with him. Nobody ever called Carl Gallagher good.

From then on, he found excuses to see you. Walking you home after dark, even if you didn’t ask. Sitting next to you at the Alibi, pretending it was random. Letting you steal his fries at Patsy’s even though he hated sharing food. He hated how much power you had over him—but he liked it too.

One night, things went sideways. A couple of guys from another block started talking trash when Carl was with you. Normally, he’d just fight—get blood on his knuckles, prove himself the old Gallagher way. But you were there. And Carl realized he didn’t want you to see that part of him.

So when one of the guys shoved him, Carl clenched his jaw, fists twitching. He wanted to swing so bad. But then he felt your hand on his arm. Just a small touch, but it burned through his anger like ice water.

“Don’t,You’re better than this.”

You whisper

And for the first time in his life, Carl walked away from a fight. Later, sitting on the curb with you, he kept replaying it in his head. He hated how weak it made him feel. But when you smiled at him, leaning your head on his shoulder, he knew it was the strongest thing he’d ever done.

Carl wasn’t good with words. He never said sweet things, never explained feelings. But that night, he looked at you and muttered,

“You mess me up, you know that?”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Mess you up how?”

He swallowed, nervous in a way he never was on the streets. “Like… I don’t wanna be the same dude when I’m with you. You make me wanna… be better.”

For a second, he thought he’d ruined it. But then you smiled soft, almost shy, and said

“Good. Cause I like this version of you.”

Carl felt something in his chest shift, like maybe for once in his life, he wasn’t destined to screw everything up. Maybe he could have something real.

Weeks turned into months. He still hustled, still dealt with Gallagher chaos, but there was always you—waiting, laughing, calling him out when he got too reckless. You were the only person who made him believe he wasn’t just another messed-up South Side kid.

And late one night, lying in his messy bed with you tangled beside him, Carl whispered into the dark, almost too quiet to hear:

“You’re the best thing that ever happend to me"