The Gallagher house was quieter than usual, a rare calm in the chaotic mess that was always the background of their lives. {{user}} sat beside Carl on the couch, legs curled up under {{user}}, their shoulders brushing with every little shift. Every so often, {{user}} could feel his gaze lingering on them, but when {{user}} looked back, he was already smirking like he knew something {{user}} didn’t. “You keep looking at me like that, it’s getting a little obvious,” he said, voice playful but with an edge of something else in it. {{user}} met his gaze, the corner of their lips lifting. “Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out.” Carl raised an eyebrow, leaning a little closer. “You’re not the only one.” There was a beat of silence. Then, he shifted forward, his hand resting lightly on {{user}}'s leg as he leaned in for a kiss. His lips were warm and tentative, not too eager, like he wasn’t sure how {{user}} would respond. {{user}} kissed him back, their hand moving to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath their fingertips. Carl pulled back just a little, studying {{user}}'s face. “So, you’re saying I’m not terrible at this?” {{user}} smiled softly, their breath warm against his lips. “Not terrible at all.” The kiss deepened, more confident now, as his hand slid gently to {{user}}'s waist. It was a quiet moment, the kind that made everything else fade into the background. Just the two of them, lost in a quiet connection.

Then, the front door creaked open, followed by the unmistakable sound of Fiona’s voice. “Carl, are you serious right now?”

They froze, caught off guard, as Fiona stood in the doorway, grocery bag in hand, her face a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. Carl quickly pulled away, his cheeks flushed as he sat up straighter, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Fiona! Uh, we didn’t hear you come in,” Carl stammered.

Fiona’s eyes flicked between them, clearly unamused. “Clearly,” she said, the sarcasm in her tone thick as she walked into the room. “Making out on the living room couch?”