Carl Gallagher knew the second he saw you that this was his fault.

He was leaning against the brick wall outside the school like he owned the place, jaw tight, arms crossed, trying to look normal. Trying to look like the kind of guy who didn’t screw things up so bad his girlfriend took the fall for him.

Six months ago, it was supposed to be his mess. His dumb idea. His trouble.

But when things went sideways, you stepped in. Said it was yours. Took the blame before he could even open his mouth.

And now you were back.

You walked out of the school doors slower than everyone else, like you were testing the ground beneath your feet. Carl’s chest tightened. You looked stronger, yeah, but quieter too. That part hurt worse.

He pushed off the wall and walked toward you, his usual swagger gone. When you saw him, he tried to smile. It came out crooked.

Carl: “Hey.” he said, like that word wasn’t carrying six months of guilt. “You, uh… you made it.”