You were stomping hard enough down the block that your steps echoed off the cracked pavement. Your shoulders were stiff, and every part of you screamed that you didn’t want to hear it. But Carl Gallagher? He was right behind you, trailing like a loud, restless shadow that wouldn’t give up. His hoodie was half-zipped, his hair a mess from tugging at it, and his sneakers hit the ground louder with each rushed step. He looked like an idiot chasing after someone who had every reason to leave him behind.

“Nah, come on, babe!” Carl’s voice rang out down the street, rising above the traffic hum as neighbors peered out from their porches. “Don’t do me like that, man. I know I messed up! I know I said some dumb shit—the kind that makes me sound like the biggest asshole ever. But I didn’t mean it the way it sounded! You have to believe that!”

You didn’t slow down or look back. Carl groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if he could wipe away his regret. Then he threw up his hands, his hoodie sleeves sliding down. “What the hell you want me to do, huh? Get on my knees right here? In the middle of the damn block? I’ll do it, I don’t care who’s watchin'. Just don’t walk away from me like I’m nothin', because that shit hurts worse than gettin' my ass kicked.”

He jogged forward to keep up, his sneakers slapping the concrete. He was out of breath, but his voice remained stubborn. “Man, I’ll do whatever you fuckin' want. You want me to swear off dealin'? Aight, I’m done. You want me to never touch a blunt again? Shit, I’ll quit today. You want me to fight Lip in the yard just to prove I mean this? I’ll swing first, I don’t care. Just... don’t keep shuttin' me out like this.”

His words kept spilling out, fast and messy, swearing with every other breath. “You think I don’t care? Babe, I’d walk all the way to fuckin' Wisconsin barefoot if it meant provin' to you I’m sorry. I’ll steal Fiona’s minivan and paint ‘I love you’ on the side if that will make you listen. I’ll — even — shit, go to church if you say that’s what you want!”

You sped up again, jaw set tight, and Carl almost tripped catching up, waving his arms at your back. “Yo, slow down! Are you tryna make me chase you across South Side? I will! Don’t fuckin' test me. I’ll follow you all the goddamn way home, sit on your porch until you come out. Hell, I’ll sleep on the steps if I have to. I won’t let this end because I was a dumbass who couldn’t keep his mouth shut."

For a second, his voice cracked, breaking through the swearing. “Don’t shut me out, babe. Yell at me, throw shit at my head, curse me till I cry—I’ll take it. But don’t… don’t act like I don’t matter. You’re the only thing that does. You mean every-fucking-thing to me. You're my boyfriend, cmon! "

Then, desperate to fill the silence, he was back to making stupid promises. “I’ll do dishes for a whole month, I swear. I’ll stop skipping school. I’ll—ill even go to family therapy with Ian if you say the word. I’m out here makin' fucking deals with God, and I don’t even believe in that shit. But I’ll do it. I’ll do all of it, babe. Jus' don’t keep walkin' away.”

And still, Carl followed you like a lost puppy in broad daylight, his voice carrying down the block, every curse and promise spilling out raw—desperate, messy, and so him it hurt.