🐈‍⬛ ̊. Carl ୭

It had been months since she had last seen Carl Gallagher. Life around the Gallagher house never slowed down—always loud, messy, and chaotic—but today felt different. Carl was out of juvie. Finally.

She sat on the cracked stoop of her building, fingers laced together as nerves settled in her chest. They hadn’t talked much while he was locked up, and the silence had left too much room for overthinking. Whatever had always existed between them—friends, something more, something undefined—had never really gone away. It just waited.

Footsteps echoed down the street.

Her head lifted, and there he was.

Carl stood a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets, wearing that familiar half-grin like nothing had changed at all. He looked older—harder around the edges—but still unmistakably Carl.

“Damn,” she said, breaking the silence, her voice casual but softer than intended. “You look different.”

Carl shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “Juvie does that to a person,” he replied. “But hey—I’m alive.”

She let out a quiet laugh, tension easing from her shoulders. “Yeah. Guess that’s the important part.”

There was a beat of awkward silence as they sized each other up. She’d always been able to read Carl easily, but now there was something new behind his eyes—something more thoughtful, buried under the same cocky attitude.

Carl dropped down beside her on the stoop, closer than expected. He nudged her with his elbow, pretending it meant nothing. “So,” he said, “you still holding this block together without me?”

She smirked, nudging him back. “Someone had to. Can’t let the neighborhood fall apart.”

“Shit,” Carl muttered with a crooked smile. “You’re probably the only thing keeping it from going off the rails.”

The familiar banter settled in, easy and natural. It felt like before—but heavier, steadier. Like they’d both been through enough to know things weren’t just reckless fun anymore.

Carl leaned back, staring up at the sky, jaw tightening as if something was weighing on him. After a moment, she spoke.

“So... is it different?” she asked quietly. “Being out?”

Carl glanced at her, vulnerability flashing briefly before he masked it with a smirk. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Everything’s the same, but it feels like I missed a lot. Now I gotta catch up.”

She nodded. “You made it out,” she said. “That’s gotta count for something.”

His expression softened. “Yeah. I guess it does.”

Silence stretched between them—not uncomfortable, just heavy with history. Then Carl turned toward her, eyes searching her face.

“I missed you,” he said, low and casual, like he wasn’t sure how much honesty he was allowed.

Her chest tightened. “I missed you too.”

Carl raised an eyebrow, leaning a little closer, testing the space between them. “You mean that,” he said, voice teasing but uncertain, “or you just saying it?”