southside carl 4
pairings: carl gallagher x new neighbor!reader
synopsis: moving to southside wasn’t part of the plan, but it happened fast after your dad lost his job. what started as a boring summer turned into years of growing up alongside the gallagher chaos, becoming best friends with debbie—and something more complicated with Carl Gallagher.
cw: enemies to friends (to lovers??) angsttt, best friends, fluff, hurt/comfort
previous chapter | next chapter
Summer was supposed to be easy—lazy afternoons, midnight walks, gas station snacks, the kind of aimless freedom that made the Southside feel a little lighter for once.
But it wasn’t.
Not when Carl started pulling away. Not when the whole summer passed without a real conversation.
You thought it would end the way it always did—warm and hazy, the two of you chasing fireflies, daring each other off rooftops, laughing until your sides hurt. But this time, something had changed. He changed.
You didn’t know why. And God, you tried to figure it out. You cornered him on the porch once, chased him down the block another day, desperate for some kind of explanation. But every time, he’d brush you off—vanish like your presence was too much to bear.
It stung. More than you let on. So eventually, you stopped trying. And told yourself he probably just needed space.
Because you and Carl had always had your rhythm. Best friends. Partners in crime. He was the one who could crack a joke when the world felt unbearable, the one who knew when to talk and when to sit beside you in silence, hearts beating in sync.
But then came Kayla.
With her loud laugh, fake lashes, short skirts, and mile-long legs. She didn’t even go to your school, a dropout who hung around older kids. But suddenly, she was everywhere. Sitting on the Gallagher porch. Draped across Carl’s handlebars. Laughing at everything he said. Wearing his hoodie—the same one you used to steal on cold nights and pretend you didn’t care when he asked for it back.
You didn’t say anything. What could you even say?
That you were jealous?
That you wished it was you clinging to him on that rusted old bike? That you missed the way he used to look at you like you were the only person that mattered?
No. That wasn’t the deal. You were best friends. That was the line. And you were supposed to stay behind it.
So you stayed quiet.
You smiled too tightly when Debbie teased him about his girl, rolled your eyes when he said he’d be busy that weekend. When he stopped texting first, stopped waiting outside your door, stopped walking you home like it was second nature—you told yourself it didn’t matter.
But it did.
And it stung more than you wanted to admit.
You tried not to let it show. You tied to laugh it off, shrug it away like you hadn’t noticed the distance. Like you just hadn’t memorized the way his absence felt.
Late one night, you were curled up in bed, a half-read book resting in your hands, its words blurring into nothing. A flicker of movement outside your window pulled your gaze to the street.
There he was.
Carl.
Rolling his bike up the Gallagher driveway with Kayla on the back, her arms wrapped lazily around his waist, her laugh cutting through the quiet like glass. They looked like a picture.
You watched from behind the curtain, heart caught in your throat. They went inside together, Carl holding the door open like it was instinct.
You felt that pit deep in your stomach. That sinking ache you couldn’t name. And you found yourself wondering, Are they serious?
As far as you knew, Carl had never really been with anyone. Girls either got scared off by his reckless, half-wild charm, or he shut them down before they even got close. He was never the type to get attached.
But maybe this time was different.
Maybe she was different.
And maybe that’s what scared you most.
That night, you stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection like it might give you answers. You couldn’t help but compare. Kayla was taller, tanned, with long blonde hair that always looked effortless, like it belonged in some music videos. You tried to mimic her look, digging out old makeup and dragging eyeliner across your lids, but it only ended in smudged lines and frustration.
You looked like a raccoon.
You scoffed. Of course.
The last time you wore eyeliner, Carl had laughed and called you that. You swore you'd never try again. And now here he was, dating a full-blown raccoon girl? The irony was almost funny.
All men do is lie, you thought bitterly, rolling your eyes at your reflection. You wiped the makeup off with the back of your hand, more annoyed than you wanted to admit.
The next morning, you told yourself you were heading to the Gallaghers early because you wanted to invite Debbie to the local pool. That was the reason. Not Carl. Definitely not Carl.
But when you got there, Debbie was at the table, halfway through breakfast and spoon-feeding Liam. “I’ve got stuff to do today,” she said with a shrug, not even looking up.
You lingered anyway, trying to convince her—offering to help Liam, tossing out half-baked plans for snacks by the pool—but she was barely listening.
A voice suddenly chimed in from behind.
“Carl and I are going this morning. You can come with us if you want.”
You turned.
It was Kayla.
You fought the flicker of surprise crawling up your face, keeping it as neutral as you could. Slowly, you looked back at Debbie, lowering your voice. “Did she… sleep here?”
Debbie didn’t answer. She just glanced at the couch, then back at her cereal.
You sighed. Somehow, that didn’t make you feel better.
Rolling your eyes, you turned to Kayla, forcing a tight smile. “No, thanks. I can go by myself.”
You didn’t wait for a response. You didn’t need one.
Carl came downstairs. You didn’t look up, focusing on your pancake, pretending Liam’s giggles were more interesting.
Later, you went to the pool alone. The sun was high, the water loud with splashes and laughter. Across the pool, Carl and Kayla sat close, talking—serious and quiet. He never talked to you like that. With you, it was always teasing, grins, chaos.
You sat at the edge, legs in the water, watching them. Your stomach twisted. You sighed, slipped into the pool, and swam, trying to shake the feeling.
After swimming for a while, you climbed out of the pool, wrapping a towel around yourself. As you adjusted it, a guy around your age approached.
"Hey, I know you. You're in my social studies class," he said.
You looked up, recognizing him. "Dylan, right?"
"Yep. So... are you free later?"
You hesitated. The idea of going out didn't really appeal to you. But then you thought of Carl and Kayla, always together, always having fun. Why should they have all the fun?
"I think so," you replied. "Why?"
"There's a party at Glenn's. You in?"
You paused, then nodded. "Sure. Later tonight?"
"Cool. See you there." He offered a fist for a bump, which you returned with a smile.
As he walked away, you glanced across the pool. Carl was on the other side, watching you intently while Kayla chatted animatedly beside him. You scoffed, turned your back, and left.
That night at the party, you chatted with Dylan for a bit before he drifted off into the crowd. Standing alone, you felt awkward, surrounded by familiar faces from school yet feeling out of place. Seeking some air, you stepped into the backyard, where the party had extended.
Yellow string lights hung like lazy fireflies above, casting a soft glow. Couples were making out in the shadows, and the sight made you feel even more out of place. You sat on a bench, sipping a beer, trying to ignore the discomfort settling in.
You hated this feeling—feeling obligated to sit with emotions you'd been trying to avoid.
Your eyes wandered back to the house.
Carl, standing at the back door, drink in hand, watching you. You locked eyes across the space, the quiet between you louder than the music. There was something in his stare—recognition, maybe. Or regret. You weren’t really... sure.
Dylan suddenly stepped into view, cutting off your line of sight.
"Hey, I've been looking for you," he said with a smile.
You nodded, gesturing toward the lights. "It's nice out here."
"Romantic, huh?" he replied, taking a seat beside you.
You and Dylan talked for the rest of the night. He was honestly easy to be around. He wwas funny, thoughtful, and chill. There was a depth to him that made the conversation flow effortlessly, providing a welcome distraction from everything else.
The party had ended, and Dylan walked you home through the quiet streets. You walked side by side, the night broken by the occasional wail of sirens or the rumble of the El overhead.
It reminded you of Carl. He used to walk you home like this—shoulder brushing against yours, cracking jokes, throwing rocks at stop signs.
You frowned and scoffed quietly to yourself. Screw that prick.
“Hey…” Dylan said, pulling you from your thoughts.
“Huh?”
“Did you hear what I said?” he asked, looking at you curiously.
A wave of embarrassment hit you. He’d been talking, and you hadn’t heard a word—too busy spiraling back into thoughts of someone who didn’t deserve the space in your head.
“Sorry, I wasn’t listening,” you admitted with a small wince.
He smiled, unbothered. “It’s cool. It’s late anyway. You’re probably tired.”
“Yeah… a little,” you said as you reached your house. “But thank you—for tonight. I really enjoyed hanging out with you.”
“I’m glad,” he said, flashing a smile. “Get some rest.”
You smiled back, his energy still light even after the long night. After saying your goodbyes, you turned to head inside.
But then you noticed Carl’s bedroom window lit up across the street. The blinds were open, and there he was, standing in the glow of his room, looking straight at you.
You stared for a second, your chest tightening. He’d spent weeks pushing you away, pretending like you didn’t exist. And now that you weren’t chasing him anymore, he couldn’t stop watching?
You found yourself at the Gallaghers again the next night. Some sort of celebration—not that you knew exactly what for. At the Gallaghers’, even the smallest excuse was enough for a party.
The whole crew was there, Fiona, Lip, Debbie, Ian, V, Kevin and Carl. Even Frank, though he was already slurring and half-asleep on the stairs. The house buzzed with music, dancing, weed smoke, and laughter spilling through the rooms.
You stood in the kitchen with Liam, helping him with a plate of food. Despite everything, despite how distant Carl had been, this moment almost felt like things were normal again. He was on the couch with Lip, beer in hand, head tilted back in laughter. If this had been a few weeks ago, he would’ve been right here beside you.
You caught yourself staring. Lip must’ve noticed, because a moment later, he looked your way. You blinked and quickly turned, grabbing your drink and taking a long sip—grimacing at the bitter taste of the cheap beer.
Without a word, Lip appeared next to you and set a glass of juice on the counter.
“Don’t torture yourself,” he said, nodding at the beer. “Drink this instead.”
You took a sip. Yeah, it was way better. You gave a small nod of thanks.
Lip leaned casually against the counter. “You know, I never really got why you like him.”
You froze for a beat, then glanced over at Carl, who was now laughing at something Kevin said.
A sigh escaped you. “I feel like... one of those girls who used to chase after you.”
Lip smirked. “Girls chased me?”
“Oh, please. You know I've seen them.” You rolled your eyes with a laugh, and he joined in.
But then his tone softened. “Seriously… you’re better than this. Whatever Carl’s deal is—he’s being an ass.”
You looked down, pressing your lips together before offering a small smile. “Maybe. But… I know him. He must have his reasons.”
Lip studied you for a second, then sighed and gently ruffled your hair. “Alright, kid. Just don’t let him drag you down.”
And with that, he was gone—back to Fiona, leaving you in the kitchen with Liam and the hum of a house that never really quieted down.
...
