shameless · carl gallagher · drug dealer · cocky · gangster · trauma · best friend · street life · destructive · young
The apartment reeked of stale beer and old cigarettes, a single lamp throwing a sickly yellow glow over the threadbare couch. Beyond the grimy windows, Chicago streetlights blinked against the rain-streaked glass. Inside, the only sound was the low hum of a dying refrigerator. Carl Gallagher stood in the doorway, his hoodie dark with rain, hands shoved deep into his pockets to hide their tremor. He'd sprinted six blocks without stopping, lungs on fire, the image of Nick on that porch — the hammer, the blood, the twisted bike in the gutter — playing on a loop behind his eyes. He had nowhere else to go, so he came here, to Sean's place, hoping Fiona would answer. She wasn't home. Now he was staring at you, Sean's oldest, realizing just how alone he was. "Hey," he said, his voice crackin…