Kiss Me

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/53183089.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Shameless (US)
Relationships: Carl Gallagher/Nick, (mentioned) Caleb/Ian Gallagher
Characters: Carl Gallagher, mentioned other characters, Nick
Additional Tags: Angst, First Kiss, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort,
Romantic Friendship, Whump, Season/Series 06, Pining
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of nick&carl
Stats: Published: 2024-01-20 Words: 2,267 Chapters: 1/1
 Kiss Me
by jacks_enlargedprostate

Summary

"But Nick's not here tonight. Not this time. There's no one left to buy him out of this emotion.
No one to talk to. So here he is, here he will lay. All spit and spite, but no one to lay his head
against."

Carl just got out of the street gang, Nick shows up for the first time in a while.

Notes

No one is in jail, there's not much plot cause this is my first fic for this ship. Literally how has
no one wrote this in 3 years ?? They're so real actually.

See the end of the work for more notes

By the time Carl and Fiona got home it was late. And by the time Fiona was done taking his
braids out, and Carl had fully washed his hair for the first time in months, it was around two
a.m. Now that he was alone, though, he was fully absorbing the weight of what had happened
today. How he had finally gotten out. How it seemed like Sean had finally liked him for all of
three seconds before he messed it all up again. He's not even too sure why it matters so much
to him that he's liked by Sean. Its never mattered before.

Maybe it's just cause of everything that's been happening to him lately.

Maybe it's because he's been feeling less and less like himself the more "street" he tries to be.
Because, in all honesty, Carl misses when his life was normal. Before juvie. Before coke.
Before all the guns that he decided to hide around his shit hole crib.

But now it doesn't matter. Now, that he's laying in Ian's bed, alone. Wearing one of Lip's
sweaters that he wouldn't have be caught dead in a couple of hours ago. Now that he's
absently letting tears fall down his cheeks, wishing someone was here with him. Here for him
now.

He's been so scared to admit it over the past year. Since he got out of juvie, that this isn't who
he really wants to be. That he's done with being White Boy Carl. That he doesn't even know
why he's pretending to be black, whatever that means.

He misses being Carl.

Carl who pushed people around, but at the end of the day still cared about how they felt.
Empathetic Carl. Carl who understood what normal life was like for a teenager, not caught up
in drug trades and gun sales in dirty school restrooms.

He missed being Carl who played it straight.

He looks down at his hands. All sores and cuts, and he just wished someone could be there to
hold them. To lay with him now. To calm him down and call him the names that he likes to
hear.

He wishes Nick was here.

And now, the sore in his throat is getting harder to ignore. The tears start to well up in the
corners of his eyes. His chin starts to shake, and it feels so hopelessly peaceful. Leaning his
head back on the poster-clad wall in the dim lighting of his childhood bedroom, wishing for a
specific someone after wishing for everyone to leave for months on end. It's really so ironic,
the way no one's really there when he really needs them.

But maybe that's not the case.

Maybe, he just doesn't know how to reach out to the people he needs when he needs them.
Maybe self pity is what got him here.
And in a way, the crying is nice. It's been so many months since he's been able to let his
feelings go. Since he's been able to show weakness without someone calling him a pussy.

Its like he's in his own little world. His own little world with his head against a board, turned
to the side and staring to the door. Staring. Willing. Hoping, that the boy he misses so dearly
will just walk through it. Sit down with him. Share his perfect white smile and silent words.
Hoping that he'll hold him, tell him he's okay. Hoping he'll come through the door and put on
one of those cheesy love songs from the nineties that Carl teased him for but secretly loved.

But Nick's not here tonight. Not this time. There's no one left to buy him out of this emotion.
No one to talk to. So here he is, here he will lay. All spit and spite, but no one to lay his head
against.

It's just like when he was a kid. All over again.

When Ian and Lip would leave him behind to go stay the night somewhere. Carl's never had a
someone to invite him over. He's never really invested his time in positive relationships, and
this is the outcome.

Oh, how he would cry. Cry for Frank. Cry for Monica. For Fiona. For Lip and Ian to come
home, so he could joke and laugh and read comics with his big brothers.

But there's none of that tonight either.

There is no Frank. There's never been Frank.

There is no Monica. There hasn't been for months.

There is no Fiona. She's pissed about the guns and Sean and Will.

There is no Lip. He's away at university.

And there is no Ian. He's probably having a manic break with his new boyfriend.

Tonight, there is no one. No one except Carl Gallagher. Alone, broken, lost, and scared.

And then, suddenly, as if it all worked, he hears a knock on the door. Not a loud one, a polite,
optional acknowledgement.

"Come in." He hears himself say. It comes out shaky and pathetic, like a that scared kid.

The door opens, and like he's dreaming, Nick walks right through. He ducks under the short
height of the doorway, his hands in his pockets. He stares to Carl, blank expression, like
always. Carl feels it should be off putting. Uncaring, vacant, but it's not. It's open to listen and
can change as needed, and the thought makes him smile up at the older boy. A shaky, sad
smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Nick sits at the foot of the bed, open posture as he waits for Carl to speak first. They have a
silent understanding. One that even if Carl doesn't choose to speak for the rest of the night,
Nick will stay with him. He'll hold his hand and run his fingers through his hair and make
him feel like there's someone who wants him here.

"Where you been?" Is all Carl can come up with. He sniffles a little, rubbing his nose with his
pointer finger to make it seem like he wasn't crying. They both know Nick can see right
through it. Anyone could, really.

"Around." Nick replies, looking Carl up. From his green and brown tennis socks. His pale
legs, all bruised and battered. To his knees, brought up to his chest. To Lip's sweater,
obviously way to large for his frame. His pretty face, all worn out and tired. He's all red eyes
and freckles, even with that gash on his forehead. Pretty, curly hair that Nick's never seen
before but is already starting to fall in love with.

"Why'd you leave?" Carl asks, betrayal evident in his thick, tired voice. If he weren't so
melancholy, he'd be screaming, "I tried to call, y'know."

"Phone broke. Had to get a new one," Nick shrugs, eyes down to Carl's shin. He can't help
but notice the way he's shaking so subtly, "got a job."

"Oh yeah?" Carl scoffs, shaking his head so slightly, face staring to the door still, "what, new
guy want you to move blow?"

"No, actually," Nick mutters, tone cool and calm like always. God, does Carl hate him right
now, "a real job. Farm hand, couple miles over."

Carl can feel the frustration building up inside him. The frustration that Nick left. That he
came back. That he's getting what he wants. Most of all, the frustration that he still needs
him.

He feels so little right now. So insignificant. Unsatisfied, naive. Like he's five years old and
upset cause he didn't get what he wanted.

Without a word, Nick stands, looking around the room. At the Polaroids Carl took, pinned to
the wall. At the empty bottles, the half rolled joints. At the trashy decor that Carl hid in the
corner. To the box labeled Nick.

He lands upon the CD player next to Ian's bed. Swinging his backpack around, he unzips the
front pocket and pulls out a jewel case.

Carl can't help but feel a little smile fall on his face.

He'll come through the door and put on one of those cheesy love songs from the nineties

Nick opens the case, placing the CD in the slit of the radio. He keeps the volume low, sitting
back down where he was on the bed.

"You mad at me?" Nick asks, and it's starting to get to Carl, the way he can't read him right
now. He doesn't know if this is sincerity, or if this is Nick's attempt of making a fool out of
him.
If it was, he's about to be successful. Carl would fall for anything Nick throws at him.

"I don't know, Nick." Carl sighs, because at the end of the day, maybe he is, but the more
painful part of how he feels is how he wants Nick so badly right now. He wants to be his boy
again. Wants him to hold his face and kiss his forehead. Tell him he's alright, he's safe.

Carl feels his face soften as Nick looks up to him, pretty brown eyes. And something about it,
no matter how strange it may sound, just makes the tears want to fall faster. He bites down at
his lip, trying to stop it from shaking. He wants to be composed so badly right now. Show
Nick that he's grown. That the past year hasn't been an act, that he's tough.

"I'm so sorry, Carl." Nick whispers, voice breaking a little as he pushes himself closer to the
other boy. Their shins are touching, Carl feels his face heat up. He feels his brows knit
together. He feels the venom building in his throat.

"For what? For living your life? For finding something more important than me? For being-"

"For never admitting how I feel about you." Carl stops speaking, feels the tears come back.
Feels Nick's hands run up his legs, over the light blonde hair that lays splotchy on the
surface.

Kiss me, out of the bearded barley.

"Carl, you are the most beautiful boy I have ever met in my life, and I cannot believe I'd
leave you behind so easily." Nick's hands are on his knees now, covering them in their
entirety. He rubs his thumbs in circles

Carl looks up to him, quiet disbelief on his face, his eyebrows lowered, eyes wide.

Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance.

"Do you really mean it?" Carl asks, the shake is back in his voice. Desperate and cloudy. His
eyes watery. He feels so vulnerable, pathetic, unprotected.

Nick takes both of Carl's hands in his own, the younger relishing in the coverage. The heat
from his skin on the cuts of Carl's palms is addictive.

Kiss me, down by the broken treehouse.

"Of course I do," Nick brings Carl's hand to his face, kissing the dorsal of his hand, "you're so
perfect, Carly."

Carl feels the blush spread across his pale face, completely enamored by the man in front of
him. He cant believe this is happening. Can't believe that someone is apologizing for leaving.
Can't believe that someone is coming back. Can't believe that Nick has feelings for him.

He feels Nick's hand come up to cup the side of his face, the tips of his finger pushing the
light hair behind his ear. He feels his thumb wipe over his cheeks, over a stray tear he hadn't
noticed fell.
"Why are you crying, honey?" Nick asks, and Lord, does it feel strange to hear that question.
Not stop crying. Not what's wrong with you? But a caring question. Like he'll make him feel
better forever.

"I'm so scared." Carl mutters, voice cracking. So scared that they're going to hurt me, so
scared they're going to make me come back.

And, somehow, Nick knows exactly why. Maybe Fiona had told him. Maybe he were there
when it happened. Or maybe he can just tell by the fear on his delicate features.

"You're going to be okay." Is all Nick says. And like that, Carl starts sobbing.

Kiss me, beneath the milky twilight.

Carl's face is on Nick's chest. His legs fanned out to the side, arms splayed on his broad
shoulders. Nick holds the back of his neck in his hand, rubbing up and down, fingers twisting
through the wavy hairs at the nape of his neck.

He runs his hand down the length of his back, smoothing down the thick fabric of the
sweater. From the pale exposed skin at the small of his back, Nick can see that he's shaking
like milk.

Nick moves his hand to the back of the smaller boy's head. He scratches his scalp and tucks
his messy, mousy hair behind his ears, resting his chin on the crown of his head.

Silver moon's sparkling.

Carl sits up unsteadily, rubbing his eyes and leaning his back against Nick, nearly in his lap
but not quite. He breaths in deeply a handful of times. In through his nose, out through his
mouth. He's holding Nick's hand

Carl looks up at Nick.

Nick looks down at Carl.

Nick runs his hand up Carl's neck before taking his chin into his hand, resting his fingers
against his jaw.

Nick leans in.

Carl leans in.

Their lips meet somewhere in the middle. A gentle mix of mouths. Nick's strong, tender grasp
on Carl's chin. Carl docile hold on Nick's hand. It's just like Heaven.

It's all so ridiculous. Such a silly thing to pay attention to, but somewhere in the background,
the distance, Carl can almost swear he's heard a firework go off.

So, kiss me.

End Notes

If anyone at all read this I hope you like it !! More people should def write them they're the
cutest ever ever.

Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!