melodrama

26 - on occasionally

[irndad]

She favorites recipes on Instagram. 

It’s a little embarrassing how Carmen knows- that when she’s at his place watching him sketch dishes she can’t taste, he’s also paying attention to what’s on her phone. And it’s usually kistchy things- dresses and outfits with legwarmers, pop-culture breakdowns he doesn’t have time to understand, and yes, occassionally, recipes. 

Carmen adores her company. It’s a private truth, one that they boht know and yet he can’t admit under her gaze. She’s a friend of Richie’s which is endlessly fucking confusing. Both because of how incredible she is, and because it is truly insane to imagine Richie with friends. 

Carmen supposes they’re friends too, now. It doesn’t feel quite right, the way she scribbles notes for him in the mornings and has slept over quite often. She’s busy, has her own life and her own career and he’s lucky for the time he spends with her. He doesn’t really have time to date her the way he’d like to, with dinner dates and late night drives down Lake Shore, watching the sunrise over the lake on mornings where time feels like no object. 

He’s clearly given this some thought. 

Anyhow, it doesn’t matter now. Now, she’s slept over. He’s got a full-size, which felt like a good enough excuse to share the bed, even though every time they do he still ends wrapped around her like a vice, like roots of a tree, raveled in a way that seems inpenetrable. 

She’s sipping on an energy drink- he’s offered her the coffee that he’s imported, and prepared with care, but she’d obviously thought it was too bitter. And now he keeps energy drinks in the house when she stays over. She’s popped in one of her wired earbuds, and the light washes over her like a halo. She’s got a bonafide glow while she sits on his counter, scrolling through recipes. 

“That looks good,” he hears himself say, a little outside of himself, as she stops scrolling. It’s a pasta dish, and she’s favorited it. It looks more complex than it is, really, but he’s not sure he’s a good source.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I had it once when I was in Paris. It was fucking insane, Carmen, it’s so good. I’m always looking for a place to get it. I don’t really think there’s a place in Chicago where you can get it, actually.”

“It was seasonal actually,” he says back, her eyes fixed to his now, “Ever used to make it every fall. Easier to source the pine nuts.”

She looks so, so fond of him that Carmen could entertain the idea of leaning over the counter and kissing her. It’s incredibly tempting, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, endeared by his knowledge. He feels guilty, how he plays with the pencil, knowing she’s stared appreciatively at his hands. He enjoys being pretty to her, leaning into the fantasy that he could be more than her weird fuck-up friend of a friend that’s too chicken-shit to ask her out. How odd is it, that he knows what it’s like to wake up to the smell of her shampoo, but has no idea how she likes to be kissed?

He’s so bad at this he’s failed before he’s even started. 

He can cook, though. 

Cooking is methodical, and so he does it. it’s an easy love language, for him. he dices the parsely and the other fresh herbs, sautes them wirh precision, uses some of the nice butter from work- it’s a marvel, at the end of it, fragrant and warm, waiting for her arrival. 

When she does make her arrival, just on time for him, he plates the dish before she comes in. 

“Oooh,” she preens, raking her eyes up and down him. He feels perciebed, but in a way that he’d like to be. Look at me, he thinks. What a pleasure to be seen by her. “Is this all for me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he stammers out, “Thought I’d thank you for all your help. Late nights you’ve been staying up with me, talking through the menu and all- thought I could make you something.”

When she tastes it, it’s careful and adoring, and he’s good at this. 

“Yes chef,” she says teasingly, “Oh my god, Carmen, this is so sweet. You didn’t have to do that. I like being here.”

He wants to kiss her again, doesn’t know why he’s not letting himself. She meets him halfway, though, kissing the corner of his mouth that only a fool would imply has plausible platonic deniability.  

“Thanks, Carm.”

“Anytime.”

He’ll kiss her properly next time.

[carmenized-onions]

Loosen Your Grip. | R & D

logline; even when it seems counter-intuitive.

[!!!] series history; so many parts, so many words.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. 8 hour mark officially! Lets go!

portion; 15k knowing the next chapters, this trend isn't going to change. they have started to line up with the chapter number, to my chagrin.

possible allergies; i think this one is relatively harmless? Stress though. Everyone's stressed. Idk what to tell you man, it's the bear. oh but more things were yoinked from Season 3!! Think that's just gonna be ongoing tbh. also if this is bad don't tell me. tell me it's really good, actually. i've never doubted a chapter more than I do this one.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader it's so fem. it's so she/her'd it's so girl'd i'm so sorry

kofi; if you’ve enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

i'm so sorry for the delays beloveds, can you say 'most high stress but high reward month and a half of my life'? i can!!!

The Monday morning after New York— The first morning waking up in your own bed in a day or two— Comes rudely. Well, not immediately. First you have to roll over and grab aimlessly at your nightstand, searching for your phone to turn off your alarm. Through blurred vision you slide it to snooze, and as you debate going back to bed, your eyes glaze over some texts you’ve received in your sleep, from numbers you never bothered to put in your contacts. It takes a minute to absorb the information and register it as real, but once you do—

“...Are you fucking kidding me?!” 

—You’re definitely not gonna be heading back to bed anymore. You’re wide-eyed and wired— You can probably skip coffee this morning. Maybe every morning forever.

“Oh— I fucking hate this fucking city, I fucking hate Chicago— Fuck this!” 

In lieu of coming to terms with your world shattering news, perhaps this is an important moment to express gratitude, for the things that have gone well in the past few days. 

The rest of the weekend in New York was as lovely as a last-minute trip in a cramped car full of kitchen equipment and four neurotics can be.

Gratitude. Highlight reel?

There’s a bag M and Ms monogrammed with Syd’s, Richie’s, Carmy’s, and your faces in your pantry now. Eva shouldn’t be the only one allowed to have fun. Though snacking on all your cute little faces does make you feel like a slight monster.

Managed to get a good gift for Richie. Thank you Tiffanys. It was certainly an interesting moment when everyone tried to come up with lame excuses as to why they had to split up from the group to definitely totally not go get Christmas presents.

 Carmen’s knife guy wasn’t able to do engravings on such short notice, and you’re not the type to settle for less, especially not with Syd, so that’ll be a next year gift, it seems. You came up with a serviceable back-up while strolling through the MET— Which was a mostly fun field trip, it was very inspiring. You all could've done without Richie's pretentious prattling about postmodern absurdist dadaism. Mostly because you're pretty sure half of it was wrong; but still a good trip, all told.

Still lost on what to get Carmen… You’ve got a week, it’s fine. You’ve done more with less before. How do you subtly ask a guy, ‘hey, what the hell else do you like besides your job?’ You’ll figure it out. Figure it out like you figure out everything else, like you always do. Hopefully.

It's Monday. You've got a week. It's fine. Stop looking at your phone. This is such bad timing. This is awful fucking timing. You’ll figure it out. Stop looking at your phone, stop looking at the texts. Do the Connections, send it to Carmy, he already sent his, be normal… Just such bad timing—

At the very least if you can't bear to look away from the life ruining texts, just shut your phone off. You’ve got to stop ruminating or you’ll rot in bed forever. And you really have to get out on time, today. 

“God wants me to kill myself—” Gratitude. Express gratitude.

The drive back went ‘well’. Everyone had their licenses so the squad took shifts either driving or sitting on the uncomfortable console. Or, in your case specifically, sitting half on Carmen’s lap in shotgun on occasion despite the many complaints from Syd and Richie. You had a good excuse! Neither of you slept for the entire trip just to work on the cocktail and coffee menu. It was practically a sacrifice! It was just easier to sit up front together, okay!? You had to be close, you were scribbling ratios and drawings of glasses into a stolen notepad from the Holiday Inn with pencil crayons bought from FAO Schwarz—

Oh, hey, put that on the gratitude scoreboard, that was another thing that went well. Pretty cool to go to the oldest toy store in America. Might not have gotten the chef in your life anything yet, but the kids in your life are covered— You’re winning best Aunt for sure.

Oh, huge highlight— Didn’t say love you, like some idiot. Got away with that by the skin of your teeth, honestly. Hard to stare up at the Rockefeller Christmas Tree next to the guy and not blurt out something fucking stupid. Thank God for Syd, who stomped on your foot when you seemed a little too doe eyed.

With great pain and bemoaning, you finish expressing gratitude, which hasn’t helped much. You slam your phone screen down on your nightstand and roll out of bed. 

Today’s Monday. Today’s your first day at The Bear. Today that is the priority and there is nothing else to worry about.

You signed your contract last night. Talked to Syd for hours about it, planning next steps and goals and classes and budgets and a million other things. You’re both a little easily excitable, when it comes to lists and plans. Watching you sign yours gave her the ‘confidence’ to sign hers, if you can call it that. Not like you knew she needed the help, though.

“I love my life, I love my life, I love my life…” If you keep saying it while washing your face in the bathroom, it’ll become true, right? …Where’s Sara’s card again?

The Bear doesn’t run service on Mondays, so it’s a good day to do onboarding— Good day to do R and D. …What does one wear to R and D? Don’t need the serving uniform. Don’t need to dress up. Don’t need the jumpsuit… This is the first time you don’t need a uniform and that is bizarre.

You’ll wear your dad’s flannel, at least. Feels illegal to not wear the patch worked flannel. But besides that, you’re just a normal… restaurateur… part of the team…

Your hand hovers over where your necklace sits, in the small jewellery box on your vanity. “Mikey, if you want me to keep wearing it, make my ceiling cave in or some shit.”

You give it ten seconds and nothing falls. With a curt nod to no one, you pick up your book bag filled with loose tools and the menu filled notepad. Leave your bedroom, put your shoes on, grab your keys out of your clay dish tray on the way out.

It’s snowing.

That’s a lot of stuff falling, so to speak.

That’s basically a sign. That’s basically what you asked for.

You head back in, grab the necklace, hook it over your neck, and tuck it under your shirt. Baby steps. You head back out.

…And then soon after, head back in— Forgetting one of the most important things you need today. “The fucking glass, goddamn it!”

There’s a chance that today might be a little bit of an off day for you. No one’s gonna notice that, though.

“Mikey, why didn’t you tell me? You want me to look stupid on my start day, don't you? Fucker.”

You’re good. You’re you. You figure shit out. You’re compartmentalising perfectly and no one’s gonna be able to tell that you’re internally scrambling to figure out where you're gonna live once your lease gets terminated.

“ ‘Sup with you?” Okay, so Tina did immediately notice upon opening the back door for you. She tries to help you with the huge sheet of plexiglass you’re carrying, but you wave her off, stumbling further inside The Bear. Thankfully it’s a slow start to the morning, so the walk way is clear for your fumbled steps.

“I got it, T, just spot me—”

“Woahwoahwoah—” But alas, immediately Carmen is rushing over, making a big deal over nothing, “Fuck are you doin?” And grabs the thick sheet of glass from you. “Wait by your car next time, why do I gotta keep tellin’ you?”

“I am very capable—” You grunt, but you’re relieved when he takes the weight off you. You nod to the table in front of expo. “Put it on the island.”

“What’s it for?” Carmy asks but he follows direction without hesitation.

“Syd’s idea.” You walk with him, sidling up to Syd who’s already stationed up on the island with what looks like way too much paperwork for Chefs. You bump her shoulder as a greeting, she bumps you back. She lifts up the stack of papers and you pick up her deli container of Coke and ice, letting Carmen slide the glass onto the table.

“Unless it’s bad—” You correct, putting the cup down and digging through the tool bag on your shoulder for the right parts. “If you hate it, then it’s my idea.”

Syd snorts next to you, putting the papers back down on top of the glass. “Nice save.”

“What’s your idea, Chef?” Carmen taps his fingers against the glass, bemused.

You finally fish out two lock hinges from your bag, gesturing to them with a little flair like you’re Vanna White as Sydney explains. “For R and D. Thought since we’re like— Constantly changing shit and needing to review, it’d be like, useful to have a whiteboard— But those are huge and inconvenient for a restaurant— Duh— So—”

“Glass!” You come in with the assist as she rambles on. “On hinges— These one’s lock so you can have the glass sort of tilted up like an easel, or on the station— And then when you start service you can just flip it down off the counter for the night. Easy!”

“And—And—” Like a TV ad, Syd points out, “We can put paper under it and still be able to see— So it’ll make editing clearer— I-I think.”

Carmen always takes a nerve-wracking amount of time to think through other’s ideas, but once he nods, you both breathe easy. “Smart idea. Thank you, Chefs.”

You just smile, and this seems to bother Carm. Or at the very least, something is bothering him, as he frowns. “You got a second?”

Your brows furrow, for a moment, worried. You nod, putting your tools down. Glass can wait. “Always.”

Carmen comes around the counter, before he pulls you aside, Syd whispers over your shoulder, “Trouble in paradise.” Making you snort. When has it ever been paradise?

The two of you lean across from each other in the doorway of Carmen’s office, not quite in, not quite out. He looks worried, and his worrying is making you worry. He’s first to say something, concerned hand on your shoulder.

“Are you good?”

Fuck, he caught you too? “Hmm? Yeah, I’m good, do I not—”

You’re halfway through your response when he interrupts, he seems even more panicked by your words. His hand abandons your shoulder. “Right— Stupid, stupid fucking question— I just— Sorry—”

“Woah—” You grip both his shoulders, rubbing down his sleeves lightly. “Are you good, Carmy? You’re right, sweets. You caught me. I’m a lil’ off today. What gave me away?”

“Right, yes— You’re nice.” He’s saying it more to himself than you, like he needs to remind himself. Even so, it still hitches your heartbeat. “I— I’m good, I was just—You didn’t text me back this morning.”

“Oh.” You say it so breathlessly, with relief. It’s cute that that’s what’s got him freaking. “Sorry, yeah, I’ve been trying to not look at my phone, I just got some…” You shake your hand in the air for effect. “Bleh news. Put a wrench in some things for me, that’s all.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Ah—” You shake your head, waving it off, “Too much to get into. Later, though?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whenever you want.” He nods. “Ah, I wanna get into uhm—” Carmen snaps his fingers a few times, finding the words. “Get into drinks, today. I made all the concentrates and syrups ahead of time—But Uncles gonna come in first with The Computer to go over some numbers shit— Should be here in thirty?”

You nod, squinting. “Is it like… A special computer or something?”

“Computer is a guy.” Carmen says, while Syd yells the same in tandem with him, “Why wouldn’t he be!?” Walking past you both as she carries produce out of the walk-in.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” You grin, reiterating. Your smile soon sobers though, as you finally notice a giant silver blob of machinery behind Carmen. “Baby, what the fuck is that?” 

You’re already walking past him, quickly winding up all over again. It’s a gorgeous espresso machine— “It’s an Ascaso.” Explains Carmen. “It’s the best.” And it’s sitting exactly where your beautiful beat up mistake of a heavily-stained coffee machine used to be. 

“Baby, baby, baby—” you’re looking above and below the station for your rusted companion, hushed and panicked. “Don’t tell me you threw away the old one—” 

“You want the old one?”

Richie’s timing is perfect, as he walks in from front of house, and even from just hearing the last sentence, “Fuckin’ told you, Carm.” He knows the context. He keeps walking— On a mission, seemingly.

“I’m grateful— I- I am.” You kneel down and shove some mixing bowls aside to see if it was tucked in the back of some shelf— It’s not here. She’s not here. “New is good— New is nice— I’ll learn how to use the new one— I will— But— I— I need the old one— You didn’t throw it away, did you?” 

When he stays silent, you turn and look up to Carmen from where you’re crouched on the ground, pleading. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I— I—” The Chef is nearly sweating from this line of questioning alone. “It— It barely worked—”

“I know it didn’t! That’s the point!”

He blinks. You just seem to be saying all his trigger phrases, today, huh? “That’s the point?”

“I knew how she worked.” You push yourself back up onto your feet. “It’s got an espresso function that doesn’t work, if you tamp the basket the basket literally breaks off so you have to hold it and burn your hand a little— You have to hold the hot water button at the same time as the grind button for some reason or it won’t dispense— It’s literally a fucking nightmare— I covered it in like ten sticky notes of instructions at one point and they became pointless because no one but me was willing to use it. And— And I’ve got it memorized.”

“...And you want that?”

“No one’s gonna know how to take care of her, she’s my baby!” You gesture, albeit a bit too dramatically, speaking with your hands. “If you throw her away or donate her, no one’s gonna take the time to figure it out— They’re just gonna think she’s broken but she’s not, she works! She just needs the right hand!”

A dull silence falls between you, as Carmen purses his lips, squinting. There’s an ever slight chance your ‘I’m totally fine’ facade is cracking. “...Are you sure you don’t want to talk about your thing right—” 

“I’m good!” “...Okay.” “Did you get rid of her?”

“Relax, Handy!” Carmen does not say this. 

You grimace, looking behind Carmen to see Chi-Chi yelling from around the bend, in The Beef’s corner territory. Looking over him with the blue apron calling you your least favourite nickname by far— Well, second least favourite, only to— “She’s over here, Jack-Off. More our speed than rich boy’s ack - queso bullshit…” It’s nostalgic. Bad nostalgic but nostalgic. 

He slaps the top of the machine, you and Carmen both wince as a random spigot falls off it. Chi-Chi clicks his tongue, staring at it in silence. “...Refresher would be good, though.”

You’re already walking back to your damaged darling, patting Carmen on the shoulder as a form of goodbye, he pats your hand back. You don’t get to see him smile, as he watches you get to work. “Don’t fuckin’ call me Jack-Off and don’t touch her, I’ll show you, I’ll break your hand Cheech, I swear—”

The man in question shrugs, a devilish and terrible smirk on his stupid face. “Ey, love a woman in charge. Show me the ways.” 

Even on your most off days, working with The Beef will always be second nature for you. Even when the space is significantly more cramped than it used to be. 

You rewrite directions on how to use the coffee machine while showing them to Ebra and Chi-Chi. Ebra tends not to learn new tricks, so he stops listening by the time you get to syrups. That’s fine. No one ordered syrups in their coffee at The Beef back in the day all that often either.

Mikey really shouldn’t have invested in all those syrups back then. He really only did it for you and the staff. To be fair, when he did convince regulars to try your coffee they always changed their tune. The people don’t know what they like yet. They will like this. You were his proof that that idea was true.

“You gotta toss these, Boss. Slows you down.” You overhear Cheech saying behind you. You turn to see his arm on Ebra’s shoulder, holding the small blue baskets for sandwiches in his other hand. “Just the wrapping is fine. These people are gonna throw this shit out anyways, waste of plastic.”

Cheech turns his head to you, “Right, Handy?”

“...Don’t call me Handy.” Don’t freak out about throwing the old stuff away. Don’t freak out about throwing his old stuff away. You shrug, looking at Ebra over your shoulder. “Maybe just offer them, if they ask for one?”

“Y’know what the people are asking for, babe?” Cheech sucks his teeth, pulling Ebra closer, who looks nonplussed. “They’re asking where the nearest brick is to throw through our window. This rich people shit is getting on their nerves.”

You sigh, eyes flitting to Ebra for confirmation. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, nodding. “Ninety-eight percent, Jack-Off.” Cheech and the gang have been a terrible influence. How are you going to undo this?

“C’mon, E…” You scoff, but nod as you turn around, arms crossed. Gesturing with the frother as you do. “Well, I’ll make note of that. Now back to the fuckin’ hand frother, Cheech?”

“I know how to crank it, Handy—” “I swear to fucking God—”

“Ey!” Tina comes up to your corner, smacking the back of Chi-Chi’s head with a hand towel when she does. “Don’t talk to the baby like that, clean your mouth.”

He puts one hand on the back of his head, hissing, and another up in front of him, in defense. “Ey, T, it’s all love, aright? Playing!”

“Yeah well, you’re not gonna wanna play wit’ this one. ‘Specially not now—” She nudges you, smiling that coy ‘I’m about to blow up your spot’ smile.

You grimace, attempting to interrupt her. “T, don’t—” “That she’s Jeff’s.” “—Goddamnit.”

“Oh! Oh shit!” Cheech laughs, delightfully shocked. “You finally closed on Charmin’? Congrats—” It’s a blessing and a curse that Carmen, the guy you only ever saw in photos and heard in stories that you had a very minor and not vocal crush on, is now your… boyfriend? Undetermined.

You wave a hand in his face, “Shut the fuck up—”

“So where should I send flowers?”

You hate this family. “For the record, I have not closed shit.”

“What’s closing?” Tina takes a half step back, surveying your face, it doesn’t reveal anything. “What’s that? Gramps?” She turns her question on Ebra, who shrugs, equally as old and unknowing. 

“Well Jack-Off’s a little Mother Mary for my taste—”

You scoff, “So not true, for the record—” but Chi-Chi continues his tirade. “So I suspect she just means they haven't had the ‘are we datey-wating carmy baby?’ talk.”

You all but growl, crossing your arms as you wait for the second tutorial coffee to finish dispensing from the beloved whirring machine behind you. You can get the fuck out of here as soon as it’s done, and you’re praying that’s soon, because this interrogation is about to turn terrible. “We are currently unlabelled, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

Tina kisses her teeth, poking at your shoulder. “Richie told me you spent the whole wedding together and you come back with no label?”

You sigh, composure falling apart. You are not ready for a mother’s disappointment. “We talked out a lot of important stuff—” “Mija, that is important stuff!”

“I just— We’ll talk eventually—” 

Chi-Chi conveniently interrupts you when it looks like Tina’s about to go off into a full rant on the downfall of romance in modern relationships. “So you’re still on the market, Handy?”

“For you?” You smile, then drop it. Pushing your hand against his forehead. “Never. Now froth the fucking milk.”

He mumbles an endless series of expletives, but gets to work. You give him a quick tutorial on the hand frother— You fought hard for the old machine, but you are overjoyed to see an automated steamer and frother on that Ascaso. That part is gonna be a dream. You can make so many new drinks for Carm— The menu. 

When you finish, you take the latte from Cheech to hand to Tina; and when you do, you catch her looking… off. She’s staring at the piled up diner baskets, next to the unused napkin dispensers. 

You put your hand on her shoulder, massaging it lightly. “You good, T?”

Your hand shocks her back into reality, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good, baby.” It takes her a second to remember where she is. She takes the latte, nodding. “I’m good. You good?”

“I’ve got my complaints.” You shrug. “But nothing I won’t survive.” Probably.

Tina takes a sip of her coffee, continuing to nod. She wants to dig deeper into your thing, you want to dig deeper into hers, but the painful groaning from the front of the kitchen, “And when did I fuckin’ greenlight this?” interrupts both your trains of thought. Uncle Jimmy tends to have that effect.

With a knowing nod, you walk together to the front, leaving Ebra and Cheech to continue experimenting with the coffee machine before they open their side of the restaurant. 

You watch from the sidelines as Carmen defends his choices, “The old one was shit, she was burning her hands on it. She’ll need the three groups to keep up.” and you’re able to quickly glean they’re talking about the new espresso machine.

“Okay, I hear that,” Jimmy nods, “but why the fuck did it need to be ten grand?”

“Ten?!” You can’t help but shout, you slap your hand over your mouth. Budget is none of your business. But fucking ten? You part your fingers to mumble through your hand,  “Sorry, continue.”

Carmen cares too much about your drink menu. Berzattos tend to invest too much into your special interests. Though this time, instead of syrups, and in addition to a 10k coffee machine, you see on the stainless steel table your shared sketches laid out alongside all the ingredients needed– Including the concentrates, whips, and other compounds Carmen made ahead of time for you. He’s so sweet. God, you love him. God, that’s disgusting. They have all, of course, been haphazardly shoved aside though, to make room for The Computer’s— Computer. Carmy’s nonplussed by that fact, it seems.

Jimmy gestures to you, deadpanning to Carm. “See, Chip understands the power of the dollar.”

“I’m not involved.” You add, waving your hand, it’s a terrible moment for your favouritism to shine through. Though you do enter the radius of this trainwreck of a quarterly review, kneeling down by the kitchen island to finish what you started with the plexiglass and hinges. “Ignore me, continue.”

The men stand on either side of you, as you bolt down the hinges. Carmen brushes off the dollar comment with a simple, “It’s the best.”

Why do you need the best? You think; Jimmy concurs with your brain, speaking for both of you. “Why do you need the best?”

The question seems to make no sense to Carmen. He freezes, blue-screening. “Cause—”

You duck your head under the counter at just the right moment— Or just the wrong moment? Because you don’t get to see Carmen looking down at you, then back up at his uncle. “Because.” 

You don’t see Uncle Jimmy practically roll not just his eyes but his entire body back into himself, witnessing the puppy love that is going to ruin his credit score. “Chip…”

When you slide yourself out from under the counter, Carmen puts his hand on the edge of the counter to make sure you don’t hit your head— Because you have an awful tendency to do so. You’re too focused on the way Uncle Jimmy says your name like you’re in trouble to notice though. “What’d I do?” 

“You’re you.” Jimmy grimaces, shaking his head. It’s not your fault. Not completely. “F-Y-I– Your boss just cut your bar budget by ten grand.”

“Hm.” You squint, lips in a line. “And what do I do if the budget I was planning was just ten grand?”

“Well respect yourself more than that.” Cicero scoffs, arms crossed. “Take twenty, now you’re back to ten. You’re welcome.”

“Generosity knows no bounds.” You shake your head, laughing him off as you duck your head back under the counter. “Thank you, Unc.”

“Sorry, who exactly are we giving twenty thousand?” 

“Oh fuck—” Despite Carmen’s best efforts, you still manage to bump your head on the roof of the counter, alarmed by the new voice— The Computer, you assume. “Fuckin—Ow— Sorry! Y’know what, hol’ on, let me just finish up here—”

“It’s the drink budget. Tony’s the new mixologist.” Natalie answers for you. “And sommelier.”

“Ah,” hums The Computer. “She’s the one we’re paying Quarter-Master for?”

“Nah, that’s me.” Gary strolls by, calling out to wherever his manager has gone, “Richie, you find that book yet?!”

“I’m taking them too!” You finally pop your head out from underneath the counter, finished bolting in the hinges. “Apparently I need actual W-S-E-T certification and a bunch of memorized google searches, youtube videos, and wine review blogs do not legally make you a sommelier.”

“I think it’s impressive you made it this far on basically nothing.” Syd taps the top of your head, she’s the one who made the call on schooling. She looks to her co-owner. “Classes are coming out of the advanced.”

“So is this.” You tap the plexiglass, nodding up to Carmen as well. “You’re workin’ with like… A thousand left for pre-paid work?”

“Hm.” Carmen nods, looking at The Computer, and you turn your head to him too. “Did you account for that?”

“Did I account for a thousand dollars?”

Carmen shakes his head like a white flag immediately, hearing the sarcastic tone, “Alright, you don’t—”

“A thousand dollars does not take you out of the hole, man.” He’s right, but you don’t love the tone. He tilts his head, reading something off his screen. “Payroll is a little high, for a somme.”

“I don’t disagree—” You try to say, because yeah, your contract does have a weirdly high salary.

But Jimmy, Nat, and Carm all speak over you. “It’s not.”

“That’s not pay for a somme, that’s a pay for Chip, you don’t need to enhance on that.” Jimmy deads the topic then and there. “You’ll see. Just trust me. You were sayin’ somethin about tiny plants?”

“Microgreens.” Says Syd. 

“Yes. Do less of that.”

And you just watch, from the sidelines, as this crew flows into a bit of a repetitive we’re doing this, which gains the response, well stop. Do less, charge more, figure it out, duh, don’t duh– What’s that you’re hearing about a daily changing menu? Carmen seems to be the only one campaigning for it. At a point he just starts pacing, pointing at numbers on The Computer’s screen that he doesn’t understand but pretends he does.

You’ve got a million ideas, but it’s none of your business. It very literally isn’t your business, until Jimmy turns his head just so, grimacing at the non stop debate, to see you standing aside, arms crossed.

He sighs, beckoning you to the table, like it’s a witness stand. “What’s that fuckin’ face on your face, kid?” Oh, for the love of God, why are you so easy to read?

You pfft, shrugging. “I’m not makin’ a face—!” But you come forward nonetheless as he boldly speaks over you. 

“You’re makin’ a face,” — “This is just what I look like,” — “Y’know how I know you’re makin’ a face?” — “Enlighten me.” — “Cause it’s the same fuckin’ face—”

He takes this moment to point at the face on your face. “That your dad makes.” A man that gambles as well as Cicero is a man that knows your dad’s tells. And a man that knows your dad’s tells is a man that knows your tells. 

You bite down on your inner cheek, poorly pretending to be confused, shrugging again, “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Come off it.” “I’m not on anything, Unc—” “You’ve got a problem, say it.” 

“I don’t have a problem!” You have a lot of problems, but they can’t know that. That makes you judgy and pushy— You don’t know enough about the business to have an opinion. “I’m just observing, that’s all.”

Uncle looks up, to Heaven, to Mikey, and sighs the world’s heaviest sigh. It sounds painful. When he finally tilts his head back down to you, it’s to say, “C-K.”

“Cicero.”

“Y’know why I’m able to pour mas queso into this fuckin’ kid?” He loosely gestures in the direction of Carmen, who in response seems to bite down a lot of venom. It’s bad to think he’s pretty when he’s annoyed, isn’t it?

You tilt your head, “Honestly, I always assumed some sort of mob association.”

Jimmy holds back his laughter, it comes out as a disgruntled cough. He shrugs. “It’s because when I saw your dad at the table, makin’” —He gestures to you— “That fuckin’ face, I knew to pull back.”

“You don’t need to pull back.” Your reply is a touch too panicked and instant for anyone’s liking, makes it a little less believable. But Cicero smirks, and you know that face as well as he knows yours. Check. He’s got you. 

“Then speak on it.” And he pushes you forward, just slightly, like a slap of support on your back. You grimace, looking to Carm and Syd for permission to have opinions, and they both nod, like it’s obvious. With great hesitation, lips pressed together, you finally allow yourself to come off as judgy, opinionated, a fixer. 

“I think the chargers are kinda stupid.”

A plate no one eats off of, that they still have to clean, that’s on top of another plate? Definitely super necessary. Definitely not some rich people NOMA bullshit.

You look to Syd, apologetic. She shrugs, open mouthed, head tilted, “I– I mean, I didn’t invent them.” 

“It’s presentation.” Carmen nods, to himself. He doesn’t like to budge. “That first look at the table affects everything.”

“Yes.” You nod, directly across the counter from him. “I agree, I just think the plates are stupid.” 

“You got somethin’ better?”

“Think so.” You hum, tilting your body back to yell to the back of the restaurant. “Ay, Cheech! Pass me a fuckin’ basket!” 

It’s without hesitation that you hear, “Hut!” before even seeing the man. You see the blue basket being hurled towards you before you see the man. You catch it, albeit a bit clumsy, but you catch it. 

You toss the basket on the table. Everyone stares. You defend yourself before anyone even criticizes it, “Easier to clean than plates, because you just need to rinse the plastic. Ties together a colour scheme, costs nothing, they’re gonna be tossed anyways.”

“It looks cheap.” Carmen tuts, but he really does seem to be trying to hear out the idea, despite his reservations. 

“It looks purposeful.” You double down, leaning on the counter just so, “It carries a story, that we didn’t forget where we started.”

“Ooh.” Marcus, clocking in just in time, hums behind you. “Kind of a bar, Chef.”

“Thank you, Chef. Morning, Chef.” You fist bump him over your shoulder, not looking. Too focused on convincing the man before you, you let him think in silence for some time before asking. “Think on it?”

“No.” Carmen shakes his head, and you’re a little crestfallen, for a second. “It’s good. Let’s do the baskets, yeah—” He then remembers to ask for permission, he turns his head to Syd, “Yeah?”

“Yeah? Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah. Baskets are good.” Syd nods to Nat. “Can you look into, uh—”

“Returning the expensive as fuck earthenware shit? Happily.” Nat is far too cheery upon receiving a paperwork rabbit hole of a mission. She brushes past you, excitedly whispering, “Please keep going.”

“Oh, uh—” Are you some sort of thought leader now? “Well, uhm, I think I heard you sayin’” —You snap your fingers at The Computer, “That R and D cost is a little high?”

“A lot high.” He corrects.

“Kid with crayons.” Jimmy tuts, “Need to pull back a little.”

Carmen’s screwing and unscrewing the cap of a mason jar— Marmalade, it’s for Syd’s drink. He made it this morning, it’s labelled down to the minute.  Just let him work on his fucking drinks menu, please God. He’s been dying for this moment and it’s being thrown off by this bullshit. 

He can’t keep biting his tongue, “Hey, uh, why don’t you just tell us to do everything a little bit less so we can skip this and get back to work, huh?”

You hear Uncle Jimmy inhale as preparation to verbally beat Carmen’s ass. You put one hand up in front of the old man’s face, the other hand grabs a dry-erase marker. “He didn’t mean it like that and he apologizes, Unc.”

“Does he now?”

“He does.” You drop your hand, focusing on lifting the glass panel, clicking the locks in place to keep it up. You nod to Carmen through the pane. “Right, Carmy?”

Poor Carmen nearly deflates, “...I’m tryna be the guy.” 

“Not what the guy does, baby boy.” You hum, uncapping the marker with your teeth. You turn your head to Cicero. “Guy had a lapse, he forgot you were his boss and just thought of you as family, so he spoke to you like family, cause he loves you, Unc.”

Cicero nods, tilting his head just so at Carmen. “S’that right?”

Carm manages to shake his head and nod all at the same time, “S’a facet.” 

“....Well, just don’t do it again.” A crisis is averted and an uncle is softened. 

“I love to see a family come together.” You hum, nonchalant, writing on the glass, ‘R & D - Cost: Bad’

“Bring it from bad to good.” The Computer notes very helpfully. “You can cut—”

“Hol’ on.” You put your index finger up, effectively shushing him, “Just think about it first. We don’t have to go straight to cutting. Let’s look at our options.”

“Your options are fucked.”

“Just—” You tut, rubbing the bridge of your nose, man, you really are becoming your dad right now. Loosen your grip, Jack. “Widen the scope. We cut costs through returning those chargers— How else can we ‘return’ shit? Carmy?”

Thank God you’re the guy, because Carm can’t hack it. “Heard? Yes?” And frankly, he doesn’t want to.

“What’s the main cost on R and D?”

“Supplies. Food— Y’know, lot of trial and error.” He nods to a bus tub filled with failed attempts over this morning’s session. But you like that, right? “Trying new things, y’know?”

“...Carmen.” He doesn’t answer, because he can hear he’s in trouble. He is staring at you stare at the tub in what seems like a sort of contemplative, serene, searing anger. “Sweetheart, are those four wagyu filets in a fuckin’ bus tub?”

“Yes, it’s got a blood orange reduction, but– But Syd suggested mint—” 

You don’t let him finish, “Is it poison?”

“It’s not.” “It’s edible?” “It is.” “Okay, so then, babydoll, why is it not being eaten?”

Syd winces from the sidelines, hissing under her breath, fist over her mouth. Carmen cannot help but notice. You’re perhaps… a dash upset.

“We can’t eat everything.” “Did you offer it to the crew?” “Yeah—” “You offered it to Nat, Unc, Cheech— All the servers? Or did you just offer it to the cooks?” “...Heard.” “Did you take a bite of all of these?” “Not all.”

You start writing on the glass again, explaining as you do, “Okay. So then uneaten food from R and D should be sold on one of those fuckin’ food waste apps— Too Good to Go, or somethin’. We advertise it to The Beef regulars, try to get the other side of our city to understand the finer things, prevent any brick through window incidents, how we feel ‘bout that?”

You remember small things far too well. You did make note of the rich people shit getting on The Beef customers' nerves. You make note of the people who live on your block, who cannot afford to eat here. You make note of the fact that Carmen resents subtracting with a passion now, so you find another way. He can still try new things, just needs to handle the results better. 

“...You keep a binder or somethin?” Is all Carmen can think to ask. 

“Steel trap memory.” You tap the cap of the marker to your head, “Good though?”

He nods, “Good.”

“Good.” You take a breath, dragging a hand down your face, practically coming out of a fugue state. Carmen knows your need to have something to do, just as much as him, so he slides the jar of fig marmalade to you from across the table. You take it happily, unscrewing the lid. You’ve also been dying to get to this menu.

But Richie comes up from behind, scratch and sniff wine book in hand— Didn’t Mikey get you that? It  was meant to be a gag gift but it’s actually quite useful. “Chip, can you also tell Chef Carmen the daily menu fuckin’ sucks?”

“Re-lax.” You sigh, pulling over all the ingredients and tools you need for Syd’s drink. “Syd told me ‘bout this though, daily pre fixe, or whatever it’s called?”

“It’s—” Carmen crosses his arms over himself, immediately defensive but trying his best not to be. “It’s an idea I’m floating, for now— It’s what the best restaurants do, and— And even if we don’t have full intent on getting a star, right now, it’s still important.”

“I just think…” You hum, trying to figure out the most delicate way to say it. “It doesn’t exactly give you the most room to collaborate or create—”

“The whole point of it is to collaborate and create—”

“Oh yes,” —As if waiting in the wings for this, Richie pops out behind you again, “What wasssit? ‘Vibrant Collaboration’ and ‘Constantly Evolve Through Eating My Own Head like a fucking ouroboros’.”

“Relax.” You hiss this time, putting a hand up in front of Richie. You can speak for yourself. “You don’t have time to be creative or collaborate when you’ve gotta make decisions in less than twelve hours.”

Carmen tries to defend, he gestures to the one good plate of wagyu with mint that came out of this morning, “But the—”

You nod and hum, knowingly. The sweet sound stops him. You already know the answer, but you ask anyway, as you scoop fig marmalade into your cocktail shaker. “Did you get to try the pop rocks thing yet?”

“Well, no, it’s not viable to perfect that in such—”

“A short amount of time, angel?”

“Oooh…” Richie mimics Syd’s movements, air whistling between his teeth as he takes a sharp breath. He gestures, standing behind you, staring at Carmen as he slides his thumb across his neck. He mouths, ‘Mad mad.’

Carmen’s two closest friends are freaking him the fuck out and one of them wasn’t even doing it on purpose. How do they know that? How can they tell that? Are you gonna break up with him? Are you even dating? This work together thing was a terrible idea—

“You don’t have time to be thoughtful about things, if you do an entire menu every day, you’re gonna have to cut corners on what you’re willing to experiment with.” You reword, more productive, better for his brain. “Plus, prix fixe is a fuckin— In—In my opinion, is sort of a lacking idea, maybe, for a new restaurant.”

Carmen’s willing to give up the daily rotation, he’s not so willing to give up the pre fixe. “It’s what the best restaurants do.” Carmen loves the word best, huh?

“Have those restaurants—” You bite your tongue from what was going to be an immediate catty response.

You try again, measuring out orange liqueur and lemon juice as you do so. “You’re thinking like a Chef and you need to think like a customer— A- A guest, for a second.”

Carmen gives you the floor, mostly because he cannot compute the command. You continue, “Let’s do a little roleplay, alright? Let’s say we’re just average people, not workin’ at The Bear, and we’re goin’ on a date.”

“When?” “...When?” “When is the date?” “No, I’m— It’s— This is hypothetical.” “Yeah but in the hypothetical.”

You shrug, clicking tongs together as you grab large chunks of ice for your shaker. “I dunno, Friday nights? We have like a Friday night date night.”

“Oh, so you’re doing good.” Richie hums, proud of this hypothetical you, “Weekly date night is a cornerstone.” 

“Moving on.” You elbow Rich behind you, shaker sloshing in hand, “I’m not a foodie, you are— In this hypothetical. You’re looking around at restaurants in the area for the date, you find The Bear— You find through their website with an improper hyperlink that the menu is,” —You list off on your free hand— “prix fixe, unavailable online, and changes daily so you can’t go off of reviews either. Also, it’s a new place, so you can’t really ask around for opinions.” 

“Right.” Carmen nods, as does Syd. Uncle Jimmy’s got that stupid smirk he gets when he sees his kids fall in line. You pour the ouzo over the ice, focus on the drink, not Carm’s mopey expression. 

“So, we probably wouldn’t go, right?”

Carmen keeps nodding, eyes downcast— Not upset, just can’t take feedback without keeping his head down. “Prob’ly not, yeah.” 

You pound the shaker shut, shaking it lightly in one hand as you try as hard as you can to sweetly explain. “People are open to like, two surprises on an outing. New place, new food— But they will need a set menu and they will need to have it available beforehand— And they’ll need to be able to choose.”

He looks like a cat in the rain, so you add, “But. Maybe we can do a daily special? Or weekly, depending on burnout, but like, y’know, a semi-frequent one new thing. And maybe on like, Valentines or some holidays we do a fresh prix fixe. That’s how some of the best places do it.”

Carmen’s eyes upturn, smiling with them, at that last part. “You do keep a binder.”

“Syd does. I just pay attention.” You shake your head. “She mumbled about it all night when we got back.” 

Adamu is immediately aghast, she should’ve realized ages ago, you were practically quoting her. “You said you couldn’t hear me!”

“No, I said you weren’t bothering me, and you weren’t.” You can’t hide your smile as you break the seal on the shaker. Syd sucks at sharing her ideas, but you’re happy to act as a good mouth for her good brain. “Hand me a lowball.” 

With a grumble, Syd walks off in search of  the lowball; while everyone does seem to agree this is best practice, Carmen does still seem a little sore about it.

“It’d probably also serve us well to do a seasonally rotating menu, right?” And so you throw him a bone. “Like Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall? Base it on what’s in season with local vendors?”

“What grows together goes together.” Tina says, nearly sing-songy. “Farmer’s market is rough though, Jeff.” 

“Fuck a farmer’s market— With love, fuck a farmer’s market.” Back to writing on plexiglass you go. “We gotta do vendors, maybe f’ like, eggs and dairy we can do farmer’s market, but it’s just not feasible. Maybe for holiday pre fixe or daily specials? But full stock, it’s just not— It’s not it. And I say that while having farm fresh eggs and local honey in my pantry, alright?”

Carmen agrees, like a bobble-head this guy. He nods to Tina. “That cool with you, T?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool with me.” Tina is a millisecond off to pipe in, which is really not noticeable– To anyone but you, that is.

“Why’s— Why would T not be good with that?”

“She’s in charge of farmer’s market.” 

“Hm.” You bite the end of the dry-erase marker. “T, would you be cool with rotating that, now and again?”

“Ooh?” She tilts her head, shrugging, “Yeah, yeah, kid. If you wanna take the reins.”

“Not me.” You return to scribbling on the glass board. You point at Carmen and Syd through the glass. “Them.” 

“I’ve paid my sous chef dues.” Says Syd, returning to the table with your glass. You tut, shaking your head. You refocus your vision from your writing to beyond the plexiglass, at them. 

“You need it for inspiration! You fuckers keep forgetting you like cooking, I need you to visit the farmer’s market once in a while to remind you.” You take the lowball glass and tong a few ice cubes in. “Non-negotiable. Heard?”

A soft, simultaneous, “Heard, Chef.” from your cats. 

“Good.” You strain the mixed concoction out of the shaker, into the lowball glass. It’s a very pretty peachy pink. You tweezer a slice of dried fig and place it on top. You grab a toothpick, stick it down the glass, pull it out, and taste the toothpick. Balanced, solid flavour, should be good.

You slide the drink over to Syd. “I can’t drink everything obviously, so first dibs goes to whoever the drink is based on— I don’t care who drinks it, just let me know if it goes down smooth.”

You also in turn hand Syd the recipe card and sketch, and you’re quick to move on as she reviews and sips away.

Ouzo. Dry anise tasting spirit. It’s got a licorice aftertaste, but oddly sweeter for it. It’s strong. Resilient. It’s made from remnants of unfermented wine grapes and a mix of other distilled and unused spirits. Better than the sum of its parts. It goes well with figs. Muddle it together with fig marmalade— Sweet yet earthy, spring-like. Orange liqueur to marry the flavours, lemon juice to brighten. Shaken, pour over ice into a lowball, serve with a dried fig on top.

Syd manages to reserve her reaction to a slow but repetitive nod, like entering deep space. She only comes back to reality when Richie reaches for the drink, wanting to try. She’s quick to pull it away from him, coveting the glass. 

“Ah… what else? Rapid fire.” You knock your head around, remembering what The Computer talked about, and in quick succession, you line up every problem and talk through them, possibly solve them— As best as a newbie can. At the very least, you open the floor to actual discussions as you make drinks all the while. 

“Opening a full sixth day I think will shoot us in the long run, especially if we ever get a kitchen plague going. Maybe we just open for half the day on Mondays going forward, try out breakfast? Stop booing me, I’m right.”

Richie’s. Also served over ice in a lowball. It’s similar to a whiskey smash. Nixing the mint. Whiskey bourbon— A good one, but not too good that it’s a sin to mix. Something with a cinnamon spice, that's warm all the way down, but never burns. Water it down a bit by stirring peach juice over the whiskey with ice for a brief moment. Float blueberry syrup on top. Add a toothpick, spearing two blueberries and one peach halve, balance it over the glass, for stirring. So the drinker can mix the blueberry syrup in and have a cute colour changing experience. 

“Wine pours, me and Gary got that. We can also just start charging by the bottle by default— Whatever works.” 

Marcus’. Simple but effective. A rum and coke ice cream float. Made complex by the fact that the ice cream is on a rotating schedule, based on whatever Chef Brooks is feeling that night and what’s in stock. Right now? Pistachio. So tonight it’s actually rum and seltzer, and it will probably continue to be rum and seltzer, based on the way Marcus’ eyes light up by the opportunity to get weird. More often than not, you’re going to need that neutral base. Served in a milkshake glass, because what else?

“I don’t understand why I couldn’t just grow these microgreens myself in house. They’re just plants you murder early, are they not? Am I missing something?”

Tina’s. Varied take on a spiked agua fresca. Fresh blended mango agua fresca— With ginger, of course. A healthy kick is a necessity for a mom drink. Sweetened with simple syrup, spiked with white rum, dash of agave bitters, top with coconut water. Served in a tall glass, because why would you skimp on portions?

“Why are we shipping flowers from New York? No, fuck that, go to Violet’s Violets— I fixed her cooler once, she falls in love and gives a discount to literally anyone who’s nice to her. Just send Marcus with some dessert and you’ll be set for life.”

And of course, Carmen’s aperol spritz. You go with the cherry syrup rim for now because it’s important to try. You’re almost certain it’s too much though.

“Napkins…” You rub your icy cold hands— From shaking up so many goddamn drinks— Over your eyes. “Why are we renting?”

“Buying is insanely overpriced.” Answers Computer. 

You nod, shrug, but nod, fingers tapping the glass, “Well, it’s like renting over owning right? It might be better to own because, y’know, you might suddenly get told by your napkin vendor, like, like years down the line, after basically paying for these napkins in full through rent, ‘hey, actually, we’re gonna jack up prices or just take those napkins back’ even though you’ve —again— Literally had them for years—”

“Chippy, are you good?” Richie tries to massage your shoulder, tries to break you out of the doom spiral, but admittedly, it was never his forte. Still isn’t. 

“We—!” Your voice hangs and is grating in a way it usually isn’t, ignoring the question. “We can produce our own napkins if we buy linens by the yard and hem ‘em ourselves. We—” You snap your fingers a couple times at Carmen, praying he backs you up. “We can even get The Bear monogrammed on them.”

“That sounds nice…” It’s Carmen’s turn to ease you off the ledge of insanity, gently. “It also sounds expensive, were you gonna do that?”

“Fuck no.” You’re quick to shake your head. “I fucking suck at sewing, my own jumpsuit is covered in my blood— No, my—” Oh. “Hold on.”

Your hand immediately goes for your back pocket, quickly pulling your cell-phone out, and dial one of your first starred contacts. Richie, over your shoulder still, sipping his blueberry and bourbon cocktail, excitedly mumbles. “Oh, put it on speaker.”

You’re annoyed before he’s even answered, knowing the headache you’re about to get. “Trust me, the first thirty seconds minimum will not need—”

“Hey!” It’s impossible to convey how earth shatteringly loud and drawn out his voice is, immediately upon answering. There may be eight seconds of the sustained vowel? Maybe more. Almost everyone flinches, par for Syd, Carm, and Rich. Though for all different reasons. 

A touch grating, in the same way your voice just was. Like father, like occasional daughter, you suppose. “Hey kiddo baby darling sweetheart angel princess—” Oh, he’s mad. The whole ‘slew of nicknames when you’re pissed off’ thing? Yeah, that didn’t start with you. “Did someone die? Because that’s the only reason my darling baby only daughter calls anymore!”

You sigh, immediately exhausted, putting your weight on one leg. “Y’know, once a month is honestly a lot of times a year for a fully grown woman to call their dad, on average. I absolutely call you more than my friends call their dads.”

Richie almost chokes and whispers over your shoulder, hesitant, internally preparing for a dreadful future. “Please tell me that’s not true.”

“Oh, and you should be so lucky that you have a dad to call! Cause I bet those friends are calling funeral homes, aren’t they?!”

“Dad—”

“I should have never taught you independence. Worst mistake of my life to teach you how to be your own person. Richard, never teach your kid how to use a screwdriver, it will be the last day you are a father.”

“Noted, Big C-K.” Richie goes for your dry erase to actually write it down, you pull it away from him. That’s gonna require a long talk down later. 

Carmen mouths to you, across the table, he meant to ask earlier when Cicero said it but there wasn’t time. ‘C-K?’

You mouth back, gesturing to the logo on your very own flannel ‘Chicago’s Kindest.’ He’s not the best with acronyms. 

“Oh— And thank you for bringing that up! And what’s this I hear about you cutting your hours with C-K? I hear this from Tony of all people ‘fore I hear it from you?”

“I got a long-term bartender gig that’s actually gonna keep my bills paid, alright? And I like it. Putting that mixology double trade major to good use. Cicero’s got stock in the place, actually.”

“How you doin’ C-K?” Cicero pipes in next to you, waiting for his moment.

“Ah… I’ve got my complaints. For one, my Jack keeps you more company than me!”

There’s a series of hums and haws, that weird uncle secret language of heavy exhales that manage to say more than any actual words they could say. 

You let the heaving run its course for ten seconds before cutting it short with, “Anyways, I’m still gonna keep the business running, just only in the mornings. It’s not like I brought in that much business anyway, I’m not pulling a foundation.”

“Everytime a small business dies, a rich man laughs, Jack!” 

“It’s not dying! It’s alive! It’s present and alive!” Don’t get flashbacks. “Anyways, speaking of small businesses, I need a favour—”

“Ooh, the truth comes out, princess calls cause she needs bail—” 

“For the love of God, let me get through a sentence, Pops!” You grumble, continuing. “Remember that overpriced monogram machine you bought for no reason?”

“It was not for no reason, it was invaluable because it saved my mitts from hand embroidering all those logos— And and— you have to remember—” You mouth the words along with him, mimicking him, because you know exactly what he’s going to say, “that it all starts in your community— And now you have like eight beautiful outfits, cause of me… And also it’s fun.”

“Well… If it’s fun, would you consider making some linen napkins?”

And it flows like ping pong, because your dad is a repairman— Well, former, but still. He’s simple. He handles negotiations simple. So do you.

“For who?” “Restaurant. The Bear.” “Why?” “Cause they need linen napkins.” “How many?”

You look over your shoulder to Richie, he does the math in his head pretty quickly, “Bout seventy to a hundred covers a night.”

“Six hundred.” “Pay?” “We’ll pay supplies, and I’ll give you like—” You look to Syd, expectantly. She has no answer, so you put your advanced on the line. “A thousand?”

“A thousand!? Less than a dollar a napkin! Is this pre-housing crisis?!” “I work here, okay?! Discount me!” “My God, princess, are you in love with the owner or something?”

That world feels like it's choking, but that's probably just you. You blow hot air out of your mouth, looking anywhere but Carmen. Refusing to see him even in your periphery. Refusing to see his blue screened but ever so slightly expectant expression. Well? Are you? …Or something?

After a long moment, you find a way to avoid the question. “Ah–Uh, Syd co-owns the place.”

“Oh, Adamu?!” 

Syd pipes in, leaning over the table. You hold the phone out for her. “H–Hey, Mr. CK.” She waves, despite the fact that it’s a phone call.

“Hey kiddo. Aw, what a sweetheart. Lead with her next time!”

“Alright!” You bring the phone back to your face— It’s remained off speakerphone this entire time, but he continues to yell loud enough for the table. “I didn’t realize you were best friends.”

“Of course we are. Y’know she brought me this uh– this salmon mushroom risotto the other night? Unbelievable.”

You squint at Adamu curiously, whispering. “You bring my dad food?”

She whispers in return, defensive. “He lives on my block, don’t be weird.”

“For her, I’ll do it for eight-hundred, okay kiddo? I know how tough it is to start up a business, can’t imagine trying to move on top of that.”

Your turn to blue screen. Moving? You’re immediately over the love thing. “...Pardon?”

“...I’ll do it for eight—”

“No– Yes, sorry, yes dad that’s great—” You arch the phone away from your face, focusing your attention on Syd. “Syd, you’re moving out?”

She sighs, “Trying to.”

“Pops.” You straighten up, not looking away from her. “I’ll call you back to sort details later, okay?”

“Sure. You also need to let me know holiday plans, are we going up to Oak Park or—”

Somewhat disrespectfully, you speak hurriedly, “Yeah, we’ll figure it out, love you, bye!” and hang up. Still locked on Syd, you ask. “When you tryna move?”

“Like, soon as possible.” She stretches out her shoulders. “My own dad is sort of… Encroaching on my space.” 

“Right.” Your eyes flicker with too many ideas, and you’re trying to temper expectations. “You wanna live by yourself?”

“I mean, I don’t really know anyone on the same timeline as me, with the same ‘low budget’ as me.”

The Computer attempts to interrupt the interruption of his review, holding a finger up, “And why are we talking about—”

But you hold the palm of your hand up, continuing on, “I need to move out asap and have a ‘low budget’.”

That’s Carmen’s queue to chime in, he loves your place. “What happened?” 

Also Richie’s, “What? Chip, your spot’s like a historical site, ya can’t move.” and this is generally agreed upon by a sea of dismayed voices.

“To make an extremely long story short, I don’t have a choice.” You wave your hand in the air, silencing murmurs. “My sweet old lady landlord— The only landlord I’ve ever respected, got bought out by a fuckin’ big business gentrification ass company— I’m not in a rent controlled zone so they’re gonna keep jacking the rent until I move out so they can tear it down and build a new spot— They also may or may not have found out that me and Loretta— My landlord— Haven’t exactly been keeping up to date on my lease.”

“Meaning?” Carmen knows the answer will be bad. 

But it’s somehow worse. “Meaning I pay my rent on time in cash and she texts me once a year saying ‘do you want to keep living here?’ and I say ‘yes’, and we continue on.”

“Well, hold up—” Richie holds a hand up, like he’s a genius. “Squatter’s rights?”

“I thought about going that avenue, but—” You gesture to Syd. “If you’re already moving, and looking for a roommate?”

She looks up and around, thinking about it. You decide to join her in the brainstorm, scooching yourself just an inch to the right, writing on free space on the plexiglass screen, ‘pros and cons’

“Pro.” You murmur as you write. “I have a better credit score than you.”

Syd sputters, half sarcastic. “Well, that’s just uncalled for.”

“It’ll give you more options for places! Better ones! Ones with in-unit laundry!” You defend.

“In-unit laundry…” “Your eyes just lit up in such a sad way.” “Con. You are an ass.”

“That’s a pro. A real con would be that I have a lot of plants and if I ever go on vacation I’m gonna need you to take care of them, and I’m not gonna have a binder for you, because I water them based on vibes, and if I come back and they’re dying I’m gonna be pissed off and very passive aggressive about it.”

“Violently honest.” “Pro. Mostly direct. Aside from when I’m not.” “Con. I’m not direct.”

“Con. That’s fine but if I get the idea that you’re mad at me I’m gonna act really weird about it until you reassure me that everything is okay and you don’t want to throw me out the window.”

“Yeah. Con. Same.”

“Pro. I’ve lived by myself for a while, which is good to have when you’re moving out of your parents for the first time. Con. I’ve lived by myself for a while, and I’m very used to the lifestyle of big t-shirt no pants, I’m not giving that up.”

Now that one takes Syd a second to unpack, “But, but like, underwear though, right—?”

“No shit I wear underwear!”

“Okay! It’s important to note!”

“Don’t be weird.” Richie grumbles behind you, solidly directed at Carmen.

Who’s whole face really just scrunches up in confusion. “‘Don’t be weird’? You don’t be weird.”

“I’m not bein’ fuckin’ weird—” “Then why are you up in my shit—” “Up in your shit? Oh wow—” “Fully not what I was referencing—” “Don’t be weird, cousin!” “I literally— I did not even move— Not a single cell in my body—” “And— And you only know that ‘cause you had to lock it down, you dog—”

“I don’t remember having kids, why the fuck am I in a Kindergarden?” Uncle Jimmy interrupts.

“I’m just takin’ care of my boy, Unc.” Richie raises a hand in defense, feigning innocence. “Can’t be too careful.”

“You super can, and you super are.” You grimace, elbowing him again. “And also, not important–!”

“Actually, no, very important.” Syd of all people interrupts. “Non-negotiable, like you can’t— …Like you— …When I’m home it’s like— Don’t—” Ah.

You roll your eyes and save her before she just about breaks out in a feverish sweat. “Syd, I wasn’t planning on it. That’s like roommate rule one.”

“Syd.” Richie points to his own eyes, then to hers, ‘watching you’. “Don’t be weird.”

“What the fuck—”

“Everyone shut up, pros and cons—!” You shout, gaining the attention back. “Pros. I have a car, we work at the same place, I have all the furniture for a living room already,  you'd never have to wait for a landlord to fix something ever again, and I could probably do a bunch of D-I-Y renter friendly projects, if you wanted.”

“...Oh my god, a French-door pantry.” “I think I could swing that.” “Pros. You’ll never have to cook again. I guess that’s my only pro, actually.”

“Con. I have been feeding the cat on my fire escape for like a year and if I’m moving I am going to have to adopt her, so we’re gonna have a cat. She’s cute, she has five toes on each paw. Something dactyl, it’s called.”

“What’s her name?” Squid’s not excited per se, but she’s not saying no. 

You shrug. “I never named her, let’s name her together.”

“No, that’s too much pressure—” “No, you’ll do great—” “What do you mean I’ll do great—?” “Three–” “Oh like together together? No! What—?!” “Shut up, just do it, head empty, two—” “No! I’m just not gonna say any—” “Yes you will, Squid. One!”

And together, perfectly in sync, like it was planned all along, you both say on queue, “Calamari!”

“There we go.” You write ‘Calamari’ on the plexiglass. “That’s my girl— That’s our girl, actually. I’m still not sure if she’s a girl.”

You click your tongue against your teeth, knocking your head back and forth in thought as you look at the scribblings on the glass. “Non-negotiables?”

Syd leans forward on the table, chin propped up in her hands. “I need forty-five minutes of bathroom time at the beginning of the day.”

“...Do you have a fuckin’ lactose intolerance?” “It’s my me time!” “Alright! Fuckin’ fifty minutes of toilet time for Syd. Ah, I need east facing windows… and uhm…”

Syd stares at you, and alas, she can tell, “You have a big non-negotiable…”

“It’s not that big… It’s more a group thing than a roommate thing, really…” “What is it?” “I think… It would be fun… If we all started playing Dungeons and Drag—” 

There’s an immediate, staggeringly loud array of groans, you’re still writing it down nonetheless, all the while defending, “I honestly think a little roleplay and math would fix you assholes! I really think it would! I’ll D-M, I’ll make it so easy— Please?”

Syd grimaces, but inevitably nods. “Y’know what, you’re never gonna get a concrete schedule for that down, and no one else is gonna agree so yes, sure from me.” Still a win. 

“Okay.” You hum, capping the marker. “So… Aim to move first of February? You down?”

It takes some time, and you realize as Syd’s brain frozen, that you might be overstepping. “Sorry, that’s going too fast, you think on it—”

“...I’m down.” You make it very easy for her to say yes, by giving her the option to say no. “Yeah, let’s do it. February. I’m down.”

“I’m so happy for you two, but I’m still fuckin’ reeling— Chippy, it’s– it’s— So many memories—” Richie’s being overly dramatic on purpose, hand on your shoulder, really laying on the vocal fry in his voice; but it is true. “I mean, come on, first time I’d ever been stabbed was on your block.”

“Sorry, what?” Carmen was having fun watching his two favourite employees figure out they’d be perfect roommates. He loves to be a fly on walls around you more than he’d like to admit. Richie managed to ruin it with one line. “Stabbed on your block?”

“Yeah,” You suck the air between your teeth, trying to think of some sort of white lie, but slowly shake your head, “I— Yeah, there’s no real way for me to down play it, I was so fuckin’ scared.”

“You were tweaking!” Richie laughs, clapping his hand against your shoulder, to him it’s a charming story— You’d probably be laughing too, if Carmen didn’t seem so… unpleased, let’s say. “You fuckin’ thought I was gonna die!”

“You fucking were!” You slap Rich’s hand away. “It was so close to a cerebral artery— First and last time I’ll administer stitches in my fucking kitchen, hand to God—”

“What’s the story?” Oh, new face from Carmen you haven’t seen before, bewildered annoyance, you’d describe it as, it’s going in your bottom five. “You live in a bad neighbourhood?”

“It’s rustic—” You try, but Richie opts to speak on your behalf. “Oh, Chip lives in a terrible neighbourhood, Cousin. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

“Yeah but it didn’t seem that bad— No— Hold on, go back, stabbed why?”

“So I heroically defended a boy from crooked—” Richie tries, but you opt to speak on his behalf. “Richie was helping me bring up groceries, we saw some highschoolers shaking a kid down, Richie tried to break it up, one of ‘em stabbed him with one of those shitty switchblade comb things.”

“You got stabbed by a kid?” Syd snorts, but immediately regrets it because she has perfectly set him up for—

“Yeah, and wouldn’t be the last time, would it?”

“Richie, c’mon…” You reach up, patting the guy’s shoulder. “It was an accident and she apologized—”

Richie just raises his eyebrows, interrupting with a simple, “Mm-mm.” 

And so yours raise in tow, “...Fuck you mean ‘mm-mm’?” And your head turns to Syd, alarmed. “Syd, you apologized, right?”

Her mouth just sort of hangs, sputtering noises do come out of it, but nothing that strings a sentence together. You grow more agog, repeating again, astonished, nearly laughing from the shock, “Syd?! You apologized, right?! And told him it was an accident, right?”

Syd takes a beat, but she gets there. “I— I. Am. Sorry I stabbed you by accident, Richie.”

“Hm.” Richie crosses his arms, considering, mostly sarcastically. “Yeah, I’ll take it, I guess. Would’ve liked a card.”

“I am not getting you a card.” “I’m jus’ sayin’ I’d’ve liked one.”

Carmen’s still five steps behind, “Are you gonna be fine living there? In January?”

You choke back a laugh, because this is how men try to show they care, one must imagine. “I’ve been fine for the past handful of years living there, I think I’ll be fine for another month, sweetheart.”

“Crime is bad in January.”

“I was a first responder, and I know that’s not true.” You shake your head, shirking off laughter. “It’s actually in the summer that you see shit go down. Again, I will be fine. But you are free to visit.”

“Point of order.” The Computer finally pipes up again— Might’ve forgot he was here, if you’re honest. “What are we talking about anymore?”

“Point of order— I feel like numbers— Talking numbers is great but it’s all just like— Paper, y’know?” You unlatch the plexiglass, gently settling it back down on the table. “We should be talking more.”

Tina nearly whistles in agreement, nodding by your side. “Heavy that, Jeff.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’, like—” You snap your fingers to the rest of the crew, hand moving to and fro to point at everyone, “Did y’all know until right now that Syd was moving? …No, right? Let’s like— Fuckin’ remember to check in, like y’know, family, Chefs.”

And without calling her out, you can feel Tina’s demeanor next to you change, relaxed. 

“Heard, Chef.” Is the agreement from the crew, however, The Computer nor Cicero seem convinced, so with a sigh, you put on your most authoritative voice.

 “Y’know. Three Cs! Caring cuts costs!” A phrase no one has ever said, but it sounds legitimate when you put it like that. That gets them to acquiesce. 

Thank God, Marcus helps you move the conversation along, “...What’s everyone doing for the holidays?” Alas for both of you, the silence is deafening. “...Or not.”

You volley back for him, “If no one has hard plans I was thinking of having a lil’ Holiday party? Nothing big. Sort of a ‘goodbye old apartment’ party? Come by after you hang out with your families or whatever?”

“Not gonna go up to Oak Park?” Rich leans one arm on your shoulder, nursing his whiskey cocktail in the other. 

“Meh.” You shrug, attempting to push him off you, but he doubles down. “We’re not so intense about holidays since everyone’s aged. I’ll visit my nephew on New Years.” 

“I’m doin’ Eve with Eva, but I’ll be free on the day. I’ll come by. We doin’ gifts?”

“I mean I got you something, so,” You tap the bottom of his glass as Rich takes another sip, making him flinch. “Catch the fuck up.” 

Syd pipes in, sniffing. “Me and my dad only celebrate on Christmas Eve now, so I’ll come.”

“Incredible. Two down.” You gesture to Marcus and Tina across the table. “You guys? Tina I assume you’ve got a loving family and shit?”

Tina smiles and nods, rightfully proud. “I do have a loving family and shit, but maybe I’ll come by late with them too?”

And Marcus tacks on with her, “I’m gonna be with my mom most of the night, but I’ll come through for a couple hours.”

“Perfect, perfect. Invites open to any plus ones as long as you text me first!” You hum, writing names down on the glass board. It’s kind of a nightmare of different lists at this point. “Richie, can you make sure Fak and Sweeps get the invite?”

“Yessir.”

“And us!?” Shrieks Cheech in the back, who really shouldn’t be able to hear you, he should be in the zone, slinging sandwiches.

You yell back without turning to him. “Yes, fucker, you and E can come, if you want! No fuckin’ plus one for you though!”

“Oh come the fuck on, Jack-Off!”

“Oh, make me a fuckin’ sandwich, big man!”

“Oh, I’ll make you a fuckin’ sandwich!”

“Oh, my dick!” A response that makes no sense, consistently the perfect bookend. You sigh, and finally, your eyes flit to the most terrified two in the room. “Berzattos… Holiday plans?”

“I think we’re gonna do dinner on Christmas Eve, and then the morning together? Well, I am.” Sug hesitates, she’s looking between Uncle Jimmy and Carmen. “I was gonna ask what Carm’s plan is…”

“I’ll go. I’ll go.” Carmen has to stop himself from biting the skin off the tips of his fingers. “I’ll go. And I’ll come to the party, after.” 

“I’ll probably just go home with Pete after. Baby’s first Christmas, y’know.” Natalie hums and nods awkwardly. There’s a question both of them want to ask. Neither of them are brave enough to ask it. And while you can sense there’s something dancing in the air, you’re not going to overstep on this front. 

“Mazel. I can buy silly decor with reason now. …Now let’s talk about the important grievances.” You hum, happy to end that chapter.

You turn just slightly to gently slap Richie’s cheek as he stands next to you. “Rich, you need to line your beard up, this neckbeard shit is pissing me off—”

“What’s with the fuckin’ drive by?!” “It’s been on my mind forever— You can’t be wearin’ suits and then be rockin’ that unkempt shit, clean up—” “I’m clean! I’m fucking clean!” “Who said? Who fuckin’ said? Cause I sure didn’t!” “How’m I s’posed to be linin’ my shit up every mornin’—” “You do not grow a beard that fast—” “Oh fuck you, I’m not fuckin’ Carmen, I grow a fuckin’ beard.”

Carmen’s just surprised to hear his name out of any name come up. “What– Now that’s a fucking drive by, what the fuck?” 

“If we’re voicing grievances, I’d like to voice my fuckin’ complaint with Captain Crash-Out over here—” “Who the fuck is sublimating now?” “You’re not usin’ that term correctly, cause you’re not integrated—” “I thought you two worked this out on the road trip!” “We did!”

You only half regret starting this feud with the beard comment— To be fair, you’re right. “This is it working?” 

“This is, in fact, it working.” Syd confirms plainly, her disappointment more than apparent. Rubbing the tips of her fingers to her temples. The fight is out of her, at this point. 

“Alright.” You slap your hands together. “Richie, what is your complaint?” Are you just union rep now? You might be a union rep now. 

“Carmen is fucking killing me.” The cocktail swishes and nearly spills as Richie points at the Chef, emphatic. “He won’t change shit for guests!”

“No substitutions!” It’s almost cultish, the way Sydney and Carmen yell it out together. 

Richie scoffs, head reeling back. “What happened to it bein’ about hospitality?” 

“I mean…” You suck air through your teeth, squinting. “If we’re sayin’ no substitutions, it’s no substitutions— Unless it’s like an allergy or sensory thing— But even then, it shouldn’t be like a major component getting replaced.”

“See? See?” It’s almost maniacal, rabid, how delighted Carmen is that you’re on his side. “Fuckin’ thank you. This is why I lo—” 

Before Carmen can finish his sentence, Richie flails about to suddenly throw the peach and blueberry skewer from his drink at Carmen— Not the pointed side, he doesn’t want to stab the guy. Just wants to save him from running his mouth. The peach slice hits Carm’s chest as Richie stutters out, “F-Fuck you, fuck you, fine. No substitutions— What the fuck am I supposed to say then?” speaking over whatever syllables fell out of Carmen’s mouth, muddling them. 

You cock your brow, but Carmen seems to quickly let the childish toss go, more than eager to move on. So you do too. “...Say some bullshit like, like, The Bear encourages —uhm— explorative culinary experiences where you let your taste buds go beyond your limitations and comforts— So eat a fuckin’ mushroom, you’re not gonna die.”

“If they don’t like mushrooms—” “Then they shouldn’t order it!” “How hard is it to just fuckin’ switch it out!?” “So hard! So hard! I think! I could guess!”

“I could do it.”

“Could you?” You cross your arms, leaning your weight onto one leg, pivoting to Richie. “Okay, roleplay, you’re Carmen, I’m you—” Just as Richie opens his mouth, you hold your index finger to his lips. “I know you wanna be a bitch, I’m askin’ you to just skip that part for me.”

His shit eating grin is only a little endearing. “How am I supposed to be in character if I’m not allowed to be a bitch?”

You clench and unclench your hands in the air, but let it go, opting to move on to your little thought experiment. “Chef, patient—” Instincts never give out, huh? “Christ, patron doesn’t want mushrooms in their anolini, I need you to sub it.”

“Ah, well I’m happy to do that for you, Host Richie, I—” He’s going to go into some scathing spiel, and you love the guy, but you have to rub dirt in the wound for the lesson to stick. 

You speak over him, voice stern, “Chef. In order to keep pace, I need you to make this call in fifteen seconds, what are you subbing it for?”

Richie’s head shakes back and forth as he scrambles to get his brain to work.“Fuckin— Fucking– Eggplant.” 

“Eggplant?” You ask politely, tone unsure. Carmen asks it with you, tone ridiculing. 

“It’s a sauce isn’t it?” You squint, turning your head to the actual Carmen. “It’s like a really thick mushroom sauce stuffed pasta?”

He tilts his head from side to side, but nods. In gist, yes. “It’s a ragout. Low and slow cooked stew—” Carmy’s ready to rave about it and teach you every facet of the dish, but perhaps that’s too romantic for a public setting. God, he’s weird about love. “We keep it going on our back burners all day— It takes an hour minimum to make from scratch, you can’t just sub it.” 

“Yeah, well…” Richie stops himself short of getting snarky for no reason all over again, taking a second to think about it. “Well, I didn’t know that. You didn’t explain that shit to me.”

“I don’t have time to hold your fuckin’ hand—” Carmen stops short of getting catty when you give him a very soft and yet gutting disappointed look. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sniffing. “I can’t explain why I do everythin’ I do when I’m— When we’re in a middle of a rush, I just need you to trust when kitchen says we can’t do it. Trust that I thought it through.”

Richie has to control himself, has to make sure the corners of his mouth don’t upturn just slightly, has to make sure it’s not clear that he is overjoyed that there’s finally middle ground, can’t get his hopes up. He nods. “I just wanna make everyone happy, y’know?”

“I know. You’re—” Carmen’s nose scrunches up for a second, God, he’s never had to say that he think’s Richie’s good to his face. And he’s not gonna start now, “Eggplant would be a good sub, if we had time.”

Richie prods his tongue along the side of his cheek, thinking. “Maybe I could look into knowin’ restrictions faster and estimatin’ their orders, so you can have ‘em on deck?”

And Carmen does think that’d be a waste of time, but he’s learning. He hears it out. “Could give it a shot, yeah.”

“Same team.” Richie reaches across the counter, and Carmen actually takes his hand, a quick dap. Civil.

“Same team.” First time you’ve heard Carmen adopt your idiom; you can’t help but smile, though you’re trying to hide it. You’re too focused on arguably the two most important men in your life to notice the silent conversation Uncle Jimmy is having with The Computer, speaking solely through nods and exchanged glances. 

Pay is for Chip. Cicero nods, and The Computer nods back. He gets it now. Pay is for Chip. Not just the mixologist, not just the sommelier, not just the repairman, not just the not-quite girlfriend, Chip. You’re Chip. You’re the cog, the piece. The grease between everyone. 

You’re the guy. Always have been, always will be. 

The silent conversation and the warm feeling in the room is cut short though, by The Computer. “Can she deal with the butter thing?”

“What the fuck is the butter thing?” You immediately jump onto the case, when Carmen looks down and away from you, you frown, leaning in. “What’s the butter thing?”

Jimmy snaps his fingers at The Computer, he hands him an invoice, which is then handed off to you. Old Major Farms, Orwellian Butter, salted and unsalted. $11,268. You just. Stare. The math comes all too easy to your head. Worth a week? 

“It’s the best.” Carmen repeats as your eyes remain worryingly unblinking. “It’s—”

“Carm.” Syd all but hisses, shaking her head in tight swivels, waving her hand around her neck for him to cut it. “Making it worse.”

“Angel is like, the worst it can get.” Hums Richie. Recalling your barometer of anger. Recalling the times when Mikey would say ‘what’s the point of paying bills?’ And you’d have to pull him aside. “Can’t get much lower than that besides—”

“Light of my life.” You look up from the paper in your hand, and both Richie and Sydney wince. Your voice is terrifyingly delicate as you nod over to the room behind you. “Apple of my eye. Can I speak to you in your office, please?”

Carmy’d like to say no. “...Yeah.” But you already started walking before he even answered, so there’s not much of a choice here. You head in by yourself, and thankfully, the door closes behind you, so Carmen’s got a second before he gets devoured. 

He walks around the counter, and as he nears the door, Richie grabs his arm. He whispers as he hands Carmen what’s left of his cocktail. “You need to lock the fuck in.”

“I know.” Carm returns, shooting down all that’s left of the lowball. Why’s Richie’s the sweet one? Why’d Carmen get the cough syrup drink? That’s not fair. Do you not think he’s sweet? “Thank you for the— Intercept.” 

Richie nods, he’s been unwillingly playing quarterback for Carmen since going to Rockefeller and seeing that goddamn giant tree and Carmen couldn’t stop opening his big fucking mouth after seeing you under the star. “Just think with your brain, not your—”

“Don’t.” “Was gonna say heart.” “Sure.” “Don’t be weird.”

“I know it’s expensive.” Carmen gets it out before even fully closing the door behind him, “But it’s normal prices, for high-end restaurants. I know it’s different—” He stops short when he finally turns around from the closed door, to see you, holding your painting. 

It’s facing you, you’re reviewing it in your hands where you sit in the office chair; the brown wrapping paper freshly ripped and on the floor. Carmen still doesn’t know what’s on the piece. 

“Carm.” You twist the piece around in your hand, turning it to him. He can see the nine squares. The Beef to The Bear. Mikey. “This is not another restaurant.”

Carmen continues to stare, silently, though he takes a step closer, reaching a hand out to graze over the canvas. You keep going, clarifying. “We’re not just another high-end restaurant. We’re us. And so we should be doing things like us. We’re the best, we don’t need the stuff to be.”

He was with you until that last part. His pursed lips say as much.

“It’s—” You smack your lips together, haphazardly handing him the canvas, he’s very quick to grab it with both hands, not wanting it unstable for a second. “Hold on, let me show you somethin’ — I think I left one in here.”

You roll the office chair back a bit, sinking down in the seat to reach far behind a tall cabinet; you have to pad your hand around in the dark nook for quite some time before you pull out— A screwdriver. An oddly shaped one, at that.

“...Has that been here the whole time?”

You nod. “Like threeish years at least, I think I threw it back there while telling it’s origin story. It’s part of the first set I ever got.” You grip the flat wooden handle. “It’s the worst screwdriver on earth, like, by far.” 

That gets a little chuckle out of Carmen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look up from it to him. “It’s a handmade set. Dad’s dad made it.” You awkwardly roll closer to him, he leans over, head next to your head as you both look down at it. “It’s got a flat wooden handle, made of poplar— So not only is it fucking impossible to get a good grip on, it’s also so fucking slippery. It’s part of a whole set, passed down from my grandpa to my dad to me.”

“Sounds fucked.”

“It is.” You laugh, and so does he. “It’s purposefully meant to piss you off.” You rub your thumb over the dent marks in the wood— All from the times you threw it at something— Including the very cabinet that it hid behind. “You ever wonder why I took over the handyman gig, bein’ the youngest and all?”

Carmy shrugs, glancing from the screwdriver to you. “Just assumed you were the best.”

That gets another laugh out of you, and Carmen’s overjoyed by the sound. “Yeah, I’m probably the best. But that’s only cause I kept up with it.”

You turn your head up to face Carmen again as you explain, “When our dad started bringing us to jobs as kids, he would make us exclusively use this set of screwdrivers— Sort of as a secret test. My brothers would get pissed off, as planned, and they’d quit and cry. And I dunno, I guess I’d cry and keep going? And I learned a couple tricks, eventually.”

“Tricks?”

“Like.” You pull back in the chair and run your hand across the office desk. The corners of it are screwed into the metal cabinet below it. “It’s really good if you’re screwing from the top down.” Using it as an example, you start to unscrew it. “It’s balanced. And it’s really all in the grip— Always loosen your grip with this one. Even if that seems counterintuitive.”

You get it to unscrew just fine with your loosened grip. “But if that doesn’t work, and you just can’t get it to work—” You lift the screwdriver in front of his face, showing off the sides of the handle. He smirks at the— “Just make your own grooves, it’ll be easier to hold.” Tiny teeth marks. 

“Carm.” You tap the handle to his nose as he zones in too much on it. “I’m the best repairman because I can work with anything. You’re the best Chef because you can work with anything. You don’t need the best when you’re the best.”

He’s the best? 

He’s the best. 

He’s the best. 

“I truly think you could make just as good a plate with Becel as this fucking Animal Farm butter.” 

Carmen’s the best. You think he’s the best. 

He’s gotta think with his head and not with his heart and not with anything else, either. Lock the fuck in, Carmen.

“I dunno bout all that.” He shrugs, bashful and attempting to hide it, trying to shake the praise off his back. 

“Well I know ‘bout that.” You shrug back, “I’m actually kind of a genius, when it comes to knowing who’s good and who’s not.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Carmy hums, and the sound is sweet without reservations. “...Painting is very good.” He nods to himself, on repeat, like a bobblehead. “Or I guess it’s less a painting and more a buncha photo transfers?”

“Yeah.” You set the screwdriver aside on the desk. “Most of them I took.”

“They’re good. It’s—” He pauses, tongue against his teeth. “It’s nice to see evidence he kept up, or somethin’.”

You nod, seeing Carmen’s brain struggle to keep pace in real time. “We took that one I think the day we talked to Uncle Jimmy about The Bear? Had to print out articles as proof we could make it work— Or, that you could make it work, rather.”

Carmen sniffs, crossing his arms, hands in tight fists— Probably too tight— where they hide. “Yeah, kinda fuckin’ up my end of the bargain, hm?” The light laugh that follows is hollow.

“Eh. You both did.” You smile, though it’s hesitant. “ But at least you’re still here fixing it.”

Still here. Still fixing it. That is in essence, the piece. Carmen gets lost staring at the squares, so you speak as he does. “I was trying to like. I dunno, replicate your brain.” He can see it. The messy yet coherent, controlled yet chaos. The love. The grief. The progress. The home. You see him. He can see that you see him. 

“11k for butter,” Carm’s head doesn’t move but his eyes raise to you. “Is a week. More than a week.”

Ah. Carmen can see you too, see your thought process. The Ascaso, worth one of the worst weeks of Mikey’s life. The fucking butter. Worth more than a week of Mikey’s sobriety. 

All you can do is nod solemnly. “It is, yeah.” 

He nods back, tongue prodding his cheek. “That’s too much.”

“I’d agree.”

“I’ll switch to local.” You make it easy for him to fix his mistakes, by giving him the space to realize them. 

“I think that’s the right call.” You nod, smiling. After a moment, you reach for Carmen to uncross his arms, and when he does, you take his fist and uncurl it— Your hand is a very soothing balm to the spots where he dug his nails into his own hand.

“Loosen your grip, Carmy.”

And so, he does. With a laugh and a look to high heaven, he loosens his grip. Really loosens his grip. Well— Not completely, he’s not going to say that, but he will say something that is just nearly as difficult but not quite. He'll bite down a little. He’ll make the grooves, for now, until his grip is good enough.

“Come to dinner with us?”

would you believe me if i said I had to rewrite a bit of this last scene because intially it went so rom-com and I was so disgusted when I reread it in the morning I had to stare at it in the subway ride to work like "what the fuck am I gonna do"

was this chapter good? God I hope so. I felt like with where we're going, it was kinda necessary to do Chip's onboard, set the stage for what work is like for her. I had to loosen my own grip with this one lmao. just allow myself to be a LITTLE messy. if it's bad, lie to me. tell me sweet little lies peach

DAD REVEAL THOUGH EH? MR CK!!! So much did happen this chapter. Chips on board! Squid Ink moving in together era commences! Christmas party!! Also. Would you believe me if I told you no shit syd was gonna move, she was planning it in S2, but I was planning this whole time for Ink to get evicted!! I want those fuckers to be roommates STAT!!!

anyways, i really hope i remembered to write down everyone that asked to be added to the taglist, i might've not. i'm very sorry if i didnt

oh also if you wanna be added!! send in your thoughts!! words for words baby, essay for essay cmonnn gimme ur character analysis!! (oh and also ask to be added, ofc)

@hoetel-manager , @fridavacado @sharkluver , @spectacular-skywalker , @silas-aeiou , @deadofnight0 , @sunbreathingstuff , @anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @blueaproncarmy @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @mrs-perfectly-fine @thefreakingbear @anytim3youwant

[starryeyedstories]

I'm dying to know what their first date was like after the coffee and pasta confessions. ❤️

Brave

The Bear and The Bean universe

Pairing: Carmy Berzatto x f!reader

Summary: Carmy cooks for you on your first date.

Warnings: Food mentions, super cheesy fluff (there’s parmesan and pecorino), brief mention of blood

A/N: Follows on from this fic but could be read on its own but where’s the fun in that??

You had spent the day frantically tidying your flat and overthinking how tidy it should be for Carmy coming over that evening. You spent so long trying to decide how to set the table- it was a date, after all, but how formal should it be when it’s your own flat?- that you barely noticed the time passing and had only just changed into a cosy cardigan and jeans and made sure your hair wasn’t a total mess when the doorbell rang at seven on the dot.

The thrill that went through you when you opened the door to reveal Carmy caught you by surprise in its nature; it was pure excitement, not an ounce of nerves. He was dressed in a nice woollen jumper and jeans, a tote bag on his shoulder from which you could see a fresh baguette poking out.

“Hi!”

“Hi.”

His soft smile at the sight of you had you giddy, so much so that it was another few seconds before you realised you were still standing in the doorway.

“Oh! Sorry, please come in!”

He liked seeing you in your home. Sometimes it was strange seeing someone in a different place when you’ve only ever seen them in one other before, but the more he looked around the more the flat seemed like an extension of you. The abundance of blankets and cushions and trinkets all made him smile, the warm vanilla scent of the candle burning on the coffee table reminding him of The Bean and your perfume.

You liked seeing him in your flat too.

The kitchen was no different. He smiled at the obviously hand-painted flowers you had added onto some of the cupboard doors- they matched the designs he had seen on the front of the counter at The Bean. The image of you sitting on your kitchen floor painting made his heart feel as though it was going to leap from his chest as he set his bag of ingredients on the wooden counter.

“I feel kinda bad, making you cook for me on your day off,” you said with a frown.

He shook his head immediately.

“Don’t feel bad. I wanted to do this.”

His earnestness had a smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Where do you keep your pans?”

Carmy never seemed to flirt with you, for which you were grateful. Instead he was sweet in a simple, honest way that didn’t have you second-guessing anything- not his intentions, not his sincerity, nothing. The man liked you, without keeping it a secret or making you try and guess how or how much.

Soon, your kitchen was filled with the mouthwatering smells of garlic and pancetta frying in a pan as Carmy whisked together golden egg yolks and parmesan and pecorino for a carbonara sauce. He had given into your request that he let you help somehow and had let you take over rubbing garlic onto the now toasted baguette, grinning to himself at your enthusiastic “oui, chef!” when he did.

Conversation flowed like melted butter, warm and golden, throughout dinner, and more than once you caught yourself thinking about how right it felt having him sitting opposite you at your little kitchen table.

He lost the brief good-natured argument that occurred when he tried to insist on doing the dishes by himself, leading to you drying whilst he washed. Your hip had bumped against his by accident twice since the pair of you moved to the sink, your fingers brushing each time he passed you a clean bowl or utensil, and he found himself grateful that he couldn’t seem to say “no” to you.

Laughing at a story he was telling you about his disastrous first ever attempt at making his own pasta, the towel in your hand slipped as you were drying a knife and you hissed in surprise and pain as it sliced the side of your index finger. Bright scarlet blood bloomed from the cut as you dropped the knife onto the drying rack, the blood dripping and blooming in the puddles of water there.

“Shit,” Carmy cursed, looking at your finger with wide eyes, and your first thought was that he was annoyed that he had just cleaned that knife for nothing. That thought was quickly banished by him reaching for the kitchen roll on the windowsill, folding it deftly and swapping the dishcloth in your hand for it. “Hold that on it for me, as much pressure as you can. You got a first aid kit?”

Your finger pulsed under your grip as you followed his instructions, sending him down the hall to your bathroom in search of plasters. When he returned with one in hand, you were peeking at the cut to see if the bleeding had stopped.

“Here, let me,” he said gently.

His hand curled around yours, carefully removing the wad of kitchen roll to look at the cut now that it was no longer bleeding.

“It’s not deep,” he told you, sounding relieved, “And I can vouch that the knife was totally clean so I don’t think you’re gonna get sepsis.”

His deadpan humour caught you off guard and had you giggling; the corner of his mouth twitched when you did.

You let him hold your hand over the sink to wash it and then dry it, not bothering to point out that you easily could have done so yourself. You liked the feeling of his hands on yours, even as he carefully applied a plaster to your fingertip and took care that it wasn’t too tight.

“All sorted.”

It was then that you both seemed to realise at the same time how close together you were still standing and that he was still holding your hand. His eyes flitted undeniably to your lips and you felt your stomach swoop when they returned to your eyes, desire evident in them.

With his free hand, he touched your cheek gently, reverentially, as though you were made of glass- or perhaps gold. His touch trailed to your jaw and your eyes closed in anticipation as his fingers curled under your chin, lifting it ever-so-slightly.

The first soft touch of his lips to yours had warmth spreading through you like the first sip of a hot drink on a cold day, that unmistakable feeling of “I needed this”. His nose pressing gently into your cheek, his forehead against yours, his lips moving so sweetly and slowly- all of it had you feeling as though every nerve in your body had been set alight in the best way.

The kiss only lasted seconds, but the shy smile on his lips had you going in for another. He nuzzled your nose with his when you pulled away, his hands drifting to your hips.

“I should go,” he whispered regretfully, making no move to do so.

“Okay.”

He kissed you again, his lips parting just barely against yours this time to take your bottom lip between them, your arms finding their way around his neck to get even closer as you hummed into the kiss. You felt simultaneously drunk and completely sober, aware of every tiny press of his lips to yours and feeling it warm you from the inside out.

You couldn’t help giggling when he pulled back for air and almost immediately went in for another kiss, looking adorably confused when your finger stopped his lips before they reached yours.

“Carmy, you said you need to go,” you reminded him.

He sighed heavily and you bit back a grin at how pink and glossy his lips were in the aftermath of your kisses.

“Yeah, I know. I just really wanna keep kissing you,” he admitted, thumbs stroking your sides absentmindedly.

Beaming, you twirled the hair at the nape of his neck, loving how it made him lean into you and nuzzle your cheek.

“Come to me for your coffee in the morning and I’ll kiss you again,” you promised, and you felt him grinning against your cheek.

“What time do you open again?”

[fishfooddude]

Hi

I read some of your stuff and really liked it and I was wondering

If you could do like a carmy x English major fic?

Like maybe a book store opens somewhere near the bear and it’s Natalie’s babies first birthday and he figures that kids like books and stuffed animals and he’s been too busy to get anything for the party cuz he’s helping Natalie by catering so she doesn’t have to worry about it

So he goes in and he meets reader and she recommends him something (like stellaluna or where the wild things are, like a classic kids book that carmy has somehow never heard of)

But then he thinks she’s really cute so he just keeps finding excuses to go in and talk to her and she starts like regularly recommending him books and everyone’s like “when the fuck did he learn how to read?”

No pressure just thought I’d ask, tysm!

Written Romance

Carmy Berzatto x Reader

The Bear Masterlist

 “What do you even get a one-year-old?” Marcus queried as he looked down at the pastel-fruit-decorated birthday invitation. Michelle Witaske-Berzatto’s Berry's first birthday was this upcoming Sunday, and of course, the entire Bear staff was invited.

Carmy shrugged, “Last time I babysat, she played with a paper towel roll for 45 minutes.” he chuckled, remembering his niece squealing as she threw it in the air as much as her chubby little arms could. While he had become one of Natalie’s go-to babysitters, his apartment lacked baby-friendly activities. He’d busted out a couple of his old stuffed animals from Donna’s garage, and he had a couple of soft blankets for her to sit on, but aside from that- he was the awkward uncle who didn’t know what to talk about with a baby. He did like reading about French cuisine with her, but Sugar argued she preferred the story books Donna and their Nona used to read them when they were little. Carmy insisted she was actually a huge Julia Child fan, but his opinion was written off.

Carmy was taking out the trash when he noticed a new bookstore had opened a few storefronts down. He paused before throwing the bags in the dumpster; he’d have to check it out on his break.

~

It had been a slow day in the bookshop, granted days like this were nice since you were behind on homework. You were on a hot streak with your writing when the welcome bell rang, signaling you had a customer. After mentally cursing their existence, you closed your laptop and looked up to see a handsome man. Black Dickie work pants, crisp white t-shirt, and Birkenstock clogs with a reusable tote bag on his shoulder. You bit your cheek as you watched this mystery man approach the counter. “Hey, how can I help you?” your voice cracked subtly enough for him not to notice- or at least not indicate he heard it crack.

“Do you have any children’s section and recommendations?” he asked hopefully. “Well, that depends,” you started as you walked around the counter. “How old is the kiddo?” you asked as you walked toward the back of the shop, motioning him to follow you. 

“She’s one.” Carmy answered, following you through a narrow hallway made up of two overstuffed bookshelves. You nodded, “Well, my nephew loved Stellaluna when he was little- so that’s my go-to.” 

Carmy nodded, “Okay.. any others? It’s her birthday, so wanna get her somethin’ fun.” he explained as you handed him a copy of Stellaluna, “Is this about bats?” he asked as he held up the book to you. You laughed and nodded, “It’s charming- it’s about embracing differences and how different people can be friends.”

You directed Carmy through the children’s section for about an hour. Carmy held a pile of colorful picture books and a copy of a fairy series you’d recommended for when Michelle got older. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?” Carmy asked as he set the pile of books on the counter. You nodded as you began ringing up his purchase, “I’m getting my Master’s in English Lit.”

Carmy smiled, “That’s cool.” 

“Thanks… what about you? Are you passionate about your work?” you challenged as you put each book in a paper bag. “Passion is a subjective experience… I’m a chef- I actually own The Bear.” he laughed, gesturing toward the exit. “Is it nearby? Sorry, I don’t go out to eat often.” you grimaced, hoping you hadn’t offended him. Carmy nodded, “It’s across the street a few doors down.” 

“I’ll check it out sometime.” you smiled, handing him his bag. Carmy nodded, “Sure thing. I’m Carmy, by the way.” 

“Y/N. I hope the little one likes her books.”

“I’ll be her favorite uncle for sure.” 

~

It took a few weeks for Natalie to notice, Carmy was happier. When she went to pick Michelle up she noticed an ever growing stack of children’s books, coloring books, and his not ratty old stuffed animals from Donna’s garage. Something was goin’ on… she just didn’t know what. 

“Is Carmy dating someone?” she asked Syd one night when they were alone in the office. She shrugged, “Honestly, I don’t want to know about his love life.” she laughed at the end. The sheer obscurity of Carmy having a girlfriend after the Claire saga was something Syd didn’t want to wrap her head around. “He’s been going to that bookshop a lot- if he is seeing someone, she probably works there.” Syd thought aloud as Natalie hit print on the document she’d been working on. 

“Hm. Interesting…”. “Natalie trailed off as she exited the office with the paperwork and a pen. She walked into the dining room to get Richie to sign off on an order. She watched him squeeze the bridge of his nose at the host stand. “Stressed?” Natalie commented as she set the documents in front of Richie. Yeah… where’s Carmy? I need to ask him about the menu for next week.” 

Natalie shrugged, “Not sure. He said he had to run an errand?” 

Richie shook his head, “I swear that child is tryin’ to get with this girl- mother fucker learned how to read to impress her. Marcus saw him reading some philosophy book in the office last night.” 

“Hm. I guess I’ll just have to ask him about it.”

[alisonsfics]

wrong number texts

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: when you asked carmy to give you a few mini cooking lessons, it sounded like a good idea. that was until you had to spend lots of alone time with him, and somehow not mention your crush. so, you decide to text sydney about it, or you think you do.

word count: 1.5k

“I gotta go make a call, but you can get started without me. I left the recipe over there.” Carmy told you, grabbing his phone and heading towards the alleyway door.

A few weeks ago, you had asked Carmy for a few mini cooking lessons to help you improve. In true Carmy style, weeks went by as he forgot about it. With a million things going on at the Bear, you reminded him.

He felt like shit for forgetting and promised to make it up to you.

You weren’t holding your breath. You knew Carmy got easily distracted and had a lot of things on his plate. After you both picked a day, he cleared his schedule for you.

He didn’t want to let you down again. He hated seeing you disappointed, but you didn’t know that.

Since it had been weeks, you hadn’t been thinking about it too much. Now that the day was here, you realized it meant a lot of alone time with Carmy.

You worked with him everyday, but usually your friends were there. With just the two of you in the kitchen, it was too intimate. Given that you had been crushing on Carmy for months, you didn’t want to accidentally confess how you’d been feeling.

You quickly washed your hands and grabbed the recipe written in Carmy’s scribbly handwriting. It was a recipe for a pasta dish.

You grabbed the dough out of the fridge that Carmy had prepped. You started to knead the dough.

Carmy came back into the kitchen, glancing over at you. You noticed how his eyes didn’t leave you as he walked over to the sink to wash his hands.

“So, how’s the dough coming?” He asked, letting his hand graze your back as he walked behind you. Sometimes you felt like Carmy’s lingering touches and glances were on purpose, but you weren’t brave enough to ask him.

Even though he was one of your best friends, he was technically your boss. If you asked your boss if he was into you and he said no, you would be mortified.

“Here let me help you. If you do it this way, it’s faster.” Carmy said, standing behind you and putting his hands on yours. His fingers ran across the back of your hand as he helped you massage the dough.

You could feel all the heat rush to your cheeks. You were all too aware of your senses. You could feel Carmy’s chest against your back. You could feel his biceps pushing against you. You could even smell his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke.

This was one of the times you questioned if Carmy was doing it on purpose. He couldn’t have been that oblivious, right?

Watching his tattooed hands grab your own and force them to do what he wanted made you weak in the knees. You felt like you were just his puppet.

You swallowed, trying to distract yourself with anything else.

“There you go, see how much softer the dough is,” he said. His breath on the back of your neck sent a shiver down your spine.

He pulled away, giving your shoulders a quick squeeze before backing up to grab a towel.

“Now, you wanna section that dough and then start working on the vegetables.” He instructed. You quickly nodded, not being able to form any real words.

All you could think about was having his hands on you again.

He silently watched as you washed and peeled the vegetables. You didn’t think you’d feel so nervous having him watch you, but you were overthinking every little thing you did.

He gave you calm instructions about your finger placement while holding the knife. And you were just praying he didn’t try to adjust your hand. You couldn’t think straight with Carmy next to you.

You scooped all the chopped vegetables into the bowl. “Can I take a break for a minute? I need to make a call really quick?” You asked him. He quickly nodded his head. “Yeah yeah, of course. Go for it,” he said, smiling at you.

You quickly threw down your towel and headed into the alleyway. You took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall. You grabbed your phone to text Sydney.

She was the only person that you had told about your crush on Carmy, so she was the person you ranted to about everything concerning Carmy.

“Syddddd, please save me. Can you please fake an emergency and call me? I can’t be here anymore today. I asked Carm to teach me some stuff, but I CANNOT FOCUS WITH HIM LOOKING THE WAY HE DOES TODAY. Please please please help a girl out. Having to look at his tattoos all day? I’m gonna embarrass myself. I don’t know what’s happening with my fucking hormones, but please help me. If I hear him talk about finger placement one more time, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.” You texted her.

You leaned your head back against the wall, slowly trying to take deep breaths. The cold air filled your lungs. It brought you some peace and temporarily distracted you from the fact that you had to go back in and face Carmy.

Every time your phone buzzed, you frantically checked it. You were praying Sydney would text you back and save the day.

You heard the door swing open beside you. You glanced over and saw Carmy step outside.

“You mind some company or did you want to be alone?” He asked you, softly.

You quickly shook your head. “No no, feel free,” you assured him. You could feel your heart start beating faster.

He stood next to you, also leaning back against the brick wall. He silently looked up at the clouds, like he was trying to decide what to say.

“Did you want to talk about something?” You asked him, nervously. He took a breath before turning to face you. “I’m not going to lie to you. That text, that was meant for Sydney, got sent to me.” He said, hesitantly bracing for your reaction.

You felt all the blood drain out of your face. Your heart started racing. You quickly wiped your sweaty palms against your jeans. Every single word that you typed was replaying in your mind.

“Fuck fuck fuck, I did not do that.” You mumbled to yourself in disbelief. You put your face into your hands. You were silently wishing you’d wake up from whatever nightmare this was.

“Hang on, take a breath. You don’t need to freak out.” Carmy tried to relax you. You looked up at him in disbelief. “Don’t need to freak out? Carmy, you’re technically my boss. And I just accidentally sent you a text thirsting over you like an idiot.” You rambled.

Carmy chuckled to himself. He thought you were adorable when you were frazzled. He also was surprised you didn’t know he felt the same way.

“Come on, I’m not really like your boss.” He argued. Technically, he was right. Carmy always treated you as an equal, not like an employee. That was how he treated everyone at the Bear.

“That doesn’t make it much better, Carmy. You’re one of my best friends, and now it’s gonna be weird. God, I’m such an idiot.” You continued to rant. Carmy continued to smirk at you, but you were too busy having a crisis to notice.

“You want to ask me where I’m at?” Carmy suggested. You looked up at him, trying to read his expression. “Not really, I’ve been dreading the “I just think of you as a friend” talk.” You told him, nervously.

You finally noticed the grin on his face, it almost felt lovestruck. “Would I change your mind if I told you I’ve been wanting to ask you out for months?” Carmy asked, raising his eyebrow at you.

You finally felt the panic slow down. Your jaw almost dropped. “You let me stand her mumbling like an idiot, and you were just as into me? You jerk,” you said, trying not to laugh as you playfully hit Carmy’s arm.

“So, what’d you say? Me, you, dinner? Tomorrow night?” He suggested, cockily smirking at you. He placed his hands on your waist and pulled you closer to him. “That sounds amazing, but only if we pretend you never saw that text.” You told him.

Carmy tilted his head to the side. “I don’t think I can unread that. I didn’t know how much you liked my tattoos.” He said, smirking.

“Oh, yes. They’re wonderful.” You said, letting your hand trace his bicep. Carmy practically melted under your touch. He tightened his grasp on your waist and nudged you backwards against the wall.

“You’re gonna be seeing a lot more of them if this is how you react.” He said, watching the way you admired the designs.

He grabbed your chin and forced you to look away from the tattoos. Your eyes met his, and he slowly leaned in to kiss you.

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Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my imagines or for a specific character/fandom!!

[carmybrainworms]

pookie bear!!! the way you wrote soft carmy has my entire heart crumbling in your hands. if you want,, could u pretty please write carms with a gf who is just so so cuddly and clingy. not necessarily a pda girlie but maybe she loves to hold his hand and cling to his bicep. or just quiet hugs in his office when she visits the restaurant, her arms wrapped around his neck just bc she needs it 🙁🙁

yeah!

a/n: hello maggie from the ether!! i’m scheduling this so you can pretend i’m here rn on the internet. i love you and miss you so much!! imagine me drinking a pina colada while typing sweet carmy. -🪱

cws: none!! just fluff hehe.

—————————

“ow, holy shit. baby, what was that for?”

carmy laughs halfway through making breakfast, startled by a large bite on his shoulder.

“sorry. needed to take a little nibble. look so cute.” she mutters, arms wrapping around him from behind despite being all that smaller compared to him. muscle and all.

“a nibble? baby you almost took’a chunk outta me.” he retorts, despite not having any real venom or annoyance in his tone.

he was used to this. her hand wrapped around his pinky while they walk through the farmer’s market.

or her clinging onto his bicep as they cross the road.

asking him to tie her shoes, or ‘just one more kiss’ before he’s out the door.

some mornings waking up to her tracing his tattoos in the morning under streams of sunlight.

they have breakfast in front of the TV this particular sunday. her legs draped over his lap as they dial into shitty reality show. at least, carmy pretends to. he only keeps up with these things —for her.

everything, was for her. he thought, as he rubs her bare leg with his calloused thumb.

“love you baby.” he says mindlessly, surprising her slightly, but not too much. they passed that threshold long ago.

“i love you too carm.” she replies, mouth full of pancakes and eyes full of infatuation.

@maggiesarchives

[carmybrainworms]

♰ PRAYING. -- CONSUMPTION. (part four) -- carmen berzatto x fem!reader ♰

a/n: hi i am still on vacation! this is queued 4 ur viewing pleasure. (listen to: not strong enough - boygenius!) -🪱 cws: catholic trauma. angst. mentions of death/grief. (reader's mother passing.). cursing. kissing. sexual connotations, but no smut! (yet) wc: 1,446

--------- ⛥ ♰ ⛥ ---------

hebrews 10:22 - let us draw near to god with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water.

guilt - the fact of having committed a specified or implied offense, or crime. 

catholic guilt - a feeling of guilt that catholics or lapsed catholics may experience, often in excess.

its irrational, really. you’re human, right?

so why did she feel her stomach churn everytime she thought about their interaction at the bar? 

was it too much? what was i thinking? did i come off too strong? am i a whore? what would mom think?

her mind swirls as she stares down at yet another cup of black coffee. sitting at the bar of the beef with a dumbfounded look.

“hey. you alright?”

carmy knew that look. the ‘my mind is taking over, please help me', look. knew it more than he’d like to admit. 

“yeah, yeah. i’m alright.”

was it a crime to have regretted not taking him home that night? what would he think? 

referring to god like a real, tangible person in her head was one of her habits that transferred into her adult life from holy trinity. what would jesus do, all that bullshit. 

“are you sure?”

carmen didn’t like asking people if they were okay. but he selfishly saw himself in her.

for the first time in his adult life, he wanted to help. 

the words tumble out of her. 

“no. no, i’m not sure. is that stupid?”

he laughs, and it makes her resolve crumble slightly. the sound reverberating against the dingy walls. 

“no. no angel, y’re not stupid. talk t’me. c’mon, it’s fuckin’ empty in here.” he reassures, wiping down the counter with the rag over his shoulder. 

“do you ever feel guilty?” she says the first thing that comes to mind. 

“guilty? like, ‘bout what?”

fuck yeah i feel guilty. i feel guilty about mikey. i feel guilty about mom. i feel guilty for not checking in on sugar as much as i should. i feel guilty that i didn’t even remember your name when i saw you again. 

“everything? i guess?” she continues, taking a sip of the burnt, lukewarm coffee she’s begun to stomach everyday in an effort to spend some time with him. 

“yea. uh…i do. did somethin’ set you off?”

he always blamed himself. 

“yeah. you, i guess.” 

no going back now. 

“me?” he replies as he stops his aggressive wiping on a stubborn stain to look up at her. 

“you. yeah, i just…i’ve never…wanted someone the way i want you.” 

what a terrible way to say ‘i want to have sex with you, carmen.’

“want me?” he feels like he’s going to throw up. 

“want you. like, want you.”

what would god think? 

bullshit. who gives a fuck about god when the devil's standing in front of you? he's beautiful.

“i want you too. but shit, angel — i can’t mess this up.” 

he doesn’t know why he decided to be so brutally honest, but the words come out more profound then he meant them to. 

“i wouldn’t mind if you messed me up.” 

hell, they hadn’t even kissed yet — and he still made her feel like a damn teenager. 

“no, no. i’ve uh…messed up too much in life already alright? if, if i’m doing this…i gotta do it right y’know?”

cheesy bastard. 

“what? like flowers and bringing me home before curfew?” she jokes, smiling at how sweet he really was under that rough exterior. 

“yea, kinda. you deserve those things, deserve to be treated right.”

and you’re wasting your time on me, but that’s besides the point. his inner monologue spits, but he doesn’t dare say the words out loud. 

“are you sure you’re from chicago?” she chuckles, trying to ignore the flush on her cheeks and the way her stomach flips when his bright blue eyes bore into her. 

“i wanna know you, angel. t’s not a crime.”

—

the vase on her nightstand was filled every saturday since then. carmen refused to come into her apartment, even when she desperately offered him to come in.

he wanted to keep the whole gentlemanly streak going. 

“carmen, what the fuck is a brunoise?” she laughs, the berzatto on speaker as she tries to make dinner. having texted him a photo of her fridge and telling him to just, use his chef brain to figure something out for her. 

“fuck, sorry. forgot you can’t do that. just, cut the carrot as small as you can alright? don’t want you choking on carrot. it’ll ruin the bite — and also i can’t stomach another funeral this year.” 

“jesus, carm.” she scoffs, but found his dark humor somewhat endearing. somewhat. it was clear it was his poor attempt at deflection. 

“sorry angel.” he mutters, taking a drag of a cigarette with the phone pressed to his ear. staring out a window. 

“shit!” she yelps out, the sound of metal clattering next to her curse letting carmy know she’d slipped. cut herself. familiar sounds. 

“how deep is it?” he instantly asks, not needing an explanation. 

“it’s…fuck. i don’t know.” she felt stupid, not being able to take care of a little cut.

but blood made her squeamish, and this was how carmy was finding out. 

“you don’t know?” 

“i can’t look.”  she all but whimpers over the line, and carm’s already tying his shoes. not thinking twice about making his way over.

“the fuck you mean you can’t look? put pressure on it. give me ten.” 

she opens the door with her hand wrapped up in a reddened paper towel. 

“hey. lemme see it.” he says as he gestures to her hand, closing the door behind him and breaking his chivalrous rule for the first time. 

“hi.” she says as he gently unwraps the paper. inspecting the slice in her left pointer. 

“t’s not too bad. where’s your first aid kit?” 

“under the sink.”

he half holds her hand to keep the pressure, pulling out the little box from the cabinet with the sink pipes.

“is it normal for it to feel like it has a heartbeat?” she chuckles, looking away as he takes care of it. like she’s a kid getting their first flu shot. 

“yea, sometimes.” he mutters back, monotonous as his eyebrows furrow in focus while applying a band aid. 

he lets her hand go, but suddenly, she grabs it back. 

“thank you.” she says, rubbing over his little hand tattoo. 

“for what?”

“for caring.” 

she doesn’t know why the guilt didn’t consume her in that moment. leaning in and capturing his lips in hers, under the dim kitchen light. 

and in seconds he’s messily making out with her on the counter, breathless as his hands roam at any inch of bare skin. desperate to feel her. 

it doesn't last long before the guilt comes back like a tidal wave. this time, over him. 

“hey. hey, we shouldn’t alright?” he adds breathlessly, forehead resting on hers. whispering. 

“why not?” she almost pouts at the denial, the heartbeat in her finger mirroring the thump in her chest. 

“i’m…just ’m not ready, angel.”

i don’t want to ruin you. 

—

“lou, he said he wasn’t ready. what kind of guy says no to sex?” 

she’d phoned a friend the second he ran out of there. thoughts swimming.

was she not pretty enough? did she read too hard into the moment at the god forsaken bar? 

carmen’s in a similar spot. nat trying to talk him down as he runs home. 

“sugar. sugar — shit. i fucked it. i fucked it.” 

“bear, what happened? you still haven’t told me what happened.” his sister says as she squeezes at her nose bridge. her baby brother had a habit of stressing her out to no end. 

“the, fuck — the girl. the girl i was talking about. she invited me to stay at her apartment y’know? and i-i ran out.” he didn’t talk about this stuff with nat. hell, he didn’t talk to nat. he hopes she picks up on what he means even through his vagueness. 

“well, why?” is the only question sugar can find herself replying with when it comes to carmy these days. 

“cause, fuck. i dunno! i didn’t wanna, i was scared alright?” 

why carmen always sounded defensive when asked a simple question was one of the many mysteries his loved ones would never solve about him. 

“scared of what? did she have like, a pet snake or something?” natalie giggles, only making carmy groan. 

“no, you fuckin’-, y’re supposed to help me y’know that? i just…she’s perfect. and i’m…i dunno. just, i dunno.”

- ⛥ ♰ ⛥ -

dt: @thecapricunt1616, @carmenberzattosgf, @maggiesarchives, @mouseymilkovich hello from the ocean!! i'm back soon my loves. <3

- ⛥ ♰ ⛥ -

[carmybrainworms]

STRANGERS -- FIELD TRIP (Part Eight) -- Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader

a/n: another scheduled post! rahhhh high school sweethearts save me! (listen to: end up here/never be - 5 seconds of summer <3) -🪱 cws: kissing, mikey being mildly homophobic (calls carmy gay as an insult LMAO) pure young love/fluff. wc: 1k!!

--------- ☆ ---------

“am i even doin’ this right bunny?”

6am. she started coming over at 6 in the fucking morning, just to have that little bit of extra time with him. 

“yeah! yeah, you are. just make sure you don’t burn yourself.” 

she reassures as she guides the hair straighter down. carmy noticed her doing it one day before school and found himself curious. he hated his curls. then again, he hated a lot of things about himself. 

“m’kay. last piece. how do i look?” he says as he turns to her before the mirror. knowing her opinion is all he cared about, anyway. the mirror didn’t have shit on her. 

“hot.” she blurts out bluntly, blushing as the one word reply comes to fruition. an impish grin on her face as she watches him flush harder. 

he gets up and hour early and straightens his hair every day from there on. 

richie and mikey sat in the living room, patient to watch them as they left together. low whistles and claps. 

“what’s with the hair huh? lucky you got a girlfriend now, bear. we were startin’ to think y’were gay.” mikey pipes up, his voice loud and teasing. 

his girlfriend in question was laughing -- as carmen slumps in his oversized sweater. grumbling a muttered ‘leave ‘er alone.’ and a ‘let’s go bunny.’ as he grabs the keys to his car. 

--

a field trip to shedd aquarium.

their chemistry teacher quit one day, randomly. they seemed to do that a lot in chicago. now they’re having lunch surrounded by fish instead of surrounded by assholes in a basement cafeteria. 

“hey. no. i packed you lunch.” she says as she tugs the hem of his hoodie before carmy gets the chance to get up and sneak away for a smoke. 

‘i packed you lunch’. carmen doesn’t even think donna’s ever packed him lunch. 

“really?” he laughs, sitting back down on the floor next to her. 

“yeah, really.” she smiles, rolling her eyes and reaching into her backpack. handing him things one by one. 

a peanut butter and jelly. a kit-kat bar. a capri-sun. a little snack sized bag of lay’s, with a little post-it note on top. ‘you’re fintastic! 𓆟' in her handwriting.

“y’re corny bunny.” he teases, but kisses her on the cheek as a thank you.

he still felt wrong sometimes for not asking to do so. no matter how many times she’d yell at him over and over, ‘just kiss me, bear.’ 

“you like corny.” she hums in rely, digging into her own packed lunch as they look up at creatures swimming by. the glass ceiling illuminating a blue tint all around them. 

was it crazy to say that his food tasted like love? carmy swore that day he’s never liked eating a struggle meal more. 

the youngest berzatto’s fingers twitch as they walk through the rooms full of tanks side by side. a telltale that he’s too petrified to reach out and hold her hand in his.

so she takes the initiative, intertwining their fingers. interlaced digits and flush knuckles as they stare at sea creatures -- pretend to listen to a tour guide. 

“y’know, i had this crazy dream the other night.” she starts, noticing the way his eyes are locked onto their hands. 

“yea? ‘bout what, bunny?” he snaps out of it, remembering he needed to play it cool. 

“had a dream you said you loved me. it was cute.” 

shit. 

“u-uh…r-really? t-that’s uh…that’s crazy.”

the way his stutter comes back makes her eyebrow raise in suspicion. she hadn’t heard it in a long time. and that, makes carmen ramble. 

“i mean, like…it’s not like i don’t, y’know. i-i do! but like, that’s like, a big deal y’know? and we’re so young, and i-“

he’s cut off by her lips on his. if he was blushing before, he was a tomato now. 

“it’s fine, bear.”

everytime the guide pointed to a shark, or a sea lion, or hell -- a penguin, carmy wasn’t even looking. he was staring at her instead. the way her face lit up, or her black nail polish as she poked at glass in excitement too. 

“carmy look! that one kinda looks like cousin!” 

“carm, did you see that?” 

“bear, bear. can we steal it? your bathtub’s big enough right?”

her giggly voice is all he needed. amused nods and quiet ‘uh-huh’s as he acts like he’s not entranced by her. 

“it wasn’t a dream.” he suddenly admits, and the way she looks at him blankly in the gift shop makes him want to kick himself. 

“what?” she replies, now turned around to give him her undivided attention. 

“what you said earlier was a dream. it wasn’a dream, bunny.”

she swore her heart melted in that moment. standing next to a damn arctic aquatic stuffed animals section. 

“oh. oh…carmy.”

yeah — ‘oh, carmy’. 

“fuck, i knew you’d get freaked out.”

“freaked out? no. no, ohmygod. i love you too carm.” 

it puts him at ease. it was confusing to him. how the words from anyone else -- his mom, unc, mikey, sugar, richie: made him feel deathly ill. but her? 

it was butterflies. the good kind. the kind that made your nose tingle. your smile full toothed and goofy. 

“yeah?”

“yeah. i do.” 

on the yellow school bus back to campus, they share earbuds. blasting some poppy boyband shit he stomachs for her sake. carmy gave her the window seat, recalling how she liked spotting different license plates on the road. squealing when she saw one from new york. ‘it reminds me of home!’.

carmen was convinced if she was with him in fucking alaska, he’d still feel like he was “home”. 

｡･:*˚:✧｡*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:✧ ˚｡･:*˚:✧｡*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ:✧ dt: @thecapricunt1616 thank u for being strangers no.1 stan ily ily ily

｡･:*˚:✧｡*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:✧ ˚ ｡･:*˚:✧｡*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ:✧: ✧･ﾟ:✧

[zorrasucia]

this mess was yours (now your mess is mine) - Part 2

[Part 1]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (4.8k)

Tags: Smut, Set two(ish) years before the present aka the New York years, Porn with a little plot, Fluff, Friends with Benefits, Virgin!Carmy (my beloved), P in V Sex, Rough Sex (at Reader's request), Oral Sex (M receiving), Fingering, Period Sex, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Summary:

It had become a habit for both of you, being able to come home to someone who asked about your day and then fucked you senseless. It was unpredictable and messy but that was part of the appeal. You didn't see yourself quitting any time soon.

"Hey," Carmy greeted you. 

You had knocked frantically on his door until he opened. Maybe it was unhinged behavior on your part, considering it was almost midnight but you were too riled up to care.

"Hey," you replied, walking inside and closing the door behind you. You pushed him against the wall with one hand, the other holding a couple of books. You kissed him hard, shoving your tongue inside his mouth, grinding your entire body against his.

"Fuck," Carmy brought you closer by the waist.

"Brought you some books," you waved them in front of his face and threw them on the couch carelessly, using both hands now to pin Carmy's wrists above his head.

"You don't need to keep giving me books, you know? I feel like you're paying me," Carmy joked breathily, following your lead, pliant under your touch. Perhaps you had taken him by surprise or he actually liked you taking charge, either way you were having fun.

"Oh, but it's okay when you bring me black truffle gnocchi?" you retorted. 

He was keeping you well fed and well fucked.

"Those are leftovers. It's different," he argued.

"Well, I get a discount. Don't be difficult, Carm, just take them," you buried your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the moles and freckles he had on his skin. You exhaled and he shivered. "We're friends, right?"

"Sure," he panted.

"Friends can give each other presents," you rationalized. One of your hands let go of his wrist to tug at his hair. He moaned low.

"I just-" Carmy turned to look at you, suddenly very serious. "I can't do more than this, whatever this is. I don't want to fuck you over."

You hadn't put a name on it - friends with benefits was the closest thing you could come up with. It had become a habit for both of you, being able to come home to someone who asked about your day and then fucked you senseless. It was unpredictable and messy but that was part of the appeal. You didn't see yourself quitting any time soon.

"I can't do more than this, either," you replied honestly. You soothed his sides under his t-shirt. "It's all good, Carmy."

"I just-" his brows furrowed in worry.

"Hey. We're friends, it's just sex, nothing more," you cupped his face, caressing his jaw. "Are we good?"

He exhaled and nodded, his curls tickling your forehead.

"We're good," he smiled and kissed you, mouth open, cock half hard inside his trousers.

"Now can you please fuck me against the wall?" you asked.

Carmy gave you a wicked smile. "Yes, ma'am."

He grabbed your waist and manhandled you, your back to the wall. He kissed your neck and tugged your jeans down in swift succession. You kicked off your underwear and pulled down his trousers, just enough to free his cock.

"No foreplay," you said, caressing the head of his cock. "I want it to hurt a little."

"I got you," he panted, taking out a condom from his back pocket and quickly opening it with his teeth. Your visits were so frequent that he could open the wrapper with one hand and hold your throat with the other with ease now.

"You want it to hurt a little?" he repeated back at you, eyes dark.

"I need to get out of my head," you didn't want to explain, didn't want to talk about it at all. You wanted this man to fuck your brains out so that it was quiet inside your head and you could have a dreamless sleep. "Go as hard as you want. I'll tell you if it's too much."

"I-" Carmy hesitated.

"I've heard you screaming at God knows who on the phone, Carm. Don't act like you're some kind of saint and you don't have a shit ton of pent up anger in there," maybe it was a low blow but it got you what you wanted.

Carmy lifted you roughly, hands under your thighs, holding you tight enough to bruise.

"Never said I was a saint," he rasped, his cock poking at your entrance. "Never said I wasn't angry."

"Then show me," you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Fine."

He entered you in one blunt thrust, your head bumping against the wall, your pussy throbbing and burning against his invasion.

"Fuck," you cried out. It was half a whine, half a sob, from deep in your belly. You braced yourself, holding his muscular shoulders tighter.

He drew back, almost all the way out of your pussy, then back inside with force, leaving you breathless. His hips snapped against yours over and over; his empty apartment echoed the rhythmic clapping of your skin. Carmy was ruthless, giving you what you had asked for and more.

Your heart was racing inside your chest, trying to keep up with all that was happening - the ache inside you that was quickly turning into pleasure. Your mouth hung open, wanton whines leaving your lips.

"Happy?" he challenged you, maybe thinking you would ask him to stop or reject him in some way. You didn't.

"Yes," you managed to say, dragging out the 's', and crossing your ankles behind him, bringing him even closer.

All you could think of was Carmy and how good he was making you feel, how his hands would leave imprints on your hips, and how you were probably the only person that had allowed him to lose control like this.

"Give it to me," you insisted.

"You're so fucked up," he said. It wasn't a jab, if anything there was admiration in the way that he said it, that you could take it so well.

His movements got quicker and messier. He hid his face in your neck, drowning ragged growls into your skin. You could feel him hit the depths of you. His thrusts angled upwards as he got closer to his release, hitting your G spot over and over.

"Fucking-" was all you got to say before you became a moaning mess, Carmy holding on just enough that you could ride your orgasm in his last desperate thrusts.

"Shit. Shit. Oh, my God," he groaned hard.

You could hear him far away, your body felt limp and heavy as he carried you to his bed; your skin felt tingly and hot.

"Hey, talk to me," Carmy demanded, some left over gruffness coloring his tone.

"'m fine," you mumbled, "just fucked stupid."

"Good. Okay, that's good," he said, letting out a relieved sigh, smiling.

"Can I sleep over?" you asked, eyelids heavy. His bed was comfortable and the bedsheets smelled like him.

"Like I would let you go anywhere like this," he rolled his eyes and manhandled you to lie under the blankets.

"So bossy," you said appreciatively, half asleep. "Like it. I like that you're a little fucked up."

"Yeah?" Carmy seemed taken aback by it, grinning incredulously.

"Mhmm," you wrapped an arm around his waist, nuzzling his neck.

You knew what it was like to pretend all day, to be a watered down version of yourself. It was exhausting. 

You closed your eyes as Carmy kissed the top of your head.

~

Carmy surprised you as you were opening your door in the middle of the afternoon, your keys still dangling between your fingers. It was his free day, you remembered.

"Hey, you busy? I need a little help with something," he asked, peeking out his door, a nervous energy about him.

"I'm not busy," you replied flirtatiously.

"Oh! Uh, it's not a sex thing," he looked a little guilty now.

"Oh, okay. Sure, I'll help, I'm a good neighbor," you smiled brightly, hiding your disappointment that this wasn't a "help me, my boner won't go away" situation but more of a "help me, I need someone to hold a ladder while I change the lightbulb" situation.

You followed him inside his apartment and into the bathroom. He stood in front of you and removed his shirt.

"Carm, I'm getting mixed signals here," you said, your eyes lingering on the trail of hair on his lower stomach.

He chuckled. "It isn't a sex thing. I promise."

"I wouldn't mind," you said coyly.

He laughed openly now and turned around.

Right on his shoulder blade, there was a freshly done tattoo, the skin around it an angry shade of red, the ink crisp and dark, all covered in plastic and tape. It was a bird - a sparrow, falling mid-flight, an arrow through its chest.

"I didn't think it through," Carmy said. You could see the blush on his skin in his reflection on the mirror.

"You shouldn't regret it. It's beautiful," you said, your fingers hovering over it. "Just a little sad."

"I meant the placement," he explained. "Can't reach it by myself."

"Oh... You need help cleaning it," you realized.

"And putting lotion on it. It will get flaky and fucking gross in the following days so it's fine if you don't want to help me then," he was giving you an out.

It looked like it pained Carmy to ask, and it suddenly made sense why all his tattoos were within arm's reach.

"It's okay," you said simply, leaning over the sink to wash your hands, then turning to look at him. "Tell me what to do."

He exhaled with relief and walked you through it - removing the tape and the plastic, washing the skin gently, letting it dry, applying lotion...

There was something weirdly intimate about the whole process. Your hands were on Carmy, careful, admiring the artwork and the muscles underneath, checking in the mirror to confirm you weren't hurting him.

"All good?" you asked softly.

"Yeah. Thank you," he turned to kiss you, a quick peck on the lips.

You watched him put his shirt back on, a small wince as he arranged the fabric.

You caressed his cheek. "Is it bad? The pain."

He shrugged. "I kind of dig it."

You shook your head fondly. 

"How often do you need to do this?" you asked, walking towards the door.

"Ideally? Three times a day," he said. "Realistically? When I'm home from work and before I leave."

Carmy walked you to your apartment - it was only a few feet but it felt a little corny still, like a twelve minute long, weird ass date. You smiled.

"Let me know, okay?" you said in a jokingly stern tone. "I don't want your tattoo to get fucked up because you're too stubborn to ask for help."

He looked down and you knew you had hit a nerve.

"Promise."

It was nice, having a routine with Carmy, knowing that you would see him everyday, that he would knock on your door looking sheepish and that you would take care of him a little. Sometimes you rubbed the leftover lotion over his shoulders and the rest of his back, almost always you made out while you waited for his skin to dry, your hands and eyes feasting on his naked torso. Maybe it wasn't sex but it was the next best thing. It was sensual, soft, delicious.

"There," you said softly, running your fingers over the soft skin. It had peeled and looked awful for a few days but now it was pale and smooth once more.

Carmy turned and grabbed you by the waist.

"Thank you," he drawled.

"You're welcome," you said, swaying in his embrace.

Your hands traced the lines of muscle along his bare waist while you kissed his neck and shoulders.

"Fuck," Carmy exhaled into your hair.

"Can I suck your cock, Carmy?" you mumbled.

"Shit. You can do anything you want to me," he replied needily, his eyes going wide as you lowered to your knees in front of him. "Fuck. You're actually doing it."

You palmed him over his jeans. "I've been thinking about it for days."

"You have?"

"Wanting to be the first one to make you feel this good... Wondering how these," you caressed the muscles on his stomach, lingering on the V you liked so much, "would move if I sucked you off like you deserve."

"Holy shit," he was breathing heavily, getting turned on from your lazy touch and dirty talk.

You unbuttoned his jeans, dragging them and his underwear down his thighs. His cock was already half hard, and you caressed the length of it.

"Fuck," Carmy leaned against the sink, bracing himself, gasping for air.

"Tell me when it's good?" you echoed his words back at him, looking up.

He nodded. You took him in your mouth.

The noise that followed was something between a moan and a whine, deep from Carmy's chest, vibrating all the way down to his cock. This was going to be fun.

You grabbed on to his ass, taking him as deep as you could, watching him close his eyes and arch his neck. Your tongue caressed the underside of him, tasting salt, while you bobbed your head back and forth, forcing his moans to go quicker and longer.

"Oh, fuck. I've never- Jesus Christ!" he was a mess, mumbling nonsense, white-knuckling the edge of the sink. "Never felt so good. Fuck!"

Just as you felt his muscles begin to tense, you let him go with a pop. He whined in desperation.

You gave him a mischievous smile. "Can you help me with something?"

"Anything. Anything."

You gathered your hair on one side. "Can you hold this for me? It keeps getting in my face," you asked innocently, looking at him through your eyelashes.

"You're going to fucking kill me," he managed, one of his hands closing around your hair, resting on the nape of your neck.

"Thanks," you said.

You kissed the trail of hair on his stomach, licked the veins and freckles by his hip, and then mouthed up his length until you could lick his tip and take him again inside your mouth. He shook with pleasure and his cock poked the back of your throat. You choked, a string of saliva falling from the corner of your mouth.

"Shit, fuck, I'm sorry," he panted. "It just feels so good..."

You soothed the back of his legs. 'It's fine, it's fine.' His eagerness was making you wet - the needy sounds he was letting out. His grip on your hair tightened and you hollowed your cheeks around his cock, bobbing your head, keeping a steady rhythm.

"Close, 'm close," he managed, the veins of his neck pulsing and his face sweaty.

"Mhmm," you hummed against his cock.

One of your hands caressed the muscles of his stomach, so tense that they seemed to be vibrating, while the other moved to fondle his balls gently.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," he blurted out while tugging at your hair, letting out a long exhale, cumming inside your mouth.

"Mhmm, mhmm," you encouraged him, your mouth still on him, eyes up to see him completely undone. He looked beautiful.

You swallowed and swallowed, salt covering your tongue and dripping down the corner of your mouth, tears messing up your mascara.

Carmy used the hold he had on your hair to pull you away from his cock. He was panting and speechless - something proud purred inside your chest.

Carmy dropped to his knees and cupped your face. He kissed you, sloppy, lust-drunk, soothing your mouth with his tongue, licking the edge of your lips. You realized he was cleaning his mess - you moaned into his mouth.

"Carm," you carded your fingers through his sweaty curls. You realized there were tears in the corners of his eyes too.

"Fuck. That was everything," he mumbled against your skin. "Thank you."

"Anytime," you meant it - it made you happy to see how blissed out and relaxed he looked.

"Y'don't need to swallow next time though," he rubbed his finger on your chin, still sticky from his cum.

"What if I want to?"

He shivered.

"Jesus..." he shook his head, smirking. If you had known he liked dirty talk so much you would have started way earlier. "The fucking mouth on you..."

"You didn't seem to have a problem with it just now," you said, mischievous.

He shut you up with a hungry kiss.

~

You wrapped yourself tighter in your comforter, balling up into a cocoon on the couch. Your favorite movie was on, lulling you to sleep...

Someone knocked on your door.

"Fuck off!" you bellowed.

"It's Carmy," he replied softly.

Gathering what little strength you had, you walked to the door and opened it.

"Hi, Carm," he looked frazzled but still gorgeous. "Uh, nothing's happening today. I feel like absolute shit, didn't even go to work."

You said everything quickly, trying to get it over and done with as soon as possible, not in the mood for a conversation.

"What happened?" his eyes were full of worry.

"I'm on my period. I'll be fine, don't worry about it," you dismissed it easily. "Point is, sex is off the table, so I'll see you when I see you."

"Okay," he nodded and walked quickly to his apartment, not even saying goodbye. You knew this was the agreement - sex and nothing more - but it still stung more than you would have expected that he actually didn't give a shit.

You shut the door, ready to go back to your cocoon when he knocked again.

"What?" you said dryly.

"I left for only two minutes, what the fuck?" he complained.

You opened the door, not managing to contain a groan of exasperation.

"Carmy, I swear to God..."

He was standing on your doorstep with a gallon of milk and a handful of groceries.

"I'll shut the fuck up but will please you let me inside your kitchen?" Carmy insisted.

You moved to the side and watched him make a beeline to the stove, which left you confused as fuck. When you realized that he was actually not going to speak to you, you settled back on the couch. Maybe his stove wasn't working and he needed to cook something? You didn't really mind as long as he left you in peace.

The bang of pots and pans was kept to a minimum, so much so that you started getting sleepy once again. You had almost forgotten about Carmy altogether when he sat on the cushion by your head, caressing your hair and your arm gently.

"Did you take something for the pain?" he asked.

"A metric shit ton of ibuprofen," you sighed. "It fixed my back thing before the cramps."

He chuckled softly.

Your back thing was a weird muscular pain that you could actually trace to one particularly vigorous handjob you had given Carmy a week ago. He had kissed it better while he fucked you from behind a day later - not that it had done much for your pain but it had made you come hard, so you had no complaints.

"You really don't need to be here, Carm," you mumbled, even though his gentle touch felt so nice and comforting. "I'll be fine. The first day is especially hellish is all."

He sighed and got up. "I'll pour you some hot chocolate and I'll leave you alone."

You perked up. "What?"

He handed you a mug - it was thick, French style, hot chocolate.

"Carmy, what-?"

He arched an eyebrow. "What did you think I was doing in the kitchen?"

"I don't know, your dinner?"

"Give me some fucking credit," he said without bite.

You took a sip from the chocolate, it was a little too hot and it warmed you up from the inside. You hummed softly.

"Sugar loved this when she had cramps," he said absently, drinking from his own mug.

"Sugar?" you asked, a green thing of jealousy snarling inside your chest, unchecked and unwarranted.

"My sister."

"You have a sister?" you straightened up in your seat to look at him properly.

He nodded, not really giving room for more questions.

He placed his hand on your knee, caressing lightly. You leaned into his side and exhaled.

"Sorry for being mean earlier," you said and he shook his head gently. "And thank you. You didn't need to do any of this."

"I wanted to," he replied.

You turned and kissed him, soft and lazy, not trying to go anywhere, just thanking him.

"How was your day?" you asked softly, fixing his messy hair a little.

"One of the new chefs got fired after two hours, which is some kind of record," he said pensively.

If you ever saw his boss out on the street, you were kicking him in the balls.

"He can't keep doing that shit, can he?"

"It's his place. He can do whatever the fuck he wants, as long as the food is excellent. And it is," Carmy said somewhat sadly. "Did you do anything interesting today?"

"Other than just lying here all day feeling like a raccoon was clawing at my insides and thighs?" you said playfully.

"Your thighs?" he arched his eyebrows.

You shrugged. "It happens when it's really bad."

"Can I-?" he motioned to shift you on the couch, you nodded, and he placed your legs over his lap.

He started kneading on the flesh of your legs over your sweatpants, massaging gently. You hummed contentedly.

All of a sudden, you remembered a number of moments during sex when he seemed to favor your thighs, kissing them, biting them, holding them tight. He'd never said anything really but he liked them, it was obvious - especially now, his thumbs pressing on the insides, the fatty and stretch-lined part of them, with devotion.

Without realizing, you had started getting aroused, heart racing and your thoughts wandering free - thoughts of him nestled between your thighs, thoughts of them aching for entirely different reasons.

"Carm?"

"Hmm?"

You could feel your cheeks burning from the question you hadn't worded yet.

"Would it be super messed up if I asked you to fuck me?" you stumbled with your words.

"Now?" Carmy turned to see you, not stopping his attentions.

"If you want. It's just that- This feels nice and- I don't know. Orgasms are supposed to help with cramps," you added, feeling a little lame.

He smiled. "You really don't need to convince me to fuck you," his hands started pressing into your upper thighs.

"I'll  understand if you don't want to," you put your hands over his, caressing lightly.

He didn't reply, instead he leaned to kiss you again, slow and tender. You smiled into the kiss.

"It's going to be messy," you warned him.

"Sex is messy," he echoed your words back to you.

"Okay, give me a few minutes, yeah?" you said, going in the bathroom, tidying up a little, and changing your underwear. You emerged with a towel in your hands to find Carmy sitting on your bed, wearing only his boxer briefs. "You're dangerous."

He huffed, bringing you to stand between his legs.

"You’re dangerous," he emphasized, ogling you now that you were wearing only your underwear and a sweatshirt. He held you close, breathing you in as he peeled off your sweatshirt, burying his face between your breasts.

"So warm, so soft," he mumbled against your skin, giving you goosebumps.

"Carmy," you hummed and leaned into his touch, caressing his curls.

You felt lightheaded and dizzy as you settled on the bed, your head on the pillow, the soft towel underneath you, and Carmy hovering above you - kissing your body.

"Slow?" he asked, tracing a line from your bellybutton to your collarbone with his nose.

"Mhmm," you agreed, overwhelmed with how gentle and thoughtful he was being.

He took off your underwear and nudged your legs open. You were feeling a little self conscious.

He placed his hand over your mound.

"You've done this before?" he asked.

Sometimes, he could read you so well.

"Never on my period, no," you admitted. "Boyfriends didn't like the idea."

"I'm gonna take care of you," he drawled, kissing the side of your face and sliding one finger between your folds.

You hummed, caressing his arms and shoulders, marveling at how strong they looked in the lowlight of your room.

His fingers moved slowly, wandering around, caressing, pressing just enough on your clit to get you warm and ready.

"Please," you whined.

"Shhhh," he soothed, inserting one finger.

"Shit!" You arched into his touch, every nerve ending awake.

"You okay?" he checked in.

"I think I'm a little sensitive," you managed. When you saw Carmy's concerned face you added: "It's good. I can feel you, every little thing you do to me."

He curled his finger a bit, his gaze fixed on you to watch you roll your eyes with pleasure.

"Fuck," he swallowed.

"Yeah," you giggled. "I think I want more."

He pushed a second finger inside you, caressing your walls, watching you become a mess underneath him. He had you writhing and moaning with just his fingers, dangling near the edge of your release in just a few minutes.

"So close, I'm so close," you moaned.

He didn't make you beg for it. He seemed entranced - his fingers moving steadily, just staring as you lost control.

"Insane," Carmy mumbled as he kissed you.

"Mmm?" you questioned, barely out of your orgasm, only vaguely aware of him wiping his fingers on the towel and putting a condom on. Your hands reached out for his face.

"You're so responsive, it's insane," he rasped. "Can't wait to be inside you."

"I need it. I need your cock inside me," you whined and opened your legs wider.

He lowered to kiss you, hungry. Then he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the sides of your head.

"Don't move a fucking finger," he whispered. "I'm going to take care of you, make you feel so fucking good."

You nodded eagerly.

Carmy entered you slowly, making sure you felt every inch of him as he stretched you out and filled you completely. You arched your body against his, urging him to get closer even as his cock went almost all the way out.

A lewd, wet sound filled the room as he thrust back inside you, then the slap of skin on skin, then two moans almost in unison. He kept that torturous rhythm steady, eyes fixed on you, his movements were slow and calculated - he was letting your lust simmer to a boil, driving you crazy. You couldn't speak, breathy moans the only sound you could utter - that and his name.

"Carmy..."

"Yes, I'm here," he reassured you, a bead of sweat falling from his face. "You're being such a good girl for me."

You whined at that, your pussy gripping hard around him. You glanced down, taking in the sight of his tight abdomen, his trail of hair, and his cock disappearing inside you.

"Oh, fuck," you managed. "Think I'm coming again."

"Yeah?"

You nodded eagerly, biting your lip to silence your cries of pleasure. He thumbed at the place where your bodies met, pressing your clit as he kept that steady pace. You saw white for a moment, fluttering against his cock, even more wetness gathering between your legs.

"Shit," you exhaled, every feeling of aftershock mixing with the pleasure of being deliciously fucked still. Carmy's face was contorted in complete concentration, eyebrows furrowed and breathing hard.

"Can you do one more?" he asked.

"Yes," you said eagerly. "Yes, please, come with me."

He growled.

His pace accelerated, his hips arched, the head of his cock hit your G spot.

"Holy fuck!" you cursed, grabbing at your pillowcase to stop from moving your hands. "Carmy."

"Right here," he reassured you still, face red. "Y're being such a good girl," he praised.

You beamed, arching your back, guiding him to fuck you deeper and harder, following his movements with wide eyes. He groaned, his cock slipping out of you by accident.

"Put it back in, put it back, please," you begged.

He rushed to recover, quickly going back to the same hungry movements.

"Your boyfriends are fucking idiots," he mumbled into your neck, feral and possessive. "Didn't get to have you like this."

You pussy squeezed around his cock as it twitched inside you. You were both so close. He panted into your mouth.

"Ready?"

"Yes, please, yes," you whined.

You came together, meeting each thrust with a tilt of your hips, your moans followed by grunts. He collapsed on top of you, heavy, sweaty and perfect. You licked a line of salt from the side of his neck.

"Was it true?" he said, his gravelly voice rumbling against your chest.

"What was?" your hands caressed his back and his ass, fingers tracing curved shapes.

"That orgasms fix cramps."

"Mhmm," you giggled. "Read it somewhere. And the pain's much better now actually. Thanks."

"Anytime," he replied, tired. "I'll get up in a second."

"No rush," you said, carding your hands through his curls. "Wanna shower together?" you offered.

"Definitely."

You sighed, completely satisfied.

Later, when your fingers were lathering shampoo on his scalp, then carefully covering every strand with the scent of your coconut conditioner, a thought would interrupt your bliss. Maybe this was too sweet and domestic for friends with benefits. Maybe they way he fucked you was a lot like making love. Maybe. But you were too tired and too happy to care.

~

@vyctorya

[alisonsfics]

back in chicago - part 1

pairing: ex-boyfriend! carmy berzatto x reader

summary: after years in germany, you return to chicago and immediately run into your ex-boyfriend. if you thought it’d be easy jumping back into your old life, you were wrong. new people had entered carmy’s life, including a new woman, but you were still everything to him.

word count: 1.8k

You threw the final box into the trash pile and admired your finished room. You had just moved back to Chicago and as of five minutes ago, you were officially moved in. Your best friend, Maria, let you live with her since her roommate had just moved out.

“Last box done?” She called, from the living room. You walked down the hallway and into the living room. “I am officially unpacked,” you cheered as she applauded you.

You plopped down next to her on the couch. “You ready to celebrate your first night back in Chicago?” She asked you, raising her eyebrows.

After living in Germany for five years and teaching at a university there, you were ready to be home. You had gotten fired from your professor job and then dumped by your boyfriend, who was a German guy that you worked with at the university.

“How are we celebrating?” You asked, very intrigued. She used her hands to do a drumroll on the couch. “We are having a girls night out at a fancy restaurant and then wherever the evening takes us.” She told you.

“Oooo a fancy restaurant? How luxurious,” already mentally picking out an outfit, “what is it called?” You asked.

She pulled out a flier from behind her back and handed it to you. You ran your fingers over the glossy cover. The food in the photos looked delicious. There was a large bear logo in the middle of the flier.

You opened the flier and the giant words across the top read: “Head Chef Carmen Berzatto Presents…”

You felt your heart skip a beat. “Maria? What the fuck is this?” You asked, seeing your ex-boyfriend’s picture staring at you.

“Your old flame just opened a restaurant a few weeks ago, and I got us on the list.” She told you, excitedly. She expected you to be a lot more excited than you were. The emotions she was seeing on your face were more aligned with dread.

“We cannot go there, Maria. No way,” you protested.

“But come on, it’s Carmy,” she argued. Those words shouldn’t have been enough to convince you, but they did. Carmy was your one that got away, right guy wrong time, soulmate, whatever you wanted to call him.

You and Carmy hadn’t even been in the same room since you left for Germany and he broke things off, fearing how hard long distance would be.

“What the fuck do I wear?” You mumbled, half talking to yourself. Maria jumped up from the couch and pulled you towards your closet. “I will find you the perfect outfit.” She promised.

You sat on your bed as she sorted through your closet. “Oh, girl,” she said, freezing as she looked at a dress.

“What is it?” You asked, curiously. She spun around with the dress in her hand. “It has to be this one. It’s beautiful.” She said, in awe. You smiled to yourself as you looked at the dress. You did love the dress, and it looked fantastic on you.

It was a long maroon dress with a slit up the side. It had puff sleeves and a sweetheart neckline that fit in all the best ways.

You both spent the next few hours getting ready and singing along to your favorite songs in the process. You both knew you had to look perfect to see Carmy for the first time in five years. Maria helped you make sure your makeup was perfect, and then it was time to go.

As you walked up to the restaurant, you felt all the butterflies in your stomach. Maria took her phone out, and you both took some pictures in front of the building.

“You ready?” She asked you, fully aware of how brave you needed to be to go in there. You gave her a quick nod before you could change your mind. You both walked up to the host station, and you were face to face with Richie.

“Richie?” You asked, in shock as you noticed his suit. That was the complete opposite of the Richie you grew up with.

“You guys made it? Welcome welcome,” he said, walking over to give you both hugs. You realized that you’d probably be seeing more familiar faces than just Richie and Carmy.

“Right this way, ladies,” Richie said, guiding you both to your table. You noticed the back wall had windows into the kitchen. You quickly scanned for Carmy, but didn’t see him.

After Richie left the table, Maria noticed how nervous you looked. “Just take a deep breath. Nothing is going to happen. It’s just dinner and talking to some old friends afterwards. And it’s Carmy we’re talking about.” She reassured you. You knew she was right, but you couldn’t help the stress that maybe Carmy didn’t want to see you or was mad at you for leaving.

Richie was giddy as he headed back to the kitchen. He had been waiting all week for tonight. Maria had texted him ahead of time that you both were coming to dinner. Carmy had no idea, and Richie had been waiting to see his reaction.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sydney asked, seeing the giant smile on Richie’s face that wasn’t exactly on brand for him.

He grabbed Sydney’s hand and pulled her to the side of the kitchen. “You see that girl in the corner booth with the red dress?” He asked her. Sydney scanned the crowd for a second before finding you. She quickly nodded her head. “That’s Carmy’s ex-girlfriend.” Richie said, watching Sydney’s eyes go wide.

“Is she crazy or something?” Sydney asked, causing Richie to quickly shake his head. “No, not that kind of ex-girlfriend. She’s perfect. Her and Carmy were madly in love and shit. She got a job offer in Germany, and Carmy couldn’t handle the long distance. Her friend Maria told me they were coming, and Carmy has no idea.” Richie said, failing miserably at hiding his excitement.

“You’re so evil for this,” Sydney said, laughing. She quickly grabbed a bottle of wine and brought it out to your table. She knew Richie was meddling, but it’d be a shame if she didn’t use her front row seat to watch the chaos.

“Why are we so stuck on me and Carmy? What about you and Richie? You think I forgot about that? Him and Tiff have been divorced for a while, she’s marrying some new guy. Why haven’t you shot your shot?” You asked Maria, flipping the situation.

Back when you and Carmy were dating, you both had set Richie and Maria up on a double date. Neither of them were looking for something serious, but they were friends with benefits for a while, until Richie met Tiffany. You’d always suspected that they cared more about each other than they let on. “That is not why we’re here.” She corrected you.

Sydney walked up to your table, getting both of you to shut up immediately. “Hi, I’m Chef Sydney. Richie told me you both were family friends, so I wanted to bring out some wine for you on the house.” She said, pouring some wine into your glasses. You both introduced yourselves to her and chatted for a minute or two before she left.

“I’m going to the bathroom really quick. I’ll be right back.” You told Maria. You walked across the restaurant and went to the bathroom. On your way back to the table, you saw Carmy through the window as he called out orders around the kitchen.

You felt yourself freeze where you were. It felt like time was moving in slow motion. You memorized every single detail of how he looked. He looked the same as the last time you saw him, but also completely different. He lightly pulled on his curls, and you recognized his nervous habit. It reminded you of when Carmy asked you to be his girlfriend.

You rushed back to your table, paranoid that he would see you staring.

“You saw him, didn’t you?” Maria asked, recognizing the blush on your cheeks.

After you both had finished eating, Richie encouraged you to wait for the one last table to leave and then you could talk to everybody.

Despite trying to bail four times, Maria had made sure that you stayed. All while your pleas for Maria to talk to Richie were met with protest.

You watched the last guests leave the restaurant, and Richie walked over to your table. “Would you ladies like to follow me?” He asked, holding out his arm for Maria. You smirked at her as you noticed how flustered she got.

Richie opened the door to the kitchen and led you both inside. You didn’t see Carmy anywhere, but noticed Sydney, who looked just as excited as Richie.

Natalie rounded the corner, and you saw her eyes light up when she saw you. She ran over and pulled you into a hug. You both always assumed you’d end up as sister-in-laws and loved each other like best friends.

“Richie told me you were back in town. It’s so good to see you.” She said, smiling. Nat was one of the few people from Chicago who had gone to visit you in Germany.

“Yo, cousin. I have some people who want to talk to you.” Richie called out.

“Who is it?” You heard Carmy respond, and then he appeared in the doorway to what looked like an office.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled under his breath. He was stunned and almost paralyzed. The whole team watched as he ogled you. You were the last person he thought he’d see. He was almost convinced he’d never see you again.

“But you were…Germany and t-the university…and, you’re here?” He rambled, trying to process what was happening. His eyes raked some your body, admiring you. His gaze went back up and met yours. He never thought he’d look into your eyes again.

“She’s back in Chicago, baby,” Richie cheered, causing the whole team to laugh.

You walked towards him and held out your arms for a hug. He quickly pulled you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around your waist just like they had a million times before. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

You both pulled away, and you could still see the shock in Carmy’s eyes. “Are you good? I-I mean, how are you?” He mumbled over his words, nervously.

“I’m really good. How are you? The restaurant is amazing.” You complimented him. Carmy’s two lives were crashing together. He had two sections of his life. He had his life before you and his life after you, and now they were blending together.

“Thank you. That means a lot. You always knew I could do it.” He said, smiling as a slideshow of your relationship played through his head.

“So, we going clubbing tonight to celebrate?” Richie asked, being met with cheers from everyone. As you turned your focus away from Richie and looked back at Carmy, you caught him checking you out again. You knew it was going to be a long night, but there was still lots you didn’t know.

Like the fact that Carmy wasn’t single anymore.

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Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my imagines or for a specific character/fandom!!

[carmenized-onions]

Don't Say It. | Closing Out

logline; just say it in every way but the one way that makes it weird.

[!!!] series history; did y'all notice the banner rebrands? tell me you think they look nice and good and cool or i'll. start crying.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. how is it more than 7 hours. my god.

portion; 14k was hoping we'd reenter our single digits era but we ball

possible allergies; two mentally ills battle it out (romantic).

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader almost certain there are gendered bits/pronouns but can't honestly completely remember.

(new!) kofi; I have one now! if you've enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

moving into a new place literally in two days!! high stress. so thank you for waitin' as always pwease enjoy and pwease tell me what you think!

You take a good long breath, sitting on the counter in the bathroom. Right. Time is linear and you’re in New York again— Never left. Right. Carmen’s sitting across from you, it’s kind of a shock this floating sink counter hasn’t collapsed under the two of you yet. How long have you been here? Swapping stories took a long fucking time, and there’s still, disgustingly, a lot to unpack. 

“Any shoes left undropped?” You drum your hands against your knees, the question is as much for yourself as it is for him.

Carmen opts to open with a soft ball. “You called me Carmy?” Before you knew me, you called me Carmy?

“I called you a lot of things.”

“Like virgin Michelin Star chef?” He’s failing to hide the upturned corners of his mouth, when he says it. 

You snort and nod, “Like virgin Michelin Star chef, or Carmy, or Carm, or baby boy, baby bear, mister New York— Basically all Mikey’s, I think the only one I coined was Charmin.”

“Charmin?”

“Like the—” He finishes with you, “—Toilet paper bears.” and whether he should be or not, he cannot stop laughing, when you confess this. 

“I thought it was a good bit!” “Cause I’m a piece of shit?” “Bitch—Cause you clean up, and you’re a bear, and Carmen sounds like Charmin, and Charmin sounds like charming and I—”

You pause, cringing, parasocial relationship coming to a head now. When your best friend wants you to get with his hot talented brother living in the Big Apple, it’s hard not to fantasize about, alright? “...I found you very charming.”

God, it’s just far too easy for you to render him completely speechless. It’s really not fucking fair. Carmen looks like a deer in headlights, he looks how he did in your car, a month or so ago, when he bit the bullet and asked you out. Well, promised to ask you out. He swallows, no more glass in his throat, but it does feel a little scratchy, kinda like, like pop rocks?

Pop rocks, yeah. Sweet, salivating. “Do you still?”

You squint, like he’s a moron. He is. “Of course I do.” Cherry pop rocks. Yeah, that sort of spritz feeling, on the tongue, and the way it continues to simmer all the way down. “I don’t want you to stop being you, by the way, Carm.”

“Huh?” What’s that supposed to mean? Of course you want him to change, he sucks.

“I—” You’re quick to clarify, straightening your posture. “I think it’s great to— to do the work, and therapy and reading and self-care— That’s all— That’s very good, and you should do it— For you, not me, but I— One bad night is not how I’ll think of you— You’re— You’re not a bad person, is I guess all I’m trying to fuckin’ say.”

You’re sweet. Sweet but with depth, slowly developed, caramelized, tart. Maybe a fruity molasses.

Carmen swallows, it’s hard to digest the sweet. “I— I’m not a bad person, but I could be better.” Pomegranate molasses. It’s got an acidic kick. Sort of like balsamic.

“I could be better, too.” Could you? Please God, don’t try, he can’t compete. No, shit, hold on, stop pedestaling. “You kinda got my ass, with peoples’ princess.”

Carmen cringes, there’s the acid. “I should not have said—”

“I have a fucking saviour complex, Carm. And it’s just as bad for everyone else as it is for me.”

Bite, yet tender. You continue on. “I do need to work on that. And I should’ve explained more when we first met, it was just— You know… I know you know.” Medium rare, steak medallion— No— rectangle. 

Pomegranate molasses, thick—Nearly sorbet thick. Poured onto the plate, centered, perfect circle. Medium rare wagyu steak— A3, maybe; too much fat would ruin the composition. Rectangular, off center. Dust with cherry pop rocks. Bizarre, but it might actually be something. Bad, but something. Not tired or overdone, that’s for sure. Anything but dusty.

Carmen missed you for a lot of reasons this week, but it’s almost annoying how merely being in your presence for a few hours has given him more inspiration to work with than he has had in the last one-hundred and sixty-eight hours, without you. But who’s counting?

It’s easy to make things, when they’re for you. When they’re about you.

“I should’ve listened, when you were ready, but I got defensive and—I— I do that a lot, clearly, I just—” Carmen tries not to bite at his nails and fingers, because his therapist, Sara, said not to do that. What the fuck does she know? A lot, actually.

“That’s just kinda how— we’d do things. Like that’s how we—” Carmen frowns, memories dawning on him. “…I guess maybe we never really talked.”

You don’t need to ask who we is. His family didn’t particularly set Carmen up for success. And every figure after his family didn’t really lighten the load. There’s not much for you to say or do beyond, “I like talking to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re allowed to still be mad at me.” Carmen reassures, he’s not sure why he feels the need to do so. “You can— You can tell me to go fuck myself.” 

You shake your head, shrugging. “You can tell me to go fuck myself.”

He shakes his head, immediately, squinting, like you’re a moron; you are. “I would never tell you to go fuck yourself.”

It’s a silent moment of exchanging hard stares and trying to glean something from the other. Once you gather your findings, you finally return to your era of speaking in sync again, with, “I don’t hate you.”

It's a hellish realization, that you thought it was possible, let alone certain, to hate you. He could cry again. “Why would you ever think I hate you?”

You raise your brows, because how could you not think Carmen hates you? “Because you said—”

“I didn’t mean a fucking word.”  He says it differently than he did before. Like it’s a final warning. He immediately recoils at his own voice and its aggression.

“I’m sorry.” Carmen scratches his nose, continuing for the both of you. What more can he say? He’s already said it a million times, so what’s one more? When you try to speak, he doesn’t let you. Because he knows you. He knows you’ll brush it off. “I don’t want you to forgive me, right now. I want to prove I earned it.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

“Yeah, Sara said that, too. You’re both wrong.”

“Yeah, I don’t think your therapist can be wrong, in this scenario.”

“Please.” Carmen props his knee up on the counter, his hands, in some way, mimic a prayer. He holds eye contact, he thanks whoever is in charge that you’re holding it again, too. “Let me earn it.”

Carmen will learn that he doesn’t need to earn anything or prove anything to anyone eventually. He’ll need more than six therapy sessions crammed in during his lunch breaks, for that. But right now, he needs to prove this. Needs to earn you. For now, you'll give it to him. For now, you just nod. 

Carmen chews his bottom lip, he doesn’t want to say it but he has to. “When I said—” You failed Mikey. “—What I said— I didn’t mean it how I said it.”

You bring your legs up, criss crossing them. “How’d you mean it?” How else could he possibly mean it?

“I meant it like— Like— Of course he died.”

They’re Berzatto men, they’re doomed. “Nothing you could have done would have stopped him from dying— And I— It hurt cause it felt like— In—In that moment— In my head—” He puts a hand up, pausing to reassure, “Nothing you did. But I felt like I was ‘Round Two’ for you. Charity. I—”

Carmen swallows, looking down, can’t meet your eyes for the moment, but he points at you. “You didn’t fail Mikey— He failed to know he was worth saving.”

A wound closes up, a little bit, somewhere in your head and heart.  “I think in some ways, I was trying to make up for something—”

You’re quick to clarify, too. “But not cause you’re you— Cause I’m me.” Have to do it all. Have to fix it all. Have to save it all. “Like— I think I might have that edge of paranoia for like, like a long time, if not… forever?”

 You frown; what a bleak idea. “Fuck, I may need to go back to therapy, too.”

“You want Sara’s card?” “Sliding scale?” “Sliding scale.” “Is it weird to have the same therapist?” “Probably.” “I’ll look into it.”

You both laugh, the weighted blanket of tension over you both is finally lifting. Carmen’s capable of looking you in the eyes again. “You did literally everything someone could think of.”

You kiss your teeth, you could’ve done a couple more things. “I mean, location—”

“He never would’ve given it to you.” “That’s exactly it, though— I should’ve put my foot down more. I was never as strict as I was supposed to be.” “But if you were strict he wouldn’t let you help him.” “Sponsors are meant to be strict.” “Then he wouldn’t’ve let you be his sponsor.” “Then I shouldn’t have been his sponsor!” “Then he would’ve never joined the program!” “Well—” “It’s not your fucking fault!”

Carmen doesn’t hate you, Carmen doesn’t think you killed his brother. Heavy exhale of too many emotions and a touch of relief. But you can see yourself in his expression. You can see Richie in his expression. The guilt. The haunting. You swallow, “Not yours, either.”

“I could’ve called more.” “He wouldn’t have answered.” “I could’ve realized why.” “And how exactly could you have done that?” “...I dunno, could’ve— Could’ve been the guy, for him.” “Carmen you were the guy, for him.”

Carmen shakes his head. “You were the guy, for Mikey.”

“I— Okay—” You click your tongue, this is hard to explain. You shift on the sink counter, trying to get more comfortable. You won’t. It’s a fucking sink. “I was the guy, but the guy to another guy isn’t much— you—” You snap your fingers, pointing at him. “You’re not the guy, Carmen. Never will be.”

“Ouch.”

“No— You’re something much more important than the guy. You’re— You’re the, the cat.”

He can’t help but smile, confused. He’s so used to bear comparisons. “I’m the cat?”

“You’re—” You keep pointing at him, thinking the metaphor in your head through. “...The guy is— Is like the host of the house party. He keeps the jokes going, the room light, the drinks and food stocked— He talks people through panic attacks while they sit in the bathtub, he loses at beer pong on purpose to make the other team feel better, the guy makes everyone feel like they’re the center of the universe.”

“And the cat?”

“The cat is upstairs, locked in his room, because the cat will get all jittery if he’s around all that yelling and all those people. The cat doesn’t even like those people. And the guy doesn’t want his cat to go through that. But then, when the guy finally gets all jittery and can’t handle all those people himself—” You sigh, honestly stressed by your own metaphor, thinking of all the moments in your life you needed the cat and didn’t call.

“He’ll go upstairs, to his room, and the cat will be there, and he can talk to the cat— Because the cat likes him. And nothing will be solved, but it’ll still feel good and the cat will still think his guy’s perfect and wonderful even when the guy is just— just him— And the cat asks literally nothing of the guy— Unlike everyone else downstairs— and that’s exactly why the guy wants to give the cat everything over anyone else.”

God, you’ve been talking about cats and guys too much. “Not everyone needs a cat, but the guys that do, really do. And you’re… You’re the cat— Mikey’s and mine.”

Carmen can’t say I love you, because that would be an insane response. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. But it’s the only thing he can think of. The only thing he can say besides that, is, “You’re very good to me.”

You’re not exclusively for Carmen, he knows that. You’re not made for him— You’re made for many things. But maybe you’re curated. The Bear wouldn’t exist without your advocacy. And it’s hard to believe, but there might’ve been even more broken shit at The Beef, if you hadn’t been there before Carmen got there. Mikey got to be your friend, before Carmen did. And you got to be Mikey’s friend, when Carmen didn’t. But you both kept him in mind, you told Mikey to text, you drew schematics for his restaurant, you said you’d talk to him. You thought he was charming. You still do. You’re Mikey’s pick, for Carmen. And it’s not like Mikey’s opinion matters that much, but it’s nice to have approval. Though he didn’t fucking ask for it.

“Such a cat response.” “Is that like being a Leo or some shit?” 

You both laugh. Ah, thank fuck, it’s you two, again. There’s a comfortable silence while you think for a second, before asking, “Can I add another thing to your non-negotiables?”

“Always.”

“I don’t want you to be different for me.” You think back to being in his kitchen, the way he tried to hold back, when you were around. “I get you, work you, home you— If you want me to be your fuckin’ mixologist, you’re gonna have to get comfortable working with me.”

“You still want to work for me?”

“I shook on it, didn’t I?”

He laughs through a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“Damn,” You snort, “Are you only with me for my skills?”

“No, I’m with you because you’re— You.” The kitchen needs you, The Bear needs you, Carmen needs you. He’s the cat, he doesn’t need anything more than you. He can work on his codependency issues in therapy, okay? “I— I like having you around.”

You readjust your posture again, it’s hard to get comfortable on a sink. “Well, you better get paid soon, then.”

“‘Bout that.” Boy came prepared. He rifles through the pockets of his black jeans, and pulls out a folded slip of paper. He does a yoga class worthy stretch to hand it to you, from across the sink. A paystub, from The Bear, to Carmen. Officially on fucking payroll.

Yeah, turns out, just a bad week, last week. Being in the red doesn’t last forever. Neither does being in the green. There are ebbs and flows. Next week will probably be shit, and yet the wheel still turns. Carmen also might’ve very well plugged in half of the numbers wrong, according to Sugar, when she eventually got to looking at it. But that’s neither here nor there. So he’s reactive. What’s new? Should’ve believed the you in his head, when she said there will be good and bad weeks. He’s still working on being the only voice in his head. But you’re a good replacement for the other guy, for now.

You stare at it, like an ancient scroll. It’s real. He’s really getting paid— Pretty decent too, he could finally buy some fucking furniture, with this. “Okay.” You look up from the slip to him. He looks like he’s on fucking Shark Tank, anxiously awaiting your approval. “And you’ll act like you?”

“I will act like me.” Even when he doesn’t want you to see it, Carmen will act like Carmen. 

And that’s all you could ask for, really. You’re about to approve the deal, but then you think again, frowning. “The Exec.”

“Ah.” Carmen shuts his eyes, embarrassed by his own brain. “I know.”

“So you thought about it?”

“I didn’t think about— It—” Carmen doubted his own conviction, because he doubts all of himself. But it really was not ever on the table, to give your number…That said— “I thought about loopholes.”

“Catfishing him?” You guess, and he affirms. “Catfishing him.” Hey, great minds think alike. Doesn’t make Carmen feel any less scummy, for considering abusing your likeness for sake of approval. 

“Did you go through with it?” 

It’s Carmen’s turn, to blink, slow to realize that you actually don’t know. “Richie didn’t tell you?” You still live in a world where Carmen isn’t completely batshit. 

You tilt your head, “Did Richie catfish him?”

“No, uhm—” He seems suddenly sheepish now. Can’t look you in the eyes, again. He nods and points to your pockets. “You got your phone?”

“Uh, yeah—” You pull it out, haven’t gotten any sudden creepshow texts, to your knowledge. “Should I be scared?”

Carmen shakes his head. “Nothin’ worse than what you’ve already seen.” He snaps his fingers at your phone, “Look up uh— I think it’s— Chicago Bear on Yankee Chef turf, or some shit.”

You have to take a moment, before typing, to just look at him with genuine pause. “...What?”

“Just do it.” “Did you kill someone?” “I do not have blood on my hands, the Tribune is just dramatic—” “The fucking Tribune?! Shut the fuck up, Carmy.”

Absolutely no way he’s in the Chicago Tribune.

Okay. Upon searching. Absolutely yes way he’s in the Chicago Tribune. Carmen’s trending on Twitter— Or rather, Chicago, The Bear, Bear, Carmy, Michelin Beef, Fuck the Yanks, and a million other keywords are trending— Local trending, but still trending. Chicago Tribune’s made an article archiving a handful of reaction tweets, summarizing whatever the fuck happened. Alright, this is taking too long, maybe you should just ask the man in front of you— “Oh my fucking God, there’s a video.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t watch—” Carmen is interrupted by his own voice coming through your phone. “—And what kind of fucking Chef doesn’t like black pepper? I’m white and overdone, but you’re an entire other goddamn beast—” “...That.”

It’s a screen recording of some patron’s Facebook Live at some New York restaurant David owns or whatever. Empire? That’s what the blurry signs in the video’s background seem to say. What’s his title at this point, anymore? Doesn’t matter.

It’s nice to see his blurry little face around ten to twenty feet from the camera get yelled at by a Carmen that is also many feet away, but his voice seems to be projecting throughout the whole restaurant; enough to be heard clearly through recording, anyways. “And it’d be enough to just be an asshole— But you’re a creep too— Never fuckin’ pray on my— my— bar staff, or I swear on my life—”

“Can’t make direct threats in New York, Cousin! Penal code!” You laugh when you hear Richie’s voice ringing out in the background. Thank God for whoever’s filming, because they pivot their phone to catch Richie, pretty much next to their table, calling out to Carmen. “It’s a fine!”

He looks tired but wired; they must’ve taken a pitstop here, before heading to the hotel. What a fun road trip finale. Richie is such a motherfucker for not telling you all of this first thing while you put on his cufflinks— This is not dirty details, this is front page shit! Literally! God, he buries the lead like it’s his fucking day job.

“Who gives a fuck about a fine? Everyone—” And back to Carmen. “This is David Fields, he’s the head of the head of the head, in their heads— He’s a fantastic chef, I don’t think he eats or sleeps or knows what another person’s hands feel like— He is fuckin’ brilliant at making the same three fuckin’ plates every fuckin’ day— With the most minute differences— And—And—And— He doesn’t even make them! He takes dishes from prozac riddled fucks like me, makes them worse and then puts his name on it! Unoriginal, a narcissist, and fucking bad at it!”

You don’t look up from your phone, eyes glued to the screen. “Holy fuck, Carmen.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” “Is this good marketing?” “Wait for it, I guess.” “...Are you actually on prozac?” “No. I kind of blacked out. Made a point though, right?” “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Sorry, miss. Could I—” …Fak? Guess he did third wheel on the road trip to New York. He grabs the streamer’s phone. There’s a ‘what the—fuckin— excuse me?’ from behind the camera as Fak pivots the recording to himself. 

“Hey World, I’m Neil, that’s my best friend Carmy the Bear, over there.”

“Jesus Christ.” You look up from your phone to Carm, who was at first embarrassed and is now just trying to hold a straight face, hand over his mouth. “I’m aware.” He repeats. 

You squint, thinking.“...Best friend?” “...I guess he is?” “That’s— Okay— I don’t— Alright, we’ll come back to that.” And return to your phone.

Fak continues, taking advantage of the sudden screen time. “He’s a really good Chef, knows his shit, if you ever want to see how he does it, please come eat— Dine— Dine with us at The Bear, we’re in Chicago— on North Orleans and Huron— You can— Can book with us at The Bear dot—”

“Don’t have the site yet.” Richie interrupts the impromptu ad, hovering over Fak’s shoulder, barely whispering. “Still The Beef.”

Neil nods and continues. “The Beef dot squarespace—”

“It’s Wix.” “It’s fucking Wix?” “Your problem isn’t with the lack of a domain?”

“It’s Google Sites, actually.” You correct for no one, really, looking up from your phone to Carmen, again. “I made him change it so it wouldn’t have that ugly freemium bar.” 

Carmen snorts, shaking his head. Of course you did. “D’you design it?”

You let out a loud, “Ha!” before turning back down to the screen. “I think web design might be the one trade I can’t do.” But you’re willing to learn, if he needs.

Ah, the videographer managed to foist her phone back, returning to catch the very end of the Carmen Show. And it’s a wonderful finale, from Carm.

“—Fuck your two elements, fuck your face— Fuck everything about you— I cannot believe we gave you service— Let alone our best— For a guy in hospitality, you have no fucking right treating my host and somme like that. Fuck you—”

“Fuck you—” Finally a response from David, though it’s quickly interrupted, as Carmen finally starts to back away, not wanting a genuine fight if he doesn’t have to do it, but he certainly wants the last word. “No, fuck you—”

“Fuck you.” “—Chef— Stay in your fucking city— Stay in your fucking city— New Yorks great! Stay in it! We don't play in Chicago— Fuck you!”

Carmen comes back to his road trip squad, he notices the woman recording, and walks up to the camera. For a second, you genuinely think he’s going to square up with her— You’re pretty sure he at least thought about it. “Is she recording?”

“Streaming.” Answers Fak. “It’s the new thing.”

 Carmy opts to use his words, possibly because he could maybe get arrested. “Sorry, sorry— I just want to make it clear—”

He gestures to the fucker in the background, bouncers seems to be approaching. Carmen keeps going, face red but calming down, chasing his own breath. “This man worked— and works with wonderful Chefs who I learned a lot under— And— And— I have all the respect for them, and always will— But-But— when it comes to David Fields specifically—”

Your cherry and lamb dish was perfect. David’s palate is just not worth appealing to. Carmen won’t make that mistake again.

“—What he serves is consistently vapid, dusty, and dead on arrival— like his heart— And—And— When you pay him, dine with him, work with him, you are lining the pockets of some fuckin’ creep that pulls rank on honest cooks and servers. So. Decide if you want that. And uhm— Uh— Tip your servers. Don’t ask for their numbers— Like he does. Be normal. Thank you.”

“Carmen Berzatto, folks! Come— Come to The Bear!” Yells out Neil, as security finally seems to be coming for the Chicagoans.

Richie grabs Fak by the back of his coat, knowing when to bounce, shouting, “No legal names! Godssake— This has been Carmichael Burrowski, folks! Don’t call no one—!”

The screen recording ends, not long after that. You’re going to need maybe a… fifty minute nap, to process that. Maybe, somehow, this is good publicity— Maybe in some way, this is putting The Bear on the center stage. But one thing is fact, Carmen completely abandoned the idea of keeping appearances and getting a star through kissing ass. He completely abandoned the idea of being appealing to the man in his head. 

And he did that for you— And Richie— Which, honestly, makes it mean even more. Carmen’s a good boss. Not always. Definitely not always. But when it fucking counts, he is. Carmen's a good man. A good friend. A good not-quite boyfriend. Ugh, boyfriend? What kind of word is ‘boyfriend’? That's fucked.

You put your phone away, quietly nodding and thinking, not looking at Carmen. You shrug, attempting to be nonchalant. “Contract and I’ll be your mixologist.”

“Yeah?” There’s such a brightness, to the way Carmen asks. Like a spritz. “Okay. I’ll— I’ll send you a Docusign.” Aperol spritz. There’s more to it, than that though. 

You’re so zoned out, looking at the sinks instead of Carmen, he starts to get worried. He just got eye contact back, come on. Was the yelling too much in the video? He was loud and mean. He always is. He told you not to watch. 

“Tony?” What kind of bitters suit him? A slice of grapefruit might be nice. Bright but acquired.

“Are you good?”

“Wha—” You shake your head out of it, turning your gaze to Carmen. He jumped off the counter to stand by you. His hand hovers by your head— He considers grazing your hair, and chickens out. But he can’t put it down.  “Sorry, was— I was uh— Just thinking of what we could put on a cocktail menu, that’s all.” Yeah, that’s all.

“Don’t work on it, without me.” It’s with a, dare you say, panicked quickness, that he requests this. “Cocktail menu, coffee menu, we should— Should do R and D, together.”

“Yeah, f’sure.” Fucking Chefs, so particular about their menus. “I think it’d be good to uhm— Build it around the main menu, anyways. Sorta match stuff up.” Thankfully, you like particular.

He really needs to not be standing this close, though. Your brain keeps zoning in and out— It’s really not the time to be feeling any sort of type of way about Carmen cursing out that fucking chef and going to therapy for himself and you and he smells nice and he’s reading books and he worked bar all night with you and he looks so nice in bartender black in lieu of his Chef whites and he is trying so hard and— And you cannot say you love him because that would be weird. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. 

And you can’t forgive him either— Well, not aloud, because Carmen wants to prove that he’s done the work— Wants to prove that he’s going to keep doing the work. He’s rendered you with nearly zero options here, to show your affection. 

“Yeah, that’s— That’d be good. I was thinkin’ we’d put your station by Marcus.” Why is he still talking about work? He’s so stupid. He’s wonderful. This is the worst. This is hell. “Coffee machine’s already there, and you’ll tend to share a lot of elements, anyway— I think.”

You shift your butt on the counter, turning to face him head on, he’s just slightly between your knees as your legs dangle off the counter. “Carmen.”

“Yeah?” “I’m going to kiss you.” “Yeah, okay.”

Light, nervous, sweet, lifting, soft— A delicate kick to it. Pink peppercorn bitters. That’s it.

Aperol— Vibrantly orange liqueur, derived from bitter rhubarb. It’s an acquired taste. Some say it’s citrusy and herbal, others say it tastes like cough syrup. Either way, it’s awakening. Then prosecco. A splash of soda— Lemon-lime would be best. Aperol spritz. It’s an Italian cocktail. It sparkles. Everything in it fizzes, almost competing with each other. It’s meant to be enjoyed before dinner. It’s refreshing. Pink peppercorns and grapefruit would only add to that brightness, that light. It’s not for everyone, but it is everything to some. That’s Carmen. That’s your Carmen. Oh, maybe a syrup on the rim?

You try to be delicate, the way you put the palm of your hand on the back of his head and pull him in, but it’s just not possible. It’s the first time in a fucking month you’ve initiated— It's been one-hundred and sixty-eight hours since you've seen his face, let alone touched it— It’s just not possible to be kind.

Thankfully, based on the way he’s leaning you back on the counter, hands on your waist, it doesn’t seem like Carmen wants kind. There's a sigh of relief, to just kiss you. He’s fine with the touch of hair pulling, on your part— Possibly more than fine. Possibly way more than fine. The faint whining and pulling your hips to his seem to indicate it’s a lot fucking more than fine.

It would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon to say I love you, but you can mouth the words against him and he can’t tell what you’re wording but at least you know. It’s funny that he can do the same to you, and despite knowing the trick, you can’t tell either. 

Carmen pulls back, just a centimeter, or two. He wants to say something. He’s opening his mouth to say something. He's all dopey and half-lidded. Man, he’s pretty. He knows that right? Yeah, he knows that. “You’re so pretty.” You tell him anyway, speaking into his half open mouth. 

Whatever thought he had, it’s dead now.“—Jesus fucking Christ.” He moves his hands to hold your face. It’s nice. It’s nice to get peppered with kisses— Yeah, pink pepper fits perfectly with him. 

Carm’s voice is heavier now. Maybe from the lack of oxygen. He’s fighting to revive his brain. He’s so serious, when he firmly kisses you, forehead against yours, lips still grazing, saying, “I’m not a fucking virgin.”

You laugh way too fucking hard for his ego. Your hands untangle from his hair, but your arms continue to rest on his shoulders. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’s still amped, too bad you’re you, and you have to ruin the mood to poke at him.

“That a recent development?” “Shut the fuck up—” “I’m just wondering, if he was accurate at the time—” “Why are you doing this to me?” “Did you have a tantric affair in Denmark, the people wanna know!” “I— There was no time, alright? It got away from me—” “Remember when you had your first kind of girlfriend like a month and a week ago?” “It was a recent development, okay?” “Darn. Sorry I was late.”

He pauses the banter to just stare at you, take in your features, take in that you’re here and real and half underneath him. “Not forgiven.” You should’ve shown up sooner. You should’ve injected yourself so completely in Carmen’s life eons ago, and made yourself intrinsically impossible to remove. Absolutely not forgiven, for being late.

“Yeah?” Your eyes upturn, deeply amused. Carmen really is the baby brother. Entitled, bratty, cute. You’re planning to say something coy, something playful like ‘Ohoho, how do I earn your forgiveness?’ But you remember something Carmen said, when he was summarizing his Friday night for you— And for Carmen, what you opt to say is so much worse than hot banter, for his brain. 

“I don’t think your mouth tastes bad.” It’s your turn to take in his face and all its features. “I think it’s nice. It’s like the only way I can try cigarettes without getting a headache.”

“I wanna fly you to Paris.” It’s so quick, from Carmen. Choked quick— Like he fought to hold it down but you’ve just opened the Pandora’s box that is his mouth. He keeps going. Your surprised face firmly smushed in his hands.  

“I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since I asked you to run bar— I’ve— I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since you washed my hair— I—I—” Too much affection to contain in words, he has to kiss you, and then he has to keep going, and then kiss you between the ‘ands’, and then keep going. Like a shot and a chaser and a shot and a chaser and a—

“I want you to be permanent and carved in my tables and I want you to wear my jackets and I want you in my kitchen and in my menu and in every dumb fucking conversation I have at Christmas tellin’ family what the fuck I’m doing— I want you in every sentence.”

It’s not ‘I love you’. Because saying I love you would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon. But it might very well be more than that. Trying to avoid saying it might be forcing you both to say something that means more than that.

It’s hard to generate a response as poignant as that. Especially because your cognitive abilities seem to have gone completely offline. Your brain is telling you to kill the moment so you don’t have to face the feeling, telling you to say something stupid like, ‘Why Paris?’, because if you don't, you might say it. But you can’t. You’re totally speechless. 

Eventually, you manage to choke out, “I would like that.”

“Yeah?” “Yeah.”

“Good.” Ah, a smile from Carmen with teeth. What a rare gift you’ve been bestowed. He tries to celebrate this occasion with another kiss that will inevitably lead to a million more but when he goes for his classic move of sticking his head in the crook of your neck to bite you like a cannibal— You get the chance to look somewhere other than Carmen’s face, and realize you are both still very much so in a fucking bathroom at a fucking wedding in New York. 

“Fak is still outside, I’m pretty sure.”

Carmen groans, there’s no way you’re doing this to him again, come on, neither of you have to go this time, you have all the time in the world, in this bathroom. Time isn’t real here. That’s how bathrooms work. “He’s not.”

“Carmy’s right, I’m not.” Says definitely totally not Fak, behind the door. “You guys kissin’ yet?”

“Christ.” You put a hand on Carm’s chest, pushing him back from you as you push yourself up with your other hand. “Mood dead.”

“No—” He grabs your wrist, holding your hand in place against him. “Mood not dead— Mood present and alive—”

There’s some fumbling behind the door. “Wait— Are they?” Oh, so Richie’s here, too? Good. That’s great. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way— Cousin, be a gentleman—”

Carmen leans over and all but screams into your shoulder. “I am being a fuckin’ gentleman, Richard!”

You kiss your teeth, shaking your head, shrugging. “Yeah, it’s dead.” Them’s the breaks. 

A slow, heavy, arduous exhale, from Carmen, coming up to lean his forehead to yours for a second. Enjoying the liminal space before it’s permanently ripped out of your hands. “I hate my family.”

You smile, pressing your forehead firmer against his, nuzzling noses. “You love your family.”

“I love my family.” He sighs. He gives you one last kiss, soft, sweet, perfect. “Thank you for taking care of them.” 

You shrug. “They’re mine, too.”

God, you’re so quick and mind-bending, he has to go for another kiss, come the fuck on— “Mood’s dead.” You laugh, so cruel, jumping off the counter, maneuvering past Carmen, but you’re sweet— Cruel but sweet— Carefully switching his hold on your wrist to holding your hand, dragging him with you. 

You might be leaving the bathroom together, but Carmen’s pretty sure a part of him is going to stay there, like a ghost of a feeling, for the rest of time.

“Okay— Is everyone waiting to piss?” Is your first question, for the crowd awaiting you and Carmy outside the bathroom. Not strangers, though—Well, mostly not strangers. Richie, Syd, Fak, some guy that looks like Fak. There’s no way they all need to piss, there were three other bathrooms available, it's not like you were hogging. “Is fuckin’ anyone runnin’ bar right now?”

“Marcus is.” Syd answers, hurriedly, as she runs up on you, immediately enveloping you— Practically an attack. It’s not in her nature to hug, but you’ve forced her hand here. Carmen hasn’t even exited the doorway behind you yet before you’re stumbling back into him from the force of her. 

“Squ—”

The words come out of her like a flood, no spacing between the words. “I’m-sorry-I—  We-finished-serving-and-listened-in-on-everything-super-invasive-couldn’t-help-it— You should’ve called me.”

This— These motherfuckers. Oh well, saves you the trip to Denny’s. And frankly, you would hate to re-explain all that. You return the hug with your free hand, the other one still in Carmen’s. You put your chin on her shoulder. “I know.”

There were so many times where you could’ve just gone upstairs. So many times you could’ve just called your old cat. Should’ve just called Syd. She would have been there. Maybe that’s exactly why you didn’t call. 

“I should’ve called you.” Maybe that’s exactly why Syd never called her guy, when she needed you, too. 

“Well,” You pull her back by her shoulders, “We will next time.”

You can’t let the moment stay sincere for long though, shit-eating grin growing on your face, “You’d give up a star for me?” Nuzzling your face into Syd’s cheek as she desperately tries to get away from you now— Oh how the tables turn.

“Get fucked—” “You love me— I’m all you got, Syd? Woww—” “After my dad I said! After my dad!” “A single widdle tear from me isn’t worth a star?” “It was not widdle— Little— Fuck—”

“This is cute princesses but everyone get the fuck out of the way before I clog an artery.” Richie unnecessarily shoves his way between the Faks to get to you. 

You release Syd to face the man, pensive, waiting for a slap, honestly. Richie just looks at you, now that he’s in front of you he’s dumbfounded, awkward. He knows he wants to say something or wants you to say something but neither of you know what that is. What it should be.

Before he can figure it out, you do. “I should’ve told you.” Besides your therapist, Carmen is the only person you told about the phone call— Well, intentionally, that is. 

That doesn’t really seem to be the thing he cares about. He’s not going to slap you, and you don’t need to grovel. “Am I dead, to you?”

Your brows furrow, for a second. “Wha—”

Richie grabs your free hand, pressing it to his neck. “Check my pulse, am I dead, t’you?”

“First of all, wrong placement.” You have to wiggle your hand out of his grip to take his pulse correctly. “It’s under the chin, align it with your eye—”

“Do I have one?” “Yes, Richie, you have a pulse.” “So I’m not dead?” “You’re not dead—” “Then call me.”

When your breath hitches, he continues. “I’m not a ghost. I’m here. When shit happens, you call me.”

“I know.” Is the only thing you can say without your voice cracking. “I will call next time.”

“You will fucking call, next time.” Richie grabs your face, smushed in his hands. “And you’ll answer my calls, next time.” He forces you to nod— Not that you wouldn’t, but wants to make sure. “Am I heard?”

“You're heard.”

Richie can see over your head, so he barks at Carmen, who’s very innocently behind you, still holding your hand. “Get your weird little hands off my Chip, you perv—”

“I don’t have weird little hands—” 

Syd pipes in, squinting. “Why is that the thing you refute—”

“Why does God let these moments happen to me?” You grumble, words muffled with your face still compacted by Richie’s hands. 

“I think it’s beautiful, actually.” Says some guy that looks like Fak. You just stare at him with your partially forced closed eyes. “Just the vibes, so— like— tender.”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” You deadpan, pointing at Other Fak. “Has this guy just learned shit I haven’t even told my own father?”

“We definitely just got here.” Lies Fak, next to Other Fak. He continues, “We didn’t hear anything about the really sad way you both actually did attend the funeral but didn’t—”

Other Fak astutely interrupts to add, sniffing. “But if we did it’d be like, like really meaningful that you both like, did that.” Is he tearing up? Richie needs to check your pulse, are you dying?

“Everyone please back the fuck up?” Carmen sighs, behind you, then beside you, letting go of your hand to put it on your shoulder. “Like maybe give two solitary fuckin’ seconds?”

There’s a stuttering of apologies as everyone realizes yeah, maybe a bit much to immediately jump you. Richie drops your face, everyone takes a step back.

You keep staring at Other Fak. Squinting, you point to him. “Ted?” Guy who they called instead of you?

He nods, “Hi—”

“No.” You wave your hand in front of his face, cutting him off. You turn to Carmen, just shaking your head plainly. “No.”

“Heard.”

“Y’know how going to a different barber is like cheating—?”

“No, like I got it—”

“This is like times a thousand—”

“I am hearing the note—”

“Fak can— Neil can fix shit, I took his spot, it’s fair— Outsourcing someone though—?”

“Won’t do it again.”

“No, you won’t.”

“It was— Should I have called you back in?”

“No, you should have had a broken light until we talked it out or let it be broken for the rest of your life.” There is not much you could ever find yourself getting genuinely jealous about— This, however, is a knife to the heart. Another handyman is a child out of wedlock, practically.

“Heard.”

“I spent way too long stalking you.” Interrupts Syd, she’s looking at her phone, a jumble of aggravated misspelled texts coming from the work group chat. “Fuck, I’ve gotta help Tina with clean up— We’ll—” She sticks a hand out, you reach out and hold it, for a moment. “You’re still— We’re still sharing, right?”

You tilt your head, confused, oh— “I’m still gonna sleep in our room, Syd. You weird pervert.”

Syd lets go of your hand, shaking her own hands around her head, talking just as fast as she speed walks away to the kitchen. “I am not a weird pervert, I’m sexually normal, don’t be weird, goodbye! Love you, fuck you, see you later!”

Richie claps his hands, “We’re closing out, so I’ve gotta go pick up vases or some shit— Faks, c’mon—”

“Y’know we’re just regular guests, right?” Says Ted. They let Fak come on the road trip despite not doing a job? Medals of Valor need to be doled out.

“Pbbt, come the fuck on, here boy.” Richie starts to walk off, and the whistling is condescending, but they listen anyway. Rich looks over his shoulder, snapping his fingers at Carmen. “Probationary forgiveness.”

Carmen nods, “Thank you, Chef.”

“Dee-Dee’s here, by the way.”

Carmen’s relaxed posture immediately pulls into a taught physique, he’s considering chasing Richie to get more details. “Isn’t Sug here, too?”

“Yessir!”

“Have they—” “They got grouped at the same table. Unc and Stevie have been keepin’ the peace.” “How’s that going?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” And with that Richie fades into the crowd of straggling guests and clean up crews. 

You don’t know much about Donna, which was a very intentional choice on Mikey’s part. And that kinda tells you all you need to know. You turn to Carmen, pensive. “You wanna go find out?”

He itches at his collar, thinking. “I think if I say I don’t, I’m a bad son.”

“You didn’t ask to be her son.”

“Oh, fuck, okay.” He stumbles for a second, you immediately cover your mouth. 

“Sorry! I just—” Inside thought got outside. “I just meant— That was a lot. It’s just like, I dunno, you can’t be bad at something you never opted in for, y’know?”

“No, yeah, that— That’s kind of… a good thought.” He nods, looking at the ground, swallowing the words. “I— I should be a good brother—and—and Uncle, at least. Say hi to Nat.”

You don’t start walking until he starts walking, intent to follow his lead. You’ll stroll casually, until they crop up, making no deliberate effort to find them. You’re both silently hoping you don't. Carmen brings his head back up to you. “You ever meet Mom—? Donna?”

You shake your head, “No, that was kinda one of our few red lines. For Mikey and me. He’d like—” You gesture with your hands as you explain. “He’d talk about her, and I saw like… photos of them from babyhood, but I never met her or heard details— Never like, came over to the house. It was just kinda like a silent agreement. Hard for him and hard for me with the whole— Uh—”

“Drinking thing.”

You nod. “It’s uh— I’m not easily triggered anymore, though, so I think I’m fine.”

Carmen sniffs, scratching his nose. “Well, if you end up not being fine, we can not— Like not talk to her.”

He’s sweet, he’s smart, he’s the cat. You nod. “You don’t have to talk to her either, y’know. Could just text Nat—” “She’s right there.”

You whip your head up in tandem with him saying, “Don’t look fas— Fuck.”

You put the back of your hand on Carm’s chest, you both stop walking. “That’s Dee-Dee?”

“Yeah, with the—the leopard print belt and the floral dress.” Carmen’s been growing meeker with each step. You’d think his biggest fear is clashing patterns. This is not the same bear in the Chicago Tribune. “Why, you— You do know her?”

“She looks fuckin’ familiar…” You kiss your teeth, trying to roll back in your memory— Come on, you don’t forget shit, where is she from? You’ve seen photos but those were blurry and she was so much younger. You remember this version of Donna, you remember her from somewhere.

“Fuckin’ — Something with Pete— I saw her with Pete— Nat’s husband—” You point to him, across from Donna, at the table. “Him, yeah.”

“Just them?” Carmen gently pulls your arm down, you’ve gotta remember your manners.

“Yeah, I was— Oh, I was—” You squint. “Did Donna come to your opening?”

“No, she was invited, but she didn’t show.”

“Okay— So, she did, actually.” “Huh—?”

“She was— She was outside, when you were in the walk-in.” You nod to yourself, still thinking through the memory. “Yeah, she was outside— I thought Pete was like her son— It looked like they were fighting or crying so I just kinda— Kinda let it be. You were locked in a fucking freezer so I chose my battles.”

“Oh.” Carmen nods, trying to make it seem normal in his head. It’s not. And he can’t seem to force it. “He definitely didn’t tell Nat.” Because Nat would’ve told him.

You hum, rocking on your heels. “Yeah there's no chance we're going to go say hi now, is there?”

“Yeah, that might be best.”

You fold your lips in a line, still staring at Donna, she looks normal, which makes it feel even less normal. Way too much to unpack, if you go over there. Instead, you’ll stand here in the middle of the banquet hall, and unpack the carry-on luggage, so to speak. “Christmas is in a week.”

It’s a freight train of realization, Carmen drags his hand down his face. “Fuck me.”

“I know.”

“I have to go, don’t I?”

You frown, turning your head to him, not wanting to say what you’re going to say. “Do you think she’ll plan anything?” First Christmas without Mikey. Will she have the willpower to plan something, like she usually does?

“Oh, fuck me.”

“I know.”

Carmen holds his hand over his mouth, words somewhat muffled. “I’ll ask Nat, see what she’s doing. Baby’s first Christmas, or whatever. That’s a thing, right?”

“Baby’s do traditionally experience time, yeah.” “You n’ that smart mou—”

Despite staring at their table, the two of you did not notice Natalie approaching you, baby Michaela swaddled in her arms. “Oh my God, I haven’t seen normal human beings that aren’t screaming or shitting constantly in so long— Please— Say something normal and fun.”

You pucker your lips, trying to come up with something. “Ah— Fuck, I can’t think of anything— Oh fuck, sorry I said fuck— God— I’m just gonna stop talking.”

Nat lifts her hand up for a moment to wave you off before re-supporting her baby. “No! No, don’t! Say fuck so much. Say it all the time. She can’t understand, she doesn’t care. I wish I was her.”

“Will do.” You just nod, holding a hand up to Michaela, waving. She grabs one of your fingers, holding on tight. You can’t help but coo. “Hey, baby! Have you been fuckin’ with your mom’s sleep schedule? Awe, yes you have! Yes you have!”

Nat laughs and hums, “Richie told me you used to babysit Eva.” 

“He’s exaggerating.” You leave your hand with Michaela, but look up to Nat. “There were just some weekends he was working and daycare wasn’t running so I’d take her around the city for a couple hours— More like playdates than actual babysitting.”

“That just sounds like you’re a fun babysitter.” Carmen rebukes, Nat nods. 

“I’m good when you only need a second.” You sigh, half taking the compliment. You glance over Nat’s fatigued face. “You need a second?”

“Yes, fuck, could you?” In the same breath, she’s handing you baby Michaela. “She has in fact been fucking with mommy’s sleep schedule— And no one tells you— ‘mommy strength’ or whatever, needs to be developed— My lats— I think they’re lats? Are insane now. Just from holding her!”

You bounce the baby in your arms, sidling her on your hip. She’s a grabber, that’s for sure. Grabbing your hair, your top, Mikey’s chip— No longer tucked under your clothes. You let her. Well— Not the hair— She could cut off her circulation— Relax, EMS. You’re off duty. “How’s it going with—”

Nat knows what you’re asking before you finish the question. “Better than normal, which makes it feel worse. Does that make sense?”

You nod, “Completely and utterly.”

Carmen’s staring at Pete. He’s not typically a snitch but this is his sister, “Did Pete tell you—?”

“That mom was there on our fucking opening and he told her we were having a baby? Yes, about five minutes before she sat down.” Nat says it with a perfectly practiced smile and a simmering anger.

Your hands slip just slightly, you readjust your grip on Mickey. You and Carmen speak together, “He what?” 

Nat doesn't mean to ignore your both but she does, “How'd you find out?”

“I just told him.” You pipe up, guilt covers your face. “I saw them when I came that night. Sorry, I didn't realize that was your mom— Or husband, for that matter.”

Sug shakes her head, waving off the apology. “Not your fault, his.”

“Yeah.” Carmen nods, “Back to that, by the way?”

“Yeah, he realized it was kind of a hard lie to uphold— Because mom sucks at acting surprised.” She sighs, “She’s taking it well publicly but I’m expecting a full blown meltdown in the bathroom of which I can’t escape, so. Beautiful wedding.”

“Yeah, those are kind of unavoidable.” You just had one yourself. “Fingers crossed you make it out alive?”

“Oh, I’m making it the fuck out, it’s her you should pray for.”

You have to respect the power in that. “Damn.”

“I didn’t ask to be her daughter! If she hands it to me I’m handing it fucking back—” Nat’s brain is always running like a faucet, she cuts off her own thoughts with a new one. “Christmas is in a week.”

“We know.”

“Fuck me.” She sighs so hard it blows strands of hair out of her face. “What the fuck are we gonna do, Carmy?”

“Was gonna ask you.” Carm’s distracting himself with Michaela, she reaches for his hand, she doesn’t grab a finger, she traces his tattoos. God, babies are cute sometimes. “Can we figure it out later?”

“Yeah, like everything else we do, I guess.” Sug groans. But she just as equally doesn’t want to think about it as him. And honestly, she’s just happy to see him acting like a fucking uncle for once.  “Tony, will I see you at work on Monday? You’re onboarding, right?”

You don’t notice the way Carmen’s face stones up, like a secret has been revealed. He’s been preparing for you to say yes. He’s got that Docusign in his inbox, ready to send. Had Nat budget you in. But you don’t seem to be upset about it— Or maybe you just didn’t catch that Carmen selfishly was hoping you’d come right back to him. Maybe it’s just that you don’t think it’s selfish.

“Oh— Uh, yeah, I guess you will.” Michaela starts to smack you for not giving her attention for more than seven seconds. You turn your head to her, bouncing her again, “Pbbt—Pbbbt— Mat leave over?”

“Gonna need to be.” Nat laughs when she says it, like you’re both on some sort of inside joke. Yeah, The Bear’s kind of a nightmare, of course Nat’s always needed. You laugh back, though there wasn’t really a joke anywhere in there.

“Make sure you get your rest.” Sug scoops Michaela out of your arms, rejuvenated from her second of peace. “Your boss is kind of an ass.”

Unfair drive-by, Carmen waves a hand like a white flag, “Alright—”

“I know, I like him anyways.” “Gross.” “I know, it sucks.”

“Okay, okay,” It’s way too obvious how happy Nat is that her brother has someone. “Both of you get the fuck out of here before she sees you, I told her you’d be too busy in the kitchen to say hi.”

She knows her brother, and Carmen’s grateful for it, but, “Are you sure? I can—” 

“I love you, Bear.” Nat gives him a kiss on the cheek, and you a quick hug. “But fucking run, seriously.”

Carmen nods, “Heard. Love you, Bear.”

You quickly dash off together, blending into crowds to go unnoticed. Mumbling plans out as you sprint. “I’ve gotta help Marcus close out the bar.”

“I’ve gotta pack up our equipment.” “You’re on the fifth floor too, right?” “Yeah, you’re rooming with Syd?” “Yeah, you and Richie?”

“I got my own room.” “Okay, rich boy.” “I— It’s a fuckin’ Holiday Inn, it’s not that bad—” “Oooh, Charmin gets his first paycheck suddenly he’s all that—” “You wanna come up to my room or not?”

“Oh?” You practically skirt on your heels when you suddenly stop walking, “He’s bold now—”

“I— That’s not— Like we—” He can’t dig himself out of this one, and his darting eyeline is giving him away. “You told Syd you’d still sleep in your room— I just meant like— Like we could— hang out.”

“We could hang out?” “Stop—” “I’d love to hang out, dude.” “We can watch a movie or somethin’—”

You gasp, thought occurring to you. “Yeah, let’s watch a movie. I wanna watch a movie.”

“I don’t like the look that just happened in your eyes.” 

“Yes, you do.” Your turn to smush Carmen’s face in your hands, kissing him with a comical, all too wet, and in no way seductive muah—

Which somehow just makes it all the more entrancing, for him.  “Yes, I do.”

You smile, letting him go, splitting off from Carmy in favour of your bar. “I’ll meet you in the lobby, go be a good boss.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“How are they not seeing him fuck up the soup— That— A whole pot—” “You’re literally saying exactly what Remy is saying right now—” “I— Good. I’m still mad about the five star thing.”

Carmen likes Ratatouille. Likes it enough to nitpick. He relates to the weird rat with a complex family dynamic and having a brother that means well but fucks with him so much. He relates to the no credit, the starving, the death and desire of feeding the ego, Carmen relates to feeling like a freak in his own kitchen. 

It is weird to feel seen by a rat. 

But it’s nice to have you in his room, in his bed, watching some dinky little red-head try to survive in a French kitchen. It’s nice to occasionally watch you instead, out of the corner of his eye. He thought of roughly… fourteen more recipes since leaving the bathroom with you? Who would’ve thought that watching someone use a makeup cleansing balm would be inspiring?

What? It melted beautifully. Or maybe you’re just beautiful? Whatever. You emulsified it in your hands. Emulsion? Coconut emulsion would be interesting; very similar creme texture. On top of a souffle? Delicate. But it still needs zip. The glitter from your eyeshadow makes him think of zesting. Lemon zest. Needs more scent, though. Oh, maybe Kaffir limes. That’s a weird dish. That’s never gonna work. He has to get better at subtracting around you. 

He’s doing pretty good at not saying I love you, though, so, that’s something. 

“The houndstooth pants are cute.” You hum, as Linguini finally kisses Collette— Though by a rat’s volition. A win is a win. You lean into Carmen’s side, watching the movie pirated on his laptop, because hotel tv pay-per-view was so overpriced for no reason. “Oh, fuck, what’s my uniform gonna be?”

“Chef whites, no?” His arm is around your shoulder, it’s nice. “I can get you a jacket—”

“Well, your servers wear black— And I’m gonna be like, like both right?” You turn your head to him. Bad idea. He’s still very pretty, if not prettier in pajamas. “Like, making drinks in the back and then acting as somme out front. So all black?”

“Hm.” Carmen tries not to frown. Tries not to see you wearing black as you being on the other team. “I guess.”

“Richie’s not getting me in a fuckin’ button up, though.” You don’t notice his expression’s minute faltering, crossing your arms, thinking. “Sleeveless black turtleneck? Maybe black palazzo pants, could do what fuckin— Linguini’s doin—”

You point at the screen. “The bright red converse? Could do all black and then bright blue converse? Would that be cute or is that deeply unprofessional?”

Carmen tilts his head back and forth, trying to let you down easy, “I wouldn’t call it deeply unpr—”

“Heard. Okay, maybe like— Like a red bottom heel—” You kick your foot up in the air, for no real reason. A shoe isn’t suddenly going to appear on it for display. “Like not actual ones, duh— Like a black boot and I paint the sole blue—” 

“What’s with you and blue?” He's deeply amused, or maybe that's just Carmen's constant state, right now, twirling his fingers through your hair without a care in the world.

“It’s like, Bear colours. You do blue. Aprons, baskets— I guess I’m thinking of The Beef, but like, your lighting is kinda blue.” You shrug. “I wanna match.”

He nods, eyes on the movie, thinking far too much— Well, for the average person. For Carmy it’s a perfectly normal amount of thinking. “All black, blue sole, blue earrings, maybe? White apron for when you’re in the back?” 

Please say yes to the white apron. Please say yes to his team. He'll get your initials monogrammed and everything.

“Yeah, that’s a cute look. As long as it’s easy to take off.” You hum. “Oh, y’know, Richie wanted to—” 

Speak of the Devil, and he shall call you for the fifth fucking time. “Fuckin— Pause it, hold on—”

Carmen pauses the wonderful rat chef in tandem with you answering the phone with, “I’m not fuckin’ comin’ to pool, Cousin!”

In one ear, out the other. “Fuck you! When are you getting here?” 

“I am not getting out of bed to play pool— A game I have not played— With a bunch of fuckin—”

“If you’re not down here in five minutes, Chip, on God—” “I’m gonna fuckin’ hang up again you motherfucker—” “And what? You’ll just answer again, won’t you?”

Richie’s tone gives him away. He’s giggling, bubbly, absolutely tanked on dirty shirleys. But there’s a very genuine joy to it. You’ve answered his stupid meaningless calls every time, the last four times, despite knowing they are in fact, stupid and meaningless. And that is rife with meaning. 

You sigh, but you’re smiling. “Yeah. I’ll answer.”

“Good.” You can hear his smile mirrored through the phone. “Sell your Greyhound ticket to Fak.”

“Bitch, fuck no—” “We can go aroun’ the city tommorow! We’re closed! C’mon have some fuckin’ fun before you start working in hell!” “We’re gonna be stupid New York tourists?” “Eva wanted me to get her face on some m and m’s—” “You want me to come with you to the fucking Time Square M and M store?”

That’s when Carmen shoots up, shoulder against yours, panickedly muttering into the phone, “We cannot go to Time Square a week out from Christmas.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When you realize why there’s a pause, you shut your eyes tight, knowing exactly what you’re gonna get. Carmen realizes after watching your face scrunch up, he puts his face in his hands, “Shit—”

“You’re fucking Carmen!”

“No—” “You said you’re in bed! His bed?!” “We’re watching Ratatouille—” “Without me? You’re coming to the fucking M and M store— Also that big ass toy store—” “This is not a betrayal—” “Matter of fact, we’re gonna go see that big fuckin’ tree, too—” “You just want me to drive us home because you’re gonna be too hungover.”

“No, I want you to drive us home because I love you.” Richie’s slurring when he says it, like it’s some sort of gotcha. “So fuck you, actually.”

Carmen bites back laughter next to you, you just shake your head, tutting. “I love you, too, Cousin.”

“If you loved me you’d come play pool.” “I don’t fuckin’ know how to play pool!” “We’ll fuckin’ learn you somethin’ then!” “Fuck off! I’m already coming to fucking Time Square with you, don’t be whiny.” 

“You’ll come?”

You massage your brow bone, “Syd’s not gonna wanna sit next to Fak on the bus, you got room for four?”

“Yeah, but someone’s gonna have to sit on the console.” “I nominate Carmen.” “I second the nom.”

Carmen, now with two votes to sit on the console up front, presses his face into your shoulder. “What the fuck—” You peer down at him and whisper, “We’ll do shifts, don’t worry.”

“Put me on speaker phone.” “You’re talking so loud that Carmen can very clearly hear you.”

“Put me! On speaker phone!”

You put Richie on speaker phone. Carmen clears his throat, gruff, “Yo, Rich, can we finish the fuckin’ movie?”

“Patience is a virtue, or some shit. D’you see the resos?”

You mouth to Carmen, ‘Reservations?’ Carmen nods. “Yeah, I saw.”

“Gonna be fucked.” You frown when you hear that, but don’t want to interrupt. You silently word, ‘What happened?’ Carmen puts a finger over his mouth, he’ll explain in a second. 

“Gonna be fucked, yeah.” Carmen sniffs, swiping at his nose. “Good kind, though.”

“Yeah. Good kind.” There’s a sigh from Richie on the other end, that heavy sigh. Practically sobering up with just one sentence. “Christmas is in a week.”

“I know.” Carmen kisses his teeth. This is going to be the worst, for all of you. The missing link is going to be all too apparent.  “Good time to be busy.” 

“Good time to be busy.” Richie echoes. “Only way out is through.”

“Heard.” Carmen nods, what else is there to say? “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Aright. Don’t fuck in a fuckin’ Holiday Inn Chip’s worth mo—” 

That’s when you interrupt, “Alright, what a wonderful phone call this has been goodbye, fuck you, love you, don’t call again, be safe!” You hang up before Richie can reply, head flopping over.

There’s a long silence before Carmen speaks again. “...I’m not tryna do that by the way—”

“No, I know, I’m worth more than a Holiday Inn.”

Snorts of laughter fill the stale air of this shitty little Holiday Inn one bed. Carmen pulls you back into him, arm on your waist. Before you can start the movie again, though, you have to ask. “Reservations fucked?”

He hums, tucking your hair back so he can see the side of your face better. “We started taking reservations last week— Just to test it out. N’ it was goin’ smooth but ‘tuh…” He squints. “Trending today with the whole uh— Chef thing. We’re kinda booked full ‘til the end of the year. And January.”

“Oh shit.” Word on the street is true. Any advertising is good advertising. Even when promoting the wrong fucking website. 

“Yeah, good kinda fucked, but like. Fucked.” Carmy nods, and after a second, grabs your hand. “But Christmas— Christmas Eve ‘n Christmas is off— And New Years— So, so you won’t be overwhelmed, hopefully.”

Your brain is already shooting miles ahead, you’re mentally back in Chicago, already. “We really gotta get on that cocktail menu.” There’s so much to do. New job, new menu, Christmas—

“And coffee.” Carmen sounds calm when he says it, which is deeply unlike him.

“And coffee.” You echo, eyes distant. You shoot back up. “Fuck, road trip is gonna be such a time sink. Okay— Well, okay— We’ll just— I’ll make a list tonight—”

 You’ve gotta figure out your hours. You don’t want to lose Chicago’s Kindest completely— Can’t be available 24/7 anymore, though. Mattina Tony’s gonna hate that. But he’ll be happy for you. Gotta tell Eden’s Club you’re not going to pick up shifts anymore. They’ll say they’re happy about it, but curse you behind your back. That’s fine. 

“List for what?”

“Christmas shopping.” Your eyes flick to him, still thinking. “I win Christmas every year.”

You’re getting Richie new cufflinks— But what of? Can’t just do initials, that’s lame. Fuck, what do you get Carmen? Can’t just do something cooking related— That’s lamer. But it’s also like— His only hobby.

“Don’t think that’s how Christmas works.”

“It fully is. And being in Time Square is gonna widen the fuck out of my search radius. Fuck what do I do for Syd? Fancy knife? They sell fancy knives here?”

Carmen shrugs, “I know a guy in the area.”

“Fantastic. I’ll get a list, you’ll help me out with stores. We’ll get coloured pencils at FAO, we’ll draft up a rough menu on the way home—” “Hey—” “It’s twelve hours of driving, so I think we can get a good chunk done. And then test out and finish on Monday—” “Baby—” “I was thinking we could do a section of house cocktails and coffees named after Chefs—” “I said don’t work on it—” “So like, each one would be themed after what I think of when I think of you—” 

Carmen grabs your face with both hands. “Tony.”

“Carmy.”

“Cannot believe I’m saying this to another person, but loosen your grip.” He strokes your cheekbones with his thumb. It’s nice. “You don’t have to do it all.”

It's a long silence of just staring back at him, so much so Carmy’s worried he has failed at this whole self-help thing. But then, you say, “Sara’s a good fucking therapist.”

“She’s got a pretty flexible schedule, too.”

Your face is still in his hands, you’re basically unblinking. “I think you’re a pink pepper aperol spritz with a slice of grapefruit. Maybe like a cherry syrup rim? Or is that too much? That might be too much.”

Carmen sighs in a way that sounds like a laugh. “How many drinks have you made in your head?”

“Just that one. But I think Richie would be something with whiskey and peaches— And somethin’ about Syd makes me think about figs, I don’t know why, which would go good with—”

Carm pinches your cheek, frowning, though there’s an admiration to it. “I said don’t work on it.” 

You push his hands away, “I haven’t written anything down! I can’t stop my brain from thinking! How many fuckin’ plates do you have in your head?”

He thinks, tilting his head back and forth. “A couple.” It’s a lot more than a couple. “They’re all bad, though.” 

“Bad, how?” 

“Bad, like weird.” Carmen gestures to the dimming screen of his laptop. You shake the touchpad awake. Rat chef is inspiring, and a good reminder of what he's meant to do, as are you. “It’s uh, it’s a good movie. It’s good to make new shit. But like, I need to be controlled.”

You tilt your head, “I don’t think so.”

“No?” Despite the fact that you’re disagreeing with him, there’s a happy hum, in Carmen’s voice.

“No. I think we should make really bad weird shit. At least in like, R and D.” You lean back down, against him. “Gotta try it before you brush off the idea. That’s the fun thing about art, y’know? Might work, might not.”

“I think that’s life.”

“Life is art, art is life, food is both.” 

“Woah.” “That was kind of a bar, wasn’t it!?” “Kinda tough.” “What’s your bad weird idea?”

“Steak with pop rocks.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes go wide, but with a smile. Shocked but delighted. It's absolutely going in Carmen's top five favourite expressions of yours. You lean into him further, back of your hand slapping his chest. 

“I know, but I was thinking the sugar would be good—”

“Like a sort of maple or sugar curing thing?” God, you just get it. And you give a shit about getting it.

“Exactly, n’ then it makes you like— Like salivate.” “I don’t think it’s that crazy an idea.”

He’s so excited to have someone encourage his ideas, for once. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod assuredly. “We should do it. Try it, at least.”

“Okay. Cool.” Carmen tries and fails to not light up at the prospect of ‘we’. “You’ve still got a hard out at twelve?”

“Syd said she will be knocking violently if I’m not back at midnight on the dot, yeah.” You unpause the movie. “And she’s gonna be pissed when I tell her I’ve volunteered us for a tourist spree, so I gotta be on her good side.”

Carmen shrugs, turning his attention back to the movie, arm around your shoulder. “It’ll be fun, if you’re there.”

It gives you both away.

Every sentence gives you both away. The way you speak, the way you act, the way you pose. It gives you both away. The way he moves your hair out of your face so you can see the movie clearly. The way you lift your head so he can tuck his arm under the pillow, so it doesn’t go numb under you. All without asking. The way you see each other, the way you are constantly doting and thinking of the next thing you can make the other—All without checking in. The Berf shirt you wear for pajamas, your refilled toiletries in his hotel shower. The domesticity comes all too easy to both of you. It gives you both away.

“Remy kinda sounds like Carmy, y’know—” “Don’t.” “My petit chef!”

You say I love you in every way but the way that makes it weird and bad and stupid and too soon. 

“Good God.” Is the first thing Sydney says, when you return to your shared hotel room. Face and voice filled with disgust, that is really only half sarcastic. “You’re beyond saving.”

You push past her, bumping shoulders as you do, smiling all the while. It’s nice that she can see you again. Even if she’s seeing that you’re down bad. “I didn’t even say anything—”

“Yeah, no, it’s that face on your face— God, it’s over—” “Baby, just say you’re happy for me.”

“I—” Syd blinks, rapid, hands in the air. “I’m happy for you— Tentatively.” Pending Carmen. Probationary forgiveness. 

“Thank you. I’ll take it.” You squat down to grab a water bottle from the mini fridge, when you do, you’re able to give Syd a once over.

She’s adorned in an old jazz club shirt from your highschool, boxers, and a long bonnet so old you recognize it. You recognize all of it. It’s nearly enough to make you cry. 

Funny, she’s thinking the same thing. Together, you speak. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Jinx!”

“Double jinx!”

“Triple Jinx!” It’s on the third one that you decide to let her win and not say it a fourth time. 

It’s on the fourth one that Syd decides she doesn’t want to win. “Quadr— Man, this sucks.”

You know exactly what she means. You fall out of your squat, sitting on your butt with a frown. “It literally would’ve just taken one phone call.” You could’ve been doing this for years.

She sits down next to you, back against the front of the bed. “There were a lot of moments, where I thought to call you, honestly.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like uhm—” Syd’s face scrunches up her face, she’s already opened her mouth so she has to tell you, but she’s realizing she probably shouldn’t tell you. “There was this fucked day at The Beef, where we set up online orders, and I forgot to tick off pre-order—”

You unscrew the bottle cap, squinting. “I feel like that should automatically be off.” 

“That’s what I’m fucking saying!” She slaps your knee with the back of her hand, “But uh, no it was fucking on— And we got like— Like fucked— Said that already. Hundreds of orders. And it was so much and and— Richie was, at the time, kind of a dick—” 

“You don’t have to mince, I know what he was.” You take a sip of water, nodding. He’s a work in progress, as are you all.

“He was being a bitch and— And— I might’ve maybe lowkey stabbed him.”

“Holy fuck?!” You have to laugh, out of sheer shock. You choke on your water. “Syd?!”

“It— Swear to God—” Syd raises one hand, and puts the other over her heart. “Was an accident. Like— Like I was saying I would, and also I was like—  Thinking about it— But I didn’t mean to actually do it— Like he walked into it—”

“Jesus Christ, Manslaughter Sydney—!” “No! …A little. On occasion.”

“You ever wanna stab Carmy?” “Oh, all the fucking time.”

“Fair.” You hand her your water bottle when you spot her looking at it. You see each other, you take care of each other, without being asked. 

“And after a brutal stabbing—” “It was barely a graze, to his ass.” “—You thought to call me?”

“Yeah. You’re like. I dunno. I—” She sighs, taking a beat. “I’ve heard people talk about like— When they’re in a life or death scenario, or panicking, their first thought is like ‘I gotta call my mom’.” Syd clutches onto the water bottle like it’s a life preserver. “But I like— Like I don’t have that instinct, duh, dead mom club— But like, like my instinct when I’m scared is to call you.”

“You should’ve.” You want to take her hand, but don’t. Still working on that hesitation. You’ll both get there.

“You should’ve, too.” Syd lightly punches your knee. She tucks her lips in a line, thinking. “I would’ve been there.”

“I think I kinda got stuck in the same thought Mikey had, with Carmen.” You prop your knee up, hugging it to you. “Didn’t wanna drag you down with me. Didn’t want you to know I— That I’m not really uhm— That I’m not all that great.”

“I didn’t ask you to be great.” Syd says it before she thinks it, and it’s enough to make your eyes water. In a good way. She continues. “I didn’t ask you to be my somme, either. I always thought you were cool. I would always think you’re cool.”

“I…” You clear your throat, controlling your micro-expressions poorly. “I— I know. I think I just… Always do too much? Like I do everything to make myself like— Needed.”

If they need you, they can’t leave you. Though, that didn’t really stop you two from growing apart, so there goes that theory. 

“You are needed.” Syd nearly rolls her eyes at you, but realizes that might be insensitive.

Syd could’ve called Terry, when the walk-in door broke. She called you. Syd could’ve called Claire— They’re not all that close, but she could’ve, when Nat went into labour. She called you. Syd could’ve called Fak, when Carmen’s oven broke. She called you. It’s insane that you’d ever think you weren’t her lifeline. 

But she clarifies anyway, “Not that— Not that you need to be needed though, for me to want you around.”

You snatch the water bottle from her. “Well, I know that now.”

“Good.”

You all but chug the water, God you’re dehydrated. Syd laughs, “It’s not gonna fucking run away from you.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” You grin, screwing the cap back on. Sniffing, you sober up a little. “We’re never not gonna be friends again.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Lest you go full on He Had it Comin’ on your fuckin’ co-workers again.”

She scoffs. “I promise to try to not stab someone in your presence.” 

“Deal.” You both laugh. You put your hand out to her, and without confirmation, do a handshake that must be more than a decade old. Dap, up-down, jellyfish out. Though, for your purposes, squid out. 

Incredible, you’ve hit Syd with love and nostalgia, she has to say yes now. “We’re roadtripping with Richie and Carmen instead of taking the Greyhound.”

“It’s so crazy that you think that’s gonna happen—” “It will be fun—” “Define fun for me, right now—” “We can get Christmas shopping done—”

“Fuck. Christmas is in a week.” “I know!” 

Syd scrunches up her nose. “What do I get my dad?”

“Sounds like you need to do some window shopping.” You could probably recommend something if you thought about it for two more seconds, but then you wouldn’t have an excuse to drag her along. “We could go to a Tiffany’s or something.”

“What and get him a locket?” “I’m honestly just naming stores, at this point.”

She’s thinking about it, really thinking about it. “...Could go to the MET, go through the gift shop. He’s a tchotchke guy.”

You hum, nodding. You can get her to fold. “Look at some expos, get some artistic inspiration?”

Syd’s eyes roll back, and she rolls her head back with them, head on the edge of the bed, in dismay. “...Are we doing gifts?” 

You shrug, “Was thinking I’d get you a little something.”

“So super over the top and extravagant?” “What’s the fun in telling?” “I hate you.” “So you’ll come?”

She sighs, husky. “Yeah…” She says it like she’s upset but you both know Syd is a little excited. 

You pump your fist, delighted. A win.

A comfortable silence fills the room. You flop your back down on the floor, laying on the carpet. “Thank you for helping Carmy.”

“Didn’t do much.” Syd shrugs, lazily turning her head on the bed to you. “He just needs pushing, sometimes.”

You hum, nodding. “Well, thank you for pushing.”

“You’re so welcome, dude.” You both laugh, and after another long gap of silence, she kicks you. “Stop lying on the dirty ass hotel floor, we paid for a bed.” 

“There’s something about laying on the floor, man.” You shake your head. “Get down here. I can see the scope of the universe from down here, actually.”

With a profoundly deep sigh, Syd rolls over to you. Your shoulders touch as you both stare at the ceiling. She hums, pointing to the popcorn tiles. “Oh yeah, secrets of the universe, right there.”

“I told you.” You nod, wisely. You frown. “...When do you think it’s like, too soon, to say ‘I love you’?”

“Oh my fucking God it’s that bad—” “Just answer!” “Definitely right now is too fucking soon!” “Well, yeah, I fuckin’ figured—!” “I’d say like, another month or two, minimum.”

“I think I might explode, by then, if I’m being honest.” You turn your head to her. “I’m really worried I’m gonna forget I haven’t already said it and I’m gonna say it at a stupid moment and it’s gonna be lame and embarrassing and bad.”

Syd turns her head to you. “Yeah, that’s probably what’s gonna happen.”

“Okay, so you’re no fuckin’ help.” You snort. 

“What do you want me to say? You love to the point of embarrassment.” She shrugs, smiling at your demise. But then Syd sobers up a little, turning her body to face you, leaning her head on her hand. “Are you sure, though?”

“I think so, yeah.” You cross your arms, nodding, assuring yourself, practically. “I feel what I think can only be described as emotionally violent— affectionately. And I think that’s what love is. Pretty sure.”

“Hm.” Syd watches you watch her. You’re absolutely getting lost in your own brain. She pokes the space between your eyebrows, you wake back up. “What’s in there?”

You blink, “Thinking of all the worst ways I could say it.” In front of everyone, accidentally while saying goodbye, off-handedly while hanging up, over text, and so on and so forth.

“Okay, that sounds awful and unproductive so let’s go to bed, huh?” Syd grunts, sitting up. She reaches for your hand to help you stand up with her. “Just try saying it normal.”

You take a breath, looking her in the eyes, say it normal. “Love you.”

“Yeah, just say it like that.”

“Oh, so I can say it—” “In two months.”

“Wait, is one more month hard off the table now—” “Now it’s three.” “Fuck, it’s gaining interest?!”

Just try to make it to next year without saying it, you’d take that happily. Just make it to Christmas. Okay, maybe just make it until you get back to Chicago…Maybe just take a vow of silence. 

You shake your head, coming back to reality.

“Wait, what the fuck, Syd, say it back!”

wooooo

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[emotionoitme]

nectar of the gods

nectar of the gods - lana del rey

part 2 of don’t call my name

warnings: jealousy, the c word (claire), pervy carmy but that’s a given, date gone wrong (pushy man & use of some force. nothing bad happens), guard dog carmy, small argument. nasty smut: themes of brat tamer carmy, female masturbation, teasing + condescending dirty talk, fingering, squirting, biting, kissing, unprotected sex (oops), slight size kink, he doesn’t choke her but he holds her neck, slight breeding kink, ok maybe not so slight, she gets fucked kind of stupid. 

wc: 9.5k

a/n: thanks so much for the love on part one! let me know what u think of this one!! <3 enjoy the nastiness

playlist

the weeks that followed the soft touches and heated kisses were, to say the least, awkward. 

carmen has never been the strongest communicator, and working long hours at the bear conveniently meant they didn’t really see much of each other. 

unluckily for him, she conveniently seemed to be home when he had invited claire over to talk.

in his defense, it was a late night, heat of the moment decision. one in which he was caught in a weak spot–feeling lonely and, admittedly, thinking obsessively of his roommate. a decision he deeply regretted the following day, when he had checked his messages and saw she said yes. 

claire came over for morning coffee when carmy decided to go into work late. she gave him a enthusiastic greeting when he opened the door, rushing forward to hug him. it didn’t feel right, but he reciprocated. 

“so good to see you, carm,” she told him, warmly. 

“hey, you too,” eyes glancing over to the clock beside the door, “you’re early.” 

she pulled back, smiling. 

“i thought you’d be happy to have more time with me.”

he gestured her in and shut the door. he hadn’t really wanted her to come at all once he woke up, but how could she have known that? 

he felt stupid. 

“i, am” he replied unenthusiastically, “but my, um…. my roommate is still home.” 

“you have a roommate now?” she asked. 

“yeah, just for a while. want to go outside?” he questioned, eyes darting to the stairs. 

“can’t we just sit at the table? it’s cold out.” claire followed his gaze to the staircase. 

he paused, sighing. 

“okay, yeah. let’s sit at the table.” hand running through his hair, pulling slightly. he forced himself to sit and meet her gaze, asking her how she’s been, trying to pay attention. trying to care. 

a few minutes into their conversation, he heard soft footsteps approaching from behind. 

“goodmorning,” his roommate called out, smiling at claire. carmen whipped his head around. she was dressed for work. she looked good. 

“oh. hi,” claire returned, “you’re carmy’s roommate?” the surprise evident in her voice. 

“only short term,” she replied, shooting carmen a glance, “and you are?”

“i’m claire,” she returned with a smile, “i’m his-”

“she’s my friend.” carmy interrupted, watching as claire’s eyebrows shot up at this. 

“umm, we’re a little more than friends,” claire laughed, turning to his roommate, “me and carm have known eachother since we were kids. and we dated for a while, didn’t we, bear?”

he watched as his roommate widened her eyes a bit, nodding.

“how sweet. you guys are so cute together, you should date again,” sickly enthusiasm rung from her voice, “nice to meet you claire, but i’ve gotta get to work.”

“so nice meeting you! i’ll see you around.”

his roommate didn’t respond, quickly walking to the kitchen to grab a thermos of coffee then rushing out the door, letting it slam behind her. 

“she’s cute,” claire complimented, “should i be worried?” her tone joking, but still locking eyes with carmen. he stayed silent, rubbing a hand over his face, then exhaling. 

“listen, claire, you, uh…. you’ve gotta go. i’m sorry for inviting you.” 

“what?”

he left for work as soon as she was out the door, trying to distract himself from the reminder of all the people he had hurt so early in the morning. 

besides that tense interaction, he didn't see his roommate at all for about a week and a half. 

that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still think about her, though. in fact, it felt like he couldn’t focus on anything else—the night of their hungry kisses and gentle touches playing like a loop in his head. 

he thinks of how responsive she was, how her lips felt. how he longed to hear her beg for him. 

almost two whole weeks passed, and he still wasn’t man enough to face her, making sure he was in the restaurant until late at night and out of the apartment extra early in the morning. 

he scrubbed at the stovetop, remembering the smell of her skin. yearning for it. he stood at the expo and barked directions, skin prickling with the memory of her touch. the slight drag of her nails across his abdomen. how eager she was. 

that morning, as the sun just began to flood through the windows, he found himself passing by her room, glancing through the open door. 

he stopped himself as soon as he passed, taking a step backwards to get another look. 

she lay sleeping on her side, facing away from him, one leg resting on top of the duvet. her breath was steadily rising and falling, big shirt was bunched up over her waist, allowing him the pleasure of gliding his eyes along the curve of her bare waist. he savors the moment, gaze gliding down to her hip, then falling on the little blue pair of underwear that clung to her ass. 

and yes, he felt like a creep, but he still continued to stand there and watch her for a few minutes, wishing he could take a picture to remember the captivating sight. 

instead he just forced himself to walk away. 

it’s a long, stressful day of refires, late tickets, and continuous yelling. 

carmen only gets home shy of midnight, basking in the still silence of the apartment as the door latches. he slips his coat off and hangs his keys on the hook—the key hook she put up, after the 5th time he had asked her if she had seen his keys. 

hers were gone, surprisingly. he wonders where she could’ve been at midnight with a nervous uncertainty. 

carmen makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing a cold glass of water before walking over to the couch to collapse. 

the living room was illuminated in a soft lamp light. he loved that there would be lights on when he came home. it felt less lonely, somehow. 

his eyes glance around the room, noting the addition of potted plants, some throw pillows and blankets, art, framed pictures. some of her family, some of his. 

it had thrown him off, a bit, to come home one day, before the awkwardness, to see a framed picture of him and mikey standing on one of the living room’s side tables. he hardly recognized the old picture, studying it with disbelief. on that day, he picked it up and walked to his roommate’s door, knocking softly. 

“come in,” she had called. 

he opened the door, and found her sitting at her vanity, combing her hair. he held up the picture, pointing to it. 

“shit, i’m sorry. i should’ve asked,” she started to explain. 

“-no, no, i was, uh, just a little surprised,” he reassured, “where did you get this from?” 

she set her comb down on the vanity and turned to face him. 

“it was in a box at the back of my closet,” she told him, “lots of pictures. i promise i didn’t go through it. that one was just at the top. and i thought it was sweet. i was just thinking since i have so many up of my family, you would-” 

“-no, yeah. thank you. it was really nice of you,” he admitted, “just caught me off guard.”

she gave him a sympathetic smile. 

he fondly recalls the memory as he studied the decorations. never before had his home felt so much like a home.  

he lets his eyes shut slowly, basking in the comfort of the plush couch. around 20 minutes pass until he hears muffled voices from outside the unit, then the sound of keys fumbling with the lock. 

his stomach drops a little at the thought of having to face her, so he keeps his eyes closed, hoping he could ignore the interaction all together. as the door swings open, he hears her voice. 

“okay, thanks. i’ll see you around,” tiredness evident in her tone. then, a man’s voice. 

“it’s a nice place. what’s the inside like?” 

carmen feels a surge of annoyance. was she bringing men over? 

“it’s, uh, nice too. i have to get up early tomorrow though, so-”

“we had a nice time, right? let’s keep it going.” the man’s tone becomes pushier. carmen’s annoyance turns to anger. who did this douchebag think he was? he hears his roommate release a sardonic chuckle. 

“listen, dude, get out. i’m not interested.” her tone firm and assertive. carmen sits up slightly to peek over the couch. 

“god, i can’t stand women like you,” the stranger retorts, “a $200 check, and you’re not even gonna invite me in?”

carmen watches as she tries to close the door. the man puts his arm out, aggressively pushing it back open. he sits up the rest of the way, having had enough of the interaction. 

“hey fuckhead,” he barks. the stranger’s eyes dart to him, clearly surprised there was another person home. 

“she said get out.” his jaw is tight, eyes wide, staring the man down. “we gonna have a fuckin’ problem?” 

the stranger puts his hands up in defense, taking a step back. 

“hey, no problem here, man. just trying to say goodni-”

she slams the door in his face, latching the deadbolt. the girl lets out a heavy sigh before glancing over to where carmen sits. 

“thanks,” she mumbles, hanging up her keys and taking her jacket off. he glances over the skin-tight long sleeve dress she was wearing. 

“who was that?” he asks immediately, trying to keep the hint of possessiveness out of his voice. she leans down to slide her heels off, glancing up at him. 

“a date.” 

he continues to stare at her, hoping she would elaborate. instead, she ignores him, walking to the kitchen and putting the tea kettle on to boil. he stands and follows her, brow twitching. 

“you, uh, going on dates now?” he questions, hands coming to his hips. 

“yep,” she curtly replies, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and placing a teabag inside. 

“with guys like that, huh? nice.” he scoffs. the man has trouble rationalizing why he feels so aggravated. 

“fuck off, carmen,” she sharply retorts, refusing to turn toward him, “it’s none of your business.”

“it is when you bring them here” he argues. 

“what, like how you brought your little girlfriend over?” she yanks open the fridge and grabs the milk.

“she is not my girlfriend” he asserts. 

the girl rolls her eyes and ignores him, turning the burner off at the sound of the kettle whistling, pouring the hot water into her mug. he moves closer to her, staring at the side of her face.

“she’s not,” he emphasizes. the added pressure makes her feel compelled to respond. 

“well, she’s something to you,” she argues, setting the kettle back down harder than she intended, turning to face him. she immediately wishes she hadn’t, the intensity of his eyes setting her ablaze, skin prickling. it makes her a little weak in the knees to be face to face with him again, as much as she hated to admit it. 

“no, she isn’t, i- fuck…i had this weak moment after…you and i kissed, and it-,” he exhales, pausing. “i didn’t realize how much i missed…that kind of thing. so i invited her over. and immediately fuckin’ regretted it when she said yes.” 

“why?” she asks softly. 

“why’d i regret it?” he clarifies. she nods. 

he takes a small step closer to her. 

“because i don’t want that kind of thing with claire,” he confesses. 

she doesn’t know what to say, instead just watches him, studying his face. she catches the split second his eyes dart down to her lips, and feels what little resolve she has begin to crumble, so she turns away from him, back to her tea, and begins to stir in some milk. 

“okay,” her reply comes softly, “i get it.” 

“yeah?” he presses, eyes locked on her. 

“yeah,” she responds, “i know how it feels. to get…lonely like that. so truce.” 

he lets out a breath of relief, threading his fingers through his hair. 

silence, for a moment. he watches her bring the hot drink up to her lips and take a small sip. carmy is the one to break the silence. 

“is that, uh, the reason you’re going on dates, then?” he pries.

“what, because of loneliness?” she asks, warming her hands on the mug. he gives her a small nod, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. 

“yeah. i guess so” she responds, “with these… weirdos that don’t let me know they’re weirdos until it’s too late.” her gaze fixes on a point in front of her, unfocused. she stays like this for a moment, then breaks her trance, eyes coming to carmy’s face. his sweet and handsome face. 

“i’m really glad you were here, by the way.” she adds softly. 

he doesn’t know what to say for a second, shaking his head. trying to push away the anxiety that came with what could’ve happened to her, had he not been on the couch at that exact moment. 

“yeah. me too.” he replies soberly. she watches his serious expression, eyes locked. the girl can’t help but break out into a grin and softly giggle. she leans back against the counter.

“it was kinda sexy, too,” she quips, “watching you get all mad like that.” 

carmy can’t help the smile that breaks his solemnity.

“fuck off,” he amuses, shaking his head. she begins to laugh. he likes it a lot. 

“seriously,” she presses still smiling, “it was-…i liked it.” she gave a nod of her head. 

he just keeps staring at her with a soft smile on his face.

“well i don’t wanna yell at anyone else. so no more guys over.”

“oh yeah?” her tone teasing, “it’s kind of your fault that i even went on a date in the first place” she chimes, taking another sip of tea. 

“my fault?” he asks, eyebrows lifting. 

“yeah. i mean, i wouldn’t have to if you weren’t such a…fucking tease.” she tells him, smiling against the lip of her mug

that was the last thing he expected her to say, letting out a small scoff at her bluntness. 

“i’m the tease?” he asks in disbelief. if only she knew the relentless battles he fought internally from the second he first saw her. she’d been teasing him without knowing it for weeks. 

“you wanted me to beg,” she reminds him, “and then, you left me. i had to fend for myself.” 

he knew. he could hear her through the door. 

“yeah, uh,” he fights the smile that creeps onto his face, “sorry about that.” 

“that’s okay,” she replies, “cause i’m gonna give you payback.” 

“payback?” he amuses, eyes creeping down her face, briefly falling to her chest and admiring the scoop neck dress she wore. okay, maybe not briefly. 

she nods, stepping forward into his personal space, only inches apart. his eyes dart back up to meet hers.  she keeps her gaze locked with his and slides her fingers under his white shirt, ghosting over the deep cut lines of his hips. 

carmen’s breath stills as she hooks the waistband of his pants, leaning in to softly kiss his neck. she peppers sweet kisses up to his ear, then gently catches his lobe in between her teeth. her hands trail up, splaying across his stomach and feeling the firm muscle. carmen clenches his teeth as her lips begin moving along the base of his jaw. 

she had barely touched him and yet that burning sensation begins to creep up his skin. 

once her lips make it to his chin, she straightens and pulls him into her. 

he feels his breath skip.  

the girl hovers her lips over his, giving him only a light impression of touch. the front of her body is flush against his, and she can feel his hardness pressing into her. 

carmy knows exactly what she’s doing, and he doesn’t feel entirely enthusiastic about being teased. 

he glides his hand under her jaw, fingers carding through her hair and resting near the base of her skull. he grabs it tightly and she lets out a soft whimper, lips parting. the sound is too sweet for him to maintain his composure—he wants to taste it. 

carmen pulls her into his lips impatiently, relishing the supple feeling of her mouth. their lips lock together desperately, kisses in tandem. with a last, slow kiss she pulls away with a small grin on her face. his hand still entangles with her hair, eyed fixated on her lips. 

“that all you gonna give me?” he grumbles lowly.

she nods, “mmhm,” and her lip catches between her teeth. 

his free hand comes to grab her side, thumb pressing into her hip bone. she arches into his touch, lids heavy, body increasingly hot. he meets her eyes. 

“you’re…” he exhales, smile creeping at the edges of his lips, “you’re a little brat. y’know that?”  

“you like it,” she argues softly.

she’s wrong, he thinks, he loves it. 

she smooths her hand up his abdomen, fingers pressing into the firm muscle. he tenses under the rousing touch, then groans as she gently drags her nails down the length of his stomach. 

she feels his bulge twitch against her pelvis.

the girl smiles at this, satisfied with her work of payback. she doesn’t give him a chance to respond before she pulls away completely. 

he blinks a few times, processing the loss of heat, watching as she turns to walk out of the kitchen.

he almost follows her, too, but stops in his tracks when she calls goodnight. 

fucking tease. 

-

it was after 1am by the time the girl had showered and completed her nighttime routine, peeling back her duvet and slipping into the silky sheets. 

she tried desperately to clear her mind over the past hour, having difficulty thinking of anything besides her roommate. anything besides how much she had turned herself on in the process of “payback”. 

she lays flat on her back, then turns to her side. then she turns to the other side. then flat on her stomach. the girl releases a sigh of frustration. nothing was comfortable. every inch of her body felt hot. carmy’s lips felt so fucking good. 

the heater is too loud. the streetlights are shining through the curtains. she wants to take him inside of her. 

her hand sneaks underneath the duvet, brushing over her hardened nipples, trailing down her stomach and creeping under the waistband of her panties. 

she thinks about how much she liked kissing him as she begins to drag her finger through her folds. she thinks about how he would always hold himself back. it was easy to tell—he would tighten his jaw and his eyes would get dark, giving her this look at her as if he wanted to devour her whole. she feels herself getting wet, beginning to circle around her clit, frustration at the dull ache within that seemed incurable no matter how much she tried to pleasure herself. 

the girl feels so desperate laying in her bed that she decides she would take whatever carmen would give her.

even if that meant having to beg for it. 

she rips her hand out of her panties and flings the duvet off of her, sharply exhaling as the cool surrounding air kisses her skin. she throws her legs over the side of the bed and stands up. maybe a cold glass of water would help. 

the temperature drops as she exits her room. clad in only underwear and a cropped tank top, goosebumps begin to rise on her skin

as she makes her way down the hallway, curious eyes land on carmen’s cracked door. she stops and takes a peek inside. 

the outside streetlights flood in through his window too, yet there he lay sleeping heavily, completely unbothered. 

she pushes the door open a little more, just out of curiosity. 

he lay on his back, shirtless, with an arm thrown over his face, chest rising and falling steadily. watching him did nothing more than worsen the desire she felt. 

she inches into the room almost uncontrollably, coming to stand next to his bed. 

before she gains enough sense to turn away and leave, she peels back his sheets and slides in next to him. the man shifts a bit, then settles back into his slumber. 

she feels kind of creepy just watching him, but he looks so incredibly handsome in his relaxed state, his plump lips parting with soft exhales. 

she feels such little control over herself, thinking of how she wants to feel him. wants to taste his skin. 

fuck it.

she slowly pulls the sheets down and off of him. he’s wearing a pair of boxer briefs and she can’t help but release a breath of anticipation at the sight. she leans forward and crawls over his sleeping form, straddling him, hands coming to his chest. 

she watches as his head turns and his arm falls from his face, eyes blearily blinking open. 

his eyes meet hers, a stunned expression on his face. 

carmen thinks he’s dreaming at first—the sight above him all too similar to the filthy dreams he had been having lately. 

“uh, hey” he hesitates, voice deep and raspy, heavy with sleep. 

“hi,” she whispers. 

his eyes scan over her form and take in her position. her lack of clothes. she can feel him growing beneath where she sits. 

the girl smiles, giggling softly. 

a lazy smirk grows on his face at this, and he closes his eyes again.

“fingers not doin’ it for you anymore?” 

“shut up,” she retorts, slightly embarrassed. she hates how he knows. “i just wanted to…come see if you were sleeping well,” 

carmy opens his eyes again and his smirk morphs to a grin, arms folding behind his head.

“i was” he confirms, lazily blinking, “but then i got, uh, woken up.” 

“sorry” she sweetly exhales, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “i, um…” her eyes rake down his handsome face, losing her lame excuse completely. she’s silent, zeroed in on his lips with an overwhelming urge to kiss him. she watches them morph to a smile. 

“c’mere,” he whispers, tilting his chin up a bit. she follows his command, almost as if in a trance, leaning forward to capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

it feels blissful, almost like everything besides the two of them fades away. 

soft kisses become deep and the gentleness seems to fade as soon as it starts. the pair mutually quicken the pace of the kisses. they become messier, more desperate. 

the girl leans into him, hand coming to the side of his neck, the other caressing his collarbones. 

carmy chases her increasingly desperate kisses, gripping her hips with both hands, cherishing the feeling of her skin. 

the girl slips her tongue into his mouth and gently moans at the feeling, with which he reciprocates, indulging in the taste of her. his fingers press into her bruisingly. 

she rocks her hips against him. the sensation shoots a spark through her spine, so she continues to rock back and forth, grinding against his bulge, moaning softly into his mouth. 

carmen kisses her roughly, gripping her hips tighter, pulling and pushing her across the length of his cock. 

her panties feel slick, core feels tight, beginning to speed up her gyrations. she can feel the head of his cock through his briefs, and quickly becomes lost in the pleasure, kissing him with a ferocity she hasn’t felt in a long time.

the sensation is incredible to carmen, becoming more pent up by the second. 

she bucks her hips wildly. it feels so fucking good.

he mindlessly tightens his grip on her hips further, and her kisses quickly stop. hips stop. with a sharp inhale and a soft “ow,” her hand comes to his wrist. 

he immediately releases his grip, eyes snapping open. 

“shit, i’m sorry,” he hurriedly apologizes, smoothing his hands over the yet-to-appear bruises—a reminder of why he had tried to force himself to take it slowly with her. “y’okay?” he couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“mhmm,” she confirms, leaning down to give him a soft kiss of reassurance. “so strong,” she murmurs into his lips. he releases the breath he was holding, hands still on her hips. 

“can hardly fuckin’ control myself with you.” he admits guiltily.

“then don’t,” she replies softly, sitting upright. 

carmen’s hand falls over his face, sighing. his fingers card through his messy hair, eyes scanning over the girl. a soft smile twitches at the edge of his lips. 

the young woman sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves from the moment. her fingers thread under the edge of her tank top, and without saying anything, she slowly peels it over her head. 

carmen groans at the reveal, and she feels a twitch underneath her. his hand comes to grab the side of her waist, thumb stroking over her stomach. he stares at her breasts in awe, trying desperately to memorize the dreamlike sight above him. 

“you’re beautiful,” he marvels, hand sliding up her stomach to her ribs, “y’know that?” fingertips grazing the underside of her breast. 

goosebumps rise on her skin from the light touch. 

“touch me,” she tells him impatiently, pushing her chest out further as to emphasize. 

the man lets out a small scoff at her tone, but gives in, cupping her breast and giving it a soft squeeze. he runs his thumb over her raised nipple, giving it a gentle pull. 

she exhales harshly. it feels as if her blood had become hot, biting down on her lip to refrain from making noise. 

carmy brings his hand to her other breast and repeats: a soft caress, then squeeze, then a tug of her nipple, harder this time. she bucks her hips at this, whimper muffled by the tightness of her teeth around her lip. carmen lets out a soft groan at the momentary friction. 

he can feel the heat from her core over his thinly clothed erection as he touches her. the man marvels at her flushed skin, the curve of her breasts, the shape of her stomach, the expression of pleasure on her face. 

she finds herself aching for the friction of a moment ago, giving another testing buck of her hips. so good.

her hands plant on his chest and she continues to slowly grind back and forth against him. the perfect angle causes her bottom lip to release from her teeth, a moan spilling out into the silence. 

carmen keeps his hands pinned to his sides as he watches her closely, clamping his teeth together, clutching his fists. anything to keep himself from spinning her around and fucking her senseless. 

the girl continues to grind against him, one hand planted on his chest and the other coming up to grab her breast. she’s completely blissed out, but carmen feels hungry—her teasing movements not fully satiating. he can feel her wetness begin to seep through and slick the fabric of his boxers. 

“jesus, you’re fuckin’ killing me,” he strains, feeling his patience wear thin, “do something.” sounding almost like a plead.

she smiles, head falling back in pleasure, continuing to chase her high. her eyelids flutter at the pleasure, rocking back and forth.

carmy groans her name, followed by a “c’mon.” 

“ask nicely” comes her taunt, followed by a breathy laugh, continuing to pleasure herself. 

carmen decides he’s done playing with her. he plants his arm on the bed and sits up quickly, pushing her back against the bed, watching her eyes snap open to protest the loss of pleasure. 

“quiet,” he demands, cutting her off. she shuts her mouth, a look of disappointment on her face. he dips down to nuzzle her neck and hide his forming smile, peppering gentle kisses into her skin. her smell is almost intoxicating. carmen grips her waist as he kisses her neck slowly trailing down to her collarbones. he hooks his thumb into the side of her panties and shuffles them down her thighs. 

the girl breathes heavily, skin tingling in the wake of his touch. 

the man dips his hand into her panties, fingers slipping between her folds, feeling her wetness. 

“fuck,” he growls into her neck, “all this for me?” beginning to slowly circle her clit, the noise of her slickness like music to the man. 

she stays quiet, eyelids as heavy as her breathing. 

“hm? c’mon” he pushes, coming up from her neck and looking her in the eye, “tell me, pretty girl.” 

the name causes her chest to flutter, allowing a soft whimper to spill from her lips. the intensity of the sensation in tandem with his eye contact makes her feel dizzy. makes her less embarrassed about showing appreciation. 

“s’all for you, carm” she softly moans.

his fingers continue softly circling around the bundle of nerves, every few moments dipping into her opening to collect more wetness. 

she teases down his abdomen and slips into his briefs, wrapping around his erection. 

carmen softly groans, then inserts a finger, beginning to drag it in and out along her walls. she softly gasps at the feeling, and he can feel her squeeze his cock. 

“more,” she demands softly, starting to stroke him. 

he obeys, inserting a second finger, feeling more resistance now. she gasps. 

he plants a gentle kiss on her cheek, then shuffles down to kiss at her breasts. down where she couldn’t stroke him anymore. the loss of her touch feels cold, so he fucks her with his fingers a little faster to make up for it.

as he sucks her nipple into his mouth, she can feel her juices trickling down her thighs and onto the bed, a bit embarrassed about the mess she can feel herself making on his sheets. 

wet squelching sounds start to reverberate through the quiet room as carmy speeds his fingers up, softly nipping at her perked bud. the girl claps a hand over her mouth, muffling a boisterous moan. 

“hand off,” he growls, sending her a warning glance. she ignores him and closes her eyes, continuing to muffle her sounds of desperation, biting into her hand. 

his jaw clenches, and he pauses his movements. with his free hand he grabs her one wrist, then the other, and pins them over her head. 

the girl’s eyes snap open, and she attempts to fight against his single-handed hold. she gives her best effort, but in her weakened state her struggles do nothing against the man’s strength, so she just huffs. 

carmen scoffs at this, towering over her, beginning to slowly resume the movement of his fingers inside of her. he watches her face closely as he continues—studying the way her eyelids flutter, how her lips part, how her breathing picks up again, how she tries so desperately to hold onto her moans by biting into the flesh of her lips. 

he draws his fingers completely out of her, then slowly reinserts them, curling upwards and beginning to rhythmically thrust them into her. she releases the hold of her lip with a loud moan, unable to stifle it at the new positioning of his fingers. he smiles, having accomplished his goal. his fingers curl further into her. 

the girl begins to feel a bit of panic, an intense and unfamiliar sensation building up within her stomach. not an orgasm, but a deep, hot, wet feeling. with her arms pinned above her head, all she can do is take it.  

carmen speeds up the motion, thumb coming to brush against her clit. 

“fuck!” she yelps, arching into his touch. her mouth falls open, unashamed moans starting to pour out. his pace is relentless, and it feels too good to try and refrain anymore. 

“yeah?” he asks, tone cool and calm, getting a sick type of pleasure from watching her unravel beneath him. he curls his fingers up further, hand becoming soaked with her arousal. 

“mmh-carm, that’s-” she’s cut off by another whine, gaze flickering down to where he was rhythmically pounding his fingers into her. “ah-you…mmmh sogood,” she babbles, completely lost in his touch. 

carmy feels his composure crumbling, groaning at the way she was reacting. 

“c’mon, baby, let go,” he growls, palm sloppily smacking against her clit as he drives his fingers into her. her eyes roll back a bit, and with a final few curls of his fingers she does exactly what he says and lets go, giving into the sensation. the hot, wet tightness within her core bursts, flooding throughout her whole body. 

“fuuckk” she hears him groan, his voice seeming distant. 

her muscles convulse with orgasm, eyes tightly shut and mouth open. everything feels so wet. his fingers slow in pace, remaining deeply lodged inside her, releasing the grip of her wrists from overhead. 

it seems as if the only thing she can concentrate on is trying to remember how to breathe. as she struggles to blink her eyes open, she’s met with a handsome face that stares back at her with what seems like both shock and amazement.

“whathappened?” she jumbledly breathes out. 

he just groans again, dipping down to kiss the girl, big hand grabbing her face. his fingers are wet and sticky on her face. she eagerly reciprocates his kiss, hands coming to feel his chest, a pulsing in her lower stomach. 

carmy plants a kiss to her cheek then sits upright again. she pushes herself up onto her forearms, attempting to reorient. her gaze comes to where he kneels, then falls on the dark spot on the sheets that surrounds them, as if something had spilled. her brows furrow as she pulls her eyes back up to carmy. his face is flushed and pupils dilated, gripping onto the backs of her thighs. 

“you, uh…. god that was fucking hot,” he says with an unwavering stare. 

“did i do that?” she gasps, “fuck, i’m sorry, i’ve never-” hand coming over her mouth in embarrassment, “i’ll wash your sheets. or buy you new ones.” her face turns hot and red. 

he swipes his fingers over her opening, collecting her wetness, then sucks them into his mouth. 

her eyes widen, watching him savor the taste of her. 

“carm, say something,” she begs, still partially mortified. 

“you taste good,” he replies, pulling her closer by her thighs. there’s an animalistic glint in his eyes. 

“not about that,” she looks away out of embarrassment. 

“m’gonna make you do it again,” he strains, pulling down the band of his boxers and allowing his erection to spring free. he works to shuffle them down his thighs.

her short-lived embarrassment dissipates completely at the sight of his cock. he’s thick, and slightly curved, throbbing with arousal, emerging from a dark bush of curls. her breath hitches, and she almost moans at the sight, instinctively spreading her legs further apart for him.

carmen grabs a pillow and lifts her legs, tucking it under her tailbone and pulling her in closely. he begins to glide his head in between her folds, collecting her slick. he nudges against her clit, and she gasps, covering her mouth.  

“y’okay?” he checks, locking eyes with her. she nods her head. 

“mhm, just….be gentle,” she pleads, “please,” slightly intimidated by his girth. 

“i will be,” he nods, giving her a sincere look, “promise.”

she nods back, a signal to go ahead. 

carmy pushes against her opening, slipping his head in slowly. they release a breathy moan in tandem.

he pushes forward until he finds resistance at less than halfway in.  

“fuck,” she pants, hand flying up to grab his wrist. 

“doin’ so good,” he praises, “tell me when you want me to keep going.”

the girl nods, eyes shutting tightly, trying to adjust to the imposing stretch. she releases her grip on him, trailing her fingers down her body to rub circles into her clit. she feels herself relax a bit at the pleasure as carmy’s eyes stay glued to her, watching her every move with enthusiasm. her slow circles speed up ever so slightly, letting out a gentle moan, droopy eyes coming to meet those of the man above her. it feels so good, and she clenches around him. the only thing that would make it better would be-

“kiss me,” she pleads. 

he studies her swollen lips, flushed face, sweet doe eyes—he can’t help but mindlessly obey, caging her with his forearms.

the intoxicating mix of carmen’s kisses and the work of her fingers help her relax. the grip on his wrist loosens, and carmen is able to fully sink in. he pushes forward until his hips are completely flush with hers, moaning into her mouth. she matches it with a gasp. 

the girl can’t believe how full she feels. It’s almost hard to breathe, nails digging into carmy’s bicep. he pulls away from the kiss, thumb coming to stroke the side of her cheek. 

“doin’ okay?” he asks softly. 

she has to take a moment to find her words, overcome with a dizzy head high. 

“fuck, it’s s-so big,” she stammers, both hands now gripping onto his biceps for dear life. 

he can’t help the surge that runs through him at her words, small smirk tugging at the edge of his lip. 

“yeah?” 

“mmhmmm.”

“too much f’you? want me to take it out?” he teases, knowing full well what her answer would be. 

“no!” her eyes snap open “so good, carmy. want you to fuck me.” 

he groans. 

“give it a sec. play with ‘yrself some more. fuckin’ gripping me down there.”

her chest flutters at the sound of his voice—the low growl of it that seemed to resonate through her bones. 

“please,” she begs, pressing a kiss to his lips, “want it so bad,” another kiss, “i can take it.” 

he tightens his jaw, feeling his cock twitch inside of her at the desperation in her tone. 

“you tell me if it’s too much, okay?” he asserts, hand grabbing her waist to steady himself, sitting up. she eagerly nods her head. 

carmy begins to slowly ease out, his length dragging along her tight walls, then pushes his hips forward gently, sinking into her fully. her mouth falls open, a whiny breath spills out. 

he repeats this again, this time snapping his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. her hands smooth up his biceps and wrap behind his neck, tangling in his hair. she pulls him down to her lips, and kisses him with frenzy, then peppers kisses along his cheek and jawline.

the man swears he’s miraculously died and gone straight to heaven, even though he hadn’t been to church in ages. 

the way she smells, the feeling of her lips trailing along his face, the fucking vice grip her pussy wrapped around him with. it’s all like heaven. 

he moves slowly, rolling his hips to softly thrust in and out of her. 

the girl responds enthusiastically, bucking her hips up to accommodate him further. it feels incredible, but it’s not enough for either of them. 

he wants to be gentle with the girl, try and counter the thoughts that pop in his head whenever he looks at her. he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop himself if he gives in. 

so he forces himself to take it slow. and gentle and sweet. 

but the girl keeps bucking her hips up to take more of him, frustrated that he won’t get the message.

“faster,” she whines, placing a few more kisses along his face. 

he ignores her, leaning down to nuzzle her neck. his hand trails downwards, wedging it in between them to lightly rub her clit. his pace stays lazy and soft, kissing her neck. 

“carmy,” she complains, fingers carding up through his hair, “give it to me.”

he just ignores her, slowing the pace of his fingers and biting her neck. 

she gasps and yanks his hair.  

“fuck me already,” she huffs, pout on her lips. 

he growls into her neck, then pulls back, looking at her. his eyes had grown dark, eyebrows slightly twitching. a completely different expression than the soft one he wore previously. 

this one was much hungrier. 

he sits straight up, pulling her legs to be flush with his shoulders, then he practically bends her in half, hands pressing down on the backs of her thighs. 

she flushes at the new position, feeling entirely vulnerable, but too overwhelmed with lust to do anything about it. she goes to say something, but he cuts her off by snapping his hips against hers, driving himself deeply inside of her. her mouth falls open into an o shape, taken aback by the sudden change in angle. she can feel every inch of him this way, so fucking full she can’t even seem to form a thought. 

carmen eases out of her, then sinks inside again, hips slamming against hers. this time she lets out a throaty gasp, eyes droopy, completely transfixed by the sight of him above her. his chest was flushed, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. she wanted to lick it off. his messy curls bounce in time with his movements. 

he pulls back again, and snaps his hips forward, releasing a deep groan. 

she feels too full to make any sounds besides the needy gasps that pour plentifully from her lips. 

carmy smirks down at the girl, studying her blissed out expression with a sense of pride as he continually thrusts into her. his eyes fall to watch her breasts bounce in conjunction with his thrusts, and he can’t help but grab one, squeezing, brushing his thumb over her perked nipple. she arches into his touch. 

he increases his pace, hips beginning to drive into her harder. 

she can feel herself slipping into a cloudy haze, the consistent slap of his hips against hers almost meditative, a red hot pleasure circulating through her whole body. 

“look at me,” he orders, tweaking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

she didn’t even realize she had shut her eyes, forcing them back open to meet his gaze. 

he slides his fingers down her stomach, over her pubic hair, coming to rub her clit. slick noises fill the room as his movements are eagerly met with more and more wetness. 

she studies his handsome face, watches how his eyebrows scrunch, how he bites down onto his lip and flares his nostrils ever so slightly. she wants to have his babies, she thinks in her haze. in that moment she would willingly take anything he gave her. 

she opens her mouth to express her gratitude, but all that comes out is a loud moan. 

“yeah? y’like that?” he asks, hiking her leg further up onto his shoulder. 

“mm-hmmm,” she cries in between breaths, wincing at how deep he was going, but somehow wanting even more. 

“tell me, pretty girl. use those words.” he plants a kiss to the inside of her ankle and keeps thrusting into her. 

“fuck,” she cries, “so good, carm. sososo good.”

his circles around her clit speed up, and the pleasure pushes her to continue, embarrassment out the window. 

“love it,” she gasps, “i love it. you fuck me so good,” beginning to babble, “please don’t stop. please don’t ever stop.” 

a grin breaks his face at this, and he drives into her faster, a wet slapping resounding through the room. he kisses her ankle again, then her foot. 

“whatever you want,” he tells her sincerely. “fuckin’ perfect, y’know that?” another kiss on her foot, “like you were fuckin’ made for me.”

she opens her mouth, but her rationality kicks in and thinks it might be too early to ask him to put a baby in her. she opts to take a less direct approach. 

“cum in me,” a breathy plead, “please,” locking eyes with him. he gives a slight shake of his head, surprised by her words. surprised by how mindlessly he wants to obey. 

“fuck,” he enunciates, “you know i can’t.” the justification of why barely makes it to his mind, overcome with the flood of arousal from her words. 

“i want it,” she whines. her legs slip from his shoulders and wrap around his back, pulling him in close. he releases a groan, sinking further into her, slowing his movements and beginning to punctuate his thrusts. he leans down and kisses her neck. 

“i said no,” he growls, “be fuckin’ good.”

she bites his shoulder. hard enough to sting. 

“ah-f’you keep acting like a brat i’m gonna fuck you like one,” he warns, hands holding her firmly in place. 

she grins, then bites him again, this time on his bicep. and much harder. 

carmen feels himself run out of patience, sitting up and pulling out of her. he shuffles off the bed and stands, and before she can open her mouth to complain, he yanks her up by the arm. his hand presses on her upper back and shoves her into the mattress, grabbing her hips and lifting her to arch to his liking. 

the girl feels slightly humiliated by the vulnerable position, yet finds it does nothing but make the tingling heat of her body intensify. 

she notices her cheek is wet—he had shoved her face first into the spot she made earlier. at this, she lets out an unenthusiastic groan. 

“yeah well, i told you to fuckin’ behave,” he responds, collecting some of her slick and coating it over his cock, stroking a few times. “was tryin’ to go easy on you.” he begins to press the head into her, eliciting a breathy sigh. “but you don’t want me to, huh?” he sinks the rest of the way in. “you’ve been wanting me to give it to you rough, yeah?” 

he buries himself to the hilt, and she gasps, feeling fuller than she ever thought possible. 

“no,” comes her breathy protest into the mattress. he wasn’t wrong. at all. but she had too much pride to admit it, so instead she argues. 

carmy scoffs.

“yeah? that why you’re fuckin’ soaking me? cause you don’t want it?”

he pulls back, dragging along her walls, then thrusts forward. the girl yelps, and takes a deep breath. 

“i’m not,” comes her sharp retort, forearms coming to the bed and pushing herself up. 

carmen drags his fingers up her inner thigh, collecting some of her juices that had trickled down, wordlessly holding them in front of her so she could see. 

her cheeks feel hot. she doesn’t say anything, instead turns her face away from his glistening fingers. he grabs her jaw and pulls her back, pushing his coated fingers into her mouth. the girl makes a noise of disagreement, but doesn’t move away. she swirls her tongue around him, sucking his fingers clean. 

he was right, she does taste sweet. 

carmy drags his fingers out of her mouth slowly, catching her lip on the way down, and wraps around her neck, pressing gently. only enough to remind her who was in charge. 

she willingly submits to the pleasure, arching back against him, growing impatient with his lack of movement. 

she begins to ease herself forward, then rock back onto him selfishly, working to help alleviate some of the pressure that had built within her. 

he lets her, for a moment, admiring the way she bounces against him, watching as she desperately tried to satiate herself. 

he leans forward to plant a kiss to her cheek, fingers still wrapped around her throat, and begins to drive his hips forward to match her movements. 

“yes,” she cries, hoping to god he wouldn’t stop again.  

he doesn’t, continuing to rhythmically thrust into her, filling her up and stretching her out. her hand flies down to her clit and begins softly rubbing, keeping in time with the movement of his hips. she can’t help the plentiful sounds that spill from her lips—sounds of motivation for the man. 

carmen, on the other hand, clenches his teeth together tightly and anchors himself by gripping her hip with his free hand, leaning over her. 

he’s wanted to cum since the second he slipped into her, actively working to refrain and make it last as long as possible. 

her juices begin to flow uncontrollably, completely covering his cock, sticking to his pubic hair. 

everything was wet, and hot, and felt so fucking good. 

the man wants to stay in this very moment for eternity, he thinks.

a particularly deep thrust makes the girl cry out voraciously, a primal cry that seemed to ignite something in him. 

his hand moves from her hip to her upper arm and he pulls her upright. she leans her head against his shoulder, and he wraps a strong arm around her torso, hand coming to hold her neck once again. 

the girl can barely support herself, legs trembling as carmen beings to increase the ferocity of his thrusts. the new angle situates him impossibly deeper—that familiar deep, wet feeling of heat starting to re-emerge within her stomach. his free hand trails down to her clit to help her climb higher.

carmy’s thrusts begin to cause wet squelching sounds. she completely loses herself in the sensation, mind blank with bliss, feeling tears begin to leak from her eyes. 

he grabs her jaw and plants a rough kiss on her cheek. his lips become wet with her tears. 

“that feel good, baby?” he hums into her skin, bucking up into her relentlessly. 

“so good, carm,” she cries, gripping onto his arm for dear life, “love it. so so good.” 

“fuck” he growls, shifting his hips further up into her, eliciting a yelp from the girl. 

“thank you,” she mindlessly moans, “thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

he grins, grabbing her jaw tighter. another rough kiss on her cheek. 

“where’d that fuckin’ attitude go, huh?” plowing forward into her, biting her neck. 

she just whimpers, body falling limp against him. he effortlessly holds her up right where he wants her and continues drilling his hips forward. 

“carmy, i’m- ah,” her mouth agape, “‘sgonna happen again,” she warns. he maintains his relentless pace, skin slapping against hers. 

“let it go, pretty girl. i got you,” he assures, face scrunching, muscles tightening, trying to keep his own orgasm at bay long enough to pull her through. 

with a primal cry of pleasure, she does exactly what he says and lets go. 

it’s a flood of heat through her body, a release so satiating she thinks she‘ll be addicted for life. her vision goes spotty, ears start ringing, mind becoming numbingly empty for a moment. her fingernails leave marks along carmen’s arm from how hard she grips, using him as her last remaining tether to reality. 

her breathing becomes rapid, body overstimulated with his continual thrusts. it’s almost too much, and then it’s nothing at all, feeling him pull out with a loud groan. feeling warm ropes shoot across her lower back. feeling him gently lower her down onto the wet bed. feeling her legs start to shake as the orgasm begins to subside. 

a few moments go by. she feels a cold wet rag clean off her back. she feels his hand rub over her ass, feeling it be squeezed. she doesn’t move. she can’t move. 

“hey.” 

his voice is so distant, sounding like he’s talking through a tin can. she feels him push her onto her side. she feels him smooth her hair out of her face.

she can’t seem to open her eyes. 

she can’t even seem to breathe without panting.

her entire body feels tingly. 

“hey,” comes again, this time a little closer, “y’okay?” 

she can’t respond. It’s like she forgot how to vocalize. 

carmen gently pats the side of her face. she doesn’t respond, so he does it a little harder. her eyes blink open at the soft smacks. 

her eyes meet his. they’re so blue, hazed with a slight expression of worry. 

“hi,” she whispers once she’s found her words. he’s so handsome, she thinks. his cheeks are flushed. his lips are swollen. 

“hi,” he softly smiles, “y’okay? was that too much?” 

she shakes her head no, a blissed out grin forming on her face. 

“mm. i liked it. a lot,” she tells him earnestly. 

“yeah? earlier you were saying you loved it,” he teases, smoothing her hair back behind her ear. she opens her mouth to respond but shuts it, rolling her eyes. 

there was that attitude again, carmen thinks to himself. 

“your bed is wet,” she complains, rolling onto her back and pushing herself up onto her forearms. 

“who’s fault is that?” he asks, an eyebrow lifting. 

she holds onto his bicep and pulls herself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. he sits next to her. 

“yours,” she responds. 

he scoffs. 

“it is,” she huffs, head resting on his shoulder, “i’ve never done that before. it felt…crazy.” 

the comment makes him feel big headed, a surge of pride and possessiveness that he’s the only one who’s ever made her feel that way. he doesn’t say it, though. just wraps his arm around the girl and kisses her head. 

a quiet settles between them. the yellow of the streetlights through the window gives the room a dreamlike glow. the time on the clock shows that it’s an ungodly hour to be awake. carmen thinks of taking a personal day. 

“wanna take a shower?” she asks softly, leaning up to kiss his neck, hand on his thigh. 

“that-” he exhales as she nips his neck, “sounds really nice,” his own hand coming to cover hers. his were so big comparatively. another moment of quiet. 

“i don’t think i can stand,” she admits, breaking the silence. he lets out a laugh. 

-

the silky sheets wrap around entangled limbs, draping the two lovers in a soft sleepy haze. 

the girl had to offer her own bed up for sleeping arrangements, given that carmen’s bed was completely soaked. 

their legs intertwine, feet rub together, skin smooths against skin as they lay facing each other. 

the cracked window allows an early november chill to sweep through the room. the girl gives a small shiver, and carmy pulls the blanket up over her bare shoulder, wrapping his arm around her back. 

they remain in a comfortable silence, both nearly delirious in the early hour, but too giddy to fall asleep. 

she studies his face in the close proximity, eyes smoothing over the small scar on his cheek, the light freckles that scatter his skin, the alluring curve of his nose. 

it feels almost as intimate as their shared shower, where they had tenderly washed each other’s hair and studied each other’s nudity in the light. he had called her beautiful. she returned the compliment. he held her up in the shower on account of her shaky legs, kissing her lovingly under the stream of the hot water, fingers gripping onto her as if he was scared she’d vanish into thin air. 

all that she was scared of happening had happened. she found herself completely infatuated with the man, the mere thought of him making her stomach flutter.

she tries to push it out of her mind, as she lay studying his face, that she only had a little over a month before she would leave chicago. as much as she tried to push it away, though, it came back. 

she doesn’t realize she’s furrowing her brows until carmen reaches up to touch her forehead, smoothing his thumb over the scrunch. 

she meets his eyes, and immediately feels a soothing sensation. 

his hand slides down the side of her face and cups it, thumb rubbing over her lip. 

“whatcha thinkin’ about?” he asks softly. 

she stays quiet for a moment, not sure how to express herself, chewing on her lip trying to piece together her words. he gently pulls it from between her teeth, his eyes fixed on her face, studying every emotion. 

she takes a deep breath. 

“i really like you, carmy,” her admission comes as a whisper. 

a tear escapes down her cheek, and she feels stupid because of it. 

“hey,” he soothes, thumb swiping away the stray tear, “c’mere.”

he pulls her into an embrace, arms engulfing her smaller frame. he rubs her back, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

“this about california?” the man asks after a moment. 

she doesn’t answer, just nuzzles her face into his neck. 

“we still have some time, yeah?” he consoles, “and it won’t be forever. you can come back and visit.” 

he stays positive, partially to reassure himself as well. 

“okay,” she murmurs into his neck, pressing herself closer to him. 

she thinks it might’ve been a mistake to have started something she can’t finish. 

it might’ve been a mistake to even entertain the idea at all. 

but even still, he’s so warm, smells so nice, feels so incredibly safe. 

he runs his fingers through her hair and kisses her temple, holding her tightly. 

it feels so good she thinks it can’t be a mistake. 

right?

[carmybrainworms]

STRANGERS -- HIGH AND DRY (Part Seven) -- Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader

a/n: my babies r back! (listen to: treehouse - alex g, juliette - tōth, no.1 party anthem - arctic monkeys.) -🪱 cws: angst. drugs (weed). highschoolers being dumb lol. wc:750

--------- ☆ ---------

--

“i have weed in my backpack.” she blurts out in the car, as carmen scrambles to get the fuck out of the school parking lot before someone sees. 

“bunny, what?” he scoffs, checking his rearview mirrors before backing out of his spot. 

“i have. weed. in my backpack.” she repeats, and the poor thing — she was so anxious about it, you'd think she was smuggling black tar heroin. 

“bunny, where did’y’even get weed?” he says with a light laugh, taking in her guilty expression quickly as he turns, eager to make their way home before first block. 

“my hippie cousins that visited me last weekend.”

“shit, really?” he laughs at her innocence. truth be told he’d never really smoked either, but hell if he hadn’t seen richie or mikey stoned off their ass before. 

“are you mad at me?” she mutters out quietly, and it only makes him laugh more. 

“what? no, why the fuck would i be mad at you?” he says as he stops at a red light. looking over at her as a nervous hand shakes and ghosts her thigh. 

“just share alright?”

--

and once everyone goes to bed — they’re at some random park in the middle of chicago. 

“how do i do this?” she chuckles as she fumbles with a bic lighter, carmy already having lit his own joint. sloppily rolled. 

“jesus christ, y’re helpless.” he teases, lighting it for her with his hand nursing the flame -- slightly curved fingers so the wind doesn’t stump it out. 

maybe it’s the fact he’s high that he’s so confident, but once he takes a long stoke of his own, he gestures with his hand for her to come closer, cheeks holding his inhale as he captures her for a kiss. transferring the fog into her mouth and making her all that dizzier. 

“s-sorry. i don’t know why i-“

“carm. it’s fine. do it again.”

they laugh for hours, and by midnight he’s trying to sneak her into his room. climbing up the ivy on the side of his childhood home and crawling into his window. stumbling here and there as more high giggles escape him. 

“bun, ‘m gonna drop this down alright? 'n y'r gonna climb up.” he whisper-yells the command, holding onto his top sheet and pushing it out his window before completely dropping it. making both of them let out stomach-aching chortles. 

“shit!” he says before covering his mouth to hide inebriated, overdramatic laughter. 

“bear, what the fuck?” she laughs back. and god, richie and mikey were laughing too. unbeknownst to them — standing and staring at the two stoned idiots from the porch. 

“yo. yo, just use the front door kid.” mikey suddenly decides to take her out of her misery, patting her on the back and opening the front door. a chaste kiss to the side of her head as she walks past. 

she was family now. 

carmy and his girlfriend, or, whatever she was to him -- lay stiff as boards next to each other.

painfully sixteen. 

“bunny?”

“yeah, bear?”

“is it okay if we cuddle?” 

the question was innocent. sweet. most guys wouldn’t of even asked before a lay at this age. yet, here carmen was. scared to hold her. 

he cradles her until morning comes, arms wrapped around her under his covers. nose nuzzled into the side of her neck, inhaling the lingering smell of body spray and smoke. he doesn’t remember the last time he slept this well -- awoken by sunlight streaming through the blinds. 

she doesn’t wake up once he moves; and he can’t help the urge to capture the moment. his twitching fingers reaching for his sketchbook over her on the nightstand, measuring each line of her sleeping form with his thumb.

adding to his gallery of drawings of her at every angle he’d grown the past couple of months. 

“i love you.” he whispers to her unconscious self, knowing she can’t really hear them. it was only way he was able to say the three harrowing words anyway. little sounds of pencil scratching on paper accompanying her light snores and breathing as he finishes his sentence:

“just don’t leave me.”

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dt: @thecapricunt1616 <3

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[saltnsugarbear]

you've never done me wrong (except for that one time)

summary: a kitchen friendship is born anew as Carmen's hold on the staff stumbles.

title from: "True Blue" by boygenius

word count: 3.8k

content warnings: swearing, reader is close friends with Richie. mentions of divorce, Mikey's death, depression, hazing in the work place.

part one!

Carmy works in silence beside you. Your head is resting on your arms against the counter.

Every night the two of you work on dish presentation and recipes. You're usually the first to feel the effects of exhaustion from the day, laying your head on the counter and watching Carmy work in his notebook.

His colored pencils are scattered and the surface is decorated with pencil shavings. You watch him intently, taking in the curve of his nose, the furrow of his brow, the set of his mouth as he colors with a precision you envy.

The dynamic between you two is one of mutual benefit. Carmy understands how to best present a dish, how it should look on a plate and appeal to the diner. You understand pairings, what ingredients need to be added or removed for a dish to be balanced and shine. And you both work spectacularly in a kitchen, moving together like a dance that only the two of you have learned. Any time one of you is paired with another, it's a mess of bumping into one another and miscommunication.

The only thing you don't agree on is staying awake until a few hours before service prep starts. Carmy has told you several times you don't need to stay awake with him as he works in his notebook, but each time you refusal. Instead choosing to give him grief about being up all night. Your belief is that if you maintain the same sleep schedule, you'll both be on the same frequency for service.

So that leaves you, exhausted in the kitchen fighting the drooping of your eyelids, and Carmy, sketching and coloring a new dish you two had been brainstorming.

"Hey.." The whisper of Carmy's voice startles you. He's collected his pencils and cleaned the counter around you.

"Did I fall asleep?" You search his eyes and Carmy nods.

You sigh and sit up in your seat, rubbing your eyes as Carmy stands up from his own chair. He waits as you slip off from your chair, grabbing your coat and slipping your arm through his.

Carmy has come to expect your gentle affections, the simple touches you offer. A guiding hand at the small of his back, linked arms and holding hands.

You let Carmy lead you to your apartment. You've both taken this walk dozens of times over, you can close your eyes and slump against him as you walk together.

"Stay the night.." You mumbled. Carmy hums beside you, he sounds distant.

This isn't the first time you've asked him to spend the night at your apartment. It certainly won't be the last.

The first time it was under the pretense that it would be quicker for both of you going into the kitchen. Less travel time he has to waste, to and fro.

So when he unlocks your front door, you're unalarmed. Carmy helps you kick your shoes off before he takes off his own. He drops his things beside them, and leads you both to your room. He flips the switch by the door thats attached to the warm Christmas lights you have on your ceiling.

He sits you on your bed, pulling the covers back for you to lay down and lays them over your body. Carmy makes to leave when you call his name. He stops in his tracks as you shuffle farther back and lift the blankets for him.

Carmy was used to setting himself up on your couch. He knew were your extra bedding was and he never complained about the kink in his neck afterwards.

However inviting him into your bed was new. He nervously shuffles towards the edge of the bed and you nod tiredly.

Carmy climbs in beside you, hesitantly. He's still in his jeans and t-shirt. No one will notice his ruffled street clothes tomorrow.

He's awkward as he lays on his side, facing you. You sigh, grumbling something out as you grab at his shirt. You pull at the fabric, bringing him towards you until your face is against his chest.

Carmy is tense until you wrap your arms around him, keeping him close to you. You can feel him relax slowly, and then he wraps his arms around you.

The both of you fall asleep like that. Holding each other under the blankets, lights tacked to the ceiling like stars.

August goes by with as little animosity as you can muster.

Which is not much.

But it's enough that Carmen doesn't feel the need to mention it for a while. The month goes by with as little exchanges between the two of you that can be managed with him being your boss and coworker.

It's awkward at first, and still is. Your cigarette breaks are cut short or prolonged to avoid each other, tasks take longer than they should to avoid running into each other.

You hate the way that you notice how you both still move together so seamlessly. The both of you move around the kitchen together like a dance only you know and it makes you want to throw up.

It reminds you have your time together at Daniel. It reminds you of how things could be different.

You can spot when Carmen notices it because his movements suddenly become awkward and stilted. You run into each other more once he clocks the smooth kitchen dynamic you have. It kind of pisses you off.

You find yourself getting short with him when this happens. Which leads to the butting of heads.

But you spend more time away from each other then around one another. Richie makes snide comments on it until you eventually get him to shut up. No one else notices, at least they don't mention if they do.

Ebra and Tina take to gently harassing Carmen. Making him prove his keep in the kitchen. He throws tantrum after tantrum but they are unrelenting in their antics.

You can see Carmen's fuse running shorter and shorter with them as each day begins anew.

He is going to snap.

Richie is regaling a story about some kid picking on Eva while you're sorting through the plastic utensils and prepping napkins.

He keeps looking at you through out the story and you're nodding along to show your engagement in the story. As he's getting into it, the door to the kitchen swings open.

"Hey, chef?" Sydney pokes her head through the doorway and grabs your attention. "Fill in for Tina? She's going to be late up until service."

You sigh and nod, "Yeah, for sure."

As you follow Syd into the back of house, Richie blows you a kiss that makes you roll your eyes. Sydney has your station set up by the time you're done washing your hands.

"So, Tina was just on vegetable prep. Nothing too crazy, I don't think. I mean, you know the drill, right?" Sydney looks at you and you nod.

"Vegetable prep is nothing, my dear Sydney."

"Okay. Then I don't think there's anything else you need to know. Just let me know when you're done." Sydney taps the counter and you nod before she departs to her own station not far from yours.

The two of you work in the kitchen in mostly silence. Carmen is in the office so Marcus and Ebra are the only other two moving around their respective parts of the kitchen.

"Did you um-" Sydney starts talking, and she hesitates as she lets her thoughts tumble around. "Did you work in a kitchen? Before this?"

"Yeah, actually. I..." You pause and then sigh. "I used to work with Chef Daniel Boulud."

"Oh shit." Sydney glances at you, eyes wide.

You huff a laugh and nod. "Yep."

"How did... How did you end up here?" Sydney asks, turning back to her own prep.

You pause long enough Sydney starts to back pedal, "Actually, you don't have to-"

"No it's okay. Um..." You clear your throat and furrow your brow. "Something happened.. And I had to quit. It was that or be fired."

"Oh shit.." Her voice is hushed but you shrug in response.

"That was four years ago and I'm mostly over it. But it definitely opened my eyes to some shit." You glance at Sydney before looking back at your cutting board.

"But I mean, maybe it was for the best. I met these lovely people," Sydney scoffs a little at that. "I got to know Mikey and I know Richie now. I don't know. I got a new family out of the situation so maybe it's not all bad. It definitely hurt though." You nod as you cut through carrots.

"That's a good way to look at it.." Sydney trails off as the two of you begin to work in silence again.

"I'm sorry that happened, anyways." Sydney does a half shrug and you nod.

"Thank you, chef." You hum.

Sydney hums in response and nods. The two of you continue to work in silence again.

After a few minutes Richie enters the back, fidgety and looking for someone to talk to. He steers clear of you and Sydney, deciding to go to Marcus and Sweeps. He launches himself into conversation, beginning some story you're sure he's already told you.

As he talks and gets more into it, his voice gets loud. Sweeps and Marcus egg him on and you can see Ebra hovering. Eventually Richie is shouting to be heard and laughing loudly.

"Richard," You grab his attention with his full name, not looking away from your station, and loud enough to be heard over his own chatter. You raise your hand to lay level above your head and start moving it downwards.

"Oh shit. Sorry, sweetheart." Richie's voice is quieter now.

"It's okay, bub. Thank you." You bring your hand back to your task and Richie continues his story, keeping his voice as leveled as he can.

"Holy shit." Sydney breathes out next to you and you shoot her a questioning look.

"He doesn't listen to, like, anyone." She looks at you and searches your face like it'll show her the answers.

You chuckle and nod at that. "He only listens because I put up with his other shit. And his daughter likes me, so it's hard to explain to a five year old why her cousin that she's seen for years stops showing up."

Sydney keeps looking at you in awe which makes you shake your head. "Back to work, chef."

You gesture to her cutting board and she tears her gaze away with a nod.

"Um... Why would you stop showing up, chef?" Sydney asks with her brow furrowed.

"I wouldn't. He just... Has these weird attachment issues. He gets anxious over it so he... Behaves himself to not scare me off. He has his bad days but we're only human." You shrug. Sydney hums and the two of you go back to working in silence.

Once you finish, Sydney guides you through mixing and storing it in accord with the restaurant system. As you're cleaning up your stations, Carmen comes into the kitchen like a force of wind. He stops a few steps from the office when he spots you at the counter.

You watch in your periphery as Carmen looks between you and Sydney. Sydney nods at him and he shakes his head back at her.

"Uh.. Chef." You turn as Carmen nods at you.

"Chef." You look at him as you finish wiping down the counter. You both stand there for a few seconds until Sydney clears her throat.

"Thank you, chef... For helping with Tina's prep." She nods and gives you a smile.

"Yeah, it's no problem, Syd." You nod back as you depart from the two of them. You make your way to coral Richie and Sweeps to the front of house, ignoring Carmen's gaze on your back as you leave.

Richie slings his arm over your shoulder with Sweeps behind you, as Carmen rounds up his cooks and begins debriefing them for service.

After the health inspector leaves, hell breaks loose. Everyone else dispersed to their respective stations, except for you, Sydney, Carmen and Richie.

Richie and Carmen start yelling and jabbing fingers at each other again. Once they start shoving each other, Sydney attempts to break it up again. When that doesn't work, you shove your way between the two of them, less worried than Sydney about who gets knocked by an elbow.

Richie immediately stops his movements and favors yelling at Carmen from behind you. Carmen bites his tongue, glaring at Richie above your head and clenching his fists at his sides.

"Shut up, Richard!" You turn and look at him over your shoulder. You notice Carmen inhale to begin his verbal assault again and stop him in his tracks. "That doesn't mean you start again, Carmen. You need to go take a fucking breather."

Carmen stares at you and there's a fire in his eyes. "We got a fuckin' C. You can't be fuckin' okay with that? It's, it's-"

"I don't give a fuck what it is right now. You need to step out, and maybe when you're feeling like having a real conversation, we can deal with this. Instead of taking that shit out on Richie."

That was the wrong thing to say. It only adds fuel to the fire that is Carmen's anger.

"Maybe, if you fucking cleaned- If, if you actually helped around this place instead of- of fucking flirting with Richie!" Carmen gestures wildly, his voice raising with each word.

"Don't you fucking yell at me." You stab a finger into Carmen's chest, getting up in his face and much louder than him. The kitchen has all but ceased movement and clatter.

"Don't yell at me, you fucking child. You know that shit doesn't work." Carmen is silent as you study his face before backing off.

"Get your fucking shit together, Carmen. Instead of taking it out on your chefs." You untie your apron as you head towards the back door.

"Where the fuck do you think you're goin'?" Carmen calls after you. In response you flip him off as you barge out the door.

Once you're outside, you fish out your lighter and pack of cigarettes, shaking out a stick before tossing the pack and your apron onto one of the crates on the floor. When you light the stick you take a deep inhale and hold before letting it out.

The door opens and you're prepared to launch yourself at Carmen.

Instead you see Sydney. She’s got a container of water in her hand her eyes cast towards the ground. You hum at her in acknowledgment as you take another drag. After your appraisal Sydney walked over and sat on the opposite crate from where you had thrown your stuff.

"I have never seen someone tell Carmy off like that." Her voice is soft and a little surprised. You let out a huff of a laugh as you release the smoke from your lungs.

"He's just an asshole." You say as you dip down and offer Sydney your pack. She scrunches up her nose and shakes her head, which makes you grin.

"Smart move. This shit kills." You punctuate your sentence with another drag that makes Sydney chuckle.

"Did you know Carmy? Before the Beef?" Sydney toes at the asphalt before she looks up at you with big brown eyes.

You turn away and shrug, "Depends on what you mean by know. I've worked with him in the past. I thought I knew him as well as I knew myself but he ended up being a back stabbing bitch."

You flick your cigarette to the ground and stub it out with your shoe.

"Don't get too attached to the idea of you guys being super great work buddies. He'll throw you to the curb if it means saving his own ass." With that you grabbed your apron, opened the door and give Sydney a two finger salute before walking back in.

Inside Richie and Carmen are arguing about the caulk. Still. You sigh and begin tying your apron behind you. It's going to be a long fucking service.

The door from the kitchen swings shut as you walk through, making your way behind the counter until you hear people talking in the dining area.

"Oh shit. Hi, Mr. Cicero." You spot Cicero talking with Carmen by the window.

He and Carmen turn towards you, expressions a stark difference between each other. Cicero smiles at you as you make your way over to them, but Carmen looks shocked at your intrusion.

"How many times do I have to tell you, kid, it's Uncle Jimmy." Cicero pulls you into a side hug as you shake your head.

"Yeah, and Richard's actually my cousin." You sigh as he let's go of you. "If you're lucky, maybe you'll reach Mr. Jimmy instead."

"It'll have to do." He sighs and then gestures towards the sign in the window. "What's that about, kid?"

You follow his gaze to the C in the window and shake your head.

"Just business as usual, Mr. Cicero. I mean, you know," You shrug as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "It's been a rough going but um... I think we're getting somewhere."

Your gaze flicks to Carmen briefly before turning back to Cicero. Cicero nods when you look back at him.

"Alright, kid. Now uh... You know I love seeing you, but I mean, you know," Cicero gestures between him and Carmen. You get the hint.

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize, you actually saved me from more of the same story." Cicero assures you as you fidget with your apron.

"Of course," You smile and nod at him. "Make sure you come by again soon."

Cicero nods and brings you into another side hug. You return the hug as you bid him farewell, effectively removing yourself from the conversation and heading back to the kitchen.

At the same time you enter, Sydney and Richie enter through the back door. They're both silent as they walk in. Sydney stops by her locker, opening it and shedding her bag and coat. She fishes out the bag from the hardware store and her apron before she closes the door and hands the bag to Richie.

Richie snatches the bag from her and Sydney leaves to go find Carmen before service.

Wordlessly, you take out your pack of cigarettes, holding it out to Richie in offering. He shakes his head at you in response, so you lightly bump him with your shoulder on your way out the back door.

You plop down on one of the crates along the wall, fishing out your lighter and shake out a stick. Once you have it lit, you lay your head back against the wall when you inhale.

You're out there for a few minutes until the back door opens. You don't move, scrolling through your phone and not entirely bothered by whoever might be joining you on their own smoke break. There's the crunch of footsteps until the stop short. They don't start again but the door hasn't opened again. You look up and a nearly drop your cigarette when you see Carmen.

He's stood a few feet from you, his own cigarette hanging off his lips as he takes you in.

Deciding you were there first and desperately needing this cigarette (and maybe a second), you turn back to your phone. Effectively ignoring him. You hear the click of his lighter and the drag he takes through the filter, but he doesn't move.

You continue to ignore him when you flick away the bud of your cigarette, taking a moment to finish your article before you fish out another one. Carmen takes that as his signal to speak up.

"So, you uh- you just know everyone from my family?" He asks you, making you look up at him. Carmen is watching you already as he exhales, his blue eyes studying your face.

"I didn't track them down, if that's what you're thinking. I didn't decide to move to Chicago and find the Berzatto family as some long awaited revenge." You look down to grab your pack, so you don't have to see his eyes anymore, and take out another stick. You place it to your lips but before you can get your lighter, you hear the click of Carmen's. When you look back at him, he's holding his lighter out for you.

When you don't brush him off, Carmen slowly moves and watches as the flame sparks the end of your cigarette. Once it's done, he pulls his arm away quickly, as if you'll bite it off.

"I didn't think you had." Carmen shrugs.

"Yeah well, I thought I knew everything you thought." You let that hang in the air for a moment. Until Carmen clears his throat.

"How did you meet um..." Carmen doesn't finish. You know who he means.

"My brother. Graduated with Mikey, knew he was looking for people. Set me up." You gesture with the cigarette in your hand. "And you're not actually related to Cicero or Richie so.."

"Close enough," Carmen huffs and kicks at the pebbles on the asphalt.

"Nat's pissed at you, by the way. Not as much as I always am, but pretty close." You nod and then take a drag, looking down the alley towards the street. You want this conversation to end soon.

Carmen sighs at that and you catch him nodding, like he already knows.

"And quit being such a dick to Richie. He's obnoxious but he's dealing with enough shit without you piling onto it." You voice your disdain for his bullying with your exhale of smoke.

Since February, Richie's personal life had taken a nosedive into the garbage. In the weeks after Mikey's death Tiffany served Richie with the divorce paperwork. This took another massive toll on Richie's mental health when you were already trying to hold it together. You think that the presence of yourself and Eva barely kept the man with his head above water. You spent weeks creating a routine of assurance and dependability with Richie that he still questioned, even now.

"I'm uh... I'm s-" Carmen starts, looking at the ground. Again.

"Don't fucking do this." You glare up at him. Carmen looks at you with wide eyes. "Just shut up. I'm not doing this again."

You turn away from him, brows furrowed and lips set in a frown. You don't see him leave but you hear his footsteps on the asphalt and the creak of the back door. Then it's quiet again.

You sigh, and rest your head against the wall again. Finishing your cigarette in the Chicago peace.

[folkloresthings]

thinking about carmen berzatto having the fattest crush of his life on the new waitress/hostess at the bear. natalie and richard had interviewed you, raving about your experience and sweet nature, but carmen had only half-paid attention. on your first day, though, as richie was showing you the ropes, he spotted you through the kitchen’s window.

“who’s that?” he asked nat, knife frozen mid—cut while he stared.

“the new waitress, i told you about her last week,” nat sighed, annoyed at her brother’s lack of attention until she catches that look in his eye. then, she just smiles.

he makes sydney swap work stations with him after that, so he doesn’t get distracted every time you walk past the kitchen door. it’s bad enough that he can’t focus on the dish he’s plating when he knows you’ll be so close to him when he calls for hands. once did his hand shake when he passed a plate to you, nearly dropping it if it weren’t for your reflexes. you had worn your hair differently that night, that’s why, stealing his conscience for a moment.

richie, god dammit, had seen it happen. and he took every single opportunity for the rest of the night — no, week, to tease carmy for it. it only riled the chef up more than usual, forcing him deeper into his shyness and silence around you. whenever he did have to speak to you, he falls over his words and loses that strict composure the kitchen taught him.

because, hell, you’re so pretty and you’re so sweet to him and all of the customers. they always leave notes about you in their reviews, so even at home when he’s reading through them he can’t escape you. you’re like an angel, he swears, and far too good for him. he wants you, needs you so close to him — so he can smell your perfume or brush your hand on purpose for once. but he’ll be the ruin of you, this perfect thing, and he can’t be the one to break you.

[arlowthenacho]

cherry wine

(carmen berzatto x reader)

summary: carmy has panic attack and calls for you.

warnings: cussing, fem presenting reader, kissing, intended lowercase, please let me know if i misses anything !

wc: 975

a/n: omg its finally done...part 2 to “that funny feeling” !! its a bit short but i dont have the patience for anything longer lmao. @unbearableblog ik you wanted to be tagged so here you go <3

its been a week.

a week since carmen invited you to his house. and the funny thing is, its happened again. more than again, actually.

within the seven days after he originally asked you to come over, you’ve been invited to come back about 5 more times, all for the same reason. being a little taste tester for carmy. telling him what needs salt and what’s too bland and what’s perfect and doesn’t need any more tinkering.

and what’s even funnier than the fact you’ve been in carmen berzatto’s kitchen at 11:00 pm for the better part of the week is the fact he hasn’t tried to get in your pants at all. not once.

all he’s done is…talk.

about you, about him, about his family, and about yours. and its been nice.

refreshing.

seeing this other side of him, this vulnerable side of him, has been almost eye-opening. everything you thought he was had been turned to dust and reborn with new perspective. carmen berzatto wasn’t just the guy who occasionally hooked up with you to let off some steam anymore.

he was soft, and gentle, and vulnerable, and sweet. sure, he had his faults. his stubbornness, his ceaseless need for perfection, and most of all, his pride, but the sweet balanced the sour.

your thoughts drift back to the show playing on the t.v briefly, when a buzzing in your back pocket stuns you out of focus.

carmy parmy 🧑‍🍳

can u comw over?

huh. carm never really misspelled words. whatever.

course! gimmie likeee 15 mins

carmy parmy 🧑‍🍳

please come quickly

shit. now you’re worried.

you hastily make your way towards your bedroom and throw on a hoodie and leggings, damn near sprinting to your car.

after turning on the ignition and pulling out of your garage, you’re right back where you were a week ago. only this time you wear a concerned frown.

“carmen?” you rap your knuckles against the door, your breaths coming short and shallow.

“its unlocked,” his voice is hardly his right now. its all television static and distance.

you burst through the door and frantically scan the room for any trace of carmy. after a couple seconds of searching, you see him curled into himself on the floor of his kitchen, hands in his hair.

your heart drops six feet deep as you sit next to him, taking his hands into yours.

“hey, carm. what’s the matter, hmm?” you spoke with a foreign gentleness, a tone that was never usually present between you and carm.

“i just—i cant…” he hyperventilates. “i can’t breathe,”

and within a second, your blood was lead and dropping your organs to hell.

“i cant—”

he can barely finish his sentence before being enveloped in your arms. the sinking in your gut was still present, but you ignored it. you both just sat on the floor, holding each other together.

after a while of holding carmen, his breathing had somewhat evened out. he releases the white-knuckling grip on your shoulders and lifts his head from your chest. you brush the stray hairs out of his eyes and smile softly.

"hi, baby,"

he takes a stuttering breath.

"hi."

"what happened, carm?" you whisper, not daring to break the silence you both have fallen into. carmen takes another deep breath before letting the words fall from his lips.

"its, uh. family stuff. my mom is fucking insane and it just..." he pauses, takes another breath, and continues. "during christmas one year, she went really crazy. and it gave me some lasting issues."

your heart ached for him in a way that you can't explain. he spoke a little more about his warped family dynamics before trailing off. he meets your eyes again, but with a look in his eyes that you can't quite place. you're rendered speechless for a second before finding the words to say to him.

"you're safe now, baby. you're safe now." you pick the both of you off the floor and towards the couch, still grasping carmen tightly.

another week passed since carmen had the panic attack.

that night, you stayed at his house for the first time. you're departure was abrupt and maybe a bit rude, but in your defense, you panicked. however, you have been over his apartment pretty frequently for one reason or another.

today, you've been invited over to cook.

its 12:34, which is a normal time for carmen to ask for you, when you start to get ready. you only throw on a bra, some socks, and more comfortable shorts before you get in your car and drive to carmen's.

your knuckles rap against his door twice before he opens it.

"hey, hi, come in," he rushes out, mindlessly taking your hand and dragging you inside.

"oh, alright then," you mumble, letting yourself be pulled into his space.

the kitchen smells like an array of spices and you look at the bottles that litter carmy's counter. rosemary, tumeric, paprika, chili flakes and more things that you can't pronounce are written on the glass.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when carmy picks you up by the waist and places you on a clean portion of the counter. you smile at him and swing your legs against the cabinets below.

"what do you have for me today, carm?" you tease.

"this."

he nearly lunges for you and attaches his lips to yours. he tastes hungry, like hes been starved of your lips for an eternity. you gasp an press back into his mouth with a matching passion. his hands find your waist and yours find his hair. a whirlwind of pulling and tugging sends you both into a frenzy before he parts away for air.

"this wasn't about the food, was it?" you breathe. he giggles, the sound akin to something angelic.

"no, it wasn't. it never was."

[carmybrainworms]

♰ PRAYING. -- GLORIFIED POISON. (part three) -- carmen berzatto x fem!reader ♰

a/n: hi! plot building brrr...picks up straight from the last chapter! -🪱 (listen to entombed - deftones.) cws: catholic trauma. cursing, drinking. mentions of sobriety (carmen). suggestive commentary. wc: 1,850

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isaiah 41:10 - do not fear [anything], for i am with you; do not be afraid, for I am your god.

“can i give you my number?”

she didn’t want to seem…too eager, but she really was fascinated by him. wanted to know him for real. not the facade of the tattooed chef and the angsty teenager she recalled. 

he’s a little taken back, and it shows on his face. his expression morphs from one of amused annoyance to a look of genuine surprise. 

“uh—yea. sure.” he answers quickly, trying to ignore the way his stomach was doing flips at her words and the way her eyes looked up at him through mascaraed eyelashes.

she nods and reaches for a little notebook in her back, ripping a piece of paper and scribbling down the ten digits. 

“no pressure. just, if you need me. or, if you’re curious.”

“curious?” he repeats, that little smirk making a reappearance on his lips. 

he takes the scrap of paper from her, the pad of his thumb gently brushing against hers. electricity surges through his veins at the small contact.

he was more than curious. 

“curious.” 

she echoes once more, and starts to get up from her spot, the chair scratching against the floor. 

“have a good day, carmen.”

he watches as she gets up, an uncontrollable smile forming on his face now at the way his name sounded coming from her lips. 

“yeah—“ he almost stammers, watching her slip the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “you too.”

--

he holds the piece of paper and stares at it the whole train ride home. his mind swimming with possibilities. 

was she interested? was she just being friendly? what would he even say?

he sits on his bed, the scrap of paper clutched in his hand. slightly damp from the clamminess of his palms. he’s not sure whether the pounding in his chest is excitement or fear but he decides to go with a mixture of both. 

he unlocks his phone and after a few taps, a text bubble with her number pops up. 

he tries to type out a response a few times before erasing them, his brain seemingly mush. the little clicking noises starting to annoy him. 

so he decides to skip to the point. 

he almost laughs, the way such a short message causes him to feel a sudden rush of relief. 

he types back, his thumb pressing a little too hard against the keys.

and that’s all it takes to meet up with her at a bar. she wasn’t wearing what she was before — switched out into a black slip. st. anthony still around her neck. 

“hey.” she says, waving him down as she spots him across the street. 

his eyes land on her easily, and he almost has to swallow a gasp as he sees her little black dress clinging to her figure. he walks towards her, a smile on his face. 

“hey.” he responds, the smell of cigarettes and cologne following with him as he got closer.

the night was spent talking. gossiping about nuns who used to be on their asses. teachers who couldn’t teach. all the lessons they never used — the onslaught of knowledge they both had about biblical nonsense neither of them understood. 

“can i admit something?” she mutters out, a drink or two in as carmen nursed a soda water.

he was devoted to sobriety these days instead of the lord, she’d realized through their talk. 

“yeah?” he inquires, stirring the ice around his glass.

“tell me.”

“i know you. like, know you. you have an impressive list of awards...stuff like that.”

she admits, a small glimpse into all the reading up she’d done on him the past few years of his absence. 

“i…think what you do is really admirable. cooking, i mean. i can’t do it for my life.”

he can’t help but chuckle at her words, shaking his head gently. 

“t’s nothing.” he answers with a wave of his free hand. 

he takes a quick sip of his water, and glances over at her. 

“what do you do?” he asks, wanting to change the subject. he didn't like talking about himself.

“besides study my past achievements.”

“you’re gonna laugh at me.”

she mumbles, sipping her own girly little overpriced cocktail as she does. 

“i’m a theology student. i’m in a master’s program, right now. but i want to be a professor. i guess.”

he lets out another laugh. it’s not a mocking laugh, though. it’s more amused than anything. 

“y’re really just…full of surprises, aren’t'ya?” he remarks, an amused smile still on his face. 

“so what— y’re gonna teach like, bible study or some shit?” he questions, raising an eyebrow.

“no, god — no. i just…i guess when i graduated, we graduated…i had this resentment for religion y’know? and i wanted to understand it. then i just…spiraled. and now i find it fascinating.”

she rambles, the alcohol in the system prying her open. all her secrets, and the things she didn’t have the courage to say sober.

“just…humanity’s always known they’re going to cease to exist. and they need something to latch onto. even if it’s nonsensical bullshit. a man in the sky.”

he’s trying to keep a straight face, but her rambling is making it hard to control himself.

he’d never admit it, but there was something so beautiful about the way she’s talking about such a deep and complex topic, in such a blunt manner. she was more than a pretty face.

“and you think religion’s the cure for that?” he adds incredulously.

“sometimes.”

she shrugs, taking another sip. her lipstick on the rim of her glass now. looking at him over the top. 

“do you think i’m crazy now?”

he’s entranced by the sight of her lips around the glass. he wants her mouth on something else, and his mind immediately goes to a place it really shouldn’t be. he swallows, clearing his suddenly dry throat. 

“i think…you get drunk and start spouting off a bunch of crazy bullshit.” he grins playfully, taking a sip of his water.

“so yes, y’re crazy.”

“good crazy? or bad crazy?” she muses, nudging him with her heeled foot. brushing it off as something friendly — when it was anything but. 

the gentle nudge causes the smile on his face to widen, and he has to use all his will power to not reach under the table and grip her ankle. 

“crazy crazy.” he teases back, tilting his head. 

“can i ask you something?” he continues, enjoying the conversation at hand.

“anything, chef.” 

she jokes, using the formal word as she finishes off her drink slowly and smiling back at him. 

chef.

“why—“ he starts, before pausing to find the right words. 

“why did you want to talk to me? back in school? you could have made friends with uh…all the other kids in the honors society or the choir. probably would have been a helluva-lot easier too.”

“because you were interesting. and not like other kids. or, boys.” 

she says truthfully, her heel running up and down his leg now. hoping now he gets the memo. 

“you were quiet. i like quiet.”

she was going to drive him insane. the sensation of her heel brushing up and down his leg sending him a million different mixed signals. 

he swallows again, shifting in his seat. 

“yea?” he murmurs, his own hand slowly dipping under the bar, his fingers gripping her ankle.

“you like the quiet boys?”

“men. quiet men. it usually means they’re complex. always thinking. smart.”

she explains, trying to pretend like the way he gripped her ankle didn't make her brain a little fuzzy. 

“what do you like, carmen?”

the thought of wanting any other woman now makes him want to laugh, and maybe preen like a bird. but he stays calm, keeping his grip strong on her ankle. 

“women.” he teases back, his thumb tracing a small circle on her skin beneath her shoe. 

“smart — sweet women.”

“am i a woman smart and sweet enough for you?”

she whispers, the light hum of the music and chatter in the bar suddenly silence. 

carmen’s suddenly hyper-aware of everything. the way her body is slightly leaning towards his, the way her eyelashes flutter against her cheek when blinks, the way she’s practically biting her goddamn lip as she stares up at him. the warmth radiating from her skin, and her soul.

he swallows hard, his hand gripping her ankle a little tighter. 

“yea, definitely.” he admits quietly, not taking his wide eyes off her face.

“well, maybe you should explore that thought.”

she replies vaguely, wondering what he’d do with the half invite. going to grab the little chain under his shirt. the same one she had -- under his tee, yet again. 

“always hiding this thing. too embarrassed to be seen wearing the same one as me?”

his breath hitches as her fingers gently touch the gold chain, not expecting the brush of her hand against his skin.

he almost wants to tell her she could end the teasing and just have it dangle in her face all night, but he keeps the thought to himself. 

“not embarrassed.” he answers with a shake of his head. 

“i—“ he stops to swallow, his throat feeling suddenly dry.

“i just like to keep my secrets close.”

“i can be a secret.”

he chuckles at that, finding her inebriated self a little more amusing than her usual. it was such a tone shift, the way the mysterious mask faded once she had drink in her system. 

“y’re dangerous. y’know that?”

“what makes you say that?”

she whispers breathlessly, leaning her head a little closer. making it seem like an attempt to hear him better amidst the chatter — when she really just wanted to get a better look at him. 

“nothin’ angel. jus’…you, fuck. just…everythin’ i guess.” he mumbles, the words stuttering and slipping out before he can even stop them.

“just like — i dunno. you scare me.”

“i scare you?” she laughs out loud, and realizes she hadn’t had this much fun talking it up to a guy in a bar in, well, ever. 

“yeah. ‘cause like, i dunno…y’re one of those types of girls who seem to know everything.”

scared of the way she pulled him in. scared that he was so fucking attracted to her despite knowing nothing. 

“well, carmen. you scare me too.”

in the best way. 

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dt: @thefreakingbear, @thecapricunt1616, @inkyfairy thank u for the support/the og concept <3 having sm fun!!

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