Summary: Carlos notices that one of his waitresses isn't eating with them anymore and takes matters into his own hands to find out why (Family dinners inspired from The Bear)
Warnings: suspicions of an ed but reader just doesn't eat much, fluff, Chef!Carlos AU
Wordcount: 0.9k
Masterlist, Fontaines D.C. Masterlist
It had taken weeks to evolve but the pot boiled over in the flicker of a candle. Emotion piling out, thoughts tipping over the top. Flooding her nerve system. Throwing her off the tightrope she was weakly balancing on since childhood.
The smell of the kitchen infiltrating her nostrils from dusk till dawn was unfamiliar. The family dinners with the crew she wasn't typically part of giving more than she could take. Filling her stomach till the next morning unless she skipped it, excusing herself with some family emergency or turning up late because of the traffic.
Carlos had taken notice of it. Watching her eyes as she observed the food she was handing out. Raveling in the scents and scenery of it all surrounding her as she dug her nails into her arm while she smiled at the guest.
"Hey, Chef. Can we talk in my office real quick?" He'd caught her just before she could slip out after her shift. Walking ahead into the small make-shift office without looking back to see if she was following. He knew she was, even with her quiet feet and slow pace. He could feel her presence behind him.
"Uhm, sure," she mumbled, taking her earphones back out of her ear. Stuffing them into her pocket. Following him.
She stood by the door, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her body. Chewing on her lip as she waited for him to speak up. Tell her his concern and let her leave.
It took him a while to gain the right wording, hand over his eyes as he searched for them. Rearranging the words in his head until they felt the least demanding. Looking up he saw what concerned him the most. Her fingers pinching her stomach to keep it from growling as a new tray was passed by the room they found themselves in.
Standing up, he took her arm in his. Pulling her aside to close the door and keep the others from listening in on their conversation. Her head turning in fear at the sound. She could already see the other chefs looks as they heard the uncommon noise. The door was mostly kept open, only ever being closed in crisis situations.
Keeping her close, his hand staying on the wood of the door to keep it from opening.
"Everything alright?" he asked, the soft tone - a strange contradiction to his usual stressed out yelling - catching her off-guard.
"Yeah- yeah, shouldn't it be?" she asked, her muscles relaxing under his grip, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The concerns of him firing her pushing themselves aside as he looked at her with eyes in colours she'd never seen before. The usual storming sea now a sunset in the summer. A Sunday morning where she could find herself falling into contempt.
"No, I- It's just that." Taking a deep breath, hand running down his face. Despair looming over his features as he tried not scaring her off. "I've noticed that you don't eat with us anymore and I just wanted to ask why? Because from what I've noticed, you liked the food and you take samples when they're offered but you never eat with us."
Pacing in her head, not moving her feet away, he could still feel the turmoil he just errupted inside of her. Her muscles tensing under his touch, her lip pushed out further as she bit on it. Blood treating out, covering every single one of her tastebuds in the strong metallic taste. Her eyebrows furrowing in distaste at what she was offered in return to her silence.
"It's not like I don't like you guys," she offered a light in the dark. "I just- I've never eaten a lot and it's not like an unhealthy thing or a sickness, it has just always been like that. And you guys eat like a normal person would and your stuff is brilliant, it really is."
"What's the problem then?" he cut her rambling off, forehead creasing as he tried seeing through her words.
"Your portions are pretty big for me and I feel bad for eating only half of it or only even less than the others."
"When do you eat then?"
"In the morning, after work on my way home. The samples. It's not like I don't eat."
Nodding in comprehension, he repeated his words. "Okay, okay. That's good." Not letting her go yet as he looked at their feet. "I could make sure your portions are smaller."
"I don't want special treatment, I don't want people to take notice of it like I'm some charity case."
Laughing at her stubborness, leaning his head on the wall next to her, he could finally breath for the first time that day. "You wouldn't be. No one's seeing you as that."
"I'm fine, I really am," she insisted, losening his hand from her upper arm he still held onto. "You don't need to worry about me, Carlos."
"Then why do I still?" His words were quieter, though they didn't feel lighter. They were heavier than the usual outburst out of need for perfection he had. Hanging in the air for longer, trailing long after her even when she left the diner through the back door. Watching when he stepped out after her, the flame from his lighter engulfing his face for a short fraction of time before all she could see was the cigarette ashing and smoke rising.
