Stranger Places
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I'm back at it again trying to combat writer's block. Hope you like it!
Notes: Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader; Carmy finds you drunk in the bathroom of The Bear. (1.8k words)
Warnings: Slow burn, toxic ex-boyfriends, drunkenness
Chef Carmen Berzatto designed the restroom of The Bear as a complement to the main dining room, extending its warm minimalism to the wide sink basin, pale wood shelves and simple fixtures, all tied together by a signature scent of jasmine and oud. Not that you noticed any of this, your head being in the toilet and all.
“Cousin!” Richie was forming a plan, which always meant bad news for Carmy. A line started forming outside the bathroom. “I told you we should’ve put in two.”
“Would you shut the fuck up, Richard?” Today was not the day. It had barely been a week since the deep freeze incident, and Carmy still felt shaky at the helm. They were half a turn behind.
“Fuck you, Carmen. How am I the only one taking this seriously?”
“We need to focus.”
“No, we need to get whoever’s puking in the bathroom up outta there.” Carmy took a deep breath, forcing his gaze off the tickets. Richie continued, “if people think our food makes people sick...” His eyes blew wide, head bobbing, as if this were a foregone conclusion. “Okay?”
Carmen looked at him, practically flinching when Sydney yelled “hands.” Lately, he had seriously been considering the thought that he was a bad person. He knew that Sydney was capable—in fact, he would proudly describe her as brilliant—but, after she took over for him that night, everyone else saw it too. And yet, he was reluctant to hand her his position.
“This is big picture shit, Carm.” Richie said, softer this time, using Sugar’s words against him: some things are more important.
“Syd,” he could barely look at her. She moved into his spot, as if it were the easiest thing in the entire world, and began arranging the tickets, yelling commands. Carmy balled his hands, pushing the air out of his lungs. He didn’t resent her, he just hated himself. “Do we still have those water guns?”
“Fuck,” you spat into the toilet. Everything was spinning. This was a new low, touching your forehead to a public toilet just to feel the cold porcelain, and you had no idea how you got here. You were drinking wine! You never got drunk from wine. At least, not like this. You hadn’t been this obliterated since college, the night Mark joined Sigma and introduced you to jungle juice. You retched again, just thinking about it.
You tried to stand, digging your nails into the ridges between the subway tiles. But you stumbled, knocking into little decorative objects so meticulously placed on a shelf, and sunk back the floor. “Fuck.” You wanted to cry, but everything was so out of control. You tried focusing your sight on the now headless ceramic bear by your stockinged foot when there was an urgent knock on the door.
“Hello?” It came in all muffled.
“Mark?” you responded; voice hoarse. The doorknob jiggled.
“Are you okay? Can you unlock—” the voice was drowned out by cheers in the rest of the restaurant.
“What?”
“Can you unlock the door?” he repeated louder. You crawled over on your hands and knees and turned the lock. The knob turned and the door cracked open.
“Wait!” You pushed it shut. He tried to open the door again but you leaned against it, hastily smoothing your hair and wiping the makeup from underneath your eyes. Mark had seen you worse but that was when you were still together. It’s different now. “Okay,” you slurred, scooting out of the way and letting him in. You looked up. “You’re not Mark.”
It was a hassle getting you into the office. Carmy had you by the waist, dodging the squirt guns and confetti that came with the impromptu surprise, while you stumbled and swayed in the opposite direction.
“I’ll be right back,” he reassured once he got you settled in a chair with a big bottle Pellegrino and an uneven slice of bread. Richie and the sommelier, Ernesto, were waiting for him outside.
“Nice,” Richie pointed to the puke that rubbed off from your dress onto his shirt.
“Whatever,” Carmy responded, deciding it wasn’t worth it to mention that Richie’s suit was half soaked and covered in glitter. “What’s up Ernesto?”
He looked to Richie first which made Carmen’s palms sweat. “They only ordered two bottles.” Ernesto spoke quietly, wringing a towel in his hands.
“They?” Carmy asked, patting the kid on the shoulder to try and ease his nerves.
“She was sitting with some guy.”
“Who is this guy?”
“How should I fucking know? It’s a woman’s name on the reservation.” Carmen wondered, not for the first time, if Richie was capable of speaking at a reasonable volume.
“I don’t know, ask him?”
“He left.” Ernesto added.
“Don’t you have a receipt, credit card, something?”
“He ran.” Richie was practically giddy. “Look at this.” He carefully unwrapped two empty wine glasses from a linen napkin.
“What’s this CSI?” Carmy scoffed.
“Just look,” Richie lifted the first glass up to the light. “What do you see?”
“There’s a lipstick st—”
“There’s a lipstick stain, right.” Carmy was very quickly losing patience. “The girl clearly drank from this glass.”
“Can you get to the fucking point, please?”
“Look at his,” he held the second one up. “Notice anything?”
He squinted, searching for something to find, “No.”
“Exactly.” The glass was pristine, not even a smudge. “Thanks, Ernesto.” Richie dismissed.
“Wait,” Carmen stopped him. “You poured him a glass?”
“Both of them, yeah.”
“And you kept pouring hers?”
“No, he did all the pouring.”
You felt like shit; your head was pounding. The seltzer had settled your stomach a bit but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch the bread. And, to make matters worse, you were surrounded by strangers, with puke on your favorite dress, and where the fuck was Mark?
“How are you feeling?”
You peeked through your fingers. Carmen. “Horrible. How do I look?” You began to stand, tentatively.
He let out a little laugh.
“Jesus, you’re laughing?” you asked, incredulous.
“No, of course not.” But he had this fucking smile on his face.
“What the fuck?” You did a little shimmy, tugging down your dress, and flipped your hair which did little more than make you woozy. “How about now?” you asked after steadying yourself on his desk.
His eyes raked over you. You watched them land on your thighs, the curve of your waist, your clavicle. “You look great.”
You cleared your throat, hoping to mask the shiver that ran down your spine. “Great,” you said. You took a sip of the Pellegrino, swished it around your mouth and headed for the door.
“Wait, where are you going?” Carmen outstretched his tattooed arms, blocking your path. Your eyes widened, suddenly understanding what a compromising situation you seem to have gotten yourself in. But he backed away immediately, taking a few steps out of your way. “I-I just meant…are you sure you’re feeling well enough?”
“I’m here with someone,” you explained, shoulders relaxing.
“Yeah…”
How was he supposed to tell you? “I think you should sit,” he started.
“Did something happen to Mark?” Your eyes widened, “is he sick too?”
Carmy felt an unexpected wave of rage. You were concerned for him? This fucking bastard “Mark?” “Please sit.”
He watched as you tugged the hem of your dress and sat primly. Carmy knelt in front of you, hands ghosting your calves. He was trying to be comforting which he had never really had to be before, being the youngest. He suddenly wished Sugar were around. “He left.”
“Left?” you repeated, crease forming between your brows.
“Ditched.” Carmy braced himself for your emotional fallout. But all that came was a bitter laugh.
“What a fucking asshole.”
He searched your face, looking for some kind of explanation. “First date?”
“That would be less embarrassing. Ex-boyfriend.” You leaned back, causing the leather to exhale.
“Did he do that often? Get you drunk and leave you with the bill?” Carmen didn’t mean for that to come out so bitter. He barely understood why he was getting so worked up over this.
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry. Obviously, I’ll pay. I think my purse…” You just looked so helpless. You got a raw deal and Carmen just wanted to make sure you were okay. Big picture and all that. What kind of restaurant owner would he be if he just let shit like this happen at his place?
“No, that’s not- That’s not why I brought it up.” You looked at him. The color had returned to your cheeks, making your smudged makeup look less scary and more…hot.
“Thank you,” you blushed. “I’ve caused you enough suffering, I’m sure. I should really get going.” There really wasn’t much he could offer you but he didn’t want you to leave.
“Are you hungry?”
Was this pathetic? To be letting the man whose restaurant you just violated cook you a grilled cheese? You had a distinct feeling you were engaging in behavior your mother warned you about.
“How do you want it cut?” Carmen asked, towel slung over his shoulder.
“Triangles, please.”
“Excellent choice,” he mumbled. You couldn’t help but admire his broad shoulders and biceps that strained the material of his perfect white shirt. He set the plate in front of you. “So, what happened with you and the guy?”
“Asking the hard questions first, huh?” You grabbed half of the sandwich, licking your lips at the stretch of the cheese, and pushed the rest of it towards Carmen.
“It’s for you.”
“We can’t share?” He picked up the other half and took a bite, making you smile. But it was short lived, he pressed the question. “I don’t know. We dated.”
“How long?”
“Five years.” You shrugged, as if it were nothing. This was a practiced movement; one you’d perfected for a while now.
“Oh.” Carmen put the sandwich down.
“It’s been two years,” you assured. “It’s not like— It’s not like I’m still in love with him or something.”
“Then why’d you meet up with him?”
“What’s with the third degree?” You got down from where you were sitting on the counter. The Bear had long closed and you and Carmen were the only ones left in the kitchen. “You don’t even know me.”
“Your puke on my shirt feels pretty fucking personal.” His voice was soft, not a hint of anger or frustration. He looked tired all of a sudden, like he lost something.
“You don’t even know my name.” You spoke quietly and he inched closer, wanting to hear you. You could smell the candle, the jasmine and oud, faint on him.
“I know your name.”
“Yeah, what is it?” He was taller than you; not by much, but enough that you had to tilt you head to look him in the eyes. Bright blue.
“Milly.”
You were just staring at him, for a while, a mix of shock and confusion on your face. Did he do something wrong? “What did I say?” He asked, placing his palm on your waist.
“I should go.” You pulled away from him. Carmy wanted to pull you back but you were already halfway across the room. He could’ve kicked himself.
“I’m sorry,” he followed, watching you move things around the office. You were unsteady on your heels. Carmen rushed to help support you but you recoiled, like his touch burned. He apologized again. “Can I help you?”
“No, I got it.” You said, pulling your clutch out from behind a stack of bills.
“Can I at least take you home?” He offered, now standing on your far opposite.
“Uber.” You shook your phone. You weren’t unkind. He was a stranger after all, but he could’ve cried anyways. You made your way to the front of the restaurant, your Uber came quick. “Thanks for your help, Carmen. And the meal.” You pushed the door open, a burst of cold Chicago air cut through him.
“I’m sorry, Milly.”
“That’s not my name.” And you were gone.
Part II
