#Carmy berzatto x oc

[queers-gambit]

Silence

prompt: ( requested ) anxiety plays tricks on your mind, making you mistake your boyfriend's stress for anger - at you.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 2.5k+

note: it's short but to the point.

warnings: cursing, hurt and comfort, depiction of mental health: anxiety, slight self-destructive thoughts.

Silence could be a good thing.

Libraries were silent for ample focus. Theaters were silent during the showing. Sometimes, long drives were peacefully silent.

Silence could also be a bad thing.

Demanding an explanation and the silence stretches. The silence before a doctor delivers life-changing news. Asking someone if they're okay and they don't answer.

When your boyfriend, Carmy, had returned from work that evening, he slammed the front door, dropped his backpack, toed out of his shoes, and stormed around the apartment silently. He didn't greet you, didn't offer a kiss, nothing - just breezed past you as if a pile of dirty laundry he's ignored for the past two weeks. You watched him from the kitchen, sipping a glass of wine, worry sprouting in your gut and chest. It was obvious something was bothering him - but couldn't fathom what it was that made him ignore you; to make him not look at you one single time.

It was like you weren't even there with the way he projected his moodiness. Even on his worst days, he always always always greeted you with a kiss; but the lack of affection hallowed your chest into a pit, wondering what you had done to make him avoid you.

Suddenly, the silence was eerily deafening, coiling your stomach and pumping lead through your veins; no TV or radio switched on to fill the void and create passive, background audio. Carmy was obviously upset about something, but the fact that he didn't even look at you made you think he didn't want to talk. This worried you because before dating, you and Camry Berzatto were the best of friends; talking about literally any and everything you could think of. He came to you with every single grievance, every frustration, every slice of drama - so why wouldn't he now?

Unless... Unless you were the cause of his annoyance? The idea made the pit in your chest stretch to your gut - anxiety rapidly spreading, confusion warping rational thought into something darker and self deprecating. The idea of upsetting Carmy - or anyone, for that matter - was enough to bubble nausea and turn your skin clammy. Muscles tensed, eyes darted, and your mind was plagued with every single thing you had said or done in the past 16 hours.

However, your memory couldn't pinpoint any moment you could've upset him; things had been normal and easy-going lately, there being no clear indication you were the culprit of Carmy's anger. However, there didn't need to be anything clear because your mind was fully convinced you were the bad guy now.

After swallowing a gulp of wine, your eyes adverted to give him privacy and begin on dinner; being obvious that his phone was much more important than you right now. Unfortunately, when it came to picking which sauce to dress your meal with, you were forced to slowly enter the living room where your boyfriend had taken refuge.

"Hey, baby?"

"Hmm?"

You tried not to be offended by his lack of verbal acknowledgement, but your intestines flipped and grew heavy. "Uh, just wondering, you want the marinara or Alfredo tonight with the - "

"Doesn't matter, you choose."

"I mean, which would you prefer?"

"I just said it didn't matter," he repeated with a hardening tone, "it's not like it's a difficult decision to make."

You didn't want to make his attitude worse, so you backed off silently and returned to your task. Yes, yes, Carmy was the professional cook between you but that didn't mean he wanted to come home and continue the act. So, you learned a few new recipes to keep meals interesting - a feat your boyfriend didn't seem to appreciate or even recognize most days. Tonight especially.

Tension tangibly filled the apartment the longer the silence stretched. Your mind conjured a hundred questions at once, begging your mouth to run rapidly if it meant getting answers - yet your logic stuck the words in your throat, refusing to let them fly, and even shoving them deep down for your soul to hold.

You poured a second glass of wine, throat thickening with silent emotion. There was always the worry in the back of your mind that Carmy would one day realize you didn't fit into his life and would break up with you. Or that perhaps, his irritation tonight wasn't due to anything you did specifically, but instead, was attested to your normal behavior and quirks - like the want to talk throughout the day.

Blinking the moisture away, you remembered Carmy hadn't answered a single one of your texts the entire day - a normal act for you, but maybe one that now got on your boyfriend's nerves. You dished up dinner, standing in the open kitchen with two plates and feeling silly for the nerves prickling your skin. You barely noticed the slight tremor in your hands. "Dinner's ready, Carm," you alerted, leaving the plates on the kitchen island you normally ate at; distracted by the need to pour a glass of water.

When you turned, your heart stalled in your chest when you noticed his plate missing - locating him in the living room, again, and it being obvious he didn't intend to eat with you. Now you knew for sure, you had indeed done something. So, you gingerly took a seat and tried to take up as little space as possible; shying in on yourself, eating silently and quickly so you could do the dishes right after.

Sure, there was usually the rule that the cook didn't clean, but there was no way you were gonna ask Carmy to do the simple chore; afraid of pushing him over whatever edge he teetered at. After storing any leftovers, you started the dishwasher and retreated to your bedroom with another glass of wine and the intention to get a bath. You felt like a glaring inconvenience all of a sudden, regret inking your blood and reprimanding yourself for being so - so - so... Clingy?

Is that what it was? Did Carmy think you were clingy? Perhaps texting him throughout the day without him ever answering was the final straw of annoyance he felt toppled the haystack. You wanted to apologize and eliminate the tension, but couldn't necessarily understand what you were sorry for; thinking you were simply paying attention to him, being attentive and interested in his everyday life.

Maybe you needed to apologize for being suffocating? Was that it? Your love was suffocating him? Was he feeling pressured by you? Did he think you two too comfortable in this relationship? Was your wall of texts an indication you were more serious than he? Oh, God, was that it - did Carmy think you were getting too serious, too fast?

Granted it'd been a few years of dating, a lifetime of friendship before that - so how much more serious could you get? Why would your attempts of communication rub him the wrong way? How could the pair of you ever manage to fall off from the same page? Make him think you were pushing for something more? Didn't he know he was enough for you? Didn't he appreciate your presence? The want to be closer? Your desire to maintain the friendship your relationship was built off of? The appreciation you had for him? The support you wanted to offer?

You soaked in epsom salt for the better part of half an hour. Draining the tub, drying off, and changing into pajamas were done silently; feeling almost fearful to venture out of the bedroom to return your wine glass to the sink.

So you decided to just get in bed, figuring if Carmy was so angry at you that it resulted in him ignoring you, he wouldn't want to sleep beside you, either. With your thick framed glasses on, you nestled into bed with your newest novel, trying not to let your mind go into overdrive as your need to fix whatever was upsetting Carmy was overwhelming. Yet there was also the nagging idea that trying to fix whatever was 'broken' would've made things worse - again, resulting in you doing nothing and giving Carmy his space.

The silence haunted the apartment like a ghostly presence; leering over your heads, embracing you uncomfortably.

When the bedroom door opened, you masked your surprise and just read the same paragraph three times in a row - distracted by your boyfriend milling around, preparing for bed. Your eyes widened in shock when the bed dipped and shifted, jostling you as Carmy got into bed beside you, but you still didn't look up from your book.

"What're you reading, sweetheart?"

His mood swings often gave you whiplash. You glanced at Carmy, finger holding your place to let you fold the book over and present the title on the cover. You worried that anything you said and did could make this tension fester, so, you remained silent and went back to reading.

"Is it any good?" He pondered, watching your profile. You nodded mutely, lips slowly rolling between your teeth in a show of anxiety Carmy could now recognize. "Hey, hey, you all right, babe?" He asked softly, sounding mildly confused - perhaps even alarmed.

"Yeah, 'course," you mumbled.

"Well, how was work?"

"Fine."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

There was a brief pause, then Carmy gently pried, "C'mon, baby, what's wrong? Why're you so quiet?" He chuckled gently, "Usually so talkative in the evenings."

You offered him a bewildered look with slightly pinched brows, swallowing nervously and slowly shutting your book to trace the spine mindlessly in an effort to distract yourself. Typically when anxious, your hands needed stimulation, something tangible to do and feel when your mind numbed with nervousness.

With a great deal of bravery, more than you thought was necessary to muster when talking to the person you love, you asked softly, "Are you mad at me, Carm? I mean, did I do something? T-To upset you?"

"Wait, what?" He asked in confusion. "Nah, baby, you didn't do anything, why would you even ask?"

"'Cause you've been ignoring me...?"

He scoffed, "Ah, 'cause I didn't answer your texts?"

"That, and you've been ignoring me in favor of your phone since you got home. Slamming doors, brooding in the living room, didn't eat dinner with me - got a little snappy when I asked what sauce for dinner? Feels like I did something but I don't know what, so I don't know how to fix this."

Carmy sighed, leaning back to the mound of soft and fluffed pillows you had stacked on your shared bed. "Shit," he breathed, huffing a dramatic sigh, "didn't even realize I was doin' all that, baby."

"If you're mad, just tell me what I did - "

"No, no, hey, hey, hey, hey," he rushed, turning on his side to look at you, elbow supporting his weight; clocking the glassiness coating your eyes. "You didn't do anything, baby, I swear. There's nothing for you to fix 'cause you didn't do nothin'. I just - I've been havin' a shit day, didn't realize I was bein' mean to you let alone that you'd take it to heart."

"Kinda hard not to when I'm the only one here."

"No, right, I get that," he sighed. "I'm sorry, baby, I know you get anxious when I shut down like that, but I promise, I'm not mad at you."

"Well, who else would you be mad at? I thought you were annoyed 'cause I was texting you all day. Thought I was, I don't know, being clingy or something since you didn't answer me."

Carmen frowned, "Sweetheart, no, hang on, listen to me. You didn't do anything to upset me, okay? I didn't answer you 'cause I dropped my phone in the sink and it got all glitchy, I couldn't answer you. I tried to fix it when I got home, but I think I fried it - should just get a new one. It was just one of those days that everything went to shit, it all built up, got the better of me."

You nodded, still looking dejected and making a shot of guilt plunge his heart. "You usually talk to me when you're upset," you pointed out softly, "and when you didn't say anything, I thought I was the reason you were upset. Figured you wouldn't talk to me if I did something to cause your attitude."

"No, hey, I'm sorry, c'mere, baby," he opened his arms and curled them around you when you shuffled into his chest. "Shit, I'm really sorry, I didn't even realize what I was doing - but Goddamnit, that's no excuse, though. I don't mean t'take my shit out on you, you don't deserve that."

"I just got a little nervous, maybe let my anxiety get the better of me."

"That's okay," he promised, kissing your forehead, "I can understand why. I was a dickhead, being snappy and ignoring you when all you do is support and love me. I'm real sorry, sweetheart," he sighed against your skin, tightening his arms to keep you cocooned in his warmth. "You know, you can always talk to me - don't gotta shut yourself down and avoid me."

"Do you even hear yourself? Should take your own advice."

"Yeah, I should," he smirked. "Hey, promise I'll do better not to shut down like that."

You nodded in acceptance, wondering softly, "Do you wanna talk about it? Whatever happened today?"

"Uh, nah, you know what? Think I owe you some cuddles, maybe a dessert? You know, to make up for my bullshit attitude."

"You don't have to - "

"I got you all worked up, feels like the least I can do."

With a hum, you smirked, "I won't say no to a slice of cheesecake."

"What baby wants, she gets," he grinned, a hand caressing your cheek to direct your eyes up to his. His thumb swept back and forth under your eye, "Still sorry about today. I didn't mean to be such an oblivious dickhead, I swear."

You nodded, "I know, baby. Just don't shut me out next time. Had me worried when you didn't even kiss me when you got home."

"A heinous crime on my part," Carmy smirked. "Should I remedy that?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't."

He chuckled and pressed his lips to yours in a soothing kiss, hand sliding to the back of your neck. It was a slow and languid kiss, something he took his time in engaging; lips sticking together, moving in-sync, creating chains of saliva when he pushed his tongue against yours. "Yeah," he mumbled, "I'm the dumb fuck who had you thinkin' I didn't want this from you." He pressed another kiss to your waiting lips, "You're intoxicating, baby - always want your kisses. Yeah? Always. The day I don't, take me out back like Old Yeller."

You wanted to voice that he wanted your kisses now until one day, he simply wouldn't - but refrained from doing so because you knew it was just anxiety talking. So, instead, you chuckled at his comment and leaned in to initiate your own kiss.

requesting rules and masterlist

FX's The Bear masterlist

[thecapricunt1616]

capriiiiiii can i pretty please request something with carmy and a gf who is dealing with being stiff / sore and tired. i acc just need him to take care of me. maybe cook me a meal. :(( ily

My loveeeee Hello I'm sorry this has been rotting away I've been dealing with such writers block I hope this doesn't suck aaa! I'm sorry I haven't been writing as much / around tumblr this week i've been busy with other things but I hope to write more soon <3 I finally got my new laptop so i'm going to try and cook some stuff up really soon! Warnings for btc: None really, pure fluff & happy carmy!not edited sorryyyy WC: 1638

You had helped Sugar set up her nursery last night. All the moving of large boxes, and helping build the crib, changing table, and dresser, you were wiped out to say the least. You got home around 4 am, and  When Carmy had left for the restaurant that morning, you were still crumpled on the couch where he’d left you, snuggled in a blanket and softly snoring. When he came home that night and nudged you, you jumped like a sleeping cat 

“I’m awake!” You said quickly with an unintentional snore, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

“Brought you a sandwich and some fries. Back still hurts?” He asked softly. 

You whimper gently as you stretch out your sore muscles, sitting up once again in the dark living room. “How’s work?” You mumbled with a yawn, taking the takeout container as he plopped next to you and planted a kiss on your head. 

“Doesn’t matter, m’here for you baby, why don’t I get you a bath set up mm?” He flicks on a lamp and you blink a few times as your eyes get adjusted to the light.  

“You’re too good to me, you know that right?” You gave him a peck on the lips. He smiled a bit and rubbed your side 

“I can’t even count the amount of back massages you’ve given me after a long week. I’m just repaying the favor.” He watched as you took a bite and sighed in relief, your stomach growling- likely in thanks as you hadn’t moved from your spot all day long in your blanket nest. 

“This is really good, Bear” you mumble as you chew. He hums happily at your approval, giving you one more kiss to the temple before getting up. 

“Good, I put a piece of princess cake in the fridge for you for after your bath if you want” he said on his way to the bathroom, and you could cry at the bliss that was being taken care of. 

He makes sure to clean out the tub with bathroom spray and rinse it fully, before starting the water at the very hot temperature he knew you liked after plugging the tub. He got one of the little herb sachets with different flowers and herbs and hung it over the faucet so it infused into the water, causing it to be a pretty light pink color.

From the bathroom closet he grabbed your little bath tray and set it up for you, as well as the little bath head pillow that suctioned to the tub for you to rest back on, and got those set up before taking out the waterproof electric candles and setting a few out for you for a comforting ambiance. After he put a good amount of the muscle relaxing herbal epsom salts in the bath for you, as well as plenty of bubbles the way you liked and agitated the water for you, he popped your favorite fluffy towel in the warmer. 

He cut off the water and went into the bedroom, grabbing your fluffy bathrobe and a comfortable pair of panties for you as well as the book you were currently reading from your nightstand and got them all set up on the bathroom counter for you, as well as your hair brush. He opened the bottom drawer where you kept all your sheet face masks, and picked out a bedtime one and set it on the bath tray for you next to your book. 

By the time he came back out to let you know your bath was ready you had already finished eating and were once again slumped on the couch, you figured you had pulled or overworked something in your back because even holding yourself up was proving to be exhausting very fast. “Did you want some wine my love” he crouched down next to where you were snuggled on the couch, brushing your hair from your eyes gently. 

“Yes please” you said softly. He planted a gentle, lingering kiss on your forehead before going to the kitchen. He got your favorite wine out of the fridge, popping open the bottle and pouring you a glass. He brought it to the bathroom and put it in the little slot on the tray made for wine glasses, before coming back to collect you. 

“Alright, up” he held his hand out to you and wiggled his fingers for you to take it. You sighed softly knowing moving meant pain, but when you grabbed his hand he lifted you to your feet with little effort, being sure to steady you with his other hand on your hip since you weren’t expecting it. 

“Woah” you giggled, the action having woken you from your tired state and following him to the bathroom. When you saw the state of it, you pulled him into a tight hug, kissing his neck gently. You didn’t want him to see the fact there was tears pooling at your eyes, since he hated when you cried. But the fact that he had a nearly 14 hour day, and came home to you- and still went out of his way, above and beyond to take care of you. To make you feel loved, cared for. You’d never had another partner who was so attentive and went out of their way for you how he did.

“Love you…” you muttered before pulling away with a sniffle. He cupped your cheeks, giving you a gentle kiss 

“Your towel is In the warmer waiting for you baby, I’ll get your pajamas set out for you” he gently tucked your hair behind your ear and rubbed his knuckle over your cheekbone before heading back to your bedroom, leaving the door cracked behind him. You noticed after he left that your skincare was all set up for you as well as your favorite body lotion and its matching body mist which just made you smile even more. 

After undressing you sit in the warm bath, sighing in relief as the hot water did wonders for your sore muscles, resting your head back on the comfortable pillow as you sip your wine and hum contently to yourself. For a while you just sat, reading your book and sipping your wine and after about 30 minutes when the water had gone lukewarm, and your glass of wine had been finished - you decided to drain the tub. 

Carmy heard you getting out of the bath, so he went and got your pajamas that he’d been warming in the dryer for you and got your side of the bed all made up after filling your reusable water bottle with iced lemon water.  By the time you had gotten your lotion on and did your skincare as well as brushed your teeth, the house had already been shut down for the evening. He had made sure to clean up the kitchen and living room, as well as shut all of the shades and get your coffee pot set up for the next morning like usual. 

“Hey pretty girl” he takes your hand, kissing it gently “got some warm pajamas for you, house is taken care of you just have to get in bed” he motioned to the bed where your pajamas were nicely folded for you. 

“And you say you aren’t romantic” you mused, causing him to chuckle a bit as he wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head 

“What can I say, I guess you bring it out of me. Get your pajamas on I’ll rub your feet for you” he said and you hum happily, closing your eyes and planting a kiss on his neck

“Can I be babied like this all the time?” You joked, he huffed a laugh, handing you your pajamas. 

“The days that I’m not too wiped out from work, I can try” he plopped down on his side of the bed with a soft grunt of relief after being on his feet all day. You slipped out of your robe, and his eyes rake over your frame as you unfolded your soft, fluffy nightgown and slipped it over your head. “Mm mm mm” he said jokingly. You giggled as you crawl on the bed, resting your legs over his lap and wiggling your manicured toes teasingly. 

“Get to massaging this isn’t a free peep show” you said and he took your ankle, bringing it to his lips and giving it a chaste kiss

“What- so you can put me to work, and I can’t even eye the goods?” he joked as he put your leg gently back in his lap and grabbing the massage oil that he’d put on the nightstand and warming some in his hands before starting to massage your foot. You hum happily, lips curling into a small smile and your eyes fluttering shut in bliss. 

“Mmmm, keep doin’ that and I’ll let you see whateeever you want” you said happily, your voice nearly a purr from how expertly he was massaging your calves and feet. “Can I turn on Big Brother?” you asked and giggle at the way his face lit up

“You really waited?! Fuck yeah I wanna see whats up put it on” he said and you smiled, shaking your head jokingly as you turned on the TV. He had whined before about not wanting to watch ‘trash reality tv’ all the time, but over the course of the many nights he came home and you were watching it - he had eventually starting asking you to wait for him to watch ‘your show’ together, and you would tease him and tell him how you thought he said it was boring and gossipy, just to get his cheeks to go that cute shade of pink.“Of course I waited, it’s our show now”

[fishfooddude]

Verified Lover

Track 1 - Blue Check Heart

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Orginal Character

Carmy gets his blue checkmark on Instagram and immediately breaks Natalie's 'rules'.

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Carmy was in the office, absent-mindedly scrolling through his email when he saw confirmation from Instagram. After an initial wave of confusion, he read it to see his account had been ‘verified’ - whatever that meant. His eyes skimmed the body of the email before going back into the kitchen to see Natalie on her laptop at one of the free stations.

“Hey, Bear.” she smiled when she noticed Carmy approaching her.

“Yo. What does being verified on Instagram mean?” Carmy asked as he pushed his hands into his pocket, peering over her shoulder to look at the spreadsheet Natalie had been working on.

Natalie laughed, “How is it that a 26-year-old doesn’t know what being verified on Instagram means?”

Carmy rolled his eyes, “Sugar. What does it mean?” 

“It just means you are who you say you are and that your account has some perks. I verified your, Syd's, and The Bear’s official accounts. In theory, having The Bear verified means it’ll be easier to get bigger names to come to The Bear.” Natalie explained without looking up from her screen.

“Got it.” Carmy nodded and began to walk away.

“Also, be careful with what you like. We don’t want our head chef looking like a pervert or overly politically charged—just be normal. People can see what you like and comment on,” Natalie warned. Carmy waved off the comment. He only followed 20 accounts, and most of them were fellow chefs. 

~

Later in the day, Carmy couldn’t help but notice two of the college-age bartenders doing some synchronized dance behind the bar. Carmy watched for a moment before one of them noticed and immediately stopped before shyly looking away. The other noticed her stop, looked over, and saw Carmy standing by the kitchen door watching them. “Sorry, Chef Carmen…” she said, taking her phone from where it had been propped and shoving it in her back pocket.

“Why is my staff dancin’?” he asked as he approached the bar.

“Lola Lousie put out a new song, and the dance is fun.” one of the girls explained. Based on Carmy’s face, the other jumped in, explaining that it was the ‘hot-girl summer I publicly dumped my lying cheating ass hole boyfriend’ anthem. Carmy nodded, still confused about the entire thing.

“Prep work done?” he questioned. 

“Yes, Chef Carmen,” they answered in unison. Carmy nodded and walked back to the kitchen. As the shift passed, Carmy kept hearing the name ‘Lola Louise’ and how ‘iconic’ her new song and video were. Carmy ignored the chatter and focused on cooking. 

~

Lola Lousie, the topic the waitstaff couldn’t drop. Carmy could ignore it until one of the waitresses held up Richie, talking about her new Instagram post. He threatened to ban the topic if it continued to be distracting. 

Curiosity killed the cat. That night, in bed, Carmy found himself scrolling through Instagram when he finally tapped the search button and found himself on Lola Lousie’s account. Carmy inhaled deeply. She was gorgeous. She had long, silky brown hair with dazzling emerald green eyes. Her soft, pillowy, plump lips were sculpted in the most endearing, playful pout. He swiped through her feed and became more intrigued by this woman. He scrolled through selfies and magazine covers. He chuckled when he saw a picture of a German Shepard with lopsided ears ‘wearing’ a pair of Prada sunglasses captioned ‘I thought boys didn’t steal their mom’s clothes... I stand corrected.’

When Carmy got to the original dance video, his bartenders had been trying to copy he couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a creep. He understood how the song was a ‘hot girl summer I publicly dumped my lying cheating asshole boyfriend’ anthem but watching Lola Lousie move the way she did made his pants feel a little tighter. Pop music wasn’t his thing but the girls were right. He could see how a song like that could be considered ‘iconic’. He liked a couple posts before tossing his phone to the side and calling it a night. 

~

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!” Natalie scolded as she entered the office that morning. She hit Carmy’s shoulder with each ‘oh my god’. Carmy removed a headphone and blocked her hits.

“Sugar- what the fuck?!” he exclaimed as he pushed back from his desk and rolled back to create some space between him and his sister. 

“Carmen Anothny Berzatto. I told you to be normal on Instagram, and what do you do the first day after being verified? Like six posts from some pop star that she posted over a year ago! Now you’re on a fuckin’ gossip page!” Natalie scolded, reaching over to hit his bicep. Carmy grabbed her wrists and scowled at her.

“Will you stop fuckin’ hittin’ me?! What the hell are you even talkin’ about?” Carmy challenged as he dropped her wrists, pushing her back gently. Natalie rolled her eyes and dug for her phone.

“Michelin star chef Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto, LoLou’s next boy toy? Screenshots below.” she read from her phone before flipping it to show Carmy. “Carmy. I do not need you going around Instagram liking girls’ thirst taps- EVERYONE can see what you’re doing!” Natalie huffed before stomping out of the office, muttering something about Claire.

Carmy rolled his eyes at Claire's mention and leaned back in his chair, pushing his hands through his hair before pulling his phone from his pocket. “You never even liked your damn girlfriend’s posts, Carmen!” Natalie yelled from the kitchen, still frustrated with him.

Carmy sighed before he yelled back, ��She wasn’t my girlfriend.” he got up from his chair and frustratedly closed the door to the office. “She wasn’t my fuckin’ girlfriend… just my friend who happened to be a girl…” he muttered as he sat down in his chair again. He unlocked his phone and saw an influx of notifications on Instagram. None of them were particularly interesting. All he’d done was like a few Instagram pictures, but it had turned into this mess. He rolled his eyes as he cleared the notifications, but one stuck out.  @ LoLou sent you a message request

“Any open tables tonight, handsome? I’d love to taste your food… or something like that.”

“Oh shit…” Carmy mumbled to himself, what did he get himself into?

[cloveroctobers]

FALSE STARTS — CARMY BERZATTO [Summer Writings]

A/N: Getting down to my final collection to these summer writings…I strongly debated if I wanted to even write for carm this time around, the man is always going through it…not saying that I won’t ever again because I ofc have love for the guy but whew!!! Never giving up on him but—you guys get it? You just have to let some things sink in after watching the seasons…so here’s something possibly short? Knowing me my definition of short is not always reliable kinda like Carmy’s mental state—OOP. Too much?

WARNINGS: Added a OC, another berzatto again to the mix because I can also see Kyle being on the show and I’ve got a soft spot for him as well SORRY! I feel it in my spirit for smile 2 that it’s NOT going to end well but let’s be delusional! Slight reference to that horror movie in here as well, Still x reader based but you just have a name since I didn’t want to write in 2nd POV, along with some background for you and Carmy’s friendship, language, mentions of s**c***e & some spoilers for season three if you’re not caught up yet!

SYNOPSIS: Carmy runs into more than just his past and blood, forever learning what his next steps are, if his head will let him that is.

*GIFS BELONG TO: @emziess + @andrew3garfield !

���︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘

The last thing Carmy expected was to see, Joel Berzatto at the pick up window during the lunch rush. Carmy’s been on autopilot the second week into the grand opening and he was already frustrated with the new hires. They didn’t have what it takes and Carmy didn’t have the patience to teach them, especially when they didn’t put in the effort to learn.

All they cared about was a paycheck.

He couldn’t teach what should have already been known.

Carmy already shocked himself, not blowing a fuse, deciding to just head out back silently with a carton of cigarettes. He vowed at some point he was going to quit these things and faught hard about the stick that was perched in between his lips. He’s pacing along the rocks and dirt on the side of the bear, back of his lighter racking against his fingers as he took a two minute break.

There was no time to make it five.

“Carmen,” a voice greets, making his bright blues turn to the voice.

It’s Joel.

Michelle’s younger brother.

He’s got a bag to go, bunched up underneath his fingers and his badge on his waist glimmers from underneath his earthy toned attire for work. Carmen reminds himself to blink, coming to terms that this is indeed his family—on his father’s side—at his place of business.

“Joel?” Carmen echoes but it’s more of a question.

Joel snickers as there’s still a great distance between the two family members, “yeah I was wondering when I was going to get caught red handed.”

Carmen clears his throat after removing the cigarette from his lips, “you’ve ordered something to go?”

That’s obvious but he’s trying to fill up the silence, which is always so loud even in the city.

Joel scratches at his brow, a small smile playing on his face, “‘Course I did. I was in the area and my partner wanted some other shit, he’s vegan or vegetarian and I knew that would be a disappointment so I snuck over here to get my money’s worth.”

“Yeah?” Carmy’s eyes flick back to the bag, “what’s your poison?”

Joel laughs, “can’t ever go wrong with a classic, am I right?”

Which only meant one thing: Italian Beef with extra peppers, just how he always got it, even when they were younger. Joel was older than Carmy, more around Nat’s age but he always found a way to bring up something to talk about once Michelle, Mikey, and Richie brought the house down with their boisterous voices.

“I’ve mentioned to Sugar that Sam and I can’t wait to try out the dinner menu but it hasn’t been the best time…” Joel hints, almost as if he’s apologizing for not showing his face.

There was tension at the beginning.

Joel was this big detective.

Always the persistent one and trying to solve something. It only made sense that he chose this profession but Joel did piss the family off when he tried to come up with this conspiracy theory that Mikey didn’t kill himself and that someone else pulled the trigger. His perspective? It was probably someone who Mikey bought those painkillers off of and in Joel’s mind, he thought he was doing the family a good service but instead he had his own denial about Mikey’s passing as well.

There’s been two big death’s in Joel’s life that he had to face before with his fiancée who took her own life as well. A psychologist at that. That happened years before Mikey…and Carmy can only imagine how fucked he’s been in the head too and maybe detective work gave him some sort of solace—in a twisted way.

They were family after all and grief is handled in different ways they say!

Carmy picks up on the name referred to and questions, “Sammy? You guys are still together?”

Joel snickers but doesn’t seem offended by any means, “Yeah, can’t seem to get rid of her.”

He jokes but Carmy knows that would be the last thing Joel wanted.

“She always tells me to send her love whenever I do stop by for lunch…we just don’t want to disrupt anything you guys have going on.” Joel admits and that actually makes Carmy frown.

He clenched his eyes shut for a moment with a shake of his head, “she wouldn’t—you guys wouldn’t. You’re both family too…it’s just been a lot.”

“Yeah but at some point I think we’ve got to stop making excuses,” Joel shrugs, “No pressure on our end. You should stop by the house one day, Samora would love to see you. It’s been awhile you know?”

Carmy nods.

It has.

Samora’s been one of Carmy’s oldest friends.

The friendship happened to be one of those, catch you when I catch you type of things, or if seeing someone mutual and he so happened to come up, she always related her love for him. That’s just how they operated, even if was at a distance and there wasn’t any bad blood.

Life went on.

Separately for them.

And she’s apparently been going strong with his blood cousin, Joel, for who knows how long? Carmy can’t believe he’s almost forgot what it felt like to have a friend like her.

“Yeah, I should.” Carmy agrees, “Nat’s got your number right? I’ll have to get it from her and reach out to see what’s best for you guys?”

Joel raised his brows at this.

He didn’t think Carmy would even respond to that. Carmy’s always been the kind of guy that found the nicest corner in the room and chose to stay there, it was what he was comfortable with: seeing all sides of the room and the nearest exit.

“Well Sam’s mostly working out of the house now, business picked back up for her in the last year, thankfully.” Joel answers with an inhale, “I’m the one that’s mostly gone all the time not getting the chance to really live in the house but…whenever you want. We don’t mind pop in’s—usually.”

Carmy nods, “cool—uh? I got to get back in there but I hope you enjoy the sandwich and maybe fucking try something else huh?”

Joel’s always been the sandwich and chips kind of guy. Easy going. Compassionate and soft spoken. Carmy’s only ever saw Joel pissed one time as far as he can remember. Of course when carmy brought up the interest of taking cooking seriously, Joel offered a listening ear and would admit he hardly knew what kind of fancy dishes Carmy was talking about but once he brought out the sketches? Sold! Joel couldn’t be more thrilled to see Carmy finding something to be passionate about.

It took time but he did it.

Joel picks up on Carmy’s teasing tone and points the bag at him, “I don’t tell you how to run your business, Carm. So don’t get in between a man and his favorite hoagie.”

A crooked smile appears on Carmy’s face at that as he slowly starts to retreat, “alright, fair enough.”

“Keep it up, bear.” Joel tells Carm, “beginnings can be rough but everything looks phenomenal…from what I can see anyway.”

Did it feel that way?

Carmy couldn’t tell you.

A week and three months it took for Carmy to show up to the familiar Greystone. It was after the review came in and Carmy was back on mode: disconnect, taking a much needed walk that led him right back to the usual busy area where the home sat; that had history there. He’s not positive how long he’s been standing there, peering up at the picturesque home beyond the fence.

Eventually he works up the nerve to stand at the front door, head just kissing it as he debates about knocking. His stomach feels like an off track dryer machine and his head is telling him that he has no place showing up to this house. Samora wouldn’t want to see him and Joel was just talking back then, never expecting Carmy to take up the invitation.

Carmy’s got the number from Sugar and found out where they stayed. It was the same address of where Sammy grew up, a home from her great grandparents that was passed all the way down to her. Legally she got the greystone since her foster turned adopted siblings weren’t biologically in the family and only one of them seemed to put up a fight about it anyway, only wanting the cash and not caring about how significant the home was.

He remembered that.

And so, he knocks.

He’s heading towards the gate by the time the front door swings open but the sound of the woman calling out his name, stops him in his tracks. He exhaled, dropping his hand from pulling the gate back, lifting his head before turning back to the woman on the stoop.

“It is you! Well don’t just stand there, get up here you little turd.” She’s waving her hands along and Carmy moves.

They’re face to face and it’s been ages.

Both of their eyes traces over one another’s faces but Samora is the first to yank him by the shoulders into her arms. He’s tense but finds himself placing his chin into her own shoulder, shaky hands going to her spine. Samora’s hugs have always been tight but Carmy’s never had a problem with pressure.

Much.

“Damn, I hope I didn’t get paint all on your fresh suit. What’s that? Givenchy?” Samora pokes fun as she playfully flicks the tip of his nose.

Carmy smacks her hand away realizing that she is in fact covered in paint all over her shorts overalls and there’s a dry paint swatch right on her left cheek. A awful chartreuse color, which she always seemed to like the brightest of colors others like to hate on.

In a sense Samora tried to see the good in most things.

“No,” Carmy feels a small smirk appear on his own cheek, “you’re good.”

And she welcomes him inside.

The once old home has been refreshed and Carmy can’t tell you the last time he’s been in here but the changes are evident. The first set of walls were now white, making the short entry way feel bigger and as they both turn to the right towards the living room, the view of the front porch at night feels like many summers ago when they both would sit out there, him on his back, arms tucked behind his head and Samora right beside him cross legged as she stared out towards the traffic lights.

They could sit out there for hours together, comfortable in silence or Carmy listening to Samora curse up a storm when she got confused trying to learn chess with a board her great-grandfather made. A slab of wood with a built in drawer to keep the pieces on the side, it would get stuck sometimes but she always handled with care.

“Carmen Berzatto…can’t believe you came to see little ‘ol me…unless you’re looking for Joel?” Samora says over her shoulder, still waving him along through the dinning room towards the grand kitchen.

He awkwardly stands off to the side in the kitchen while Samora lets out a yawn with a shake of her head before moving forward with searching through the cabinets. “I uh—not necessarily.”

“He’s at work anyway, getting buried into another one of his insane cases that he’s not supposed to tell me about but we all know how I am—I’m going to find out regardless.” Samora places two shot glasses down, noticing that Carmy had moved closer to the island counter now.

He did know actually.

They went to school together, been through a lot of typical high school bullshit together. He always felt like the sidekick, whereas he was the shy and reserved one, Samora had other friends that she didn’t mind putting to the side to hang out with Carmy for. Her response would be whenever Carmy asked why she kicked them to the curb to be around someone boring would be, “I know who my lifelong friends are, surely.”

“Surely,” was always Samora’s word and, “Duh,” happened to be Nat’s.

Sophomore year when Konstantinos “Tino,” Pappas found his next target in Carmy and thought it would be funny to sic his Rottweiler on him one day (he had asthma and could barely run a mile but loved skateboarding) when he had to walk home alone after school one day, he glossed over it, saying that he just tried to hop the fence as a shortcut to get home and got stuck on it instead.

He didn’t mention the dog snatching his backpack, or the nasty nip mark on his lower back, his shirt ripping after it got stuck on the spikes, and colliding face first with a sharp rock, that left a faint knick on his cheek until this day, if you got close enough to see it you would notice. Donna believed Carmy’s lies although she knew Carmy was a more take his time kind of kid but all she wanted to do was get back to her daily cocktail, Nat was concerned but Carmy also brushed her off, saying he was fine, and when Mikey saw the marks, he hammered him with questions, leaving a teenage Carmy to grow sick of his big brother being on his case so he shut him out too.

And what did Mikey Berzatto do?

He went right to a sick Samora to find out what she knew. She had been home for the past three days, down with a fever she caught from her new foster sibling and swore that she would find out. Shook on it with the older Berzatto, who bid his farewells of how good she is to his kid brother, which meant she would always be good people in Mikey’s eyes. And when she did find out? She came right back to school that Monday, noticing the laughter from Tino and his friends down by their locker with a whole camcorder of the incident, which wasn’t far from her’s and Carmy’s.

Carmy lifted his hand to greet the teen but when she was on a mission? It was tunnel vision. She didn’t care if there were teachers at the end of the hall, she snatched the camcorder from one of Tino’s friends, shoving him out of the way, before getting to Tino. A fist met his eye that day and that resulted in a suspension and detention after learning what Tino did.

If you thought Carmy was pissed before about Nat’s overbearing nurturing ways and Mikey bugging him about the marks, then you can only imagine how annoyed he was with Samora after that. That resulted in a stupid fight and with Samora even dating Tino for two whole days—the goal was to break his heart anyway.

Teenagers? Am I right?

“Check this out,” Samora grins as she pours this green liquid into the shot glasses and makes sure to get a piece of cucumber? floating at the top to decorate it with, “I’ve been experimenting and since Joel can’t be my rodent of a taste taster tonight. I present to you chef Carmy, Cold Cucumber green Gazpacho. A chilled soup—as I’m sure you are aware of—since you know how I feel about soups in the summer.”

“…you want me to try this?” Carmy picks up the glass, eyeing it.

Samora dips her head, “surely and if you don’t do that pinched lip thing, then I know it’s trash.”

Carmy flicks his eyes to her with a frown, “what’re you talking about?”

She folds her first four fingers over her thumb, tapping them together, “I don’t know! It’s a thing! You do it when you’re yelling too but at least I know you’re focused so, go on.”

Carmy shakes his head with a slow close of his eyes. He didn’t know what she was talking about at all but he can’t say he was surprised she picked up on this, she was an interior decorator after all.

Detail was always crucial.

“That’s,” Carmy starts after seeing Samora toss her head back not long after himself, “fresh.”

Samora grins, “not bad for a beginner, huh? Easy peasy and quick! Make sure you shout me out if you make this an appetizer or something at the restaurant, will ya?”

“You got it.” Carmy comments making a mental note to do something green next time on the menu, savoring the smooth and freshness with a hint of a zing dish as Samora carefully places the bowl back into the fridge.

Sighing she turns to rest her elbows onto the counter, “Now…bestie Carmy Berzatto…what’s wrong?”

His eyes shift, “N-Nothing. I saw Joel the other day and he brought you up—

“How long ago was that?” She interrupts.

He fires back, “…awhile? Does it matter?”

“No…you know I don’t sweat the small stuff.” She blinks, “Long as I knew you were thriving then that’s all I can wish for but I know my friend and I’m sensing that you’re not okay. You’re avoiding.”

Carmy’s tapping his finger along the side of the glass but Samora doesn’t relax her burning stare, “what—

“Did you see your niece yet?” Samora quizzes and he quickly closes his eyes, running a hand through his hair, she can tell he’s mentally cursing at himself, “she’s a beautiful baby. I had groceries sent to Nat and Pete’s the other day—

“Is this your way of reminding me of how shitty I’ve been at communicating and being present because I don’t need it. I already feel that.”

Samora sticks her tongue in her cheek and pushes back, “No shock there, Carmy. I know you. So what exactly triggered you today that made you finally come here to see me?”

Carmy starts chewing on his lips, eyes not connecting with Samora’s as she tilted her head to the side, waiting. It feels like forever to get an answer so Samora moves around the island, squeezing his shoulder, “let’s go up to the roof, maybe the fresh air and not the fumes of paint will help ease you into it. Thanks for knocking by the way, I may have seen a glimpse of the other side because of it before you got here.”

“What?” Carmy spits out in concern as she pulls at his wrist.

Samora laughs, “if you tell Joel, I’ll have to keep you here and bury you in the front yard.”

Carmy blinks with a roll of his eyes.

They’re on the rooftop, there’s less cars as the night carries on. Carmy’s lost count of how many times the street lights flick from red, yellow, to green and back again. Samora allows carmy to take his time, one leg curled up underneath her with her head thrown back staring up at the twinkle of stars on a hot summer night. There’s barely a breeze but they’re alright.

“I saw the shit stain tonight.”

Samora tossed an arm over her forehead, leaned back in the comfy cushioned blue lounge chair, “yeah? There’s plenty here in chicago, so which one? Don’t tell me you saw the walking jump-scare, Tino?”

“Who?” Carmy presses but Samora can tell he’s not going down that path of the past.

She fans her hand to tell him to continue.

“This guy. One of the best chef’s I worked for in New York, he was at the funeral. There was a funeral for this restaurant, Ever.” Carmy begins to tell his old friend, mindful that she’s been out of the loop.

Samora looks around the night sky and snaps her fingers with a nod of her head, “yeah um, Chelly—mostly Stevie said something about a strict chef you were working with but of course it was vague, which leaves me to believe that you didn’t tell chelly much but she’s great at reading in between the lines much like myself.”

Carmy doesn’t tell her exactly what Chef David said to him a hour ago but tells her what his words made him feel yet again. Small. Incapable. How he has to triple check everything, take charge with no regard for his team that’s supposed to be family, and ultimately that he shouldn’t have a team because he was better off alone. How he should be grateful to be where he is now because of all that Chef David taught him.

“Oh nooooo, Chef charred asshole better be lucky I wasn’t there,” Samora mumbles, “He sounds like a narcissistic dick of a man who gets off on attempting to morph you into him and to me? That doesn’t sound like a brilliant or best of the best chef or even a person! it sounds weak and miserable.”

“It’s what I signed up for.” Carmy almost argues and Samora sits up.

She knows this stems from much more than what he experienced in that restaurant in New York.

“I haven’t been around you in a while but I’ve always been on the sidelines. You accomplished all of these things because you knew you could—you fought. You worked hard and earned this.” Samora reassures, “but these false ideas that you have because of what someone else caused shouldn’t diminish anything that you’ve done and continue to do.”

Carmy pulls out his phone and a pack of chewing gum, “tell that to my brain then. The review is up, Sammy.”

Samora’s eyes meet Carmy’s as he shoves a square piece into his mouth, elbows on his knees as they start to bounce, head dropping just a bit. She reaches for the phone, giving him a side eye since there’s no passcode on it, and is brought right to a webpage.

~THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE~

Reviewed by Ad. Shap

Carmen doesn’t have to look at Samora’s face to take in her reaction. He ultimately knows it’ll be different from what the blue in his brain says. There were many things wrong with the review, mostly wrong than good and that’s why he needed someone from the outside to see before seeing how the crew digested this.

Samora usually does this humming when she’s reading or thinking about something and that doesn’t seem to change. When she’s finished she puts the phone face down on the outdoor table and folds her fingers together as she sits back.

“Well…That was reminiscent to my short lived cookie career.”

Carmy widens his eyes as he sets them back on his friend.

She shields her face instantly, “whoa turn down the opacity on those things will ya?”

“Your cookie business failed.”

“Um, no. Fuck you for that by the way,” Samora glared, “I view it as that wasn’t the way the chapter was meant to be told. I wasn’t heavily devoted to culinary like you. Nobody is that I know of. It was just a hobby for me but you turned your craft into something much more: breathe, sleep—well—you let it consume you pros and cons. Surely these reviews are deeply important because impressions are…tricky but not everything is the way you see it.”

Carmy scoffs with a rub to his lips in annoyance, “what the fuck do you mean it’s not the way I see it? It’s my business and I’ve been backstabbed by a prick I worked with—

“Carmy—

“I can’t be a screw up! I won’t be. I’ve been at this for so long and I’m more than tired and shitty in the head but not enough to throw it all away no matter what some four eyed fucker with a typewriter for a laptop says!” Carmy is on his feet now pacing, “I picked up what Mikey left behind, I put in the time and the effort, I removed parts of myself to be untouchable—

Samora shakes her head, “you’re not though and some part of you knows that. None of us are unbreakable, babe. You just…start over as many times until it feels right.”

“See I don’t—

Carmy swallows the lump in his throat to speak clearly, “that’s the problem, I don’t think I know what feels right or if I ever did. I just know circumstances.”

Samora inhales as she gets to her feet too, “okay then. Take everything that you bottled up and let it out there.” She points over the edge of the balcony, “you have to try to acknowledge the good and let some things go or you’ll forever feel stuck instead of moving forward…but I’m no therapist just a decorator who’s still annoyed that you didn’t reach out to revamp the bear—but that’s another conversation, just a friend who knows a little something something that’ll help.”

“Uh, something something?” Carmy repeats feeling his heart race as Samora waved her painted hand out for Carmy’s tatted one.

He takes her hand as she leads the way to the balcony but not close enough to trigger any vertigo. Carmy always loved the view at Samora’s compared to his own childhood home, which contrasted with no view at all—his bedroom didn’t have any windows, just a closed in space—and he was stuck hearing the common yelling between Donna and Mikey.

Carmy could see the top of a neighbor’s red brick building (thanks to how many floors the greystone had) across the street, along with another home to the left and a row of other houses to the right. Behind the house across the street sat the changing color of lights and beyond that was the liveliness of Chicago in the distance, the farmer’s market he personally loved and had Tina make the runs to, other great eateries, and music spots also weren’t far from Samora’s.

The woman rests a hand right in the center of his chest and Carmy can feel himself panting, “No one ever has to know if you have it all figured out…nobody truly does. Put down some of those dishes bear, out there. Not to hibernate but to be the best version of yourself for you and not what anyone tells you, you should be.”

His eyes burn and he feels like he might let some tears fall some more tonight and he finds that comfort in Samora. Something good from his past that was still present although his version is always different, he doesn’t mind much if she see’s any water that slips from the corners. He knows she won’t say anything about it, and her hand doesn’t move from his chest as she’s almost coaching him how to deal with just a portion of his bullshit.

He couldn’t figure it out for himself.

Yet he was willing to learn.

The scream curdles from the back of his throat, bursting through his lips into the night. He curls into his stomach some, the weight present, the firmness of Samora’s hand on his chest, and his face is hot in the summer air, turning pink as he fights to breathe through his screams. Samora is right there with him, her screams were much more melodic, like she’s had the practice while Carmy is testing it out.

His screams have been buried just like everything else he’s bottled up for years.

After, his throat is raw and voice hoarse as he sniffs, he abruptly turns to Samora, pulling her into another hug. She isn’t tense against him, small laughter falling through her own lips while Carmy hold’s onto her.

Calming down.

“love you,” he manages to get out while Samora scratches his back.

She knows he means it and it’s probably something he needed to hear back as of lately.

Samora sighs, “love you too, turd.”

Carmy rolls his eyes, pulling back to meet her stare and she winks at him.

“…if I didn’t love the both of you, I might be highly concerned at whatever the hell that was.” Joel announces his arrival after a few moments of silence.

His arms are folded but he’s got that Berzatto sly grin on his lips as Carmy slowly lets his hands fall from Samora’s forearms. The shorter haired man makes his way over to the two, hands going to both of their shoulders as he peers back and forth.

“You made it.”

“I—yeah.” Carmy clears his throat with a shake of his head, “I did.”

“Good,” Joel dips his head but it feels more like a question than a comment.

carmy shrugs.

Samora claps her hands gaining both cousins’ attention, “let’s have some of Mora’s Mosa’s as a celebratory of the night—was the work day alright for you, love?”

Joel awkwardly nods his head back and forth as a way to show that it was so-so.

“Works for me!” Samora yells, “to the kitchen!”

“It’s midnight, honey.” Joel tells Samora who twists her lips to the side, “and I’m sure Carmy doesn’t want any of that green shit you had in the fridge.”

Samora gasps, “damn, who knew my boyfriend would be my biggest critic?”

“Oh c’mon, don’t get sensitive on me now!”

She shrugs his hand from her shoulder while Joel’s low lidded eyes sends a look to Carmy who raises his hands in surrender.

In a hoarse tone he replies, “I actually like the gazpacho so…you’re on your own with that one.”

“Woooow, okay.” Joel breathes out a laugh, then bites down on his bottom lip while Carmy moves to grab his phone and fallen gum pack.

Carmy then turns to watch the two bicker like an old married couple but it doesn’t get loud at all. Joel does talk with his hands to get his point across and Carmy can pinpoint the exact moment Samora cracks, the corner of her nose twitches with amusement before Joel tests the waters, gripping her hips to place a tender kiss on her lips, which Samora seems to kiss back before they break apart. Smiles on both of their faces before they turn back to Carmy who’s attempting to sneak off down the steps.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Joel asks, “you think you can just go off when you and I didn’t get any one on one time?”

Carmy taps his phone against his hand, “It’s getting late, don’t want to impose any further.”

Joel rolls his eyes, tossing an arm across Carmy’s shoulder, “shut your trap, you’re home, man.”

And with that Carmy is led back into the house.

He doesn’t think he’s slept long, but when he checks the time on his slowly dying phone, it’s already later into the next morning.

8:37am and he has no idea what this day is going to look like but it’s a Sunday…maybe for once he doesn’t have to. One of the rooms he’s tucked in belonged to one of Samora’s adopted brothers, Jacobi, Carmy guesses since there’s still a large crack against the ceiling thanks to a lighting strike that occurred way back when they were all kids.

He sits up for a while, taking in the view one last time before he starts to make his exit. He’s walking down the path towards the gate and stops as he hears the front door open.

“Don’t be a stranger.” Samora tells him as he turns to face her, the woman hugging her robe to herself as she’s sitting on the front step.

Carmy stretches a small smile on his dry lips, “Never that,” he jokes, “thanks for always being here, Sammy. Dunno if I ever told you that enough…probably not since I’m always in my head but uh—give Joel my thanks too for me this time.”

Samora dips her head and says, “Surely.”

Carmy scoffs as he pulls the gate back before putting his palm up in the air, “see you soon.”

“After while, crocodile.” She kisses her fingertips before waving them at him.

Samora watches Carmy go, hoping he starts putting the pieces together instead of forcing it all apart like he’s always been accustomed to.

When Monday comes along, his hands are resting along the trimming of white counter as he’s slightly shifting his head back and forth at all the greenery situated in front of him.

“Morning Chef,” Marcus greets first as he’s followed in by Tina.

Carmy nods his head in greeting.

Tina’s eyes immediately go to all the herbs and vegetables, “Jeffery, what’s all this?”

“Something new, green, for the menu.” Carmy informs, “I realized we haven’t had family dinner in a while and i want all of your inputs for what we’ll have tonight.”

Tina and Marcus share a glance, having a feeling that this had something to do with the new review. They all briefly talked about it in the group chat over the weekend.

“Okay, cool. We’re gonna just go put our stuff down.” Marcus points and Carmy keeps his eyes on the ingredients.

“Take your time, Chefs.” Carmy calls out after some time as the two have already started making their way towards the lockers.

He closes his eyes, trying to slow the rising beat of his heart, deeply inhaling as he ignores the contrast of oxygen between his two nostrils, that was another problem he’s gotten used to, his eyes open just in time to meet the green again as the back doors swing open, revealing the rest of his team gradually.

Carmy had work to do and he’s never been afraid of hard work.

☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ☯︎.☘︎ ݁˖˚ ༘

Continue with my summer anthology writings & prompts here.

[smokietaylor]

You’re better than this (Carmen x Reader)

Carmy hires you to work at The Beef right after you graduated from culinary school. You know nothing about Carmen’s background other than he is a guy that gave you a job and you can finally start working in a real kitchen. Things get heated between the two of you. There is a reason that Carmy is being so hard on you that you will come to know later as the two of you argue.

NSFW Content

18+ only Minors DNI

Word count: 1,714 (and counting, current work in progress)

READ MORE HERE

[thatone-brightstar]

Before You (Carmen Berzatto X Fem!OC)

It was Isaac before Carmy, and it was Ross before you.

Read part I.

Part II: January.

words: 3.4k

a/n: Thank you all so much for 200+ followers!!! Idk what to do in these situations but I'll celebrate by giving you more Carmy content! Slide into my dms with your prompt ideas and I'll gladly do my best to write what I can! Also: Image does not represent OC's skin type, just needed a summary pic. WARNING: Smut ahead, p in v unprotected sex (birth control is present but not mentioned), minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you

This was not how she expected her New Year to go, dress hiked up to her hips, nails digging into his neck and shaking thighs painfully wrapped around the man continuously slamming into her. The lewd sounds he makes reverberate inside the small depot, echoing back into her dew covered skin and fueling the shivers traveling up and down her spine. Ross has always hated her name, but the way Carmy says it- blissed off his mind, crimson cheeks and pink pouty lips rounding over each syllable and followed by a breathy ’fuck’- god does he make it sound devine. 

Her nails drive deeper into his reddened flesh and the pain of her grip tightens his fingers over the plush skin of her parted thighs. The flimsy fabric that barely covers her navel lets him see himself lost with each thrust, sight replaced with a gripping sensation, choking him with his own air.

There was something cathartically thrilling about their… situation. The sneaking around, the lingering stares each time she crossed to the depot and the tauntingly short uniform that made him visibly gulp. It all brewed thick inside his gut like he’d never known, the warmth of her lips weeks before had shaken the loose earth over his buried desires and there was no way he would get his fill from just the one time. 

Unbeknownst to them, they had fallen into a clandestine rhythm. After closing, Ross would get in her car, drive a few blocks away and wait for Carmen in the warm comfort of the vehicle. Her pulse always quickened in anticipation around the ten minute mark, when she’d spot him in the rear view mirror, blowing smoke into the wind and hair disheveled after a hectic service. The drive to his felt longer each time, anticipation thick and pulsing in the empty space. They could never reach his place though, once she parked on the narrow alley beside his building, his fingers would wrap around the side of her jaw and her breath would be stolen by hungry tobacco scented kisses. She enjoyed the feeling of his needy hands circling her hips and pulling her over him, before his mouth attacked the frail skin of her throat.

But tonight felt different to her. The frustrations of a shitty service had Carmen on edge and he didn’t even give her a chance to leave as she popped her head into the empty kitchen to say goodbye. Instead wrapping his grip around her wrist to drag her into the small room and pinning her against a shelf with the strength of his panting chest. His usual doubtful behavior is replaced by strong and steady thrusts, ones that have the glass olive oil gallons behind her vibrating angrily. Her worry of them braking only lasts a few seconds, soon being pushed out of her mind by the constant pattern of his movements and the tightness inside her that’s beginning to burn.

“Fuck- Ross-” He moans into her neck as he speeds up his slams, breath blowing cold over the sweat on her skin.

The relentless strike of his hips on the base of her thighs paints the sensitive skin with a light shade of pink, causing a hiss from her when he readjusts his grip over the slick flesh.

“S..sorry- you good?” Carmen asks with slight concern, slowing down his movements and gulping the dryness in his mouth.

“Ye-yeah-” She reassures with a panting grin, eyes slightly glossy and mascara staining her bottom lashline. “Keep going, I like it…” 

“Oh.. yeah- right okay.” Her bluntness gives him a blush that matches the underside of her thighs before resuming with a brutal blow, ripping a gasp from her lungs and making her breasts jolt with force.

Ross’ fingers tangle in the sweaty strands of his hair and pull him down to her awaiting lips, licking and nibbling over the delicate skin while his hands dent the muscle of her legs and his actions grow faster each time. With a string of groans pouring from her chest, she does her best to chase his hips with her own, striking a perfect spot each time. Her feet hook tightly at the base of his spine and this restricts his actions into shorter and faster shoves against that specific, beautiful spot that seems to split her in two.

An almost filthy cry bursts out when her orgasm shoots up from deep in her core, sparking in each nerve ending in her body and his hand flies quickly up to it to drown out the obscene sound. The remaining force in his last thrusts carries her back down into her body just in time to feel his fingers dig into her bruised skin. A throaty groan blows heavily over her collar bones before he slumps down completely with heavy inhales. She likes this part, when his shoulders lose tension and the beating of his heart doesn’t palpitate as hard against her chest. 

He pulls out with a soft hiss but rather than make an effort to step away from the momentary comfort she provides, Ross feels his thumb brush gently over the red dents he produced; a clear contrast from a few minutes before. She tries to remain quiet so as to not ruin the moment he seems too caught up in, but his tender touch pulls an invisible string deep inside her and the fear of unwillingness to anything remotely close to a relationship triggers her mouth before she can stop it.

“You’re gonna leave a mark…”

“Hmm?” He pulls his head up to meet her eyes, bright pools of aquamarine absorb the little saliva left in her tongue and she swallows drily again and again.

“Your fingers…” She clears her throat. “They’re, uh, they’re gonna leave a mark.” Though that’s not really what she originally meant.

**********

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me!” 

“No!” Ross groans towards her friend, trailing behind her as they both cross the entrance to the back of house.

The regularly hectic movement in the kitchen seems less so as service isn’t due for another few hours. There’s a thin layer of peace visible in the rounded backs of a few cooks as they ingest family, elbows glued to the long stainless steel tables. Ross moves to the water filter beside Frank’s station, ignorant to the glance he throws her way, but very present in Meg’s eyes as she gasps.

“Wait, was it Frankie? D’you finally cave?” Meg whispers beside her.

“Ugh, gross no. I’d rather stick hot coal in my mouth…”

“Okay, then who?”

Ross rolls her eyes once again. “I’m not telling you, alright?! So just- hop off my dick.” 

“Oh c’mon, he had to be good if he left bruises like that…” 

Meg leans down to inspect the lilac dents peeking ever so slightly from under the hem of her uniform. A hiss leaves Ross’ mouth and she immediately reaches down to swat her friend’s pointed finger off the darkest spot.

“All I’m sayin’ is, every artwork needs the artist’s signature.” Meg grumbles beside her. 

“What artist?” The cook intervenes as he pokes around his own plate.

“Ross has a new boy toy and she won’t tell me who it is…”

She keeps her eyes trained on the slowly filling bottle, trying hard to tune out the teasing from the two idiots behind her.

“Y’know she won’t shut up ‘till you tell her, right?”

“I’m just hoping for her batteries to run out.” She assures with a flat smile, taking a sip from her bottle and leaning on the table in front of her.

“I thought you’d be more interested…” Meg teases, picking a piece of dried tomato from his plate and nibbling it through her smile.

She can see a slight tension in his jaw before he shrugs, eyes heavy on his dish. “We’ll find out eventually…” He answers under his breath, the words making Ross’ brows furrow.

“Meaning…”

Frank sighs and pushes his forearms off the table, finally looking up at her. “I mean- c’mon Ross, we know your type- plus, if it was one of these motherfuckers-” his fork drags pointing at the few cooks in the room. “-which it probably was- you know none of ‘em can keep their fuckin’ trap shut.”

If his comment struck a nerve, left it beaten and pulsing in agony, she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she rolls her eyes one more time and gulps down her water, drowning the many colorful swears with his name written on them. A prickling sensation covers her skin, the grip on her bottle going loose when she catches his persistent gaze falling heavily on her from across the kitchen. It washes over her for a few tender beats, and the water in her bottle no longer seems sufficient to cool the heat his strong stare ignites in her stomach.

Carmy doesn’t mean to stare, his eyes had just wandered, obliviously guided by the source of her vibrant voice, the private conversation not so private in the confinements of the blinding white room. A strange sensation flourished in his chest when Megan mentioned the bruises he had previously apologized ardently for and could hear Frank’s slight annoyance  at them.

He doesn’t dislike Frank per se, he finds him irritating and obnoxious at times sure, but not to the point of hate. Right now however- as he appears completely entranced by her- Carmen can’t help the irritation beginning to course through him from the words he overheard. He knows they’re bullshit- the idea to expose her in such a way had no space inside his mind, Carmy isn’t like that- and with his own eyes roaming her tense features, he hopes that in the few seconds he allows himself to sneak a look, she can catch that. The unspoken assurance that she can trust him to keep whatever they have going on a secret.

“- are you even listening to me?”

Her friend’s voice demands Ross’ attention and he drags his eyes away, setting them back on the paper thin sweet potato slices gliding off the sharp edge of the mandolin.

“What- yeah, um… something about… your hair?”

“No dumbass- your psych exam, how’d it go?”

Despite his heavy attention to the task at hand, his ears can’t help but to tune back into the conversation as her sigh floats thick in the air of the kitchen.

“Failed it again… which is- fine-” She groans and reaches her hands to rub up her face in frustration. “-but that blows my second try so I only have one left or I’ll have to redo the whole course.”

Meg frowns up at her and reaches a hand to stroke over her arm. “You’ll do fine on the last one, I’ll help you study.” She offers with a kind smile. “Next one’s the good one… you’ll see.”

“Yeah… I guess'' Ross replicates her friend’s expression and takes another sip from her bottle, only half heartedly believing her.

“Yeah- we’ll both help you.” Frank adds, reaching his own hand beside Megs, a sly expression turning hers into distaste.

“Chef-” Three heads turn to the far left to see Carmen’s usual serious expression, making Frank immediately straighten his posture. “If you’re done fuckin’ around, that duck amuse in the walk in isn’t gonna confit itself-”

“Yes, Chef- sorry.” 

“Thank you!”

Frank briskly picks up his half finished plate and disappears around the corner with a quick step, barely having time to throw them an irritated expression. 

She feels it before seeing him. Only a wisp of white and blue flashes in her peripheral vision before he disappears behind her, the warmth of his extended digits pressing gently on her lower back and a soft ‘behind’ blowing on her exposed neck.  Ross turns just in time to catch the artist’s eyes lingering on her for a sliver of a second, but it’s more than enough to spread a tingling sensation over the blossoming bruises. She doesn’t notice the change in rhythm inside her chest or the soft sigh that he pulls from her as he moves further away.

Meg’s voice is barely audible behind the thin ringing in her ears and it’s only then that Ross notices she’s been staring down the empty space of the corridor, Carmy long gone.

“What the fuck was that?”

It’d be a blatant lie to say she knew either. The way her hands had suddenly gone all clammy and her stomach had dropped to her knees with a simple touch was not characteristic of her usual hookups. The day prior’s fear resurfaces again and the erratic beating takes another definition as she swallows hard and turns to Meg with a thin lipped smile.

“That was um… the artist.”

**********

Roslyn never wanted a relationship, she didn’t need to be in one to know they were shit. All the effort it took to maintain a façade of contentment and joy just for it all to crumble down into nothing, made every cell in her body recoil in disgust. Besides, nothing ever made her believe in the fairytale and every couple she met while growing up seemed completely tired of each other's company. Why would she ever want to put herself through that most ancient form of torture? For what, just to not be alone? 

Big whoop. She’d been alone most- if not all her life- and from the vast experience could confidently say it wasn’t as bad as people made it seem. Her own company was a hundred times better than some of the questionable creatures she found herself roped with.

Yet, despite all the reminders and admonitions that she ‘wasn’t made for that kind of thing’ and to ‘just leave what isn’t for you alone’, Ross could not contain the tumultuous thoughts banging heavily around her skull. 

The shift had gone by quickly as she spent more than half of it in her head, finally clocking off autopilot once the crisp air brushes past her cheeks at the employee exit. The air comes with the lingering wisp of tobacco. Ross tries to disguise how accustomed she’s grown to the smell, breathing in deep and walking slowly in his direction. She throws a nod to her right, where Carmen stands leaning on a tree.

“Hey…”

“How was your shift?” He asks a bit awkwardly, pushing himself off and dragging his feet beside her.

“Fine, I think-” Ross stops abruptly.”-hey, is it alright if we like, don’t do anything tonight-”

“Oh shit- no I wasn’t here for-”

“It’s just, my head kinda hurts and-”

“Yeah, I get it- I wasn’t-”

 “I also haven’t eaten so-”

“-I can make you some…thing.”

The silence is filled by tension as his words linger heavy in the air. They slipped past his mouth without contemplation and now weigh more with each second she doesn’t respond. Words turn to dust in the back of her throat- scratchy and uncomfortable- while she tries to come up with a lie on why she wouldn’t find it absolutely appealing to be cooked for.

“It’s okay, you spent the whole day cooking- you don’t have to….”

“I don’t mind it.” He’s soon to assure, keeping his eye contact despite the sharp shake of his head.

Her fingers grow sensitive at the constant assault of her nails, she huffs out a small breath of air and looks up at him. She can only hold Carmen’s strong stare for a few seconds, eyes wavering instead on the treetops above his head.

“No one’s ever really made me dinner before.” Ross delicately whispers her confession.

His offer’s dissected in her head for what feels like an eternity while he just waits in place, knuckles cracking at his sides. A slow smile finally covers her face, nodding gently to him.

“Okay…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

He offers what she has come to know is his soft smile, at least what she can see of it under the dim lighting of the street lamp. The clouds of vapor emanating from both their chests pull her from the unintentional staring contest and she makes a following motion to him with her head.

“I-um- I left the car that way.”

“Right- yeah- okay.” Carmy’s nervous stutter widens her grin.

They begin to walk the few blocks in silence, he’s concentrated on the surrounding ambience- second cigarette in hand- while she attempts to ignore the alarms she has strategically set out, all in the name of self-preservation. 

‘It’s just dinner’, she repeats to herself. ‘It doesn’t mean anything’. 

“Can I ask you somethin’?” He speaks out, pulling her from her head. “And you can totally tell me to fuck off-”

“Probably will, but shoot-” She adds with a light laugh, tired eyes concentrated on their path.

He contemplates his words for a second, the dim roar of tired engines penetrating their small bubble of peace. 

“So you really hate your job-”

“Ooh, hate is not a strong enough word-”

“-Okay, so you loathe your job-”

“There you go…” Her humorous smile triggers his usual small one, the tiny dimple on his left cheek guest starring just briefly but she takes a short second to admire it fully.

“Why do you stay?”

Ross contemplates his question while she plays with the strap of her bag, debating between the option she’s always used to deflect any sort of question, or to undust and pop the lock on the box where her truths lay hidden.

“Well you see, I have this horrible habit where I have to eat and-”

“Oh, fuck off- I’m serious.” His laugh is brief but genuine and it shudders something deep within her- it vibrates through her ribs and changes the tempo in her chest- an earthquake came and gone. 

A slight sense of panic trails behind her external joy, looming just out of sight but present still. She sighs and gulps the tightness down, turning to the empty street before them.

“I wasn’t supposed to be there this long.” Ross finally confesses loud enough so he can barely hear her. “I'm majoring in psychology…”

“So this is temporary?”

“Yeah…” She sighs again, picking at the gel polish she gets specifically to avoid the bad habit. “It’s supposed to be, but I’ve been trying to get my license and failed my exams twice. I only have one more chance before I have to retake the course all over again.”

He’s silent for a while, staring at the grimey ground and searching his head on what to say. “I was always shitty in school… but maybe I can like, try and help you study? Some say it helps explaining it to someone else.”

Carmy’s voice falls into a whisper with the last sentence and draws her gaze away from her fingers and up to his concentrated one.

The way his attention falls solely on her- eyes never straining far from her own- heightens her senses and chills her skin past the warmth of her coat. All she can muster is a thin smile, because anything bigger would trigger the lever that’s already too tight. 

“So psychology?” He changes the subject.

“Yeah, the-uh- child kind.” She awaits the usual taunt that comes with her answer- the ignorant thought that ‘why would children even need a psychologist?’- but it doesn’t. When she looks in his direction, it isn’t there either and she can’t decide if what he’s giving her is worse.

“That sounds pretty cool.” He says instead.

Ross’ brows twitch up momentarily, awe visible only for a few worthy moments. “Yeah it… it is.”

And says nothing else. 

‘Don’t read too much into it’ Ross repeats to herself, as many times as needed to push out the ridiculous thought of anything more than what it is- just a casual thing- out of her head, on the drive to his place.

**********

Part III.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry, @kirakombat, @redsakura101 , @hobisunshine13 and that’s it lmao

[drabbles-mc]

Home for the Holidays?

Carmy Berzatto x OC Kalia Mason

For @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo 2023!

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking, pre-canon, light angsty moments

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: i have a whole longfic planned for these two that takes place way after this, but this little piece of their backstory has been bouncing around my head for weeks so i'm glad to finally be able to finish and post it!

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @withmyteeth @darqchilddaydreamz @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos @narcolini @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

“No, no, I’m not,” Carmy shook his head as he paced back and forth in the alleyway behind the restaurant, “I’m not having this fuckin’ conversation right now. Mi—no, you’re not listening. You never fuckin’ listen I can’t talk about this right now.”

He pulled an aggressive drag from his cigarette as he listened to Mikey going off on the other end of the line. He’d been so engrossed in his argument that he hadn’t even heard the back door of the restaurant open and shut, didn’t catch the dull sound of heels against the blacktop. Turning around to start pacing back in the opposite direction again, he stopped himself short, mid-headshake, when he saw that Kalia had stepped out back as well. He didn’t say anything as he stared at her, now only halfway tuned into the conversation that he was having with Mikey. His brows separated, easing apart rather than being pinched in exhaustion, but the tension in his jaw still held.

Kalia didn’t say anything to him either. She walked up to him without a word and he handed his cigarette over to her. He watched her bring it to her lips, her actions much smoother and calmer than his had been just a few moments before. She folded one arm across her chest, holding her hand out for him to take the cigarette back. He did, noticing but not commenting on the slight smudge of pale pink left on the filter from what was left of her lipstick by that point in her shift.

The whole exchange only took a handful of seconds, but with how quickly conversations moved with Mikey, or any of the Berzatto’s, it was more than enough time for Carmy to lose his footing in the exchange. He realized that as soon as he dialed back into what Mikey was saying, flinching at the whiplash of it all.

Regardless of how much or how little he’d missed, Mikey had clearly picked up on Carmy’s lack of response and made a comment about it. He was still staring at Kalia when he snapped at his brother and said, “No, I’m not fuckin’ listening because you’re not listening to me either. I, I can’t, I’m not talking about this.” He sighed. “No, I’m not. I’m not. Know what I’m doing? I’m hanging up. I am, I’m hanging up the fuckin’ phone.”

Kalia’s eyes widened at the statement, although she couldn’t pretend that she was overly surprised by it. What was a little more surprising was the fact that he actually followed through. As soon as the last syllable left his lips, Carmy pulled the phone away from his ear and ended the call.

He let out a sigh as he shoved his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just tilting his head back and looking up at the sky like it was going to give him some calm, or clarity, even though in all his years it had never done anything of the sort.

Finally, he turned back to Kalia. He took another inhale of his cigarette because saying, “Hey.”

She laughed at the stark difference in pace and tone between his phone conversation and how he was speaking to her. “Hey.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Do you want me to ask about that or just…?”

He couldn’t help but to let out a chuckle when he saw the look on her face as she asked. Light-hearted but not cruelly so. Shaking his head, he finished off his cigarette and dropped it to the ground. “Fuckin’ Mikey.”

She tilted her head. “What’d he say?”

He sighed, leaning back against the wall of the restaurant. “He was asking about Christmas.”

Raising her eyebrows, she just managed a soft, “Oh,” not sure what else to say.

Things had been so new with them the previous Christmas—they had still been in a bit of a limbo. There hadn’t been any expectations, or any real discussions about the holidays. Carmy hadn’t seemed like he wanted to talk about it, so Kalia didn’t waste energy trying to pry. The stakes were different this year, though. She’d been meaning to get around to asking what his plans were, so it seemed like there was no time quite like the present.

“Never calls me any other month of the year to see how I’m doing. But, but sure, yeah, of course. Because he just wants to give me a fuckin’ hard time about it.”

“Are you going home for Christmas?” she asked. It felt like the answer should be obvious but she also knew him well enough to know that acting logically wasn’t always his strong suit. It wasn’t his brother’s either, apparently.

“N—I don’t know. I don’t fuckin’ know,” he muttered, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Do you want to?” she asked. The laugh she let out was more nervous than it was humorous. “Because it doesn’t really seem like you want to.”

He chuckled, unable to stop himself. He knew that she was right, but he also didn’t have the time or the energy to get into all the intricacies of Christmas with the Berzatto’s on their ten-minute smoke break.

“It’s gonna be a fuckin’ mess if I don’t go.” He paused, letting the footage play back of years past. “It’s a fuckin’ mess when I’m there too, though, so who knows.”

She let a few seconds of silence pass before making her offer. “If you don’t want to go, you can always come spend it with my family.” She laughed. “Or if you want a break altogether and want to spend it alone, I get that too.”

He smiled as he stared at her. There was some appeal to the idea of spending Christmas by himself in his tiny apartment. He didn’t even have a tree or a string of lights up—it looked the same way it did the other eleven months of the year. But it would be quiet, calm, things that his childhood home in Chicago never were even on the best day.

He’d only met Kalia’s family once, and he didn’t count it, really, because of the circumstances. He’d just been one face in a sea of many that day. Most of her relatives probably wouldn’t remember that he’d even been there, but Kalia remembered. That was all that really mattered to Carmy anyway. The only other way some of them knew him was based on whatever stories Kalia told them about him, or if he was passing through in the background of a videocall between her and her parents. The notion of going there for the holidays was kind of nice on one hand, but on the other hand it was absolutely terrifying.

Kalia saw him locking up and shutting down in real time. “You don’t have to decide right now,” she said with a laugh. “Just something to keep in mind. An escape route, if you need it.”

His shoulders noticeably relaxed as he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, right. Okay. Thank, thank you.” He cleared his throat as he forced himself off the wall. Gesturing towards the door, he said, “I gotta get back.”

Kalia smiled, nodding. “Go ahead. I still got a couple minutes before I gotta head back in, and,” she rolled her eyes with a laugh, “I’m using every single one of them.”

Carmy smiled and gave her a nod but didn’t say anything else. He walked past her, reaching out and brushing his fingers against hers, letting them catch for half a second as he passed. There was a smile on his face about it until he was back inside the restaurant and the door swung shut behind him.

He purposely ignored the slew of texts and calls from Mikey. He ignored the texts from Nat, too, although there were far less of those. The brunt of her wrath would come when she saw him in person next, whenever that was going to be. Every Christmas he always wanted to blow them off but he hadn’t ever found it in himself to follow through on it. He’d always string together a list of reasons why he had to be there. Always. Plus, if he was honest with himself, he never felt like he had a good enough external reason to bail, something outside of himself. But now it seemed like he did. He’d have to think about it.

It was a few nights later when he let himself into Kalia’s apartment. It wasn’t often that their days off synced up, so they made do by just stopping by the other’s apartment when they had the time, and more importantly the energy, before or after their shifts. It took some doing, but they’d figured it out.

“Hey,” he called out as he toed his shoes off just inside the door. He didn’t hear her respond as he walked towards the kitchen where he could see that the light was on, but he still had the feeling that she was awake. Turning the corner, he started speaking up again. “Lia? You—” he stopped short with a laugh when he got a good look at her.

She was leaning back against the counter right beside the stove with a pot in her hand, separated from her palm by a potholder. She was holding a fork in her other hand, and was currently halfway through eating another forkful of macaroni and cheese.

“Hey,” she mumbled through her mouthful of food as she tried not to send it flying everywhere.

Walking over, Carmy peeked into the pot in her hand. He knew what it was already before he even looked, but he still asked, “What’s going on here?”

She swallowed what was in her mouth so that she could laugh. “Mac ‘n cheese.”

His eyebrows lifted just slightly as a smile stretched across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Want some?” reaching over, she opened the drawer that housed her silverware and pulled out another fork. “I’ll share.”

He shook his head but still took it. “Sure.”

“I upgraded, you know. No more of the single-serve cups that go in the microwave.”

He laughed as he took a forkful from the pot. “Upgraded to the box?”

“So as not to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

It was a comment that, coming from someone else, he would’ve taken to heart. If it’d been Mikey, or Richie, or anyone back home really, he would’ve snapped back. It would’ve been an argument. But it was hard to jump to being on the defensive with Kalia. It wasn’t that they never argued or got after each other, but she hadn’t ever been the type to make that her default. It was foreign, but it was good.

“Yeah, because everyone knows that boxed Easy-Mac is much, much better than the cups.”

“Obviously,” she said as she gesticulated with her fork.

Carmy smiled, talking through the forkful of macaroni he’d just taken. “Obviously.”

They fell into comfortable silence after that. Part of Carmy wanted to go and shower off the day, wanted to leave his t-shirt and jeans in a heap on the floor of Kalia’s bathroom to be dealt with in the morning, but he couldn’t manage to peel himself away from her. Not even an hour before, he’d had the executive chef breathing down his neck making him want to run into oncoming traffic, but that felt so far away now. Kalia was standing there in her flannel pajama pants and an old t-shirt that had more rips and stains than any shirt or apron Carmy had worn in the kitchen over the years. Her socks were fitting for the time of year, fuzzy, warm, and decorated with snowmen. Her apartment overall was much more festive than Carmy’s was, but that was a low bar. She looked so comfortable. All the time she looked so comfortable, even when shit was hitting the fan. He wondered how she stayed like that all the time. Maybe it was a family thing, because lord knew that him and his family couldn’t stay calm if their lives depended on it.

“Your parents wouldn’t mind if I came for Christmas?” he asked as he tossed his dirty fork into the sink.

Kalia tried not to look too excited, not wanting to get her hopes up too high. “They wouldn’t mind at all. They, you know, they really wanna see you.” She laughed as she scooped the last bit of macaroni onto her fork. “At this point, they probably think I’m keeping you hidden in my basement or something.”

He chuckled, finding a spot beside her leaning back against the counter. “Did you tell them your apartment doesn’t have a basement?”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” There was a pause. “But yeah, if you wanna come with me to my parents’, you can. My car seats at least two.”

“Two plus whatever is living in your back seat,” he replied with a tiny smirk, recalling all the times she simply just tossed whatever was on her passenger seat into the back on the occasions the two of them would go to or from work together.

“You can just walk, you know,” she shot back with a laugh as she moved and set the pot in the sink to soak, too tired and lazy to wash it right in that moment. “Or I can strap you to the roof like a deer.” She walked back over, gently toying with his hair for a moment. “Curls instead of antlers.”

He shook his head, eyes dropping to the floor as he tried not to look as amused as he felt. Taking a deep breath, he looked back at her. “I’ll let you know in a couple days?”

She nodded. “Let me know in a couple days.”

Neither of them brought it up again in the wake of that exchange. The rest of the night went by. Kalia told Carmy the highlights of what had gone on in the dining room during dinner service. Front of house and back of house never had the same brand of chaos and stress going on, but both ends of the house were always kept busy. That was for certain. Carmy listened as he got ready to finally turn in for the night. Kalia was already in bed, sitting with her back against the headboard and blanket pulled over her legs. She had her phone in her hand and Carmy was shuffling around the room but none of it was enough to break the flow of their conversation. Not even when Carmy slid into bed under the covers beside her, blanket draped over him while he had his elbow propped on the pillow on his side of the bed, head resting in his hand as he listened, as they talked.

It wasn’t until two days and three phone calls with his siblings later that Carmy came to a decision. He didn’t know how to start the conversation with Kalia, so instead of getting into all of the reasons why, he just asked, “What should I bring? To your parents’ house, I mean. What should I bring?”

She paused the search for her car keys in her purse when she processed what he’d said. “What should you bring?” she repeated back, smile growing wider with each word. “I don’t…you don’t have to bring anything. You’re bringing me.”

He was watching the sidewalk pass beneath their feet as they walked to her car together. “No, no. I gotta bring something.” He paused, thinking about the types of things people typically brought to gatherings like this. “Wine? There a wine your parents like?”

She shook her head. “My parents don’t drink. No one, um, no one really does when they go to their house, either.”

Carmy raised his eyebrows just slightly. It wasn’t that it was strange that her parents didn’t drink, per se. But he just couldn’t fathom a gathering of his own family with no alcohol involved. He wondered if that would make everything worse.

He realized that he’d been silent for just a few seconds too long for it to be comfortable. “Heard. Right.”

“You don’t have to bring anything,” she emphasized again, “but I’m sure if you wanted to help with prep and stuff my mom would appreciate it. She always,” Kalia rolled her eyes as she unlocked the doors to her car and slid into the driver’s seat, “she always leaves the prep up to my uncle. And he always thinks it’s gonna take way less time than it really does. Which, you know, isn’t a big deal. We just eat a little later—that’s fine. But,” she turned the key in the ignition, “I’m sure he’d love a helping hand, too.”

“What do you guys do?”

“It’s kind of like a hot-pot situation, but not quite. If you see it you’ll get it. Actually,” she laughed as she drove down the road, “we usually do it for New Years but I’m working New Years this year so I convinced them to do it for Christmas instead. It’s like my favorite holiday meal of the year.”

They let the conversation end there, the music from the radio filling the car instead of their own voices. Part of Kalia wanted to ask Carmy what had him making that decision, but she stopped herself. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. And even the things that he did want to talk about, it was rarely something as straight-forward as simply sitting across the table from her and talking about it. It was a lot of off-hand comments and half-stories, a lot of interjecting things into the middle of rants. It was just on everyone else to try and keep up and keep track of it all.

Christmas snuck up on them faster than they realized. Even when they had been discussing plans and logistics, it had felt like some far-off thing. Then, in the blink of an eye, Carmy heard the sound of Kalia letting herself into his apartment on Christmas morning.

“Just me!” she called out as she undid the zipper of her jacket.

Carmy appeared, walking out of his bedroom with a bottle in his hand. “Hey.”

Walking over to him, Kalia couldn’t stop the warm smile that spread across her face. Carmy had on one of his nice sweaters and a fresh, dark pair of jeans. His hair was a little tamer than usual, but not so much that he didn’t look like himself anymore.

Leaning in, she kissed him quickly on the lips. “You look good.”

Carmy looked at her, feeling a little less nervous when he saw how relaxed she seemed. “You too.” Even though her jacket was covering most of it, Carmy still knew what sweater she was wearing—the fuzzy white one that went off both her shoulders.

He was still busy staring at her when she gestured towards the bottle he was holding. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” he held it up so she could read the label, “I just, um, it’s sparkling cider. Is, is that okay? I can leave it if—”

“That’s good,” she stopped him short, nodding and smiling in approval. “They’ll like that.”

His body visibly relaxed at that, shoulders loosening. “Alright, good. Yeah.”

“You need a few more minutes or—”

“I’m good,” he answered her question before she even finished it. “Let me just—my shoes, and, and yeah.”

“Take your time,” she spoke after him as he took off to grab his shoes and jacket.

The drive didn’t take as long as either of them thought it would. It was still enough time for Carmy to reach the brink of driving himself crazy as he sat jittering in the passenger seat. Kalia could only look over at him so many times while she was keeping an eye on the road in front of them, but even in her peripheral she saw him, numerous times, go to reach for the pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket and then stop himself. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that if he wanted to have one she wasn’t going to kick him out of the car. But he knew that already—she knew that he knew that. Instead, she took one hand off the steering wheel and rested it on his leg. It got the bouncing in his foot to stop but then it just shifted upwards and into his fingers that began to drum against the windowsill.

“It’s not, you know, it’s not like it’s some big to-do. It’s just,” she shrugged, “Christmas. We get together and eat food. No crazy heaps of presents of anything.” She turned and looked at him for a brief moment. “We do secret Santa.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yep. We were all broke for a while. Some of us,” she lifted her hand from his leg and pointed at herself, “still kind of are. So it’s just easier that way. Less pressure.”

“Who’d you get?”

“My mom.”

The idea of that happening in his own life was enough to make Carmy’s stomach twist into a knot and it wasn’t even really happening to him. He pushed the feeling down as well as he could. “Wh-what’d you get her?”

“You!” she replied with a laugh. She shook her head. “Kidding. Kind of. But she is so excited to meet you.”

“Shit,” he said without thinking better of it. He froze up as soon as the word came out of his mouth, afraid of what was coming next.

Rather than anger, Kalia just met him with amusement. “She’s not scary. My dad isn’t either, really. My uncle is the one you should probably be worried about.” She paused, switching lanes on the highway. “It was funny, though. The first time I tried to tell her I was dating you, I said I was seeing the chef from the restaurant. And, and I had no idea why she got so mad about it, you know? She didn’t know you.”

“She got mad?”

Kalia could hardly talk through her laughter. “Yeah. Because the last time I talked to her about a chef,” she shook her head, “the chef from the restaurant, I was telling her about your asshole boss.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Now Carmy was laughing too. “She thought you were dating—”

“Yeah,” she cut him off with a laugh and a nod. “So, you know, no matter what you’re going to be better than who she originally thought I’d be bringing home on the holidays.”

“Jesus,” Carmy said as he shook his head, running his hand back through his hair. He had to admit, though, he felt a little better.

When they pulled into the driveway at her parents’ house, Carmy couldn’t stop himself from noticing the other cars in the driveway. Not what type of car or even what color, but just the fact that their driveway was full. He could feel the panic starting to creep back up his spine and out through his limbs. Kalia hadn’t even put her car in park yet and all he was picturing was all the years at his mother’s house, a full driveway, so full that they parked their cars on the sides of the street. The house was even fuller. Every year. So many people and so much noise. So much yelling.

“You ready?” Her voice, once again, pulled him out of his thoughts.

He turned to look at her, nodding although he didn’t know how much he believed it. “Yeah. Um, yeah. I’m, I’m ready. Are you?”

“Come here.” Still buckled in, Kalia leaned over, hand resting on the center console of her car, and kissed him. “They’re going to love you, Carm.”

He let out an unsteady laugh. “Let’s hope.”

Carmy trailed right behind her as she walked up the driveway. He watched her as she knocked on the front door, but that the formality was basically pointless because she was turning the knob with her other hand and pushing it open even as she knocked. She hardly had one foot inside the house and she was calling out, “Hello,” and, “Merry Christmas!” He followed close behind but didn’t say a word, just looking around the house instead.

“Hey!” a man called out as he poked his head out form around a corner. “Look who it is!” He walked over and wrapped Kalia in a tight hug, paying no mind to the knife that he was holding in one hand.

She laughed as she hugged him back. “Careful waving that thing around.”

“Not waving,” he said as he stepped back. Diverting his attention, he looked at Carmy. “You’re the guy, huh?”

Carmy’s eyes went wide, a scared fawn in the headlights. The man’s words didn’t sound threatening or accusatory in any way but Carmy still felt like he was on trial. There was only one correct response to that question and yet he still couldn’t spit it out.

Luckily Kalia stepped in to cover for him. “Can you try that again without the knife in your hand?” she asked with a laugh. Slipping her hand into Carmy’s, she said, “This is Carmy—the guy who is going to make sure we don’t start eating dinner at ten tonight.”

“That only happened once!”

“And I will never let you forget it,” she joked. Looking over at Carmy, she said, “Carm, this is my Uncle Rich.”

“N-nice to meet you,” Carmy said, pulling his hand from Kalia’s so he could shake her uncle’s.

“What’ve we got here?” her uncle asked, breaking off the handshake so he could gesture to the bottle that Carmy was holding in his hand.

Suddenly Carmy was overcome with the urge to throw the thing right back out the front door they’d just walked through. He didn’t want to hand it over, didn’t want to show it, afraid that it was going to be met with ridicule or disdain of some kind.

He fought through it, holding the bottle out to the man in front of him. He somehow managed to keep his hand steady, too. “Just, um, just some sparkling cider. Lia mentioned that you guys don’t really—”

“Alright!” he exclaimed, taking it with the hand that wasn’t holding onto the knife. “Good man.”

Then, like he was letting everyone know that the introduction and conversation was over with, Kalia’s uncle turned on his heel and headed back to the kitchen. When the man rounded the corner back out of sight, Carmy let out a breath that he hadn’t meant to start holding.

“See?” she said as she crouched down to start taking off her shoes. “Not that bad. He’s the…most…out of everyone. You’re gonna be fine.”

Carmy didn’t know how much he believed her, but there was nothing left to do but take her word for it now. He leaned down to unlace his shoes and at that point he knew that he was in it. He was trying to figure out what to say in response to her reassurance when she grabbed his hand and started pulling him deeper into the house.

It couldn’t have felt more different than being home. It couldn’t have felt more different than being around his own family. He’d hardly been able to spit out his own name to Kalia’s parents when he was introducing himself because of all the panic lodged in his throat. There was no way that her mother and father didn’t see it, didn’t hear the strain in his voice. They didn’t say anything, though, didn’t even give him so much as a sideways look about it. They were so kind, gentle even. Carmy knew that he would get around to appreciating that at some point.

He maneuvered his way through an initial round of small talk with the rest of Kalia’s family. He wasn’t graceful about it, and he needed ample assistance from Kalia, but he got through it. It felt foreign and uncomfortable but then he felt the way that Kalia was leaning against him as they all spoke gathered in the living room. Some people were sitting, others standing or half-perched on the arm of the sofa. There were snacks on the coffee table and gift bags under the tree. Music was playing at an appropriate volume and the conversations were loud but they weren’t deafening, weren’t at a volume that would raise anyone’s cortisol levels. It was all lovely and pleasant and yet Carmy had to make a conscious effort to not hold Kalia’s arm in a vice grip.

“Alright.” Her uncle interjected himself into all of the conversations that were happening as he entered the room, a stack of cups in one hand and the bottle of sparkling cider that Carmy had brought in the other. “First round for everyone is on Carmen. Don’t worry,” he jokingly reassured everyone as he passed around cups, “I already tried it—it’s good.”

Carmy could’ve sworn he felt his knees knock together out of nerves—it didn’t matter that everyone seemed perfectly happy and perhaps even excited about it. He felt like he was on trial. He worked through it as he took the cup that Rich handed him, watching him fill it with a generous amount.

“Kali said that you’re my hired help for the night?” he asked as he watched Carmy take a sip.

Carmy nodded, forcing himself to remember not to talk with his mouth full. That was the last thing he needed. “Yeah. I, I’ll even work for free,” he joked and hoped it sounded more confident than it did in his head.

It was passable at least, because Rich laughed as he set the bottle down on the coffee table alongside the rest of everything and motioned for Carmy to follow him. “Dangerous words but come on, then.”

Even though she had been right next to Carmy the entire time and saw everything, he still turned to Kalia and gestured towards her uncle, towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna…” he trailed off, letting the hand gesture finish the sentence for him.

She laughed and nodded. “I heard.” She paused, taking a moment to search his expression. “Want reinforcements?”

He didn’t hesitate to nod. “Maybe. Maybe, yeah,” he answered, laughing despite the nerves.

“Sounds good.”

“What?” Rich said as he watched them both walk towards the kitchen. “Don’t trust me around the kid with a knife in my hand?”

Kaila shook her head as she found a seat on the opposite side of the kitchen island from where the two of them would be prepping everything. “I don’t trust you around anyone with a knife in your hand.”

Carmy was listening to them, sort of, but most of his attention was focused on everything that was laid out on the island in front of him and the other counters in the kitchen. It was chaos, but it was organized chaos. Real organized chaos—not the chaos that Donna spent year after year trying to play off as organized. Even though Carmy had just set foot into the kitchen, he could see the underlying threads of order to it.

“What do you need help with?” Carmy asked, eyes still fixed on the cutting boards in front of him as he started to push up the sleeves of his sweater.

Carmy couldn’t see it, too busy trying to think his way through the next step, but Kalia was across the island from him, smiling. And Rich was standing to the right of him and also smiling. Rich reached behind him and pulled a knife out of the block and handed it over to Carmy. “Dealer’s choice.”

He was about to answer when he took a good look at the knife that was in his hand. “Oh, shit,” he said before he could stop himself. He glanced across at Kalia. “Your parents—”

“Fuck no,” Rich cut him off with a laugh. “I keep these here for me.”

Carmy looked at Kalia for confirmation and she nodded as she sipped on her cider. “It’s true.”

For the first time all night Carmy felt at ease for a moment, as close to calm as he ever really managed to get these days. “Alright. I’ll, uh,” he gestured with his free hand to the cutting board that still had a huge piece of meat that needed to be sliced through, “yeah.”

Rich slid the cutting board so that it was in front of him. “All yours.” He grabbed a fresh cutting board to move onto the next thing. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Carmy got right to work. Instantly zeroed in. He chuckled, waiting for Kalia to look at him. “Gotta bring him every year.”

She laughed and propped her elbows on the edge of the counter. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She sat and watched the two of them work. They were doing their own thing but somehow still in tandem with each other. She had never mentioned it to Carmy, but her uncle had spent most of his twenties and some of his thirties working in a kitchen. Never at the caliber that Carmy was currently operating at, but it wasn’t nothing. She never said anything, but as the minutes ticked by she had the feeling that Carmy could tell. Neither of them spoke about it but they each knew.

There was no ever truly being relaxed for Carmy. However the way he felt in that moment almost felt like he was cooking in the kitchen of his apartment, or Kalia’s. Not the same stakes of cooking at the restaurant, not the suffocating tension of being back in Chicago in his mom’s kitchen, or Mikey’s. He was listening to the way that Kalia and her uncle were chatting, the way that they would rope him into the conversation just enough to keep him included but not so much that he had to stop what he was doing. A precarious balance.

Carmy was listening to the two of them going back and forth about something that had happened at Christmas the year before when he felt his phone buzzing in the pocket of his jeans. He quickly wiped his hands on the towel hanging off the edge of the island before pulling his phone out. The world came to a screeching halt around him for a moment as he read his brother’s name on the phone screen. It shouldn’t have been surprising. If anything, the only surprising thing was that it had taken so long for someone back home to call him. His money would’ve been on Natalie.

He must’ve been standing there for longer than he realized, because Kalia spoke up, “Hey, you okay?”

Carmy cleared his throat, nodding as he rejected the call and put the phone back in his pocket. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

She wasn’t convinced, brows coming together for a moment. “You sure? If you need to—”

“I’m good, Lia,” he kept his voice quiet, not forgetting where he was, but firm enough to make it clear that he didn’t want to get into it all because of where he was. “Just Mikey.”

That answer didn’t do anything to quell her concerns. She knew that there was no such thing as just Mikey. She hadn’t ever met Mikey, or anyone in Carmy’s family for that matter, and she knew that there was a reason for that. He didn’t talk much about his siblings or his mother but there were a lot of moments when he managed to say plenty about them without have to speak much at all. Like the look in his eyes when he saw who was calling.

She knew it wasn’t the time to try and talk about it, so she conceded with a nod. “Okay.”

“Wanna grab stuff for the table, Kali?” Rich inserted himself back into the conversation, diverting it to a new direction with ease.

She hopped up from where she was sitting. “Sure thing.” She slipped behind Carmy to grab the bowls from the cupboard, fingers gently trailing over his back as she passed by him.

The kitchen fell silent once more when she walked out. Both Carmy and Rich went back to finishing up the last of the prep. Carmy was holding his breath as he moved the knife, waiting for the man beside him to say something, to start an argument. He wouldn’t have blamed him. He was used to it, anyhow.

Carmy was tense and braced for a cutting remark, thinking that was why Kalia had been kindly invited to leave the room. He heard the man next to him take a breath and he pinned his lips together in a flat line as he got ready to just get through whatever was coming next.

“Grab a couple bowls out of the cabinet behind me?” Rich said, no angry inflection to his voice at all. Carmy didn’t respond right away because he was still waiting for the hammer to drop. The only thing that got him into motion was the fact that Rich turned and actually looked at him. “Just need two more so we can bring these out. Big ones,” he said, gesturing to the last of the food they’d just finished prepping.

Swallowing past the panic, Carmy nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

He turned and went to the cabinet to grab everything. He had a bowl in one hand and just as he was going to grab the other from the shelf, it slipped from his grip and landed on the floor. It wasn’t a terribly far drop but it was enough to cause it to break, fracturing into pieces scattered across the floor.

“Shit, shit,” Carmy began stammering as he set the other bowl back on the shelf before he accidentally dropped that one too. He was too busy letting out a string of fuck’s and so sorry’s to realize that he was the only one who was worked up about what had just happened.

Kalia had heard the sound and spun on her heel immediately to go and make sure that everything was okay. “Hey, all good?”

“Sorry,” Carmy repeated over again as he stood up, a few of the larger pieces of ceramic in his hands. “I, I just, I fuckin’ dropped—” He stopped short, still shaking his head as he placed the pieces in the trash. “I’m sorry.”

Kalia’s heart clenched inside her chest, knowing that his reaction to such a small, fairly common, accident had to do with much more than what had just happened. “Carmen, it’s fine.”

“Yeah,” her uncle piped in, calm as ever as he brought over the broom and dustpan. “No big deal. Hey,” he chuckled, “least we didn’t have any food in it yet.”

Carmy forced out a short chuckle, not quite accepting that he was getting off the hook that easily. “Right.” His hands were all but trembling against his sides as he looked across the kitchen at Kalia. He didn’t want to step out but he also didn’t want to combust in the middle of her parents’ kitchen. He nodded towards the door. “I’m, I think I’m gonna just, real quick.”

She nodded. “You’re good.”

Rich didn’t say anything until he was done sweeping and putting the last few pieces of the shattered bowl into the garbage. By that point Carmy had slipped his shoes back on and stepped out the front door. He looked over at Kalia, silently but with a look on his face that asked the question for him.

“Christmas is hard. F-family is hard.”

He gave a nod of acknowledgement but didn’t say anything else about it. “Seems like a good kid.”

Her face softened into a smile. “He is.”

He pointed towards the door with the handle of the broom. “Go ahead. I’ll set the rest of this up.”

She gave him a quick hug to say thank you before she followed the same path that Carmy had just taken. She was pulling her jacket on over her shoulders as she stepped outside. Carmy was sitting on the front step of her parents’ house, one hand holding a cigarette and the other pressed to his forehead like it was the only thing stopping his head from rolling clean off.

She sat down next to him. Rather than saying anything, she let her leg fall so that it was resting against the side of his. They sat there in silence at first, just staring at the house across the street with it’s countless lights and so many inflatable decorations on the front lawn, the cords for them alone must’ve been a fire hazard.

Carmy offered the cigarette over to her out of reflex, exhaling a stream of smoke as he held his hand out to her. She smiled and took it, going back to looking across the street as she said, “Do you want to call them?”

He shook his head. He watched her bring the smoke to her lips before saying, “No. No, no I don’t think—no.” He paused, clearing his throat in an attempt to dispel his own awkward feelings. “Sorry about the bowl.”

She smiled at him as she handed the cigarette back. “It’s fine. There’s usually one or two fallen soldiers every holiday.”

He nodded, heart rate still spiked. “Right.” He took another drag. “They seem nice—your family.”

“Yeah, they’re alright,” she joked.

“Your uncle calls you Kali.”

She nodded, leaning against his side. “He does.” She tilted her head so that she was looking at him. “What about it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just, I always—just something I noticed.”

“Well, when my sister was around having Luci and Lia would’ve been, I don’t know, borderline cruel?” she laughed. “So he settled on Kali for me. Besides, my uncle called you a good kid. So we’re both doing alright.” She watched as he smiled for a moment and snubbed out the last of the cigarette. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. S-sorry. About all of that. And this.”

She placed her hand on his leg. “Wanna go eat?”

“Yeah.” He slowly stood up and offered her a hand to help do the same. “Thank you.”

She brushed off the backs of her legs. “Of course. You know—”

They both gave pause when they heard Carmy’s phone going off again. She saw him hesitate before taking it out to see who was calling even though they both already knew. Natalie’s name was lighting up the screen now. Carmy was picturing what his mom’s house was probably like at that point, certainly not as quiet and happy as what was waiting for him on the other side of the door that he was currently standing in front of.

“Do you wanna answer? Talk to them for a minute? I can, you know,” she gestured to the house.

Carmy thought on it until he missed the call. It was only then that he shook his head. “No. No it’s fine.” He shut his phone completely off. “I’ll figure that shit out later.”

There was a brief moment of hesitation but she nodded. “Okay.”

He watched her reach for the door. It took a couple seconds to for him to make his thoughts translate into motion, but once he did, he reached for her hand that wasn’t on the door. He pulled her back just enough to stop her from opening the door. When she turned around to ask him if everything was alright, he pulled her in and pressed a kiss to her lips that quickly turned into a kiss on her cheek as he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder, squeezing her tight to him as he shut his eyes for a moment. She returned the embrace, matching his energy with one hand splayed across his back and the other resting on the back of his head.

When he pulled away, some of the tension was gone from his shoulders. Despite the gap between them, his fingers were still tangled with hers. He offered a small, almost embarrassed smile. “Thank you, you know, for, for all this.”

Her smile was wide, bright. Nodding, she leaned in and kissed him quickly on the lips. “You’re always welcome here.”

That was the last that either of them said about it before heading back into the house. As soon as they opened the door they could hear the sounds of bowls being passed around and set down on the table. Everyone was talking and laughing, all of the conversation condensed into one space now.

No one batted an eye when the two of them stepped into the dining room and found their seats at one end of the table. They got pulled right into the conversation like they had been there the entire time. Carmy’s leg bounced lightly underneath the table as he looked at all the food spread out in front of them all.

Managing to get himself out of his head for a moment, he accepted the bowl that was being passed to him. Kalia’s uncle nodded as he handed it over, following it up with a pair of chopsticks. “Know how to use those?” he asked with a laugh.

Carmy chuckled as he nodded, smile coming easier than he thought it would. “I do alright, yeah.”

“Good,” he remarked as he sat back down. Laughter was tinging his voice as he said, “Be a shame if you did all that work and you couldn’t eat any of it.”

“Yeah,” Carmy agreed, laughing along with him, “that’d be rough.”

He was so focused on the sound of everyone laughing and talking that he almost didn’t realize the way that Kalia placed her hand on his leg again. He didn’t notice it until he felt himself stop jittering. He turned to look at her, about to reassure her that he was fine, but she was already wrapped up in a conversation with her cousin. Carmy smiled, putting his hand on top of hers as it rested on his leg. She didn’t miss a beat in her conversation as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He felt a little more of the tension drip out from his shoulders as he settled into his seat, wrapping his head around where he really was.

[nuka-cherries]

Sweet Like Honey

Fandom: The Bear (2022) Pairing: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Aurora Saltillo (oc)

A double Michelin star(s) award winning pastry chef, Aurora Saltillo is adjusting to a complicated world without her mother and without Mikey. Just when she is barely starting to see process in The Beef, Carmy takes over and enters her life again.

Carmy, the same rival from culinary school. Carmy, the same cold-hearted bastard from New York City who took her dream job. Carmy, the same one who ultimately broke Mikey's heart.

Simply said, Aurora can't stand Carmy; Carmy can't stand Aurora. And now, they have to work together.

It only gets more complicated from there. \\\ Latina OC.

Lindsey Morgan as Aurora Saltillo.

Thank you @thatone-brightstar for the cheering! ily!

Spotify soundtrack here!

AO3 Link here!

Lindsey Morgan as Aurora Saltillo | Ming-Na Wen as Ming Saltillo     

Aurora Saltillo contemplated every decision she had made up to that point in time. 

Carmy was not a bad person. But when he got serious, he got serious. For Aurora, cooking and baking was fun. It was her joy. She made her own quinceañera cake when she turned fifteen. She catered meals for her family. Growing up with a Mexican biological mother and a Chinese adoptive step mother, she fully embraced both cultures and proudly incorporated both into her cooking. 

That was, until she disappeared for two years following a personal crisis and a major breakdown after her mother’s diagnosis. And COVID. Can’t forget that. At least at The Beef, no one questioned her disappearance. They were there for her, unlike the culinary scene in New York. The Beef had her back. 

Between losing her mother a month before Mikey’s suicide, there was too much going on for her to process anything. 

Now, the kitchen was cleaned up and it has calmed down. Well, more like it had burned out. 

Today was a fucked up day and those did not happen very often. 

Aurora was too amped up on adrenaline to cry in the freezer. She was too devoted to Mikey to leave. Mikey should be in the kitchen, cooking with them, calming everyone the hell down and cracking jokes and being silly.

So, she numbly took a step back, looking at the recipe for pure disaster.

One energy drink, two stars, three major breakdowns and four tragedies later, Aurora found herself here. In the middle of the aftermath of an angry kitchen. The online orders got fucked up. Everything got fucked up.

Syd walked out. Marcus walked out. Everyone was angry. Richie was bleeding. Everyone was pissed off. But ultimately, the day was over and they could all go home and leave the stress behind. 

Syd was not answering Aurora’s texts. Marcus sent her to voicemail.

It was a fucked-up day.

But at least there was tomorrow.

Aurora had cussed out Carmy in the kitchen once the last order was done. She kept it together. Then the onions had to happen. She fucked up an onion. She almost walked out. But she remembered where she was. She remembered who she was. 

And she cussed Carmy out to the point even his ancestors must have felt the shame.

She was angry. They were both angry. Frustrated. Hurt.

Richie tried to lead her to the cooler and tried to have her sit there for twenty minutes. She only made it for five. She was too angry to even feel the cold. 

“Nothing smart to say this time?”

Here we go…

It was going to be one of those exits, it seemed.

“Plenty,” Aurora said flatly. “Today was a fucked up day, Carm.”

“Don’t need the reminder.”

He did.

“No, you fucking do,” Aurora said. “You had two amazing chefs walk out on you today. Be lucky you didn’t lose three.”

“You were going to walk out too?”

“I was tempted.”

“Well, chef of the year goes to you.” Carmy exhaled the smoke.

Somehow, that was what got to Aurora.

“You know what? Do me a favor—no, do us all a favor—and go home, get the fattest fucking blunt, smoke it and chill the fuck out,” Aurora snapped. “Today was a fucked up day and your shitty attitude is what drove everyone apart. Mistakes happen! It happens! But you’re too much of a fucking egoistical perfectionist to realize it.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

Aurora ran out of steam. She let out a huff. “Fine.” She turned on her heels and began to talk to the train station.

“Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Marcus’s donut. It was…” Carmy trailed off. “It was good.”

A really weird olive branch.

“Of course, it was. Marcus made it.” Aurora tightened her coat. “Goodnight, Carmy.”

On a rough day like this, Mikey would have hugged her. Told her it was okay. He would have reassured her that everything was fine and to cool off in the cooler so she could get cooler.

Boy, did she sob at Mikey’s funeral.

She was broken. Everything was broken. Her best friend, lost and gone. The one who called her Rora. The one who called her the Little Lion, who liked to roar. Marcus held her in his arms for comfort and so she would not collapse again. Her mom, widow, held Richie’s arm.

She did not connect the dots about Carmy being the same Carmen from New York City, nor the same asshole from culinary school while at the funeral. She was too busy crying. She couldn’t compose herself for Richie’s sake, as much as she tried to tell herself to do so. All that was on her mind was Mikey. All she could process was Mikey. All she could think of was Mikey on the cold table. 

Richie didn’t blame her either. 

At his apartment after the service, she curled up with him on the couch on his lap, held each other in silence. Watched the Blackhawks game on low volume. Both of their eyes were swollen from crying. Throats numb from the sobs. He merely held her. Mourning for the same man who should have been alive. She fell asleep like that.

She woke up to Richie talking to Marcus in the middle of the night. About how he was worried about Aurora. About how he was in shock and felt like an endless nightmare.

Mikey stressed about The Beef. She knew that. She was the one sitting on Mikey’s desk trying to crunch the numbers on her calculator app on what supplies they could get in bulk from the dollar store. The Lion Perch, as she called it. She was an optimist. She was the one who was trying to fix it all alongside him. 

She was the one who was with Richie when they identified the body too.

A month later, she returned to work at the Beef to Carmy trying to fix everything. The same Carmy who took her dream job. The same Carmy who despised her in culinary school. 

Just like in New York City, Carmy was making it worse.

Her mom was in the kitchen watching the telenovela when Aurora got home.

“Ma, I’m home!” She loudly greeted.

“Hey baby!” Her mom greeted. “Dinner is ready. I made sesame beef.”

Aurora loved making dinner. It was one of her favorite meals to make, next to breakfast. But sometimes, her mom took over and unexpectedly made it. She said it was to vary the flavor. But Aurora knew it was to try to take the weight off her chest.

But her mom cooked something. She actually cooked! 

This was a win. This was a big win. Her mom rarely cooked after her mama’s funeral. 

“Fuck yeah! How was work?” 

“Shit,” her mother said simply. “But I survived. What about you?”

It was horrible. I miss Mikey. I miss mom. 

Instead, Aurora shrugged and laid her head on her mom’s shoulder. “I made it through.” She sat down at the kitchen table. “Come on, ma. I do not want to miss this part.” She gestured to sit next to her. 

At least there was tomorrow.

[thecapricunt1616]

Actually Persephone from TB&HH

[queers-gambit]

History of Clocks

prompt: Carmy asks you out, Carmy thinks it's platonic. Carmy and Claire go on a date, Carmy forgets to cancel. how strong - or brittle - is your friendship?

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!bestie!reader

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

collection masterlist: Nights Like This

word count: 10.8k+

note: strap in, this is a doozy. a masterpiece, but i digress.

warnings: humiliation / being stood up in public, i guess miscommunication trope, Carmy's a dumb fucking boy (and a lil bit of a dick), emotions are hard, angst, this Barbie copes through writing, girls being girls over fashion, love confessions, unrequited love, drawing boundaries, depiction of anxiety, nicknamed!reader has a dog, Cicero's niece reader 'cause why not! alcohol consumption (reader's a wine girlie)! and brief depiction of smoking! use of literary devices*, hurt no comfort!

*literary device warnings: a lot of repetition and too many idioms - some flow, others are kinda forced. please roll with it.

If someone asked Carmen Berzatto who his best friend was, he'd have zero hesitation to list your name. If someone asked who understood him the best, he'd say you did. If someone asked who supports him most outside his family, he'd shout your name first, declare your love as unconditional. If someone asked who or what inspired him, he'd insist it was you. But if you asked Carmy who he took romantic interest in, he'd answer Claire.

If anyone asked you ANY of the aforementioned questions, each response would be the same: Carmen Anthony Berzatto.

The two of you had been friends well over a decade by now, enduring his tenancy in Copenhagen and his residency in New York; plus anywhere in between. Sure, of course, it was frustrating having him gone, you missed him in abundance - but your pride outweighed everything. To see him chase and achieve such dreams brought you unparalleled joy; so much so, it didn't matter your pain of missing him. In turn, Carmy genuinely contributed much of his success to you, claiming your friendship is the central pillar that kept him upright; your blind encouragement what propelled him forward; and how a single phone call, hearing your voice, was like audible Xanax that quelled anxiety and self-doubt.

You had a tailored way of speaking to him; a way that never pressured him, but tried to show a different perspective to soothe his overactive thoughts. He describes you as optimistic, which, in his mind, was refreshing because of his violent pessimism. So, he attributed you as someone who kept him in balance.

A partner in crime. Another pea in his pod. Each other's missing half. A best friend.

For a while, this was enough.

You knew Claire was back around, but didn't put much stock in it because Carmy never did. Foolishly, you thought it was because of you - that maybe he harbored some feelings for you as you did him, and that's why he was uninterested in Claire. Through his transition being back home, Carmy had relied on you heavily, especially in the wake of Mikey; sharing intimate moments of emotional turmoil, doubts, fears, hopes, worries, dreams. Something in you both shifted; thinking perhaps you had aged past petty, fleeting flings and could focus on farming meaningful, real, lasting, supportive relationships. You foolishly thought you and Carmy were seeing one another through rose tinted glasses at the same time; that his were finally on.

You had been in the back office, wrapping up necessary paperwork for The Bear's operation when Carmy suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Honey, you got a sec?" He asked, wiping his hands on a dish towel; broad shoulder supporting his weight on the doorframe.

"Sure, whatcha need, Bear?" You glanced away from your paperwork to smile at him.

"What're you doing Friday night?"

"Uh, probably laundry? Why?"

Carmy chuckled and asked, "Wanna go out with me to this new marketplace? They have this place that does a fusion menu I've been wanting to try."

"Oh, I don't know, babes, I'm kinda out of clean underwear," you joked, both snorting identically.

"C'mon, pretty girl, go out with me. I'll even pay."

Apparently, in Carmy's mind, the phrasing 'go out with me' was purely platonic whereas to your ears, it was being asked out on an actual date. A miscommunication - or misunderstanding - that would position you both towards pain and difficulties.

"Oh, then I guess I can make it work. Where and what time do you wanna meet, Bear?"

"There's my girl," he smiled so prettily.

Carmy set the time. Carmy set the location. Carmy sought you out. Carmy asked you to go out with him. So, you didn't think to specifically clarify this meant Carmy was seriously committing because it sounded like a secure plan.

You should have.

Apparently, after parting ways with you, Claire contacted Carmy later in the night and made arrangements for their own date - on the same night, at the same time as his date with you. Carmy was so over the moon about going out with Claire, though, that he completely "forgot" to cancel on you, let alone tell you. Which felt very deliberate, considering the pair of you were so close, you were in the room post his appendix surgery - and if you've ever been there when someone's coming out of anesthesia, you know it can get kinda... intimate. So the fact that he never "thought" to tell you about Claire was a malicious blow - even if he did it unknowingly by being hyperfocused on where he'd take his lifelong crush, what he'd wear, even practicing certain topics of interest that would help him keep conversations flowing. The determination to make this date with Claire prove himself worthy of being loved, of being a priority in someone's life, mirrored your own desire - but specifically with Carmy.

You're not even sure how long you've harbored these feelings. Was it since high school? Maybe after? Was it before he left Chicago? Or when he was in Copenhagen, calling you when he got off work to chat on his walk 'home'? Maybe it was after he came back stateside and gifted you a leather-bound parchment journal where each page had a different dried, pressed, preserved floral. He labeled each bloom, dated the pages, and detailed where he was when he found each flower in silky ink from a fountain pen. The script truly looked poetic on the 'aged' pages.

"Oh, my God, Carmy - oh, wow! Look at this!" You gasped when presented the gift, gingerly leafing through the journal. "This is so - who thinks of something like this, wow, oh, look! Carm, I-I-I don't have the words, babes, this is just so beautiful, I'm blown away right now."

He shrugged sheepishly, hands in his pockets, "I picked any flower that reminded me of you." You'd come to read later that each page had an inked explanation of why these flowers made him think of you.

You beamed, clutching the journal to your chest, "Thank you so much, Carmy, I-I love it. No, really, I do!" You insisted when you saw his expression morph, "It's honestly the most thoughtful gift I've ever gotten, thank you so much."

"It's nothing," he eased, but the tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks were glowing bright. "I just didn't want to bring you home some novelty bullshit, like a 'I heart Copenhagen' mug; you deserved something better, more personal. You're a huge part of why I even went... Even bigger reason why I came back."

It was arduous to keep a level, pessimistic attitude; to gaslight yourself into believing your best friend didn't have feelings for you, that he was just being nice. Soon, it felt like wherever you turned, you had reason to suspect his feelings had changed; so upon being asked out, you abandoned logic and allowed yourself to flood with optimistic euphoria.

On Friday, you showed up at the agreed upon location; excited to take your taste buds on a culinary world tour without ever leaving Chicago with a real worldly chef. You thought you looked nice; carefully selected fashionable clothes (that ensured didn't look like you tried 'too hard') with chunky heels; your hair styled, make-up so perfect it could've been the featured look of a YouTube tutorial. Not wanting to wait on the sidewalk for safety reasons, you stepped into the fusion restaurant. After checking in with the hostess and earning a compliment from her on your fit, you were lead to a two-person table draped in navy linen with a contemporary floating candle centerpiece.

"Are you expecting company this evening?" She asked kindly, handing you a menu.

"Yeah, I'm just a little early. We're - yeah, no, I guess it's a date? He, um, he should be here soon," you rushed, flushing when you mentally scolded yourself that she didn't care and you needed to stop oversharing.

"Oh, no wonder you look so stylish!" She gushed. "He's gonna love it, you look beautiful - but not as much as I love your purse. I've always wanted one like it, but maybe in burgundy." You told her the store you got yours at, explaining it was a discount-department store buy, but the designer was sold at other easily accessible stores. It was nice to have a friendly, normal conversation; just two girlies, exchanging fashion tips which helped you feel all the calmer. The hostess who's badge read Laura nodded with a smile, "Is it okay to leave his menu here, then? I can take it back with me, if you wanna share?"

"No, no, you can leave it - I didn't bring my reading glasses," you tried to joke, wincing at the awkwardness.

"No problem," she set it down. "Can I get you anything in the meantime, honey?"

You almost laughed, instead smiling, "Oh, uh, water would be great, thank you."

The dining hall was relatively moderately full; several tables empty, waitstaff in matching navy uniforms dotted around, the lighting low to create a warm (or romantic) ambiance. You nervously checked the gold bracelet-watch inherited from your grandmother, clocking the time as 6:24.

There was no need to stress yet, so you studied the menu and made mental notes of what sounded good, what dish paired with what. A person could only look over menu options so many times, however, so you answered a few emails and texts before mindlessly scrolling through social medias to kill awkward time.

Around 7:05, your chest felt warm with something that made your intuition catch flame.

You texted Carmy: hey are you running late? you haven't texted me you're on the way yet 🤨

While to some, saying 'you haven't texted me yet' might sound a little overbearing, crazy, or pushy - maybe even spoiled - you did so because you knew how scatter brained Carmy was. He had an incredibly unpredictable, stressful, and chaotic job, which meant he sometimes lost track of time and needed reminders of other responsibilities / obligations outside The Beef, soon-to-be The Bear. You two had a friendship built on trust, fully able (and encouraged) to be yourselves and send borderline crazy messages to each other. You said it in person, why not over text?

The sweating glass of water was refilled, invisible timer ticking inconspicuously in the background, bread basket missing several sticks, the dining room now about 75% full.

Glancing around, you felt nauseated when you noted several couples enjoying romantic dinners; others with easy smiles and jovial laughter, happy to partake in the good tidings of loved ones. All around you, there was a smorgasbord of buzzing conversation you couldn't decipher. You had nothing else to do but focus on random moments of clarity, deducing some patrons were meeting for business; others were on dates, one table was celebrating their friend's new promotion, another, a birthday.

Yet here you sat, alone in the middle of a popular, high-trafficked restaurant; silent, isolated, feeling as if you were some zoo exhibit. Your plaque would read: Behold! The Stood-Up Single Woman!

While irrational, you felt other patron's beady eyes glazing over you - as if everyone could just tell what was happening. Their eyes made you sweat, feeling perceptive and heated, heavy and hateful. They watched you in your exhibit as if to affirm their situations could never be so bad because at least they weren't like you: stood-up, outcast, and humiliated. Their pity reeked. Their muttered words of prediction filled the stuffy space.

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

Tapping your phone screen set on the table, the time now glared as 7:33. So, you sent another text: uh, hello? Carmen! i thought we agreed to meet at 6:30? what's wrong?

Your message delivered, but there was no response.

Anxiety filled your heart, mind, and soul; being pumped through your veins to absorb in your bones - which created a sort of ripple effect within your chest and abdomen. Hair stood on the back of your neck. Stomach torqued in fear. Lungs deflated. Esophagus twisted. Chest hollowed and sunk. Right leg bounced at Olympic speed. Fingers twitched nervously, picking at cuticle, teeth chewing the skin off raw lips; eyes drawn to the entrance just in case Carmy showed up... In case anyone showed up. Skin burned and sizzled under the long, pitiful stares of patrons and employees alike. Heat flushed your body with embarrassment as if under Broadway stage lights; making you feel clammy and uncomfortable.

At 7:36, you double texted: Carmy?

Why wouldn't he answer you? Why wasn't his location updating? You worried something happened, he always messaged you when running late - so why not this time? Was something wrong? Did something happen? Wouldn't Sugar or Richie or one of the nine fucking Faks have called you?

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

At 7:45, Laura returned to your table, asking, "Would you like to see our drinks menu again?"

"Oh, uh, no, thank you, it's not necessary. Could I do another glass of Moscato, please?"

"Of course. Could I interest you in the bottle, you think?"

"At this point, yes ma'am," you chuckled at yourself.

"Any appetizers? Or more bread?" Laura asked sweetly.

You ordered multiple somethings to keep appearances, feeling bad you had sat there without ordering for so long; but also figuring if you were here, might as well enjoy trying something new, right? As the pretty young thing with a slicked back bun walked away, you were left to stare at the other undisturbed menu across from you, the candle wax dribbling into the water it floated on. Snatching your phone in hand, you glared at your message thread with Carmy, sending another: what the FUCK, Carm? answer your phone!

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

By 8:24, you had called him a total of 15 times.

The dining room was packed and poppin' by now, making shame cloud your shoulders from taking up precious optimal space on a popular date night. In truth, you didn't notice just how busy the dining room had gotten, but you know what they say? "Time flies when you're having fun," but it fucking trudges by in a mocking, lazy taunt when being actively humiliated.

At 8:32, your bottle of wine was polished off and you finally texted Richie: hey Cousin, is Carmy with you?

He answered within a fucking minute: no he left over a while ago for a date with Claire Bear

A record scratched in your brain, rapidly typing: what??? what does that mean???

Richie replied: damn, Cuzzo, you should know what a date is or has it been that long? 😂

Your throat swelled shut, nodding sadly and locking your phone; rolling your lips between your teeth to prevent yourself from having a very public, very emotional breakdown.

The invisible timer ticked slower, quieter.

With a sharp sniffle, you flagged Laura down, pointed at the menu, asking for your meal to-go and the check. She could hear the warble in your voice, so when she returned with your to-go order and check, Laura had snuck a couple extra things in your bag without charging you. And she only charged you for a glass of wine, not the bottle.

Laura earned herself a generous gratuitous tip as well as all the cash in your wallet, being a little over $150.

Returning home around 9:03, you could identify the dreadful feelings of rejection; how forgotten, taken for granted, disappointed, abandoned, replaced you felt. Unloading the food on the counter, you made yourself a plate and looked at your phone one last time. There was still nothing from Carmy, but Richie had texted you again: you good, Cuzzo? what you need Carmy for?

Changed into a set of cozy clothes, you curled up on the couch with your food and another glass of wine; faithful, loyal, loving dog(go) hopping up beside you. Switching something on the TV, you answered Richie with one hand while fending off the pup: nothing important anymore, Cuzzo. we can talk tomorrow!

It was a strange sensation; that blatant sting of betrayal and rejection from someone who was never supposed to hurt you. If Carmy didn't return your affection, that was okay! That was perfectly fine! That was ideal, even, because you never wanted to jeopardize losing him from your life so even if you couldn't be with him, you'd rather be his friend than nothing at all. But what isn't okay, is standing you up. Forgetting you. Neglecting you. Unjustly shaming you. Publicly humiliate you. Disrespecting you. After over a decade of friendship, didn't you deserve better than that? Of course, you did - so why did Carmy subject you to such degradation? Was Claire so hypnotizing, enchanting, bewitching, she successfully managed to block all your Carmy sensors? Or were you just that forgettable?

There were too many overwhelming emotions pinballing around your heart, mind, and soul to even begin processing. So, you cuddle your most loyal companion who would never betray or abandon you, ate what you could, polished off any wine, set several alarms on your phone, and laid down on your couch to be lulled into restlessness by the sounds of whatever comfort show was left on.

After getting up early to shower off the previous night, you got ready for work and made the trek through the city. While your couch was comfortable, you didn't sleep well; eyes heavy from their sting, second cup of coffee already in your travel mug, movements sluggish. You would've called out, but today was one of those days you had to go over some legal and logistical shit with your Uncle Cicero.

So here you were.

"Yo, Cuzzo! Hey-hey, good mornin', sweetheart!"

With a tired sigh, you spied Richie outside The Beef, smoking, watching you with a smirk. "Mornin', Richie-Rich," you tried to sound as if you hadn't been awake all night.

"Well, don't you look fuckin' peachy?"

"Fuck off, I'm not in the mood."

He held a hand out to prevent you from passing him, asking, "Yo... Hold on, what's good with you? And don't feed me no bullshit, I know something's wrong. You look like shit - but I mean that in concern, Cuzzo."

You decided not to comment, answering instead, "I just didn't sleep last night."

"Uh-huh... And?"

"And what?"

"That's it?"

You shrugged, "Nothing else worth dwelling over."

Richie cocked his head, "The fuck does that mean? Here," he offered his cigarette, which you accepted.

"Nothing's wrong, can we just - "

"Fuck all the way off," he scoffed, "you know the sooner you tell me, the sooner I stop askin'."

"It's... It's really stupid, Cousin."

"Don't make no difference to me; if it's bothering you, tell me."

You dropped the butt of the cigarette to the sidewalk, squashing it under your heel before leaning back into the wall with a long sigh. "I should preface this all by admitting, I might have feelings for Carmy - "

"Yeah, no fucking shit," Richie laughed, seeing your deadpanned expression. "Dude, holy shit, everyone can see it except you two idiots, it was high time someone admitted it. Tina and Mikey used to have a bet going about y'all ending up together."

Your frown deepened. "Right, well, glad everyone's so entertained and well-versed on my doomed love life," your eyes rolled.

"'Doomed'?" Richie chuckled, stopping when your expression turned crestfallen, rushing, "Woah, hey, I'm just teasin' you. C'mon, Honey, tell me how you're doomed?"

You were quiet, staring at your sneakers as you tried to build the courage to verbalize the situation. See, once you said it out loud (and to anyone), it becomes tangible, public, and undeniably real. You didn't want this to be real.

Just as Richie was opening his mouth to question (or nag) you, you admitted, "Carmy and I had plans to go to dinner last night..."

Richie paused, then asked, "But he was with Claire?"

"Exactly."

"I... Don't think I follow, Cuzzo?"

You huffed, "Cousin, Carm asked me to dinner, right?" Richie nodded. "He picked the time and place, then apparently, made plans with Claire but didn't tell the other. So, I got there last night, right? I waited for two hours, Cousin, but Carmy never showed, never answered my messages. He stood me up. He chose Claire."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Unfortunately."

"Wait, lemme get this straight. So, he asked you out?"

"Yes."

"And made a legit plan? To link up? Time, place, whole thing?"

"Yeah."

Richie readjusted his stance, his anger flaring - reminding you of the diagram Lilo drew for Stitch to show how full of 'bad' he was. "And you're saying, you got there, waited for him for hours - fuckin' plural - and he didn't show up? No text, no call, no nothing?"

"Correct. I called and texted plenty, though. No answer."

"Right, but he didn't cancel your date when Claire came in the picture? Or vice versa, what-the-fuck-ever?"

"Nah."

"Just left you there? Alone?"

"Yep."

"Hold up, hold up. Homie made a date with Claire Bear before or after he made one with you?"

"Now that, I don't know. But does it matter which date came first, he still stood me up for someone else."

Richie blinked a few times, nodding silently with pursed lips. Then he snarled and tried to surge past you for the door, "Oh, I'll fuckin' kill him - "

"Yo, yo, yo, hang on! Wait, hold up! Leave it be, Cousin, it's not worth the hassle - "

"Nah, nah, nah! He doesn't get off scot-free! Nobody puts Baby in a corner and nobody fucks with Honey!" The two of you tussled on the sidewalk, you refusing to let him pass but him being stronger. It was quite the sight.

"No more Dirty Dancing references!"

"Hater! Lemme go, Honey!"

"Listen to me! Please, for fuck's sake! I don't want this to be anything bigger than it already is! Listen to me, I just want to get some work done with Cicero and go home. Okay? Okay? Goddamnit, Richie! It's not the time for this! Leave it alone for today! I just want peace!"

Richie eventually calmed down enough to let you push him back a couple feet. It took two more cigarettes, but you managed to pacify Richie enough for you to enter The-under-construction-Beef together, discovering most employees already present. Yet, in a rare and odd occurrence, Carmy wasn't; which would've normally confused or worried you, but now, only relieved you. As project manager, you worked intimately with Carmy on a daily basis - which poses as an obstacle if you were trying to avoid him - but without him, you could focus on getting work done and not dodging him.

"Behave," you reminded Richie in a lower register. He swatted at you, picking at a donut Marcus created.

"Mornin', Miss Mamas," Tina greeted, glancing over her shoulder to flash you a warm smile - requiring a double take. "Oh, baby, you look exhausted."

"I feel exhausted," you cleared your throat, greeting her with a quick peck to her cheek.

"Oh! So she can say it and it's fine? But when I do it, it's an issue? This is hypocrisy! Double standard bullshit!" Richie barked with laughter, shuffling past with a swift peck to your temple. Tina pushed at his belly as he passed, making him grunt and flinch dramatically.

You asked Tina, "Is Cicero here yet?"

"In the back with Sugar, baby."

"Thank you, Chef."

Richie watched you walk away from Tina only for Marcus to stop you, then Ibrahim needed something and it looked like everyone was gearing up to bring some kind of problem to your plate. Like a good cousin, Richie swooped in to place a donut in your hand, "All right, all right, back off, you jagoffs, let the lady breathe." He shooed you onward, feeling protective enough to intercept anyone to give you the space you needed after last night. You told him you wanted to work and go home, so he was going to do what he could to give that to you. The moment you disappeared into the office, Richie hissed to any surrounding employees, "Get the fuck over here!"

"The fuck, Richie?" Tina snipped, "We got work t'do, baby."

"I know," he rushed, glancing over his shoulder, then back at the others, "but I want everyone to go. Fuckin'. Easy. On Y/N today. Okay? Got it? She's got some shit to do with Cicero and then she's gonna go home - so, let's make sure that happens, no exceptions."

"What happened? What's wrong? Is she okay?" Marcus asked in concern, his frown deep enough to lower his brows.

"Yeah, Richie, you can't say that and then not explain," Syd tacked on. "I'll talk to her. -"

With grit teeth, Richie scooted in front of Syd and warned, "Hey. She's my fuckin' family, right? I'll protect her from anything - including you jagoffs, so leave her alone today. Okay? That's all I'm asking - Leave. Her. Alone." He glanced around and lowered his voice as the others all dipped inward to hear him, "Fuckin' Carmy asked her onna date last night then stood her up and went out with Claire instead."

This caused an angry ripple to emit from the huddle. You were none the wiser; in the office, sat at the desk to go over what Sugar had prepared for your review. Cicero leaned on the desk beside your chair, arms crossed, just watching you as if a bug under a magnifying glass. He pushed his glasses up by one finger to the noseband, glancing at Sugar and asking, "You all right, doll?" There was a pause, then a hand nudged your shoulder, "Honey? You hear me?"

"Hmm?" You looked up, "Oh, wait, sorry, were you talkin' to me, Unc?"

"Yeah, darling. I mean, you look pretty tired, just asking if you're all right?"

"Wow, I come into work as my most beautiful, natural self and all anyone can say is I look tired?" You laughed, trying to lighten the mood, "Maybe I do need make-up."

"You're also in joggers."

"I didn't feel like putting jeans on this morning, sue me."

"And you're quiet as hell."

"So? Usually you're telling me to shut up."

"You have a college degree in yapping," Cicero chuckled, "so when you go silent, I know something's wrong."

"I'd have multiple PhD's if yapping was a real major," you joked. "But I promise, Unc, I'm all right. I didn't sleep last night, so, after we get this shit done, I'm gonna head out."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, Unc. Tell you what, you can even drive me home when we're done."

Cicero nodded, "Good deal. Then, let's get crackin'."

It was the worst timing in the History of Clocks.

Pete called Sugar several times, so she finally answered when Cicero needed to run to the restroom; leaving you alone and defenseless in the office as Richie was out back for a smoke break. Carmen apparently arrived just in time, all but bolting into the office when he didn't immediately clock you in the kitchen.

The invisible timer began to tick.

"There you are!" Carmy gasped, startling you enough for your knees to bang up into the desk. "Ohhh, shit," he blinked when you grunted and rubbed your legs, "I'm so sorry, Honey, that was my fault, I should've called or something as I came in."

"It's fine, Carmen. Look, uh," you gestured to the paperwork before you, "we're almost done here, do you need something or can it wait? Kinda your restaurant on the clock..."

"I mean, it can wait, but are you busy, like, right now-right now? 'Cause, lookit, I gotta tell you, I had the best fucking night. I'm so serious, Honey. I went out with Claire - you remember Claire, right? - and it was, wow, just wow - I mean, this girl is the whole package, you know?" You bristled when he took a seat on the edge of your workspace and realized he was carefully avoiding usual pet names. He continued to ramble on about his incredible date with the incredible Claire, missing your lips pursed in patient annoyance as you listened to him without reaction; staring emotionlessly at the laptop screen. "Hey," Carmy waved a hand in front of you, causing you to flinch and automatically look towards him - albeit in annoyance. "Where are you right now? You're not here, in the present with me. You all right?"

You couldn't help but bite, "Mhm. Where's your phone?"

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

"What?"

"Your phone, Carmy, the thing you pay a monthly bill for so people can get in touch with you, or you with them. Ring any bells? Where's your phone, it'll play bells for you."

"Woah, hey," his hands went up in defense, "what's with the hostility? I left my phone somewhere here last night, Honey."

"Oh, sure. How convenient - "

"No, look, I'm serious - look, look around the fuckin' desk!"

You glared at him before shuffling the few papers and files, ready to snarl at him when you found his phone. "Why's it here?" You asked stiffly, handing over the shut-off device.

"I forgot it, I was in a bit of a rush."

"There a reason for your rushing?"

"Yeah, to get to my date with Claire - see, you weren't even listening to me, were you?" He let a twinge of frustration taint his tone, "You wanna bite my fuckin' head off about my fuckin' phone that I forgot at work, fine; but you're so mad about it that you didn't even listen to me? Jesus, fuck, who are you, my mother?"

You swear you heard 'oooohs' coming from outside the office.

"Oh, fuck you, Carmen! How about you check your messages before trying to come at me, you fuckin' bitch," you snapped, slapping your laptop closed and starting to pack up the desk.

"What the fuck are you so pissed off for? 'Cause I didn't text you 'goodnight' or 'good morning'? Grow the fuck up - "

"Hey!" Cicero charged into the office, interrupting the argument. "I don't know what the fuck is happening, but we're busy in here, Carmy - "

"No, actually... Actually, we're done for the day, Unc, I can do everything else at home."

"No, Honey, hang on - "

You stood abruptly to gather the last files from the desk, "No, it's fine, I'm exhausted anyway. I got stood up last night waiting for this jackass, so as you can imagine, I just want to go home, away from any and all others right now."

"Woah, hang on," Carmy pleaded, checking his repeatedly dinging phone he managed to turn on, "wait, what the fuck is this? Why did you call me - holy shit, seventeen times?!"

"Could you drop me at home, Uncle?" You pleaded softly.

"Of course, princess, but what the fuck is going on?"

You could only manage a fake, sad smile, "Carmy's the jackass who stood me up last night."

"No fuckin' shit!" Cicero gasped, looking between you. "Uh, yeah, yeah, Honey, sure, I can take you home, c'mon, let's go."

"I left these for Sugar, they're all filled out if she can just file them - the rest I can do from home," you tapped the files left behind, leading the way out of the office; Carmy stood to the side in shock as he caught up on his messages. "Think we could grab something to eat on the way?" You asked, desperate for distraction.

"Whatever you want, doll, of course," Cicero agreed easily, following you at a close range. The others scattered like roaches, pretending they weren't listening, but... C'mon... You know?

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

"Wait! Wait, Honey! Please, hang on," Carmy called after you, repeatedly shouting your name. "Wait, please, wait, wait, wait, hang on!" He pleaded in a race against time to clear the kitchen and reach you before you could walk away from him for good. His hand wrapped around your upper arm in a desperate attempt to stop you, but it only made you flinch.

"Carmen," Cicero spat in warning.

"It's okay, Unc. It's okay, we should probably hash this out, you know? I can - I'll meet you out front," you promised softly, patting his arm raised to protect you from Carmy's grab.

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

Cicero gave a 'harrumph' and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, glaring at Carm before taking his leave. You huffed and crossed your arms, turning to face your best friend, sneering, "What could you possibly have to say to me? You said enough last night."

"The fuck does that mean, we didn't even talk!"

You snapped, "Your silence was really fucking informative, Carmen!"

"That's what you're not fucking explaining to me! I don't even know what you're mad about!"

There was satirical amusement donning your expression as you gave a gruff chortle of disbelief. So, you broke it down, "By you not canceling the second you and Claire made plans or remembered you made plans with her first, by not answering me all night and humiliating me, leaving me there, alone, so you could go out with Claire said all I needed to hear. It was all you had to say. You were so fucking loud, it's a miracle I haven't burst an eardrum!"

"Honey," he sighed like you were a child throwing a tantrum, "it was an honest mistake. I don't get why you're blowing this up? We've literally forgotten about plans before, just help me understand why this one is so different? I want to fix this, tell me what the fuck is going on!"

Speaking of bursting an eardrum, the invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

Tears broke your waterline, "You've always been my best friend, Carm."

"You're mine, too - "

"But at some point, things changed for me. I get it's a personal problem, so I kept quiet because I loved being your friend, being in your life - I tried not to be greedy, but now I see we were just racing this inevitable clock. When you and I went through everything with Mikey, I thought it made us closer, stronger - "

"It did!"

" - but I also thought that maybe you weren't seeing me as before, as some kid, but as I am now - a woman."

"Honey..."

"Let me finish," you bit off, tears dripping down both your cheeks. "I still never said anything, I never wanted to pressure you, and truthfully, I always knew you had a thing for Claire, I knew one day someone would come around and replace me, but I still loved you. Despite everything with my family, with yours, I loved you. Despite any of my own reservations, my own fear about ruining what we have because it's better than losing you completely, I loved you. Despite the physical distance and all of your emotional distance, I loved you. And then, you come up to me, out of nowhere, and you asked me to go out with you. Twice, you phrased it that way, Carm."

"Honey, baby, please - "

"You asked me to go out with you, you set the time and place, I agreed. I showed up... I sat there as people came and went through the night, Carmen. It was humiliating an-and degrading and mortifying. Only to find out within seconds from Richie that you had left for a date with Claire - when there I was, alone, waiting for you, too. Like I said, I always knew you had a thing for her, and I knew one day someone would replace me, but holy fucking shit, Carm, I thought you had a little more decency, more respect than that after years of friendship - "

"How could you say that to me?" Carmy snapped with tears racing down both your cheeks, mindful of the distance as to not crowd you. "Knowing you're my best friend, the only person - "

"How could you leave me there, Carmen!?" You cried, making him freeze. "That was downright cruel and so fucking hurtful. So much so, in fact... I-It makes me feel we shouldn't talk for a while."

"What?"

"I'm so sorry, Carm, but I just - I don't think it's fair to anyone involved, nor those around us, to remain friends right now. So, we just... Need a break, or something. Being your friend is too fucking hard and so exhausting, it's been at my expense... We just need a break."

"No, hey, h-h-hang on a second, baby, wait, please," he halted you from turning away. "Listen to me, please, I'm so sorry. I really am, sweetheart, I'm so fucking sorry. Okay? I-I'm so sorry I forgot my phone and didn't see your calls or texts - "

You let your hand wave as if to physically pause the conversation, breathing, "That's what you think I'm upset about?"

"Well, yeah, and I'm sorry I couldn't call you, but you saw, you found it - I forgot my phone!"

"No... No, you didn't forget your phone, Carmen. Jesus Christ, you forgot me," you whispered, taking two steps back so he couldn't touch you even if he tried. "I really don't think we should talk anymore, okay? What you did was really fucked up, what you made me feel was even worse. I'll still help with the restaurant, I promised I would, and unlike you, I can be taken for my word because it means something. But I don't think you and I should work together, you make me so fucking uncomfortable - "

"No, hey, wait, baby, please, listen, listen, listen - I made one mistake," he pleaded, trying to step towards you but you reared back another three. "W-Why're you punishing me - punishing us - for one mistake? Please, Honey, I know I fucked up, but let me fix this!"

"Well, a stitch in time saves nine."

"The fuck?" Carmy chided, eyes narrowed.

"It means by doing proper the first time, you avoid problem later - but you don't have a lick of accountability, do you? No forethought, no comprehension to how your actions will affect others! It's not just 'one mistake', it's not just you standing me up, Carmy! Jesus, fuck, it's everything! I just poured my fucking heart out and you can't even say you love me back, can you?" You gave no time to answer, "No, of course not, because it's Claire - it's always gonna be Claire! It's always gonna be someone! So, I-I can't play second fiddle anymore, I won't - I can't be in love with you while you're in love with someone else, Carm. You've kept me on your back burner for too long, you forgot me, so you're not allowed to be surprised the kettle still whistles. I just can't do this, Carm, it's complicated and it hurts, it's not fair to either of us. So, I'll remove myself, no problem and work from home, but if I have to be here, please, limit our interactions best you can. For my sake, I'm begging you, give me fucking space."

"You're just gonna throw us away? I fuck up once, and that's it? Just like that?" Carmy begged, sounding earnestly confused. He looked like a kicked puppy. It broke your heart in a way last night couldn't. "I made one mistake, Honey, okay, yes, I take full responsibility! Please, let me try to fix this, okay? Please? I'm so sorry, I know that doesn't cover it, but lemme try to make all of this up to you. C'mon, baby, please, don't let me be the reason we both lose - just - okay, just let me fix this, please!"

"No, you know what? I'm not throwing anything away, I never did, Carm, you did when you chose Claire over me," you shrugged, tears strangling you once more. "Now, I need space... Can you give that to me or is that too much to ask for?"

"Why're you talkin' t'me like that? I-I'll give you whatever you ask for, Honey, you know that," Carmen sniffled, eyes reddening by the minute; hands going from hips to hair to forehead and back, unsure what to do.

You managed to get out, "I don't even know you anymore, it seems," before fleeing the kitchen, lungs choking on nothing. You couldn't get air in. You couldn't push any out, it was all so choppy and violent. With a hollow chest, you escaped out the front door; hating that you had to ignore Sugar and Richie calling after you, stumbling on the sidewalk and into Cicero's idling car.

"All right, let it out, you're all right, Honey. You're safe with Uncle Cicero," he soothed, rubbing your back as he pulled into traffic. "I know, I know... We all know, I'm so sorry this happened. What a fuckin' jagoff - you want me to pull my money from this restaurant? I'll do it - I'll do whatever - "

"No, no, no," you whimpered, sniffling and wiping your cheeks. "While I appreciate your ready and willingness to defend me, I don't want it at Carm's expense. I'll just work from home, it's not a big deal, and then... Maybe if I have to come in, I know Richie will be there to be a buffer, but maybe you could - "

"I'll be there whenever you ask, princess, you know that."

"Thank you," you squeaked as he drove past your usual street. "Oh, uh, I'm down South - "

"I thought we could make a run to the store, make sure you have all your comfort snacks so you don't have to go back out. Or do you wanna go straight home? You tell me, princess."

You gave a watery smile, a new wave of emotion choking your words, "Snacks would be really nice, thank you."

"You have dinner?"

"I don't know - "

"We'll get you some," he comforted, patting your knee as you just needed a safe space to cry. And for now, that was the front seat of your Uncle Cicero's 6-figure car.

You knew it was a formal invitation the moment you caught sight of it at your doorstep, indicating it was hand-delivered and not sent through the mail. It sent a flurry of unknown emotion through your veins; angry by its arrival, yet excited by what it meant. With a glance up and down the hall of your apartment landing, you found yourself alone; bending to pluck up the envelope and enter your home. Keys to the bowl, shoes left at the door in the foyer, coat hung up, purse deposited to the available end table; phone being pocketed as you turned for the kitchen to drop all mail on the counter.

You didn't open anything.

Instead, you got on with your evening after working your usual 9-5. After a steaming-hot shower, you smeared on a facemask to hydrate your tired skin; then shimmied into soft loungewear and fixed your hair for the night. In the living room, you turned on Netflix for background noise before scouring your kitchen for an appropriate dinner that would hopefully nourish you after such a busy day. You debated a glass of wine, thinking you didn't need it, but then pouring one as the glittering envelope taunted you from where you left it. You drank, glaring at the little piece of stationary as you cooked a simple stir fry concoction. Carmy taught you to clean while you cook, so, once your meal was dished up and whatever could've been stored in the dishwasher was, you poured yet another glass of wine, snatched the invitation, then nestled in the living room with your meal.

You still didn't open it.

The coffee table was larger than others; big enough to double as a work desk; the perfect height for you to still access while lounged back on the sofa. You had all kinds of documents spread, most pertaining to The Bear - which was finally set to open in about a week. It would've been an exhilarating time of celebration... Should you have been able to feel anything other than outright heartache.

For weeks now, you hadn't spoken to Carmy, the longest you've gone in your lives. You simply weren't ready to face the other side of rejection; spending this time building yourself up as an independent woman who didn't need no man, even if that man was your best friend. The idea that there was no place for you in Carmy's life or room for him in yours felt farfetched and illegal in some manner, as if it were taboo. You had a lot of navigating to do, and much farther to go, but for now, you were still in the adjustment phase. Never had you been without each other, it was weird to think this was it, there wasn't any going back; at least, not from you, yet, after such a putrid display of disrespect.

While you were stood up in just one restaurant, you avoided the entire marketplace as a whole out of sheer embarrassment. Granted, it wasn't a place you frequented, but it was still a hotspot some other friends had discovered and wanted to meet at for your weekly hang-outs. You couldn't tell them how triggered you felt because you didn't want to limit places to go, so, you figured bailing on them was the better option. It's not like you lied when you said you couldn't see them because of work - which was typically really crazy - but you could still make time if you wanted to; you had before. That's how much Carmy's hurt debilitated you, though.

Your plate was left to the side, dog sniffing around in the hopes of licking up whatever scraps you might've dropped; one hand holding the glass of wine, the other pinching the envelope by the corner. Deciding it was now or never, you ripped open the seal and retrieved the contents with delicate fingers, as if it would burn you.

The invisible timer started to tick.

You ignored the use of parchment paper. You ignored the perfume slightly wafting from it. You ignored the familiar script in silky ink. You ignored the certain choices you remember picking out, now used officially on the friends and family opening night invite.

You smiled sadly, letting the parchment card fall to the envelope left on the coffee table's corner. You took a long breath in, jaw wriggling; tears slowly forming, but not falling. For weeks, you had avoided any direct reminder of what happened; knowing you still worked as project manager, but able to sort of schedule your emotions around deadlines and necessary interactions. This particular piece of mail was impending, but unexpected today; where being invited to see the completed restaurant you helped design and erect was all but expected - just not today, per se. While every fiber of your being wanted to attend, nothing felt right about accepting when you knew you'd more than likely run into Claire and would have to interact with the others.

It felt too soon.

You had no right to go around any of them anymore.

What would you say?

Sniffling your emotion with a deep sigh, you leaned back to your back couch cushion with the last of your wine tipping to your mouth. While petting your pooch fondly, you wrestled mentally pros and cons, different logistics, like: who did you message your rejection or acceptance to? Did you bring a date? Did you go with Cicero? Were you supposed to wait after the crowd cleared to mingle with your friends? Were they still your friends? What did you wear? Should you make legit plans with other people so you had plenty of distraction that evening? So you had a solid alibi? Would anyone even question your absence?

Your dog whined when your phone vibrated violently in a phone call from another cushion. With a sigh, you leaned forward to set your wine glass down and snatch the offending object, answering, "Hey, Unc."

"Hey, princess. You busy? This a bad time?"

"No, no, I just finished dinner and am trying to will myself to finish the dishes. What're you up to?"

"Gettin' ready for bed - just wanted to check in on you..."

"Ohhh, I get it - so, you got a pretty little invite in the mail, too, huh?"

"I got something, yeah. I think it looks pretty nice, don't you think? Definitely Sugar's design."

You held back your sarcastic quip about how you had all but designed the invites, so, you answered instead, "Yeah, real nice, Unc, yeah, she's got real talent. You goin'?"

"Uh-huh, no beating 'round the bush with you, is there?" He sighed, making you smirk broadly, "I am, I'm goin', gotta visit my money, you know? Well, I was wonderin' if you wanted to go with me?"

"Oh, Unc - "

"I know, I know, but it could be nice. Just us! Or we could double date? My treat - I'm paying - "

"I don't know if I can go yet, I haven't checked my schedule. I got home, made dinner, ate, answered your call."

"Oh, shit," he laughed. "Well, you think about it and let me know, Honey, okay? Okay, seriously, it'll be nice, we can go together, or separate - you know, don't let me cramp your style."

You laughed, "Nah, you kinda up my game."

"As I should. All right, pumpkin, well, I should run - but you think about it, let me know what you think, okay?"

"Okay, Unc, sounds good. We'll talk soon, I love you. Goodnight."

"Love you, too, doll, goodnight."

The invisible timer ticked louder.

The invitation was the only thing clipped to the front of your fridge. It taunted you at every passing moment. For days, it demanded your attention - succeeding only because you knew you had to RSVP to someone. Friday loomed closer and closer, Cicero had sent you two reminder texts, and try as you might, the fracture to your heart wasn't easily plastered.

There was nothing but heavy pain each time you thought about attending, so, on Wednesday night, you texted Sugar: hey babe! love that F&F is happening! sadly i have some work shit to do so i can't be there ☹️💔 but the invites are gorgeous! congrats on everything, i can't wait to see it! thanks for thinking of me for the guest list! good luck on Friday! 😘

Then you texted Cicero you couldn't make it, and while he understood, Sugar replied: Thank you, my love. Fak was so proud to show us how to work Canva for those invites 😂 Sure there isn't anything I can do to change your mind? We'd all love to see you there!

You answered: no way, this looks like real handwriting! technology's going too far. and yeah babes, i'm sure, i got work shit so unless you yell at my boss, i'm kinda stuck 😂

Curiously, Sugar requested a photo of your invite; but without curiosity, she also requested your boss' phone number. After you sent the image, she replied: Oh wow! I guess Carmy went rogue and gave you a fancy handwritten invite. What a jerk. Is he still a jerk? I can't remember, we haven't talked about what happened! 🥲

You promised: nothing to talk about now, Sugar Mama. all good! i gotta run but i love you congrats again, gooooooooodnight! ❤️

You hated avoidance; the dejection, festering unworthiness, self-imposed punishment and isolation. Yet it was all you had now, rationalizing you were protecting yourself and this was a necessary defense for your newly instated peace. Sometimes, you had to do things like miss events because you're healing - and that should always take precedence because you were nobody's priority but your own.

You put a red line on your calendar through the words 'THE BEAR', nodding as if in assurance of your decision, then yanked the invitation from your fridge. Yet you hovered over the trash can, fingering the lettering and remembering Sugar's text: Carmy went rogue and gave you a fancy handwritten invite.

The trash can lid slammed shut.

The invisible timer ticked slower, quieter.

In your bedroom, you pulled a handheld trunk from your closet and knelt to the floor. Inside the trunk, you had placed all triggering Carmy centric mementos and memorabilia; dropping the invite to the towering piles. You carefully pushed some letters out of the way to pick up the journal he gifted from Denmark; flipping it open to any random page for study. Then you compared it to your invite and let a small, fond smile tug on yours lips; confirming it was Carmy's script, that he had, indeed, gone rogue.

When the trunk shut, so did the lid of your feelings.

Opening night had been something of a disaster, but the staff was ready to handle whatever obstacle. Granted, the head chef getting locked in the walk-in freezer wasn't on anyone's bingo card, Sydney was still a fucking superstar and commanded the kitchen in a gorgeously fluid and respectful manner. Richie stepped up and proved he was a newly-appointed expert in hospitality. Fak could take... some... direction. All in all, while not ideal or what was expected, it was an incredibly successful opening night! The staff was all rightfully proud of themselves, riding euphoric adrenaline highs.

The invisible timer began ticking.

Despite knowing Carmy had been freed from the freezer, nobody could locate him. Some theorized he went home to blow off steam, others teased maybe he went home with Claire - missing the way she left in tears earlier. However, when Tina, Fak, Syd, and Richie left the kitchen, they paused and let their proud smiles drop upon discovery of Carmy sitting, alone, in a back booth of his restaurant.

A dim, yet unmistakable comparison to what he did to you months ago.

There was temptation to leave him there; the entirety of the staff pissed off to the point they were giving Carm the cold shoulder for what he did to you. They credited you with damn near everything "The Bear" was, because while not your idea, not your dream, you gave it life and brought this place into fruition. Not to mention, you had taken on work as project manager for free - paid in the value of knowing you were helping such a good cause. A good family. It was a repeating fact; your everlasting endearment and compulsive support for anything and everything 'Berzatto'.

Yet despite their own simpering feelings, it was all dwarfed on examination of Carmy's decidedly pathetic statue. Syd felt a level of guilt the entire night, feeling it increase on sight of her technical boss; but to Fak, Richie, and Tina, who took Carm's slight against you personally, this was a heart-melting sight. There was a strange, mutual desire where the group went from wanting to kick Carmy's ass to just wanting to give him a hug and help the poor emotionally-inept dumbass.

"Go," Tina snarled quietly, pinching Richie's under arm.

"Me!?" He spat in shock, "Man, hell nah, fuck that guy!"

"Fuck you, too, Richie, c'mon," Sydney chided, pushing past them to lead the way up to Carmy. "Uh... Heeey, Chef?" She greeted in an unsure, sing-song voice.

"Chefs," he nodded meekly, immediately looking back to his anxiously twiddling fingers.

"Hey, Carm," Fak smiled warmly. "Whatcha doin' here, bud? Why're you all alone? In the dark? That's kinda creepy, dude."

"Nah, nothin'. Just, uh... Just waitin'."

"For what?" Fak asked, Richie smacking his arm. The tattooed man with a mustache flinched and cried, "What!? Now I can't ask my friends questions!? He's the one sitting in the dark like the Undertaker! Jesus!"

"Dude, just pause, be quiet," Richie scolded, shaking his head to silence the confused Fak. At Carmy, Richie directed, "Yo, Cousin, c'mon, let's just - let's all go home. C'mon, man, let's go. It's closing time."

"Yeah, yeah, uh," Carmy sniffled, "you guys go 'head, I'm gonna wait up for a bit."

"Carmy, it's late," Syd tried, "we aren't just gonna leave you here. So, come with us."

"Yeah, baby, c'mon," Tina tacked on in sympathy, "it's been a helluva night, we should all get some rest."

Fak and Syd and Tina all tried to encourage him with them, but Richie remained silent; just surveying the Chef. When a natural lull came after Carmy insisted again they go on without him, Richie scoffed, "Dude, c'mon... You know she's not comin'."

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

"Richie," Tina hissed.

"What?" He barked with his hand raised, glaring at Carm. "C'mon, man, it's late, she knew what time this was - and she told Sugar she couldn't make it 'cause of work. That's pretty definite. So... So, c'mon, let's go, dude, she's not comin'."

Before anyone could intervene again, Carmy snapped, "You don't know her like I do, Cousin."

"Know what? Fine," Richie laughed sardonically, "fucking fine, rot here for all I care, man - "

"No, c'mon, Richie! Hey! Don't be like that!" Tina called after him, sighing in defeat. "Sorry, Chef, I gotta run - " She leaned into the booth to peck Carmy's cheek before rushing her farewells to the others, then running out the door, calling, "Richie! Wait, baby, hold on!"

Sydney and Fak awkwardly stood around, not knowing what to do or say, so Carmy insisted they go home, too; he was gonna wait just a little longer for you then head out. They believed him, or at least, enough to listen to their bodies and go home for some form of rest. Carmy twisted the locks on all doors after them, leaving only the front undone with his seat facing directly forward.

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

He waited with his elbows on bouncing knees. He waited and devised his nonnegotiable list. He waited with his feet in the booth. He waited while rearranging his ideal table setting. He waited and redid the tape in the walk-in. He waited on the sidewalk, chain smoking. He waited while scrubbing the kitchen, top-to-bottom. He waited and took liquor inventory.

He waited, replaying the events of your fight in his mind. He hated what he said, how he behaved, the expression on your face; praying you'd accept his olive branch - thinking a handwritten invitation was enough. Carmy just assumed you'd remember he was better at talking rather than writing or texting - hoping his script was enough for you to know he wanted to see you in person, not just send messages of apology. He wanted you to have space, he thought a couple of months was enough; so, hopefully you were still fluent in the words he never spoke or wrote.

This inspired Carmy to call Richie's phone to leave a voicemail of apology and love after reminiscing their own fight. It also made him want to call you, too - but this urge was resisted when the image of your heartbroken expression shot to mind.

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

Eventually, Carmy settled in the corner booth; arms crossed, feet up, still watching the door. He noted the sun was rising and the city waking up; cars buzzing by, commuters starting to crowd the sidewalk. His eyes burned with the yearn for sleep, yet his mind would not quell; unable to forget your tears, the devastation you showed, how he was the sole cause of it all.

Carmy repeated he was a failure, he let you down and betrayed any and all trust the pair of you had in one another. He should've told you the truth; that he could see himself loving you romantically, he just never thought it was an option, so it purely wasn't on his radar. In Carmy's mind, even trying to cross such an important friendzone could make you feel unsafe if you didn't feel the same way; so it was something he wrote off long ago. It was part of why Claire was so tempting to him, but he needed you - like a fish needed water.

He was able to comprehend (now) that his actions weighed on more than himself, but you, too; that given proximity, you were forever doomed - or destined - to be his collateral damage. Carmy also understood this wasn't a lease you could continue to cosign for any longer when he desecrated the house and home your friendship lived in. So, it was his job to prove he could be the man you fell in love with, that he could deserve you; all he needed was a chance, and it was better late than never.

Understandably, Carmy felt pitiful, purely ridiculous that this is what it took for him to realize nobody mattered to him more than you; nobody could ever compare, there would never be a competition. That he didn't care for Claire's thoughts, opinions, nor ideas like yours; how he found himself wanting to impress you, not her; hating when his phone rang with her ID and not yours. You had given Carmen exactly what he wanted, and yet, it was everything he hated and nothing he needed. Carmy prayed to an unspecified deity that your decade+ friendship was strong enough to withstand - or recover from - his insolence.

Yet when the front door opened, it revealed only Richie; a delight unto itself, but not the ray of sunshine the mournful Chef desired.

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

Carmy deflated with definitive defeat into the booth, tears falling in rapid finality. His lips parted just a fraction to let his breath escape in easier huffs, a buzzing whine filling his ears as icy realization washed over him: your friendship was truly well and over.

"Cooked," as the kids say. Your friendship was cooked.

Richie paused in the walkway, sighing deeply before slowly moseying over. He silently placed a twin cup of coffee to the table and dropped to the booth across from Carmy, both silent and stewing. Richie peaked up first, finding Carmen's attention locked on the door like a golden retriever; but the flooding tears halted any derisive comment he instinctively wanted to hurl. Richie asked before taking a sip of coffee, "She didn't show, did she?"

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

"Nah, she didn't," Carmy whispered, the tears flowing faster, "'cause I really fucked up this time, Cousin. She's really fuckin' done with me. Not that I blame her, but... But holy shit..." Carmy dissolved into lung-stuttering tears, bowing his head in shame as he obviously attempted to get a handle on his emotions; only ever used to having them freely around you.

Richie sighed and leaned over the table to clap his hand to Carm's shoulder, muttering, "Hey, hey... For what it's worth, I'm really fuckin' sorry, Carmen... I am, I know you love her." His lips rolled between his teeth, letting Carm have his (several, long) moments before trying to sound lighter, "Look, of course, Honey didn't show up to open, but she doesn't have a malicious bone in her body. You haven't shown her you're sorry! She's still pissed off and worse, she's hurt, Cousin! Know what I mean?

"I know," Carmy whispered in despair.

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

"So, cut the fuckin' shit, man, time is of the essence! Maybe if you, like, stopped fuckin' cryin' and actually try fuckin' apologizin', Honey'll soften up - you know, like, feel safe enough to come around sometimes. Maybe be a li'l more receptive to you not being so much of a dickhead?"

This made Carmen perk up slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose, questioning, "The fuck are you talkin' 'bout?"

"The fuck did I just say? Get off your ass and apologize to that girl who's so sweet, she's literally called Honey. She's human, she just wants your remorse, dude, you owe it to her; so apologize and leave her be, and when she's ready, she'll let us know, maybe even come back 'round."

The invisible timer ticked slower, quieter.

After a pause, Carmy asked, "Think she'll come back?"

"Only time will tell. Apologize first, you inconsiderate jagoff."

"Way to kick a man."

"We're in this 'cause of you, you fuckin' pussy!"

"Oh, real nice, fuckin' jackass," Carm scoffed, wiping his cheeks and finally accepting the coffee.

"Now you sound like her," Richie smirked, sharing a secret snicker. The pair fell into contented silence, just mulling over each other's nights; either displaying signs of anxiety; where Richie bounced his leg, Carm picked at his fingers wrapped around the cup of coffee.

The invisible timer ticked slower, quieter.

After several too-long minutes, Richie started snickering.

"What're you laughing at?" Carm mumbled.

Richie had to control his giggles, wiping a finger in the corner of his eye, "Something that can only be explained later."

"What's that?"

"...Mikey would've owed Tina about $6k right now."

"The fuck - ?"

"I said later!"

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

-> no part two planned!

[thecapricunt1616]

Carmy x Newborn Anxiety

Can we just talk about the absolute panic Carmy would feel the first time his newborn does periodic breathing while asleep. If you don’t know what that is - essentially as humans we will just stop breathing for a little bit as infants. It’s completely normal, it only lasts 10 seconds at most usually.

But if Carmy wasn’t aware of this and was just standing above the crib watching his baby sleep as any new parent does and that kid stopped breathing he would literally be launched 0-100 anxiety attack and practically startle them awake in panic by shaking their leg to make sure they were still alive 😭😭 and he would literally come in the bedroom in tears like full choke sobbing being like “BABE. BABE. HE STOPPED BREATHING - I-IT WAS LIKE IT - HE JUST HELD HIS BREATH I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD BABE I THOUGHT HE DIED” and you’re just startled out of a dead sleep hearing “HE STOPPED BREATHING” and you’re LEAPING out of bed and panicking until you realize the baby is crying and fine and in Carmys arms as he comforts them and you’re just like

“Oh my god- Bear! You nearly gave me a heart attack!!! They said this at the hospital remember!!! We just need to count to ten and if he doesn’t keep breathing we need to call 911 - he’s fine!” And you’re just hugging him and kissing his teary cheeks and he’s just like

“They told us so much at the hospital I was afraid it was SIDS!” Like that man would be TEEERRRIFFIED he would be doing research and find that most SIDS angels pass between 1 and 6 am so he would literally change his sleeping schedule so he could watch them sleep. The whole time he’s sitting on his laptop in the corner googling the best ways to prevent it. And on their half birthday he just sobs his heart out because he’s so so happy the risk is gone like this man and his anxiety even if he’s been to therapy it would return full force during fatherhood absolutely but he would be the best dad because of it and never let anything hurt his babe. Ok. Brain rot done.

[fishfooddude]

What Happens in Vegas Doesn't Always Stay in Vegas... Part 4

Carmy and Richie's pilgrimage to Washington DC... was it a mistake? Will Carmy do something regrettable? Will Richie do something equally as stupid?

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Part 3

Part 4 - DC in October

“Are you sure you even want to go Carmy?” Richie questioned for the thousandth time that day. Carmy rolled his eyes and pulled the sleeves of his navy blue sweater up. The two sat in the airport that afternoon. Carmy shrugged “I don’t know.” he answered lazily, looking over to Richie “Cousin, we could just go home- she probably wouldn’t notice you not being there.” “She would.” “Are you trying to win this girl back or somethin’?” 

Carmy never answered Richie’s question. He laid back in his hotel room’s bed. He should have just blown off the wedding; Ellie couldn’t actually want a shitty ex fuck buddy at her wedding. He stared at the ceiling and contemplated his life decisions up to this point. What if he’d gone to Europe to chase Ellie? What if he’d kept texting her? What if he’d reached out to her more? He should have done better. Unfortunately, that was something he couldn’t go back and change. In a mere 24 hours, Ellie would be Mrs. Ellie Aurbey, and he’d never be able to hold her again. 

Richie and Carmy stood at the bar in casual suits at Jack and Ellie’s rehearsal dinner, “What the fuck is a German hooker?” Richie laughed, staring at the wedding bar menu. Carmy shrugged, “We should leave. There's too many cops around here.” Richie looked around as he fidgeted with the menu in his hands. “Don’t worry, handsome. We don’t like it either.” a woman in a dark purple dress commented as she approached the two men. “Now this is a site for sore eyes, Carmen Berzatto in a suit at a wedding for Ellie.” Carmy rolled his eyes “Hi Jenny. Long time no see.” “So, is it true? You two got married in Vegas?” Carmy nodded “Yea. We got divorced over the summer, though.” “When Andy told me you two did something crazy- getting married wasn’t even on the list.” Jenny laughed playfully, pushing Carmy “Who are you, handsome?” she bit her lip, turning her attention to Richie. Carmy chuckled “Careful Cousin, she’s kinky.” 

Carmy was alone on a balcony, staring out at a rose garden. “Didn’t think you’d come, Carmen.” Carmy looked over his shoulder to see Jack standing by the door. “I’m surprised you let her invite me.” Jack chuckled “You think I could have prevented this?” Carmy scoffed “True. She’s a strong-willed woman. I’ll give you that.” Jack stepped closer to the fence surrounding the balcony “Thanks for making the divorce easy. I would also like to apologize for arresting you. I just wanted to kick your ass when I found out.” Carmy nodded in acknowledgment of his apology. “You’re a lucky man, Jack. Ellie is a great girl.” 

“You were right… that Jenny girl was kinky.” Richie laughed as he and Carmy walked toward the elevator the next morning. Carmy shook his head disapprovingly, “You wrap it?” “Of course. Don’t need two child support payments.” 

As Ellie walked down the aisle in her pearly white satin off-shoulder gown, a veil that was practically a mile long decorated with subtle spider webs. Carmy smiled as he took in the sight. This was the wedding Ellie deserved, and he was envious of Jack in that moment. While the idea of a big wedding was Carmy’s worst nightmare- he’d do anything to make Ellie smile like that. 

Their vows were sweet and short; Ellie laughed at Jack’s retelling of their first time meeting and blinked away tears when he promised to love, protect, and honor her until his final breath. “Do you, Elenor Sydney Marks, take Jackson Daniel Aurbery as your lawfully wedded husband in sickness and health for the rest of your days?” Carmy quietly slipped out of the hall before he could hear your answer. Coming here really was a mistake.

“Well, she’s married,” Richie said when he found Carmy outside smoking a cigarette. Richie followed in suit, “You were right. We shouldn’t have come to this.” “You love her or somethin’ Cousin?” Carmy shrugged “I don’t know… Seein’ her over the summer just like - I don’t know.” Richie patted Carmy’s shoulder.

“CAB, you leavin?” Ellie asked when she finally found Carmy awkwardly standing in the corner, waiting for Richie. “Yeah- gotta get back to Chicago.” Ellie nodded and smoothed down her dress “Thanks for coming, Carmen. If you’re ever in DC, come by.” Carmy nodded “Of course, El. You look beautiful, by the way… also now I know your last name.” Ellie smiled “Bye, Carmy.”

Richie stood back and watched Ellie and Carmy’s interaction. Carmy looked like a kicked puppy as he walked away from Ellie, “You okay, Carmy?” he shrugged in response “Don’t worry, kid. She’s just the one who got away.” Carmy chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe I’ll get married one day. I wish it were to Ellie, but she’s happy with that guy, and I’ll be happy with another girl.”

[imreadingrespectfully]

If I did all that and somebody ended it by saying "Don’t want to fuck this up— our friendship" I'd be LIVID. Ooof what a way to end this part, I'm so in my feelings about these two. BUT this chapter was amazing!! I'm ready for Carmy to wake up and smell the coffee because how can he not see what's unfolding.

New Person, Same Old Mistakes (Part III)

It’s my birthday.

Just say it. 

“—Your fingers. Are you even listening to me?”

“Uh huh. Radish slices on the mandoline. They need to be even. Watch out for my fingers. Yes sir, Chef sir.” You punctuate your words with a mock salute. 

And it’s my birthday today, Carmy.

Part I and Part II

Trigger Warnings: Explicit Sexual Scenes

“Slice the watermelon radishes, next. Use a mandoline—”

It’s my birthday.

Just say it. 

“—Your fingers. Are you even listening to me?”

“Uh-huh. Radish slices on the mandoline. They need to be even. Watch out for my fingers. Yes sir, Chef sir.” You punctuate your words with a mock salute. 

And it’s my birthday today, Carmy.

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious. You love it.” 

You love—

“Just fucking watch what you’re doing, please.”

“Now when you ask me like that—”

It’s my birthday. I want you to wish me a happy birthday. That’s all I want. Just the two words. And a smile. 

Just say it out loud. 

Maybe even a kiss. Like the one on New Year’s Eve.

He meant to aim for your cheek and got the edge of your mouth instead. All you remember is the smell of his last cigarette on his breath and how chapped his lips felt against the commissure of yours. 

It happened so quick. Too quick. You want another one so you can commit it to memory. Another trophy for a mantle that’s already too crowded with moments just as fleeting as that one. The only way they hold their relevance is when you sift through them. Over and over. Every time he gives you a piece of himself, but not all. 

It’s something. Just enough to sustain you, not enough to make you thrive. You’ll come back, not because you expect anything different. Your relationship with Carmy is nothing if not consistent. You offer him too much and he reciprocates with just enough. It’s imbalanced, but it works because you hold on to everything he offers with an unrelenting grip. You store it away for the proverbial winter when he’s empty and you’re starved. 

Despite the consistency, a part of you hopes, still. It’s an unfortunate chimera — cruel and unmerciful, but you can’t help yourself. 

You want them to be outward recollections — A joint memory rather than the sequestered, yet often visited grasps for comfort they’ve become. Just to utter the words hey, Carm. Remember when you—

—Told me how you really felt about me.

But you can’t. 

It’s just you.

“Oh, shit.” You stare down the open slit by the bed of your nail, crimson spilling from it onto the stainless steel blade of the mandoline. Your finger throbs with an ache as you press your thumb onto it, trying to stop the bleeding. “Hey, Carm?”

“Yeah?”

“Cut m’self.”

“Wha— Fuck! Told you to fucking watch the blade!” He rips off a paper towel from the roll and wraps it around the cut, holding it in a tight grip. “Hold it over your head.” Still keeping your finger nestled in his fist, he lifts your arm above.

“Sorry, Carmy. I-”

It’s my birthday. 

“The fuck’s your head at tonight?” He doesn’t let go. 

It’s my—

“Birthday.” He still hasn’t let go.

“What?” His face is inches from yours. It would be so easy to just—

“Itsm’birthday.” You push the words out through clenched teeth. 

“It’s your birthday.” He lets go of your hand and steps back. 

“Yes.” You let your arm fall back down.

“Today is your birthday.” Perplexity floods his eyes. His brows tense inwards. His lips part, just the slightest. He doesn’t smile. 

“Yes.” 

This is not how this was supposed to go. 

“Why didn’t you — Why are you…you never said.”

“You never asked.”

“I—“ You know he’s going to apologize. But that’s not what you want. 

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s—“ He looks so guilty. 

“Carm.”

“We just never—“ You don’t want his guilt. You have no use for it.

“Carmy.”

“I didn’t think to—“ He’s steeped in guilt and you’re filled with regret.

Par for the fucking course. 

“It’s really okay, Carmy.” You have to look away. His face is contorted in such repentance and shame, it fucking hurts.

All you wanted was a smile. Not a full one — Carmy rarely gives you those. You could count on one hand when you’ve seen him truly bare his teeth and smile. The ones you see are the muted ‘I liked this more than I thought I would’ kind of smile — almost rueful in a way that he thinks he’s undeserving of it. The corners of his mouth would tilt upwards just the slightest, his forehead would crease against the raise of his brows and his eyes would still. They’d deepen to the shade of the Aegean Sea. He’d blink repeatedly, almost in a conciliatory kind of way because he simply isn’t the kind of man to trust any moment of relief. 

“Can we just deal with the fact that I’m bleeding all over your kitchen floor? And then you can make it up to me.” You watch the incarnadine droplets stain the linoleum. 

“You’re bleeding all over my floor because you didn’t mind the blade, fucko.” He reaches past you to grab more paper towels and kneels down to wipe the floor. “Why’d you drop your hand?”

“Because you let go.” You say it without thinking. 

“Y—” He pauses, still on his knees in front of you. His hand stills over the stained floor beneath you.

His gaze meets yours. Searching. Questioning. His expression is shielded behind a veil of hesitance, but his eyes — coruscating kaleidoscopes of a slew of emotions that flash by so quickly, you can only focus on the final one. 

Shouldn’t have said it. Shouldn’t have said it. 

Your finger bleeds, still. Now, over the back of his hand.

“Keep it over your head, please.” He taps the back of your wrist with his palm and turns his attention back onto the floor.

“Carmy.” You nudge his knee with the side of your foot. 

Look at me. 

“Yeah?” He wipes the floor clean and rises to his feet without meeting your eyes. Without sparing a single glance your way, he turns towards his sink and rinses his hands. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s just blood, don’t —” Dish soap. Lather. Steaming hot water, always. He said it felt good on his callouses and cuts. 

You’d laughed before you realized he liked the pain. He thrives under the discomfort of it all. It keeps him alert. It keeps him alive. 

“I’m not apologizing for the blood.”

His hands pause under the running faucet. His shoulders tense. This could go one of two ways—

You’ve managed to slip through the torpor he swathes himself with these days. Just once or twice. He’s all reaction no forethought when you do. He’ll scream at you and apologize all in one breath. 

It’s what you prefer. 

Or he’ll inspissate his carefully cultivated apathy and avoid you altogether. It’s what he’s more likely to do. 

But you can hope. You hold your breath and wait for that flip in him to switch. Any reaction over the—

“How do you want to celebrate?”

Avoidance it is, then.

“I want to get drunk.”

He finally turns around, arms crossed at his chest. “Rum okay with you?”

“Rum’s great.” Your roll your shoulder inwards and look to your hand. The cut is still bleeding.

He steps forward and finally takes your hand back in his. Carefully lifting the paper towel that is now soaked and adhered to your skin, he examines the wound. “You’ll need stitches.” 

“I’m not spending my birthday in the ER..”

“I don’t have any—”

“You do. Bottom shelf in the bathroom. I bought you a first aid kit after the burn from last month.” You trace the scar that remains on his forearm with your good hand. A long triangular patch of darkened skin nestled beneath the trout with an hourglass.

You’d sat with him when he got that tattoo. 

“Thought you wanted one, too.” 

“Eventually, yeah. When I find the thing that means enough to me.”

As if you already hadn’t found it. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” His grip on finger tightens and you flinch.

Maybe—

“I know I didn’t have to. But it’s working out for us now, isn’t it?” You’ll say anything to get a reaction out of him. 

Tight. Tight. Tight. 

The cut throbs in sync with your heartbeat hammering against your ribcage. 

“Why are you—” He stops himself, but you already know what he meant to say. 

Why are you like this? 

Say it. React. 

“What?” You urge, in a harsh whisper.

His squeezes tighter, and your finger tingles under the pressure. The two of you stand in a headlock of emotions. Incertitude on his part, frantic cacoethes on yours. Your breath quickens. So does his. You can see a vein throb on the side of his neck. The air is thick with the stench of your blood and desperation. 

Say it, Carmy. Please. Give me something. It’s my birthday. 

“Nothing.” He lets go and the ache is gone but replaced with another. “Hold onto that. I’ll be right back.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill, willing yourself to not let your devastation show. He’d notice, which would be fine. But he wouldn’t say anything. 

And that would ruin you. He’d ruin you.

You fell in love with him, anyway. 

He says nothing when he returns with the first aid kit. You lean against the counter in silence, eyes focused on anything but him as he cleans and bandages your cut. You think back to all those months prior when you found him in the alleyway with his bloodied hand, barely wrapped together in gauze and masking tape. You look at him now, taking the time to meticulously clean out the cut, murmuring a soft apology when you wince at the water he has running that's too warm. He’s gentle and feather-light in his touches, precise in the way he wraps the gauze around your finger over twice to make sure it’s secure. 

You know he cares. You just wish he’d say it.

Why are you like this? 

“Hey.” The repentance that drips from the one word he utters makes you finally look back at him.

“Yeah?” Your breath stills in anticipation. 

“Happy Birthday.” Two words. No smile. 

And it’s enough. 

“Thank you, Carmy.”

“Carm?” 

“Yeah.”

“Wanna ask y’somethin’.” You slurred. 

The two of you were laying on his bed, half-empty bottle of rum and two glasses in between. Dinner had long been abandoned. 

“I’ll finish up and—”

“Just sit down, Carmy.”

“But—”

“Drink with me, Carm.”

“Okay.”

For the first time in all the while you’ve known him, he spoke of Chicago. Actually spoke of it. Not the generic taglines he’d circulate whenever you asked. You see it for what it is — A placative gift to make up for his mistakes. 

He didn’t look at you when he spoke, keeping his eyes trained on the glass in his hands as he recounted tales of his youth. Not a lot of it came to you as a surprise. Carmy was quiet and withdrawn even then. Except for when it came to—

“Am I your first real friend, then?” 

“Y— yes.” He hesitated 

Except for when it came to Michael. His name remained unspoken, and yet you knew. His expression changed the moment he thought of him but didn’t mention him aloud. Nostalgic at first, then regretful, and finally angry. It’s quick. His jaw clenches and his body is rigid. He swallows the rest of his drink and pours another which he knocks back instantly. The burn of the alcohol replaces the one left by remembering his brother. Something he blames himself for, and Michael as well. Whatever it is, he’s not ready to face it. 

So you changed the subject. 

“Y’ever go on another date after the one you had with me?” You know the answer already. At least you hope you do. 

“Not really built for that kinda shit. I’m not like you.” He chuckles at what you can assume is the memory of your failed first date. Not that you’d ever call it that, now.

“Think we’re more alike than you realize, Carm.” You hide your hurt behind the depths of your glass, polishing off the rest of your drink.

“Y’ever—?” He pours you another. 

“No.” 

I have you. 

“It’s a stupid question to ask, really. We spend all our spare time with each other. I’d genuinely be surprised if you—”

“So why’d you ask?” 

“Just making sure.”

“I’d tell you, if I was.”

Tell me how you really feel about me, then.

You say nothing in response. He doesn’t press any further. 

The two of you drink in silence, the sounds of the TV filling the air. Neither of you is really watching what’s on, it‘s just so the quiet isn’t uncomfortable. You take shot after shot and eventually the taste of the rum, molasses sweet and rich, covers the disconsolation that lingers every time you think of what you and Carmy could have been and what you are. It numbs the ache, the disappointment of settling for the next best thing. 

So you drink some more. 

The room begins to spin and you close your eyes to steady yourself, but it doesn’t help. Even with your eyes closed, you see him. A motley of blues cascade upon you, prismatic. Beautiful. For the first time, it’s not a comfort. 

“Oh god.” You tilt your head backwards against the arm of the couch as you slink down to settle your dizziness. 

“You good?” 

“Mm. Yeah. Jus’ a lil’ spinny—”

“Bed’ll be better, probably.”

“You kicking me out, Carm?” You hope you don’t sound as dejected as you feel. 

“I meant mine.” Your breath catches in your throat, you’re certain you misheard him. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

You stumble towards his bed and fall flat on your back with a grunt. 

He follows you soon after. 

Maybe it’s the invitation to his bed. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s your need to get a rise out of him. Maybe it’s all three. It makes you bold. So you finally ask him.

“Why d’you keep that there?” 

“What—?” He follows the direction in which you point and finds the hidden photo

“The photo of y’ an’ Mike— Michael. Why d’you keep it there?” You raise yourself up by your elbows and turn to lie on your side and face him. He does the same. 

“I don’t—“ His eyes pinch shut. “I can’t—”

“Tell me, Carmy.” You reach out to trace the side of his cheek right over the scar beneath his eye. He opens his eyes at your touch, pools of azure indigent of any emotion. Blank. Hollow. You stare into them, hoping for a break in a clouds, hoping for a reaction. 

Moments pass. There’s nothing. 

“Please, Carmy. Just tell—” Your senses are so blurred by the alcohol, you don’t register when his hand reaches over and settles around your waist until he pulls you in closer. 

“Carm, wha—” He silences you by pressing his lips to yours. You breathe out a gasp of surprise and your lips part just enough for his tongue to pass through. It’s rough and hot and tastes like burnt cigarettes and rum.  As if on autopilot, you meet him halfway. The hand on his cheek pushes through his hair, your knee bumps against his before his legs part and you nudge your thigh in between his, moving even closer. 

It’s messy, the kiss. It’s all spit and tongue and teeth. Your arm that’s nestled in between the two of you starts to fall asleep, your head is angled upward, making your neck strain. You finally pull away to catch your breath and he latches on to your bottom lip, teeth digging in painfully. 

“Carm.” You mumble, your fist closing around his hair and you tug to get his attention. 

“Wha— wha—?” He hisses as he pulls away, concerned.

“You jus’ kiss me t’shut me up?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t even look apologetic. Just hungry. It makes the pulse between your legs throb harder. “That okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” You push against his shoulder so he falls back onto his back and you drape yourself over him, pressing your lips back to his. It’s a bit better with you taking the reigns. Slower. More reserved. You’re able to appreciate the feel of his lips against yours. They’re dry and just a tad chapped, but still feel softer than they look. His arms close around you, one hand, warm and calloused, reaching under your t-shirt and pressing down on your back. 

“Wanna take it off?” You whisper against his lips, before peppering open-mouthed kisses down his jaw to his neck. 

“Mm?” He groans as your teeth latch on to the side of his pulse.

“My shirt, Carm. Take it off.” You pant against his skin, licking a stripe up the light bruise that began to form before closing your lips to another spot beneath his chin. 

“Y-yeah. Heard.“ He grasps the hem of your t-shirt and yanks it upwards. “Fuck. Hold on— I can’t—”

You lift up to straddle him and pull your shirt off over your head. “S’better, yeah?”

“Yeah. Better.” He mumbles, eyes widening, his hands twisting in his sheets. 

“Wanna touch me, Carmy?”

“I— Yeah. I do.” He wipes his hands across his sweater, once, twice, before tracing your navel with his fingertips, slowly rising up your abdomen. His hands close around your sides, kneading into you as they go higher, higher. 

“More, Carm. Please.” You keen under the warmth of his touch, fighting the urge to take his hands in yours and place them right where you want him.

“Just wanna—.” He pauses right under the swell of your breasts, biting onto his lower lip before sticking his tongue out just the slightest. 

“Wanna what?” You cradle in hands in yours as he sits up, pressing kisses down your sternum.

“Taste y’” He rasps against your skin. 

“Fuck. Carm.” You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes at the sensation. You’ve imagined him this way for so fucking long. To have him kiss you and taste you and fuck you. Even if you have to walk him through it. Even if it’s all in avoidance of his brother. Even if he’s using you to forget. 

He rests his forehead in the valley between your breasts and takes in a deep breath. “Good? This is good?”

“Just keep goin’ Carmy.” You rake your fingernails across his scalp and he practically mewls into you. 

“Yeah. Gon’ keep goin’.” He mumbles and flicks his tongue over your nipple. You let out a pained gasp as he closes his lips around it and sucks, hard. 

“This okay?” He eases up a little, mouth still adhered to your breast, his eyes tilt up to look at you in question. 

“Hurts a lil’— fuck. Gentle, Carmy.”

“Heard.” He turns his head and latches on to the other, softer this time, his tongue swirling around the tip. He follows the same pattern, switching sides every few minutes. You cling to him, fingers weaved through his hair with your cheek resting against the crown of his head, panting whispers of praise. 

When he does move away, you take the opportunity to pull his sweater off and fling it to the side. What you uncover are more tattoos. The words ‘Mise En Place’ across his right pec, a Scorpio with the knife at the end of its stinger right below it, two baguettes in the shape of a Latin cross to the left, and a skull on fire further bellow on his abdomen. 

You brace your hands against his chest and push him to lie back down on the bed. You trace each tattoo across his body, starting at his chest, down his stomach, and back up his arms. 

“What’re you—“ He questions when you start back at the tattoos on his chest, circling each stain of dark ink with the tip of your finger. 

“Jus’ rememberin’.” You place a finger against his lips and he quiets. Eventually, your fingers are replaced by your tongue. You gently lap over each tattoo, sucking on the neighbouring patches of empty skin. “Y’taste good, Carm.” 

“Yeah?” He grunts as you slide lower and slower, your hand now resting at the top of his jeans. 

“Mm yeah.” You unbutton them and pull the zipper down. “More?”

“Fuck. Wait. Y-you don’t have to—“ He stills your descent by taking your hands in one of his. “I don’ expect y’to—”

“I want to, Carmy.” You smile, reassuringly. “Can I?”

“Y-yeah. Okay. Yeah.” His words escape him in a breathless gasp and your smile widens. 

“Gon’ make you feel so good, Bear.” You say that name without even thinking. You’ve called him that before since you heard Sugar say it and he flinched. You wanted to know why, but you knew he wouldn’t say. It would be another thing added to the countless ones that have been simply brushed under the rug. If you had to guess, the name simply reminds him of home. The same home he’s spent years trying to leave behind. So you never called him that again. And now, it was on pure fucking instinct that you did. 

A colossal mistake. 

His body tenses almost immediately and his breathing stills. You glance up at him and his eyes are shut, tight, his face pulled into a painful grimace. 

“Carm?” You whisper with abject hesitation. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Carmy?” You ease off of him and he sits up immediately. He’s shaking, his hands are closed into fists.

“M’sorry. M’sorry. M’sorry.” He whispers over and over, kneading his fist into his chest as he breathes in deep through his nose.

“No, I’m— I didn’t think—” The haze of the alcohol dissipates, stone-cold sobriety setting in fast. 

You fucked up. 

“Jus’ gimme a minute.” He grunts. Minutes pass and you watch him get his breathing under control. 

You kneel beside him, hands raised in surrender when he finally opens his eyes and looks at you. It breaks your heart to see the unspilt tears shining at the brim, pooling at his lashes before cascading down his cheeks. He lets out a slight watery chuckle when your own lips tremble at the sight. 

“Gon’ touch you. Okay?” You inch closer to him, hands still raised before he gives you a permissive nod and you finally lower them to his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, Carmen.” You press a kiss just below the corner of his eye, tasting the salty remnants of tears. “Wasn’t thinking.” A kiss on his other cheek. “M’ a fuckin’ idiot.” Another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Forgive me, please.” You press your lips to his. 

“I forgive you.” He mutters, wet, against your lips. 

He cries some more and you continue showering him with kisses, to his lips, his cheeks, his nose, and his eyelids. Every tear that falls, you collect on your tongue. 

When he finally settles, you pull back and wipe his face with the heel of your palm. “Your eyes have no business looking this pretty when you cry.”

That earns you a proper laugh and you finally take a breath of relief.

“You okay?” He asks, voice hoarse and rough. 

“You’re asking me if I’m—“ You laugh in disbelief. “I’m okay, Carmy.”

“This isn’t how I wanted t—” You shush him with another kiss.

“I want to fix it. Lemme make it better, Carmy.” Your hand travels back down to his undone jeans and you pause. “Can I?”

“You still want to—”

“I do. Wanna make you feel good…Carm.” You reach beneath the fabric and take him in your hand.

“Y-yeah. Fuck.” You ease onto the floor between his legs.

“Lay back down.” You murmur, pulling his jeans down his legs as he does. “Just relax.”

You spit into your palm and take his cock in one hand, stroking it lazily while you press the other onto his stomach, bracing him as he twitches beneath you. You lean down and slick a stripe up the underside of his shaft before closing your lips around the head of his cock. 

“God fuckin'— fuck.” He babbles breathlessly, as you ease him deeper into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sucking while your tongue presses flat against his cock. 

You lift off with a pop and give him a smile. “Like that, Carm?”

He clenches onto his sheets and he nods, panting open-mouthed as you sink back onto him. You bob your head up and down, slurping around his cock with your hand clasped around the base. You reach underneath and graze your nails against his balls, swallowing his cock whole. 

The noise that escapes him is nothing short of needy as his hips jut upwards and the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. Your eyes widen in surprise and you gag, pulling off of him with a cough.

“Shit. Fuck. M’sorry— I didn’t- Did I hurt you?” He’s sitting up in an instant, expression laden with worry.

“I’m good, Carm.” You laugh over a fit of coughs. “Y’just caught me by surprise.” 

“I just— it felt—” He continues his apology.

“It felt good, yeah?” You smile at him, knowingly. “Felt good fucking my throat like that?”

He whines as his cheeks redden in embarrassment. “Y-yeah, but—”

You close your fist back around his cock, silencing him. “Wanna fuck my throat, Carmy?”

“Don’ wanna hurt—” He grits out, closing his eyes and tilting his head backward in pleasure.

“M’ a big girl. I can take it.” You make him unclench his fists and place both his hands at the back of your head. “Just hold on and fuck me, yeah?”

“Yeah. Okay.” With a light pressure, he pushes you back down onto his cock and you take him in deep and all the way. You widen your jaw further as he pulls you up just halfway before thrusting upwards into your throat.

“Gotta tell me—” He husks. “Gotta tell me if it’s too much—” 

You reach behind and place a hand on his as a way of acknowledgment. 

His pace quickens at that. His grip on your hair tightens as he ruts into the cavern of your throat. Your saliva pools messily as he pulls you down closer to him, your nose pressing into the thicket of hair as the base of his cock. His cock pulses and throbs against your tongue and you know he’s close to coming. 

“Can I— I’m gonna— Jus’ tell me if I—” His words are incoherent and incomplete stutters of desperation as he gets closer and closer to his peak. 

You simply hum, giving him permission to fill you up. 

And he does. With a prolonged groan he tenses beneath you before releasing thick ropes of his cum with punctuated grunts and oh fucks.

He holds you down, still, until his cock softens in your mouth and his grip finally eases. You draw away and fall back onto your haunches as you swallow the remaining tang of his spend on your tongue. He reaches out with a thumb and wipes the corner of your mouth and you promptly close your lips around it and lick it clean. 

“You’re—uh—really good at—” He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, slick and shiny.

“Taking cock down my throat?” 

“Fuck. Yeah.” He laughs. “You are.”

“Not all of us can be Food And Wine’s Best New Chef, Carm. Gotta seek talent elsewhere, y’kn—”

“I wanna return the favour.” He blurts out.

“Carmy—this was about you.” You insist. As badly as you want to take this further, he’s only just calmed down and you can’t fuck it up. 

“It’s…your birthday.” He states, plainly. 

“Don’t need you to eat me out as a birthday gift, Carm.” 

Need something else, but you won’t give me that. 

“But you just—“ He’s so insistent, you almost want to give in. 

“Some other day—“ You suggest it without even thinking, without even considering why this started to begin with. The only reason he kissed you was to stop you from asking about Michael. It only just escalated from there. He didn’t mean for this to happen again. 

“You— You want to do this again?” He almost looks hopeful and your heart soars.

“If— uh— if you want to.” You feel surprisingly shy, all of a sudden.

“Yeah. I do. I just—“ His expression is now burdened and you know what’s coming next. “Don’t want to fuck this up— our friendship.”

Friendship. Nothing more. Just enough to keep you going, not enough to—

Your heart breaks — it shatters into countless fragments you’ll put back together with your mantle of memories. You’ll do that when it’s just you, when you can fall apart for a moment’s relief before slipping under your guise of content you keep on for him. For now, you only smile. You’ve had enough practice, you can make it convincing. 

“You won’t, Berzatto. You’re stuck with me.”

Tag list: @soapskneebrace @frenzycrazy @pansinspace @marrianena @gaysludge @tulipsbymybed @eddiemunsonreader @pearlstiare

(If I missed anyone in the tag list, my apologies!! Pls DM me!)

[nolita-fairytale]

carmen 'carmy' berzatto masterlist

Thee Carmy x Reader 'Make My Heart Surrender' Universe (In Chronological Order):

comfort & chaos (prequel to make my heart surrender)

a series of vignettes: the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you. (completed)

october 2019 | covid & carbonara | heat waves | 2/22/22** | called you again | home**

the phone call (blurb - the phone call that gets reader to chicago in the first place)

make my heart surrender

after quitting your job at the restaurant you both used to work at, carmy asks you to come in and work with his pastry chef at his new spot, the bear. only, the longer you stick around, it becomes clear that you have unfinished business. will one week in chicago change your life, and his, forever? (completed)

tuesday | wednesday | thursday | friday (**18+ for smut) | saturday/sunday | monday | tuesday, again | the playlist

home (final chapter from comfort & chaos - **smut)

try a little tenderness (fluff & angst blurb)

cigarettes & coffee (fluffy blurb)

strawberries & cigarettes (fluffy blurb)

j is for james beard... and for jealousy (**smut oneshot | 18+ only)

your past and mine are parallel lines (fluff oneshot)

pov: carmy makes people magazine's sexiest chef alive list (fluff blurb)

bad moon rising (what if/angst-shot -- guest starring mikey berzatto)

sister-in-law (fluff oneshot -- guest starring natalie berzatto)

still into you (sequel to make my heart surrender)

you, syd, marcus, and carmy return to where it all began: new york city, prompting you and carmy to think a lot about your past... and your future together. (completed)

thursday | **bonus smut scene | friday | saturday | sunday | it's perfect, chef (**bonus smut scene)

don't want to walk alone

the long awaited wedding fic for carmy x reader in the make my heart surrender universe. this six part series chronicles the wedding planning, your (not) bachelorette party, the wedding, and the honeymoon as you build a life with your husband-to-be. (completed)

june/july | august | september | the honeymoon pt 1 | the honeymoon pt 2 | epilogue: november

granola blurb

carmy as your baby daddy

a social media au & headcanon series detailing your first pregnancy with carmy. created for the make my heart surrender universe, but can be read as a standalone work. this has been created in collaboration with @carmensberzattos & @allthefandomstogether , the graphic goddess. (completed)

part one | part two | part three | part four | give you my wild, give you a child (**smut-shot) | part five | part six | part seven

the social media au

scenes from the relationship & this story depicted as social media posts. won't always align with my other social media/moodboards.

part one | part two: first year of dating | part three |

extras/moodboards/headcanons/imagines:

your life as a pastry chef in chicago while dating carmy (moodboard & headcanon)

meeting mikey in another lifetime (headcanon)

pov: you're marrying carmen berzatto (moodboard)

honeymoon lingerie moodboard

christmas with carmy moodboard & blurb

The Bear: Unrelated to Make My Heart Surrender:

(nothing here YET but working on it)

so my darling | sydney adamu x male!chef oc

jealous!carmy & jealous!luca headcanon

stargazing with marcus brooks (blurb)

sneaking around with carmy (blurb)

[smokietaylor]

You're not the boss of me (Carmen Berzatto x Reader)

In an alternate universe, you are the newly hired chef at Daniel's. Everyone seems warm and welcoming except one chef with icy blue eyes and golden curly hair. Tensions are high between the two of you to the point that every interaction you have is a fight. That is until you discover why there has been so much hatred towards you since your interview.

Fun fact: This premise is actually based on personal experience. Albeit an exaggerated version of the truth and set more to fit Carmy's character. But it's the truth nonetheless.

NSFW Content

18+ only Minors DNI

Word count: 7,228 (and counting, Current work in progress)

READ MORE HERE

[thatone-brightstar]

Before You (Carmen Berzatto X Fem!OC)

It was Isaac before Carmy, and it was Ross before you.

Part I: December.

Part II: January.

Part III: February.

words: 3.4k

a/n: Welcome all to the second part of my TB & TF series!! This is a prequel to the first part, so if you haven't read that, you can either read this first then the other one or vise versa. Also, this is me kinda just adding personal experience to her story because as a hostess, I think we don't get credit enough for having to deal with some people's shit (sigh) however, she's her own character so feel free to relate however you please. Another thing, I wrote this before S2 came out, so any coincidence with the firework scene in Ep5 is just me being ✨psychic✨ Enjoy! XX

No amount of deep breaths could calm the blistering anger circulating through her system. Her quickening steps move across the dining hall of the stupidly ostentatious restaurant she has the misfortune of working at. From the elegant decorum and the expensive menu, she can pinpoint the exact type of diners the place hosts: terrible, horrible, shitty people. And while she’s completely against placing anyone under any category, New York socialites seemed to never want to leave the rooted stereotype of being pompous, rude and extremely annoying.

Her theory had been proven correct once more after spending the last 10 minutes getting berated for not seating a walk-in on one of the busiest nights of the month. 

“You should save a table of that size for these situations…” The insufferable trust fund baby spat at her and all the self composure in the world could not stop the words from leaving her  mouth.

“Maybe send us a heads up by telepathy next time and I’ll try and catch it…” She had mumbled sarcastically, hoping that the background noise would drown it out as she tapped meaninglessly around the tablet.

It did not. And now her mouth was coated with the metal taste of blood that had oozed from her bitten tongue. She usually wasn’t this easy to frustrate, it took more than a pretentious jackass to destabilize her mood- especially in her line of work- but the weight of the day crashed on tiresome shoulders and the little manbitch past the podium had just been the spoiled cherry on top. 

The smooth Jazz is replaced by the sharp sounds of metal clinging against each other once she pushes past the service doors, in direction to the back alley. Her presence pulls a few looks from the chefs, but with a hardened scowl and a rigid stance, only an idiot would be aloof to the irritation detaching off her in not so subtle waves.

“Yo Ross, baby-” One of the cooks shouts, but is soon silenced by a threatening look and pointed finger.

“Fuck you Frank- not now.” She spits back, without even stopping or wasting any more time.

The frigid winter air finds a worthy opponent in the heat cursing through her veins as she crosses the emergency exit and drops against the brick wall with hands around her face, fully embracing the cold. A muffled groan vibrates through her fingers and blends in seamlessly with the usual sirens and horns blaring from the street ahead. It doesn’t take long for the dropping temperature to catch up to her- numbing the balls of her fingers and painting the tip of her nose red- but her manager told her to take five to calm down and she would not oppose to stealing company time, even if it meant freezing her ass off.

Ross pushes herself off the grimy wall and begins to tread along the small alley to warm up while she tries to talk herself out of quitting for what feels like the fifth time that month. 

“Chill, okay? You’ll find shitty people everywhere-” Her voice swims around the reduced space, comfortable in the privacy of her own company. “Besides, next one’s the good one and you can say goodbye to this shithole wrapped in a Gucci sweater…”

The noise of the busy kitchen pierces her bubble when the door opens again, blinding her with the white light while a body passes through, then closing back again and leaving them with the dim yellow bulb fighting to stay lit. 

“Ross.” He greets with a single nod of his head as his eyes spot her in the darkness, pulling a beaten up package from his pocket and lighting the thin tube with one of those long kitchen lighters he always seems to carry.

“Chef.” She answers back with a similar nod. 

Her cheeks carry a crimson that goes beyond the freezing cold, embarrassed to think that he might have heard her little self pep talk and she’s thankful for the lack of lighting in the space. The sound of his steady exhales and the lingering scent of tobacco slowly make their way to her as she keeps her eyes on the ground, uncomfortable shoes rubbing away over the pavement in distraction. 

“You, uh, you good?” He clears his throat and shuffles against the wall, switching from one overworked foot to another. 

They’ve probably only ever crossed a couple sentences despite her working there for almost a year, but she tries to hide the doubt behind a nod. 

“Uh… y-yeah. Another day, another shitty customer.” She jokes in hopes to break the barrier of ice, though it seems to be thicker than she expected, because all she gets is another nod that has her wanting to scurry back inside. 

“What’d they tell you now?” He asks through another smoky exhale. 

“That he’s friends with the head chef and that he’d have my head if I didn’t give ‘em a table…” 

“That’s bull-“ He says, sucking in his cheeks and making the ember tip glow bright orange. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Yeah that’s what I told him too.” Ross adds and receives the wisp of a snigger in return. 

It’s small and almost unnoticeable- so tiny it could be confused with a cough- but it’s there. And the ice wall doesn’t seem as thick as she thought now. 

“So did you?” The chef asks again, cigarette halfway finished while she tries to keep her teeth from chattering. “Let ‘em in, I mean..”

“Like hell I did.” She responds before rolling her eyes. “But fucking Martin probably did…” 

He nods his head slowly in acknowledgement, then lets another soft breath blow through his nose, smoke and vapor invisible in the low light. “I can send ‘em a shitty stake if you want.”

Ross knows it’s a joke, no respectable chef in the building would ever ruin a $300 Kobe beef just to spite a shitty client, but the solidarity in his offer grants him her own smile. 

“Nah, I’ll just ask the bartender to pour ‘em the cheap stuff so they get a hangover tomorrow.” 

Despite wanting to continue the unforeseen interaction- mostly out of scientific curiosity- the cold seeping through the thin material of her uniform finally triggers her feet in direction of the door, a few feet away from where he’s finishing his cigarette. Her fingers stay curled over the handle, contemplating the words and if they have any space in the situation, but before she can convince herself otherwise, she calls out to the chef. 

“I know it’s a shitty day to work ‘n all… but Merry Christmas… I guess.”

He nods again, brows raised and eyes wide seems to be the default expression on his face, then a ghost of something she can assume is a barely visible smile hides behind the dying tube.��

“Yeah… you too.” 

**********

“Have a good night guys, happy new year!” She recites with a wave to the departing guests, the phrase already lacking meaning after constant repetition.

New Year’s dinner rush is a blatant copy of the week before, with the exception of the nice vibes that many seem to carry, influenced by the faux restart. However, it does move painfully slow, between kind guests and uncomfortable offers from the Wall Street wannabe bros who couldn’t take a hint. Every advance had to be deflected with a kind smile and by the end of the night her cheeks had grown tired from all the tension they were forced to endure. Thankfully, there were only a few tables left and she could finally switch the uncomfortable heels for her sneakers, which facilitated finishing her last tasks in record time.

“Hey, Ross-” 

“Yeah” She turns to Meg- one of the waitresses and her friend- while shuffling through the menus, but stops as she sets a small plate with an even smaller dessert over the wooden desk. “What’s this?”

“From the kitchen…” She answers with a teasing tone and a smile that makes her roll her eyes.

“Take it back and tell Frank to fuck off- I’m not sucking his dick for an eclair-”

“It’s not from him, idiot! Chef Carmen sent it…” Meg whispers leaning in as if sharing some long kept secret. 

“What? Why?”

Meg shrugs and pulls a tiny spoon from one of the pockets on her apron. “Probably heard you bitchin’ about some guest again.” Then she scoops a piece of the dessert and pops it in her mouth, groaning in delight. “Say what you want about that man, but god is he good with his hands.”

“Dude that sounds so wrong.” Ross chuckles before taking a piece for herself and can’t help but agree with the delicious taste of the pastry. “We’re still on for drinks, right?”

“Can’t-” Meg mumbles between spoonfuls. “Mom’s making me meet them at grandma’s after this. She says this is probably her last new year so…”

“Shit- I don’t wanna go just with Frank.”

“Why don’t you ask your chef.” She suggests teasingly, before picking up the empty plate. “‘New year, new you’ ‘n all that. He already sent you food ‘n plus you’ve had the hots for him for a while now-”

“I do not!” She bickers a bit too defensively, rolling her eyes at the disbelief in Meg’s expression. “I’m nice to everyone, not just him.”

With a sarcastic ‘Sure, kid’ and an exaggerated nod, Meg turns on her shoes and heads deep into the emptying dining room.

By the time she’s finally done, it’s an hour to midnight and almost everyone has gone home except Frank, who sits wrapped up in his own coat and sharing a cigarette with another cook. Her steps lose power past the door and stop altogether once she notices the lonely man leaning on the wall a few feet in front of her.

“Hey, chef-” The girl calls towards him, his head immediately snapping up in her direction, unlit cig hanging loosely from his lips. “You got any plans?”

Ross doesn’t wait for an answer, steps moving closer towards him. There’s a thin nervous expression harboring his normally closed off features as his eyes dart around her face and the two men ahead of them, slowly putting the smoke back in the box.

“So?” She asks again. “You got anywhere to be?”

“Uh… no but-”

“Great, c’mon. Let's go grab some drinks.” She doesn’t wait for a response before linking her arm around his and walking closer to the waiting men.

She can see the tightness locked over Frank's jaw but tries her best to ignore it, pulling the chef in the opposite direction from where they’re standing. 

“Night boys.” She calls out before turning the corner and out of their view. 

Ross lets go of his arm once they’re a few blocks away, the warmth of her touch immediately escaping through the frigid wind. 

“Sorry ‘bout that… Frank’s just a little too much and I don’t wanna deal with that right now.” She says while growing the space between them. 

“Yeah-no I get it- he gets on my nerves sometimes… too.” 

They can hear the faint noise that the wind carries from a few blocks away, the celebrating multitude that has crowded Times Square in anticipation of the ball drop only growing thicker by the minute. 

“So, um, you really don’t have anywhere to be?” She asks, nervous fists inside her coat pockets. 

“Just home.” He shrugs. 

“Cool- so, what do you say to that drink?”

He shrugs again, not in an ‘I’m too cool to care’ way but more of an ‘I suck with words’ kind of way, that triggers a soft smile over her freezing features. 

“Thanks for the dessert… by the way.” She thanks with a slow step so he can catch up beside her once they’ve renewed their destination. 

“Oh-uh- yeah, sure.” He stammers, hands tightly in his pockets. “Anyone piss you off tonight?”

“Someone pisses me off every night-” She jokes, the lightheartedness growing with each step further away from work. “Curse of the trade, I guess.” She adds with a shrug.

They can hear the music emanating from the bar before even seeing it. The regular spot sits at the end of the curve, seemingly untouched by the masses, though the dusty windows show the movement of bodies inside. After maneuvering their way through the dispersed crowd, they’re still able to find an empty spot by the corner of the bar where it’s easier to reach the bartender. Every screen in their view covers the transmission of the infamous ball drop- as if the event wasn’t occurring a  few blocks away- but she figures it’s more comfortable seeing it from the inside of a heated bar than in the crushing crowd of bodies freezing outside.

It takes her five minutes to grab the barman’s attention and another two to get their drinks, but when he pats down his pants in search of his wallet, she’s already pocketing down the change the man’s given her.

“I asked you, remember?” She says to him while passing his drink, noticing a soft tint over his cheeks that hadn’t been there at their arrival and her brows raise slightly, before choosing to ignore it.

Ross can feel the man shuffling and clearing his throat beside her and the anxious actions pull a thin lipped smile over her face. He seems very different from the person she has observed behind the kitchen- a baby deer almost- careful not to trip over his own legs. It’s kind of endearing to her, how the confidence he carries in the confinements of a kitchen switches off the second he’s outside of one, replacing it with silence and the constant cracking of his knuckles that has her asking:

“You don’t go out much, do you?”

He exhales in the form of a small laugh, then takes a drink from his emptying mug. “That obvious?”

She nods and turns to him. “Well we’ve been here for almost twenty minutes and you’ve said three words… max.”

“Five now…” He jokes and a grin forms on her face at the dumb joke.

Ross turns to him, shifting her body in the stool to face him completely, bare knee brushing against his clothed one. “Tell me the thing you hate most about your job.”

He takes a few seconds to respond, gaze lost in the multitude as a terrible rendition of ‘Sweet Caroline’ from the karaoke machine flows through the speakers. “I don’t- think I have one…”

“Nothing?” He shakes his head. “At all?” Another shake and a thin unnoticeable smile. “Chef Carmen-”

“-Carmy.” He corrects and the grin on her face grows a few inches wide.

“Okay Carmy, tell me you don’t hate people messing up your dishes or modifying your recipes?”

A grin slowly spreads across his static features as he looks down at his empty jug of beer and scratches over his brow out of habit. Then he nods in agreement. “I really fuckin’ hate that shit.”

“Right!?” Ross’ excitement pulls a snicker that has him agreeing to another drink, which he insists on paying for. “Like, I get it when it’s an allergy, right? You don’t wanna kill anyone. But Meg was telling me about some guy that wanted the ‘blanc’ but not the ‘beurre’ on his fish- and if 8th grade French doesn’t fail me- that literally translates to ‘white butter’!”

Carmy’s warm chuckle blends in nicely with the buzzing surroundings, causing a slight tint to graze her cheeks and hold a smile on the edge of her glass as she watches him.

“One of the waiters once asked me if I could just send ‘em a rack of ribs cause they didn’t like anything on the menu…”

“Jesus! As if you had a rack to spare behind that aged ham you got hanging in the walk-in…”

“You- you’ve been inside the walk-in?” He asks in surprise while she takes another sip off her second drink.

“That’s where I go to vent.” Ross shrugs with a soft grin. “Plus it’s soundproof so no one can hear me cry or lose my shit.”

He knew it wasn’t. He’s seen her barely hold her composure many times as she crosses down the hallway- hands tightly in fists- before hearing a muffled shriek from somewhere in the back; but he always assumed it came from the depot or the alley, never his walk-in. He wasn’t gonna tell her that, though.

Their drinks slowly drain while their attention falls heavy on the transmission from the TVs. With only ten minutes to spare, she can feel the growing excitement buzzing around the room as many inch closer to their loved ones, arms over shoulders and complicit kisses galore. For a second her eyes flicker over the rim of her glass towards Carmy’s profile, drinking in the strong shape of his nose and the many little scars she hadn’t noticed from a distance.

“I don't get it…” Ross says suddenly, turning back to him again. 

“Uh… context?”

“Right- sorry-” She clears her throat -as a way to order her ideas- and places the mug back on the bar, but doesn’t notice how her body leans in closer to him when she turns back around. “So, you’re like… the shit, right?” She starts, pulling a nervous chuckle from the man.

“Solid start.”

“Shut up-” She groans. “I mean it as in… anyone who knows anything about the culinary world knows who you are. These people, they pay big bucks for your food and they always leave boasting about how great it is-”

“No they don’t-” He tries to argue with a shake of his head.

“Yes they do!” She reassures, voice a little higher and eyes a little glossier. “They do. You have the skill- the reputation to open your own place, make it however you want it to be… why stay here?” 

There’s a look behind his eyes that makes her throat run dry, brows sunken over a concentrated gaze as he settles all his attention on her and everything seems to just vanish into white noise. It could be the confidence the alcohol carries that’s made her so vocal about her thoughts, but the rational part in her head warns that it’s not her place to comment on what she doesn’t know.

Ross shakes her head lightly and mumbles a soft ‘Sorry, nevermind it's stupid.’ before gulping her drink and redirecting her attention and posture back to the screens.

‘1 Minute to Midnight!’ flashes over every screen, bathing the room in an emerald green glow that bounces perfectly off her profile and catches Carmy’s attention. The playlist of 80s anthems and the growing excitement packed in the small room are loud enough to drown out the constant nagging voice in the back of his head. He sucks in a breath and moves impossibly slow in her direction.

“I’ve thought about it.” Carmy confesses loud enough so she can hear him over the chanting crowd.

Ten. She doesn’t expect him to be so close when she turns towards him. Specks of silver rim the outer edges of his eyes, wide enough that she can almost see her reflection staring back, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Nine. Betrayal in her body flicks her eyes down to his lips only for a brief moment and it has him questioning if he might have imagined it, before a teasing smile rounds at the edges of hers.

Eight. “Well when you decide to do it, call me if you ever need a bitchy hostess…” Ross whispers.

Seven. The air from his laugh blows softly over her cheeks, growing hot with the small distance. With a quickened pulse, she tries to settle her gaze on any other part of his face.

Six. ‘Just look at his eyes- shit no, not the eyes!’ ‘The mouth? No, that's even worse!’ ‘Jesus, you’ve kissed people before, why are you so fucking nervous?!’

Five. The turmoil in her head doesn’t bleed through to her calm expression, keeping a gentle smile that has Carmen letting out his own.

“Okay… ” 

Four. The bundle of words hangs from his lips, swinging in her direction and hooking around her neck to pull her closer.

Three. There’s a prevalent pulsing rippling from her chest that drowns out any other sound around her, as if a fish bowl had fallen over the two, blocking out any exterior sound.

Two. “D’you mind if I kiss you?” She asks, gently.

One. The TV behind him explodes in multicolored lights as the ball finally drops. Fireworks reflect back to him from the shimmer of her eyes and all he can do is swallow hard, nod and let her gravity pull him forward.

A soft “Happy New Year, Carmy” brushes over his lower lip.

Then the last thing he remembers is the sweet taste of coconut gloss followed by the smooth movements of velvet lips above his bumbling ones.

**********

Part II

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry, @kirakombat, @redsakura101 , @hobisunshine13 and that’s it lmao