#also I want to know if the Berzattos speak Italian or not

[thebearincorrectquotes]

Natalie: You’re starting to forget your Italian. You don’t practice.

Carmy: Mi dispiace, sorella mia, sono incinta.

Natalie: You just told me you’re pregnant.

Richie: [To Carmy] Congratulations. You’re glowing.

[queer-whatchamacallit]

So I decided I was going to rewatch The Bear and take notes, partly bc autism and partly bc I want more interesting details for fics and just to get to know the characters even better

(Also, I’ve been curious about what makes Carmy blow up vs what makes him dissociate)

So here’s some things I noticed that you could also pick apart like I have here

Carmy has his apron on in the dream, maybe it’s just because that’s what he’s been wearing pretty much all the time for the past couple weeks or because his work is so tied with his family (w/ bears as symbolism for that) but idk

Him waking up on a random counter in The Beef confirms my headcanon that he falls asleep in weird places OR he fell asleep in the office and sleepwalked there

In this ep, any imagery or mention of Michael is pretty much always tied to religious imagery

Carmy calls her Sugar and him Mike, I’m always inclined to have him say Mikey instead but I don’t think he ever does. Also, Fak calls Carm Bear :]

“What’s UPS?” Is the first in a long string of times where someone tries to talk about something other than the kitchen, and it just doesn’t click with Carm

Syd’s “I know who you are” and Carmy’s “Yeah?” and he just listens to her completely riveted is so funny to me. Tell this man you know he was the CDC at one of the best restaurants in the United States of America and it’s like saying “walk” to a dog

Carm’s “I’m saying something >:[,” starts the classic Berzatto dilemma of no one listening to each other but wanting to be listened to

Reminder that Syd can speak Spanish :D

Richie talks about their “Italian heritage” and later says abt the labels “this is the most Polish shit ever,” which show how close he fits in with the Berzattos and his dislike of his bio family (Jerimovich is Polish right.?)

Richie talks about putting his family back together and him not coming home, and Carmy instantly dissociates

Him asking “Why didn’t he leave it to you then?” Not like a comeback, but a genuine question gets me every time

Carmy’s not good with words, so while this is something that just makes fun dialogue, in universe, it’s interesting to see how often his responses are parroted (ex: Marcus’ “that shit was straight up fire” and Carm’s “Straight up done now Chef”)

When it’s work time, it’s work time. When Fak stops looking at Ballbreaker to mention that he wasn’t able to go to the funeral but he sent flowers, Carm just says he wasn’t there either and swiftly changes the subject back to work

The three siblings and Richie all have gold necklaces. When Sugar shows up, I don’t know if hers was one of the matching ones, and I couldn’t figure out what the charm was on it

Tina says “Why doesn’t your sister come around here anymore?” Implying that she used to. I also feel like T wouldn’t have asked if Sugar stopped coming when she moved out and didn’t have to do what her mom told her to. Maybe Mikey kicked Sugar out of the restaurant too, but she wasn’t too bothered by it

Unlike with Richie, when Nat calls him out on not saying hello, just trying to get work done, he listens, and he slows down. Richie feels like his space in the family is shaky, so he’ll take a lot more shit from them while Nat won’t. She inherited a temper, just like her brothers, I feel like she’s in therapy and likely tackled how to stand up for herself when her family was treating her like shit, and she’s the “normal” middle child between a loud older brother and a worrying little brother, so she probably had to fight for her family’s attention at every turn

Nat mentions their mom and Carm’s eye contact instantly breaks, and it seems like he has to remind himself to breathe

His stutter shows up when arguing that he doesn’t want Jimmy to buy it

Carm’s “I’m gonna fix this place” vs Sug’s “No one’s asking you to” just hits so hard for some reason

When Carm tries to flee back inside, she uses “I love you,” like it’s an argument to keep him from throwing himself back into the restaurant or as a reminder that there’s people out there who want him to be doing well when she thinks the restaurant is hurting him

Sweeps is more of a background character but omg he just quietly looks out for everyone :] (he made sure Syd got to try Carm’s beef recipe :]]]])

Fak was also close with Mikey. I don’t know why I imagine Fak as being not quite as close with everyone as Richie, but they came to Christmas too, edit: Fak’s “but it got fuckin dark at the end” showed that he too knew something was up when Carm didn’t

Carm very much gives off the vibe of being allergic to cats, but I’m going to ignore that and squeeze in my headcanon that he loves Fak’s cats, Ralph and they love him

Richie’s dialogue is such a fun juxtaposition of him trying to feel superior to whoever he’s arguing with with large vocabulary and overconfidence but often falling back into vulgar insults because that’s what he knows best. Also, later in the ep he talks about “up in Napa” with the foie gras and shit to mock Carmy, but Napa isn’t up from them, it’s in California

Richie says “You have no fuckin idea what you’re doing here” and it’s like a switch, Carmy’s comebacks and annoyance with Richie stop, and he’s completely dissociated again. Richie shoves cans of spaghetti sauce into his arms and slaps at his face to steady him because he can probably tell something’s not right with him, but he just ends up leaving him to it

One of the Berzattos main love languages is physical touch via back and shoulder pats

And finally, Carm tosses the can of spaghetti sauce which I’m saying is because he just needs them to fucking listen and trust him when he’s saying no more spaghetti but there’s probably also some kind of Michael significance there too

Edit: I think I just had the realization that family stuff is what makes him dissociate while work stuff tends to make him panic and snap at people. It makes sense, snapping at his family would only escalate things and dissociating separates him from something he’s expected to fix. And Claire is kinda off in her category but falls under the panic response

So yeah!!

That’s pretty much what I got from 1x01 - System

I don’t know when or if I’ll do more of these, but this was so much fun, literally love dissecting these sad little goobers

[carmenized-onions]

Carved In. | Secondary Invoice

logline; Carmen begins to realize, that before you were Tony to him, you were a lot of other things, to a lot of people.

[!!!] series history, this is the eighth; First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. Link was broken last week, spoofy fixed it, we ball.

portion; 4.6k

possible allergies; uhhhh, carmy pov this time, so a bit of a warped and screwed perception of self and the people around him, yknow. Some Italian shit is said, I do not fucking speak Italian, I cross-referenced to the best of my abilities if I fucked up, my BAD.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader

i really like this one, feel like i'm reentering the groove now. hopefully you do too, and if you do, you better pop an essay in my inbox mf

It has been three weeks since Carmen met you in a freezer.

Six days since you were at his apartment. Ish.

Roughly forty-three weeks since the worst day of his life. Doesn’t feel like it.

There are five days, until the third or fourth worst day of Carmen Anthony Berzatto’s life.

But today is Monday, and he doesn’t know what’s coming yet. Though, he feels it, in the air, like static thrumming before lightning inevitably strikes him. But he doesn’t know what it is, where it’s coming from, or how to stop it.

He doesn’t need to, right now, because he’s very comfortable with you in his arms. So why are you ruining it right now—

“I gotta take this, Carm���” He’s holding you down. “If it’s an emergency they’ll call back.” And will continue to do so.

“Baby, they’ve called like four times.”

“These aren’t your business hours.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t have business hours. That’s kind of my whole thing.” He knows that. He knows that better than anyone that you’re on call. But, on-call for him. Selfish, he knows. And also, not correct, you’re a business. He doesn’t super care, right now, though.

You manage to wiggle your arm just that extra inch to grab your ringing phone off the bedside table. He’s grumbling as you pick up the call, face in the crook of your neck.

“Chicago’s Kindest, fixers and co— How can I help ya?”

It’s nice, to see another new side of you, the business side, despite the fact that he didn’t really want to see it, right now. It’s so early. It’s six thirty, you’re supposed to be doing puzzles with him and then forcing him to go back to bed. This is wildly unfair. The man speaking to you with the thick and panicked Italian accent over the phone is doing this on purpose, to spite him specifically, Carmen knows this for a fact.

“Oh fuck, yeah that’s not good. You’re okay though, right? Like no one hurt?”

He hopes they’re okay. If only so it’s one less thing for you to take care of, for whoever this is. He wonders if this guy called saying his sister was giving birth, if you’d rush over, first thing. You probably would, you’re you. That’s what you do. He shouldn’t think like this, but for some reason, this phone call is making him feel wildly un-special.

“Mhm. Well, that’s good, at least.” You nod, a pensive look on your face. Carmen stares at you, not that far from your face, you break character to stick your tongue out at him. Adorable. In the literal sense. Nothing short of adored.

“Yeah, I can come take a look at it, I have a feeling what it might be. Not a hazard, don’t worry.” No… This is a nightmare, this is his personal hell… Tell your dad to come out of retirement this one time, please. Arthritis is probably fake anyways, his hands seize during prep all the time and it’s fine—

You hang up, putting your phone down somewhere on the pillow, it will inevitably get lost into the ether despite being right next to you. You look down to Carmen, who’s laying half on top of you. He is… Displeased, certainly. His hold does not ease up.

“Diner’s flat-top broke.”

“And?”

“They specialize in breakfast.”

“And?”

You laugh, throwing your head back. “You would be so mad if your fixer delayed your whole breakfast rush just so she could spend a few more moments with the hot guy in her bed.”

He’s honoured, that you’d be willing to give him the adjective hot. “I would be so mad if my fixer had a hot guy in her bed.”

This flusters you, immediately, so you just push his face away with the palm of your hand, forcing him away. He kisses the palm of your hand upon contact. Too sweet.

“Shut up, you’ll come with me, I’ll get you breakfast there.” This is more a punishment than the gift you think it is. If someone other than him needs to be the one to make you breakfast, then at least let it be one of his cooks doing so.

“Them and what stove?”

How many versions of your work uniform do you have? Navy cargo pants, again, and a navy sweater this time. Perfectly fitted, Chicago’s Kindest logo embroidered into the top left, bright white, nearly glittering. A large flannel tied around your waist with all the same patches from your jumpsuit on it. Also all the same oil stains, virtually. It was your dad’s version of the patch shtick, you explain. Most of your jackets seem to be from your dad. Plus Carmen’s. Of which you don over your sweater in the Chicago winter weather. He’s trying to not look as happy as he is about this.

According to the overview you gave him in the car, this is your second favourite place in the area. Second favourite diner, to The Beef. Now that it’s The Bear, this place might take first place in your list of favourite trashy food spots. La Mattina Dopo. The Morning After. Carm wants to make a joke about this, but debates whether or not that’d be creepy for so long that the moment passes.

Carmen’s shocked he hasn’t been here before, it’s extremely up his alley. Literally. It’s like, two blocks down his alley.

There’s a big light up sign for Italian ice, and a burly older Italian man, up front, waiting for you. Carmen stands behind you, holding your tools, because he refused to let you. He’s a gentleman, alright? His mom didn’t teach him much, but he got that part down pat.

This fellow restaurant owner practically shrieks in relief, upon just seeing you. Groaning, “Oh, grazie a Dio, cazzo...” It’s clear this isn’t your first job here. And now that Carm’s seen the logo of the diner, on their obnoxious neon sign, he can match it to one of the patches on your flannel.

The man’s hands dwarves your hand, when he shakes it, hugging your hand with both of his. He’s deeply thankful that you’re just here, before you’ve even fixed anything.

You were right, Carmen thinks, you always are, but you’re especially right right now. Getting fucked by broken equipment is a nightmare, getting fucked during a rush? And it’s fucking rush hour breakfast? Fuck breakfast.

Carm can imagine, and also see in real time, how much ease you bring to every space you ever enter, with your stupid little logo on your stupid twenty-million pairs of clothes with it. God, you’re perfect.

“Sit, sit, sit, sit!” You’re grabbing your bags from Carmen as soon as you step inside the greasy spoon. You trade your tools from his arms with his jacket from yours. Shooing him off as you rush to the back of house. “I’ll be so quick. You won’t even miss me.” Not possible.

Carmen picks the farthest back booth in the corner, by the window. These leather seats are the least worn in, the sun comes in but not so much that it’s blinding, it’s objectively the best booth. He fiddles with his fingers, tracing his own tattoos. The place is relatively empty, since they’ve got a sign on their window saying ‘Griddle’s Fucked, BRB’. Classy.

He watches you through the serving hatch, working in the back. Good grief, you are so pretty when you work. It’s disrespectful, he needs to see you as the working woman you are, but it’s kind of impossible. You make it impossible. The golden hour of sunrise is hitting you just right. God, why do you have to be here and not at home right now?

“Can I get you a cup, Jack?” Jack? You’re Tony. Well, not really. But you’re Tony. Who’s this guy think he is, calling you nicknames Carm’s never had the honour of hearing, that you’ve probably had years before knowing him?

God, Tony is a new name for you. That’s weird. That’s so weird. It's one of many.

“At least some ice, c’mon, it’s boilin’ here.” It’s true. Sweater was a bad call. But it’s so cute.

“Ah, I’m good f’now, but ‘tuh—” You nod to Carmen through the window, grinning when you catch him staring. He’s finally honoured rather than nervous about this. “—Can you get Boss a coffee? He takes it…” You lean through the hatch, calling to him. “Uh, Carmy, how do you take it? Black?”

He takes it how you make it, lavender and maple syrup. Black coffee, no milk, but foam on top. Dried lavender, lined down the middle of the foam as garnish. It’s the best coffee he’s ever had in his life. Better than any bodega he ever stopped at in New York, better than anything anyone handed off to him at the French Laundry, better than Luca. That’s how he takes it.

“Black, yeah.”

He can’t tell if he likes when you call him boss. He thinks he does. That might be problematic. He's too distracted by the thought to notice you flinching when you realize where he's sitting.

You nod, smiling big, then turn back to the owner. What’s this guy’s name, even? “Black, for ‘em. Big fuckin’ thing of black cherry for him too, we’ll split it.”

How’d you know he likes black cherry? Lucky guess? Is it just your favourite, coincidentally? Probably.

The man claps your back, “Anythin’ for you, cara.” He calls out your order— Or is it Carmen’s order? —To a nearby bus boy.

If this man wasn’t old enough to be your father, and is clearly just acting like a father figure, Carmen would probably maybe a little a lot be freaking out. But you’re fine, so he’s fine. You duck down where Carmen can’t see you, presumably to the ‘Fucked Griddle’.

“So, what I was thinking it might be is—” Carmen has to strain his ears to hear you from this distance as you stop projecting your voice for him, but he manages just fine. “So— Basically, the fire wasn’t the problem, it was the sprinklers. They flooded the inside wiring here, which, they’re insulated so that’s fine but—”

Is this what he sounds like when he explains a dish to you? The mechanics of things was never really his forte. If it works, it works, and you make something with it. And hey, even if he was stuck, he has you to know for him, now. You know the wiring, the plumbing, the everything. Carmen has no fucking idea what you’re talking about, but he likes that you’re talking.

“Yeah, so see here?” And you’re willing to teach? Aye, Marone... “That’s what’s fucked, your thermocouple. It’s like, essentially a temp sensor. Makes sure shit’s cold when it needs to be cold and hot when it needs to be hot. If it’s broken, whole thing won’t turn on.”

“And is broken?” Says the man squatting down next to you. Carmen can’t see you nodding, rubbing your hand over your face, tiredly. “It’s broken.”

“You fix?”

“I would. Or I will, but—” You stand up, ah, like the sun, you have once more risen for Carmen to see through the hatch. “It’s like, the one fuckin’ part I don’t keep stocked up on. I’ll have to call in an order, I know a guy, I uh…” You kiss your teeth. “I can probably get this done by like, Wednesday, at earliest?”

The man next to you groans painfully, Carmen can feel it, in his bones. Flat top broken for two fucking days? And it was because of a fire? Or no— Not a fire— The fucking sprinklers? He’s getting punished for safety? Surely there is no Just God. But the man nor Carmen can be mad, looking at your guilt-ridden face. Most repairmen would be lying through their teeth, right now, but both men can tell, this really is the one part you don’t keep stock of, and you really do have connections— You’ve got your phone out, and you’re texting a million different people asking for help. They’re all just not nearly as giving as you are. It is impossible to be mad at someone trying to help this hard.

The bus boy finally comes up to Carmen’s booth, “Black coffee and black cherry for the man.” The way he says the man, is like, the verbal form of wiggling eyebrows. Your man, is what he means by that. Carmen likes that idea. Your man. The one you brought to tag along with you on a job. He’s your man, to these people, at least.

“Thanks.” He nods, the bus boy smiles and walks off. The black cherry Italian ice is big, as you requested. Definitely dished out in a bowl meant for a two-person sundae, two spoons already in it, for his convenience. He doesn’t dare touch it without you. He takes a sip of his coffee.

It’s fine. It’s just fine. Well, maybe it’s great. It could quite frankly be the best cup of joe in the entirety of Chicago and Carmen wouldn’t give a fuck. You didn’t make it. Therefore, it’s just fine. He’d take your hot chocolate with the shitty pre-packaged mix over the best cup of coffee, any day.

More notably, to Carm, is when he puts the cup back down on the saucer, he notices it for the first time. Your name. Shoddily carved into the table. He seems to have inadvertently stumbled upon a relic of you. Was your name carved in at The Beef’s old tables? Has he gotten rid of you, before, without realizing?

You rush back to Carmen, after sorting some things out with the Head. You speak hastily as you speed towards him, tucking your phone in your pocket. “I’m gonna be right back, doll, I just gotta give ‘em my hot plate, thank God I was lazy and left it in my trunk all week.”

Getting called doll is a decent salve to the fact that—“Oh, you just give that out to everyone?” He’s joking, but he’s not. Un-special.

It’s selfish, but he wishes that extra 10% you give out unabashedly was reserved for him. You roll your eyes, messing with his hair, and give him a kiss on the top of his head. This is an acceptable answer, but once again, you go above and beyond.

“They need something to tithe them over ‘til one of their line cooks gets back with a rented out flat-top. And I said I’d get you fuckin’ breakfast, didn’t I? They need to cook it somehow.” You grin, he has no come back for this, you’re perfect. “They make good fuckin’ smash burgers, here. With the perfect over medium egg. You’re gonna love it.”

“…M'sure I will.” He’d do it better. He could do it so much better.

…

Why did every thought in his head just get so tantrically sexual, Jesus Christ. La Mattina Di, more like. Relax!

“This you?” Carmen coughs, quickly. He doesn’t need to have cover, you’re not a psychic— Probably— and yet he still feels flush about it. He points to your name, carved into the table. You blink, looking at it. You swallow and nod. He cannot tell which emotion comes first, joyful nostalgia or trepidation. But he knows they both come.

“My name,” You nod. “But not my handiwork… Mikey did it.” Oh.

“Oh.” He doesn’t know how to react, and to you, that comes off as just simply unreadable.

“Yeah,” You nod, smile returning, though it’s sheepish. Hesitant. You pat his shoulder, already half-stepping away from him. “It’s a funny story, I’ll tell you about it in a sec, just gonna get that hot plate, Bear.”

You walk off, quickly, heading out to your car parked on the side of the street. He could watch you through the window, instead, he opts to stare at the carving his brother did.

Forgive the man, he’s a bit dense when it comes to these things, or maybe he just has selective hearing— But. Whenever you had talked about Mikey, he took it in the way everyone talked about Mikey. Everyone was friends with Mikey. That’s just how he made people feel. Everyone loved him, he made any person in the room feel like the light of his fucking life; it’s a talent you have in common, with the dead man.

So, it really hadn’t occurred to him, until this very moment, staring at the shaky lettering, that not only was Michael Berzatto your best friend, you were his, too. He let you in. Mikey’s name isn’t carved in here, he didn’t do a fuckin’ ‘Besties’ or both your names in a heart— And for some reason, that makes this feel worse. Mikey didn’t do this as a show of affection or to make you feel like the center of his universe, he carved your name in this table because he wanted to. And that is more tender than any fucking ‘BFF’ tag could be. For his brother, at least.

Carmen can’t tell who he’s jealous of, right now. It’s definitely both, but he’s not sure which one is the more predominant. On one hand, he didn’t get to be friends with his brother the way you did, apparently. You got to know a side of his brother that he simply will never get to know, at least not first hand. And that’s fucking gutting. But it’s also in no way your fault.

On the other hand, Mikey got to know you. Got to watch you quit being a paramedic, maybe console you about it, even. Got to drink your cups, before Carmen did— Hell, you probably tested recipes on him. Carmen knows their coffee machine is fucked, you absolutely had a shit ton of practice with it in order to make anything brilliant let alone edible.

Mikey got to have you, got to go to diners with you, carve names in booths with you, neg you for not smoking with him, probably give you his jacket on cold nights, come in for late night fixes— For years before Carmen got to even meet you. And you knew Mikey, when’d you say? Two? Three years ago? Give or take? After that Christmas, probably. After he went to New York. After he and Mikey just… Fully stopped talking. You said it yourself, you knew Mikey when he wasn’t letting people know him.

Carmen is so new to your life, but his life isn’t new to you at all. You’ve been in his universe, forever. You’ve been friends with Syd since you were kids, on the same block. You’ve been friends with The Beef before he was. You know Uncle Jimmy. Fuck, you were even friends with fucking Richie, during his worst era. And actually, matter of fact, who cares about Jack— What the fuck does Chippy mean?

The first time Carm heard it was while Sugar was in fucking labour, he didn’t have time to ask. Why’s Richie got a personalized nickname for you? Of all people? Why do these aspects make him feel nauseous? They shouldn’t. They really shouldn’t. It’s a blessing, it’s like, probably what it feels like for people with normal families, when your girlfriend gets along with your parents.

But it doesn’t feel good, right now. It feels hollow. Like he missed out, on getting to experience so much with you. With his brother. With The Beef. He should’ve been here. He wants the old nicknames, he wants the claimed booth, he wants the permanence. He wants to be your man. He wants to have been your man. If he had been, for the past three years, you would probably be talking about moving in together, by now.

Okay, now he needs to pivot back to carnal thoughts because this is so much crazier. Objectively, you would make a good roommate, though, and that should probably be said—

You’re back. You’ve handed off the dual burner to the kitchen, put your orders in, and you’re back, sliding into the booth with him. You’ve already grabbed your spoon from the bowl. 

“I ordered for you; that okay?” You ask before unceremoniously shoving the spoon full of black cherry Italian ice in your mouth. Carmen nods, picking up his own spoon. He misses the fact that you usually share utensils, since you’re always trying something. But he’ll survive.

“Black cherry’s my go-to.” He mumbles, sorbet in his mouth. When’s the last time he’s had a food he considers a favourite? It’s always new, not nostalgia.

“I know.”

“You know?” Carmen squints. Your nonchalant expression changes, realizing that he’s not in this memory.

“Ah. Mikey.” You lean back in your booth, realizing. You nod to the bowl. “Uh, black cherry is also my favourite. And uhm, he’d— I’d order it, and he’d go ‘Aye, that’s Carmy’s’,” You do your best impression, you and Carmen cannot help but chuckle. “And I’d go sure man, and he’d do that a solid— Every fucking time I ordered black cherry.”

You laugh, it’s practically an inside joke for you, only you, at this point. Carmen’s stuck wondering how many things you just inherently know about him. Is that why you’re so good with him? Or are you just like that? It’s probably both. It’s definitely both.

“So, just hard to forget, out of repetition at this point.”

But also, Mikey paid attention to that stuff? Retained it? Told people, about him? About his favourites?

Carmy smiles, “Y’know any other favourites, of mine?”

You think on it for a second, taking another spoonful of ice, eyes looking up to nowhere. “You’d never be so pretentious to ask someone their brand, but you smoke Red 100s.”

So good. You’re so good. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

You grin, overjoyed to be right, so good— You knock on the top of your head. “Like a steel trap, this memory.”

The silence collects between you two, comfortably. And then, Carmen taps his knuckles on your name on the table. You jump, not flinching, just remembering, ironic. “Oh! Right!”

You trace the letters with your free hand, eating sorbet with the other. “So, Mikey and I typically eat—Ate, here a lot, practically own this booth, and I’d made some joke about claiming it as ours, making like, a plaque to put above it. And he said we don’t need no fancy-shmancy plaque; we can just mark it.”

You grab one of the butter knives from the caddy on the table. “He picked up one of these, as a joke, initially, but then I said that there’s no way you can carve into wood with a fuckin’ butter knife— And this, of course, incensed him— Practically a double dog dare, to him.”

You’re good at daring people without daring people. Or at least, Berzatto men.

“And so, he was like, oh yeah? And proceeded to carve my name in—Painstakingly slowly, obviously, in—” You do air quotes, “‘My honour and shame’, for being so wrong.”

Carmen smiles, slightly, because that seems like probably the appropriate reaction to have. He takes a long time swallowing the black cherry ice, so he doesn’t have to speak. Is he bothered, by this story? He thinks he’s bothered, by this story. He’s jealous of both of you. He’s infinitely jealous of both of you, and insult to injury, you and Mikey are so… Similar.

Sugar said it best. The air. The temperature. You control it, you make it so easy for him to be bold, be wanting, and express that. Like Mikey did, though, not in the same way, obviously. Mikey did it through pissing him off. But— You both make it possible for him to feel like he’s above water.

The similarity between you—Carmen imagines in these few brief seconds before it’s his turn to talk again— must’ve brought you closer together. Closer than Carmen could be, to you, ever. He’s too sharp, jagged, compared to Mikey. He will never be able to fill the gap where his brother was.

Hold on.

Is he just filling a gap, for you?

It’s his turn to talk. “Fuckin’ sounds like ‘em. Didn’t do his own name, though?”

You shake your head, thank God, you didn’t see this play out on his face, “It was objectively hard to carve with a butter knife, he was determined to get me down and after that it really didn’t matter. We would’ve been there all fuckin’ day.”

The bus boy soon arrives with your orders. Smash burger with cheese and a fried egg for Carmy, B-E-C on sourdough for you— “Your usual, Jack.”

“What’s with Jack?” Carm asks, once the waiter walks off.

“Oh, it’s like, classic nickname for me— M’Dad calls me Jack, work calls me Jack, it’s cause of, uh, Jack of All Trades, master of none— All that. It’s corny, but it stuck.”

“But I like Tony,” You add, shrugging, “It’s a cute change.”

Carm nods to the owner in the back, that he still doesn’t know the name of. “What's boss' name, by the way?” You laugh suddenly, shaking your head.

“You're gonna laugh.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Know why?”

Carmen tilts his head, a genuine smile crawling up his face. You speak at once.

“His name’s Tony.” “His name’s Tony?”

You nod emphatically, giggling. God, you make things fun. You make 8 am breakfast fun. He could seriously make a better smash burger, though, you need to be taught better standards. You also need to be taught NYT Connections as you do it for the first time over breakfast together. You’re kind of getting better. Carmy does have to give you hints, but he prefers it that way, prefers to be needed by you for a change. The idea of being a seat warmer completely leaves his mind, for now.

The meal is comped, despite both of your reservations about it. You assure Tony that you’ll be back on Wednesday to fix his flat-top first thing that morning. Everyone knows you mean that.

Carmen could more than easily walk to The Bear, but you drive him so you can squeeze in that little extra time together before you’ve gotta do… Tasks or whatever it is you do. Very important things, he imagines. Please don’t have a shift at Eden’s tonight, he’ll explode.

When you park in the back, his head is between wanting to kiss you and wanting to leave as soon as possible in fear of saying the wrong thing or learning the wrong thing. You come to his rescue without realizing; you kiss his cheek.

“Have a good day at work, call me if you need anythin’, and if you don’t, still call me. Please.”

“You can come in, for a bit— f’you want.” Carve your name into your favourite booth, maybe. Well, you shouldn't, The Bear is supposed to be classy, but maybe on the underside? Only you and him would know it's there.

You turn from Carm to look at the back of The Bear. You seem… Uneasy? Trepidatious? You’re not scared, he doesn’t think, but he’s also never seen you scared, he thinks, so he’s not sure he’d know what that looks like.

“I’m uh, I’m okay, I got some stuff I need to get done but ‘tuh—” You thrum your fingers against the steering wheel, hesitating, biting your lip. Clearly there’s something you want, Carmy just has no earthly idea what it could be. Name it. Name anything. He’ll give you anything.

“Can you— Can you, uh— tell Richie I said hi?”

Richie? Fucking Richie? Not Syd? Fuck, he’d even take Tina, here. Richie? You want him to say hi for you to Richie?

“Yeah, yeah I can do that—Uhm—” Carmen puts his pointer finger over his mouth, he’ll let this go, for now, but there’s another sticking point that he can’t. He opens the door with one hand, but turns his body to face you. He points at you. “Can you uhm— Like, uh— Next time—”

No, it’s not on you actually, he decides. You look confused, when Carm waves it off, “Uh, Nevermind.”

“What’s up, Carm?” You're cute when you're worried.

“Nothin’, nothin’s up. I— Hm.”

He curls his hand in the air into a fist, he leans forward in his seat, and takes a soft hold of your chin, quick kiss before immediately rushing out of the car, words just as hurried. He does not want to give you a minute to question it.

“I’ll call you after work, cara mia.”

It's hard to imagine a Chicago accent saying Cara Mia but I did feel like it was appropriate to say so--

If it wasn't clear, because most things I say aren't, he didn't love another Italian Restaurant Owner calling you Cara. But also, it's not like he can tell you to tell people to stop saying Cara. That's weird. And also not on you. But he can claim it for himself.

Uhhhh anything of note to say on this one, hmm. OH RIGHT. Yeah that was fuckin' crazy with the whole Mikey spiral eh? It's fun writing Carm's perspective, because he's always just going insane. Me core.

Sewing the seeds of a terrible Friday hahahahahahhahahahahaha

And he finally questioned Chippy! Not out loud but at least internally-- And what's up with you feeling weird and wanting to say hi to Richie??? What are YOU up to??!?!?!?!

Breakfast was cute though. Always is. Is it too late to rename this series the breakfast club? I am joking. Please do not start calling this series the breakfast club.

Anyways, as always, please leave me a gigantic essay of thoughts somewhere I can read them and have a wondaful rest of ya day baby. Have no clue when the next chapter will come out your guess is as good as mine motherfucker.

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