#carmen berzatto x OC | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drabbles-mc · 1 year ago

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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.

#storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023 #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x oc #carmen berzatto x oc #oc kalia mason #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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readingwiththereids · 2 years ago

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yanda! speaks: hello my pretties! as promised, here is chapter 2! again, minimal carm so i’m sorry but we do get to see camila interact with the rest of the gang <3 hope you like it, don’t forget to like and reblog! lots of love and light 🤎

masterlist

night rain ; chapter 2

2022

Emilia was hyper and extremely difficult to tire out. Even after a two-hour trip to the park filled with nonstop monkey bars and swings, the young girl still always had another activity in mind for her and her mother to do. And that was why Camila was currently trying to stop Emilia from jumping from couch to chair and cracking her head open as they played “pirates”.

“Emmy, I swear to God if you jump, I won’t make you pudding for a week.” Camila yelled as she eyed her daughter sternly.

As the toddler huffed and sat down on the arm of the couch, a muffled ringtone sounded from under the pile of toys on the living room floor prompting Cam to rush to answer. It was Tina.

“Mami? ¿Qué pasó?” [What happened?]

“Why would you assume something happened, Camila? What if I just wanted to hear your voice?”

“Because when I tried to call you during the day last week you told me to, and I quote, ‘hop off your dick’.”

“Okay but that was different, I actually want something from you now.”

“So you do need something.” Camila chuckled into the speaker.

“Yes. Yes, whatever, God you’re just as bad as the new girl.”

“Who?”

“No one. Could you please be my darling daughter and bring me one of my extra clean aprons? Your boyfriend won’t stop yelling at me about it.”

Ignoring the way her mother referred to Carmy, Camila replied watching Emilia start to yawn on the couch, “Are you aware that your darling daughter is also the mother to a two-year-old?”

“Isn’t it nap time? Just bring her with, she can sleep in the car.”

A pause.

“Will you take care of her on Friday during the gala?”

^^^^^^^^^

“I’ll be right back.” Camila whispered as she exited and locked her child in the car.

5 minutes. Just 5.

The woman thought as she hesitantly walked through the door of The Beef before being met with almost half a dozen bodies hovering around what seemed to be sandwiches.

“Cam?”

Marcus spotted her first, immediately walking around the group to engulf her in a huge bear hug. Suddenly everyone was surrounding her. She couldn’t even count how many hugs, kisses on the cheek and pats on the back she received from her chosen family. The commotion obviously summoned the king of noise and ruckus himself, Richie and an unknown girl with multi-coloured braids trailing behind him.

“As I live and breathe!” Richie’s voice boomed through the front of house.

“Hey, Cousin.” Camila laughed as he picked her up and spun her around.

“Feel like I haven’t seen you in ages, Mini.”

“Likewise,” she said before turning to the girl she had yet to be introduced to. “Camila, nice to meet you.” she smiled.

“Hi! My name’s Sydney, I’m staging today.”

“Awesome, I hope everyone’s made you feel welcome.”

Angel stepped in, clearing up the confusion on Sydney’s side. “Cam is Tina’s daughter.”

“And Carmen’s ex-girlfriend.” Ebra loudly whispered.

“Ebraheim, you know you can’t whisper.” Tina rolled her eyes, slapping his arm.

Breaking the awkwardness, Sweeps walked up to Camila with a sandwich in his hand. “Yo, you gotta try this.”

“Holy shit, this is fu-”

“Fucking fire, we know!” Richie groaned. “I don’t know why you all act like Cousin shits out a golden egg every time he makes something, nothing is that good!”

“Well, have you tried it, Richard?” Camila asked.

The scruffy man paused before shaking his head as if that was one of the most absurd questions anyone had ever dared to utter in his presence.

“Exactly,” Cam continued. “Also, I’ve seen you eat a slice of pizza off the floor in the middle of Millennium Park, so I’m not entirely sure if your standards are up to code, Rich.”

That statement resulted in many exclaims and expressions of disgust, amusement and pure shock which were all interrupted when the kitchen door slammed open.

“Alright! Everyone stop standing around, we only have an hour left till-”

When Camen looked up from his phone and saw the very reason his employees refused to get back to work, he froze. Believe it or not, this was the first time in three years that he had seen Camila’s face. After she left, she never told him where she went, removed him from all her social media, left some money for him to pay off their apartment and basically disappeared off of the face of the earth. It hit him hard at first but he soon realised that he had to just keep going, keep himself busy, which his career did a fine job at.

However, it still felt weird seeing her again. Not exactly like reopening an old wound but rather reminding him of one that never really healed, that he’d just forgotten was still hurting.

Due to his train of thought, Carmy failed to notice that the room had almost entirely cleared out, leaving just him and the woman he’d been in love with once (and honestly was still in love with).

“Hi.” he eventually croaked out.

“Hi.” she smiled sadly.

yanda! speaks (again): cam in her bad mom era tbh. like girl why are you leaving your child in the car in the middle of river north?? 🤨

🏷️ list: @rexorangecouny @louderfortheback

[dm me to get on the tag list :b]

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto imagine #the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic #the bear fx #carmen berzatto x oc

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peachandbear · 2 years ago

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Aight all I can offer for now is this rushed art I did of Carmy and Peach 🤧 it's based of this artists template for the dynamic of ships they like

#the bear #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #the bear fx #art #carmy x oc #carmen x oc #carmen berzatto x oc #my art #peach art #yes peach is taller than carmy #im a sucker for tall girl x short guy combo

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nobitchs-world · 8 months ago

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When y/n gets too annoying to the point you want to stop reading

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melaninforkings · 11 months ago

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a piece of me dies every time im reading a fic and taylor swift lyrics pop up😭 then i realize the description of the oc or “reader” are very white coded like OH! that’s not…

#black reader #x reader #x oc #LIKE PLSSS I PROMISE THERE ARE OTHER ARTISTS WITH BETTER SONG TO USE #austin butler x black!reader #timothee chalamet x reader #black!reader #carmen berzatto x reader #paul atreides x reader #jake sully x reader #austin butler x reader #kennedy talks #peeta mellark x reader #finnick odair x reader #poc!reader

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nolita-fairytale · 2 years ago

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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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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carmenized-onions · 8 months ago

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Two Steps Back. | Advanced Payment

logline; it's time to retrace your steps. both of you.

[!!!] series history, this is the thirteenth; nothing distresses me more than when i see people read this out of order PLEASE BABY PLEASE

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. constant headache was actually in season 3? my brain. my power.

Or, maybe you'd like a playlist made especially for this chapter? Consider this my Fishes special.

portion; 17k new record again, please god tell me it gets shorter from here on i'm so. tired..

possible allergies; you will know exactly what trigger warnings you need upon reading seeing the first line. Also! I watched Season 3, and injected some lines from it into this, including the finale. I don't consider it full spoilers, because it's an entirely new context, but you might wanna catch up before you read this one!

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader so excessively gendered, in this chapter. my bad.

it's my birthday so if you typically lurk legally you have to tell me your thoughts on this one! Also it's once again the new longest, so like. cmon.

“What are you, Amish?”

You blink, craning your head back to look up at this annoying giant. You’re too tired for this shit. This is your one day off this week and you’re spending it fixing faulty lights with your dad, at some shit diner. Why did you agree to start coming on jobs? Why’s this guy gotta bother you on your lunch break? What’s wrong with you not wanting to smoke? Pardon you for not wanting to kill yourself with tobacco—

“Ah, no, I’m just uhm—” You gesture your hand to your head. “I get migraines, kinda easy, so I can’t, uh— Can’t indulge.”

He nods, he opts to stand next to you, while you’re sitting on the curb. At least the smoke will blow over your head, this way. You try to eat your lunch in peace. He does not let you have this moment of peace.

“Jack, right?” He nudges your foot with his. “That’s what your pop’s calls you, at least?”

“Yeah. Everyone calls me Jack.” You nod. Guess this is a conversation now, whether you want it or not. “You’re Mikey? The owner?”

“The Original Chicago Beef, in the flesh.” He nods, and he says it like he’s proud but he doesn’t look it. He leers at your partially consumed tin foil wrapped sandwich. “You bring your own lunch?”

You shrug. “Uh, yeah, grilled cheese with pork—”

“Why would you—” The door to the kitchen swings open, as Mikey grimaces. You both turn your heads to see another guy come out— Oh it’s that one, the one that cannot stop talking about his divorce— Mikey consults him. “Yo, Rich, do I look like some jamoke, to you? Just wonderin’.”

Rich, tilts his head, and his legs follow after him, “No, cousin, whatssup?” He takes the cigarette from Mikey, when it’s offered up.

“Well, our little fixer friend here—” Mikey nudges you, again. “—seems to think me a fuckin’ ass.”

Now when did you say anything like that? “Wha—”

“Stop making lunches, I’ve been watching you come in here with your little lunch pail the past few jobs, you eat free ‘ere, aright? You’re workin’.” Doesn’t matter what you said. Mikey sees you. Mikey’s always seen you.

‘workin’’ is a bit generous. The most you do is hand your dad tools, hold a flashlight, and ask too many questions. You definitely could do more, but he knows you're too tired. He really just wants to spend time with you. You pretend to not know his ulterior motives.

“We’re gentlemen here, sweetheart.” Rich bends down, so you can see him past Mikey’s frame, at your level. He reaches a hand out for you to shake. “Richie. Jerimovich.”

You’re not gonna remember that. You take his hand and shake it. “Jack. It’s— I’m just Jack.”

You’ve only got one hand on your sandwich, to shake Richie’s hand. So, like a school bully, Michael takes your loosened grip as his opportunity to grab it from you. “Yoink—!”

You whine, “C’mon—” “Let me make you a real fuckin’ sandwich, sweetheart—” “I’d just like my sandwich, alright?” “Oh, it’ll be your sandwich, alright? You think I don’t make good sandwiches? Richie, she doesn’t think I make good sandwiches.”

“Fuckin’ insane, cousin.”

You attempt to defend yourself from the peanut gallery of one guy. “Not what I said!”

“Why do you keep bringing lunch, then?”

Because it’s easy? Because it’s orderly? Because you’ve been in a full state of autopilot for the last threeish years and every day you’ve eaten the same breakfast and made the same lunch and then you go on your shift and then someone nearly dies and sobs in your arms and then you sit on the edge of the ambulance and you eat your grilled cheese and pork? Because if you break the routine it’s all gonna hit?

“I just like making my own lunch.”

“Well, stop. You’re breaking my heart.” Michael takes a bite of your sandwich. You click your teeth. Germs. You’re going to chastise him, but he doesn’t let you. “You like pork more than beef?”

“I think beef is fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

You take too long to respond, meaning the lie won’t be believable, so you have to tell the truth. You have to tell The Original Chicago Beef that— “I… I like pork more.”

“How dare you—” Barks Richie, the guard dog, apparently. Mikey stops him, putting a hand up.

“No, no, I asked the lady a question. She’s wrong but I asked. Fair’s fair. We express our fury like gentlemen, Cousin.” He nods, to himself. Thinking. About what is beyond you. God, so much for a lunch break. You point to your sandwich in his hand.

“Can I have that back—” “No. I’m makin’ you a goddamn real sandwich.”

You all but growl, really. You start to stand up. God, this guy is pushy. “I just said, I prefer—”

Mikey’s already making his way back into the kitchen, with the last half of your lunch as hostage. “Oh, I’ll make you a fuckin’ pork sandwich, aright?”

Mikey’s guard dog stamps out the butt of the shared cigarette, walking backwards into the kitchen, following Mikey but watching you. “He’s gonna make you fuckin’ pork, aright?”

“Aright!” Is all you can yell back, at your wits with the two dumbest most stubborn middle-aged geezers you’ve ever met.

Richie holds the door open for you, so you don’t get locked out. Alright, maybe he is a gentleman. You hear Mikey’s voice ring, from inside the kitchen. “And if you’re not doin’ nothin’ for your dad, try to fix the fuckin’ coffee machine, would you?”

This fucking guy.

You have waved at him a couple times, here and there, while helping out your dad. But now, you’ve officially had Michael Bear Berzatto in your life for a solid ten minutes. Doesn’t feel like it.

Carmen Anthony Bear Berzatto has officially not had you in his life for ten minutes. Doesn’t feel like it. Feels like you’ve been gone for years. But you’re probably still just outside, talking to Richie and Syd. How is it still Friday? What time is it? Almost six? They’ve still got four fucking hours of service to go? No, that’s a good thing. This is a good thing. Doesn’t give him time to think. Everyone needs to stop staring at him.

What a fucking monster. What did he even say? He can’t remember anymore. He remembered ten minutes ago, and now it’s gone. Completely walled off in his memory. What did he say? Why did you make that face? What did he say to Richie, again? Why did you step in front of him? What did you say, again? What did Richie say? What happened? He can’t remember. He knows he did something fucked up but Carmen cannot remember what happened twenty minutes ago. That’s bad, right?

“I need hands!” Carmen does not recognize the fact that he’s working until he hears his own voice.

Right. He’s on expo. He’s doing expo. That’s what was happening twenty minutes ago, he thinks. That’s what was happening, right? Doesn’t matter. This is what he’s doing now. Fak comes back in and takes the tray to run. He looks around for a moment, confused.

“Where’s Tony?”

“She’s gone.”

Fak pauses. You don’t leave, that doesn’t match up in his brain. It doesn’t really match up in Carmen’s either, but this is what’s happening now. “What’d’you mean she’s gone?”

“I mean she’s fucking gone, Fak.” Carmen barks back, practically. Such a fucking monster. Could Fak tell him what he said? Doesn’t matter. Carmen nods to the plate. “Table twenty-five, go.”

“...Where’d she go—” “Fucking go, Fak!”

There is a loud, thrumming buzz. The type that goes off after a game. Or maybe after a wrong answer. Expo clock. Since when did it have a sound setting? The kitchen flinches, including Carmen, including a meek-made Neil, and look to the clock behind them.

Time has stopped. 0ERR is all it displays now. The sign ‘EVERY SECOND COUNTS’ is real ironic, now. What the fuck happened? You would know. You’re still outside, Carmen could get you. Carmen could get you and say he’s sorry for whatever happened. The back of his head feels like it’s hemorrhaging. He needs to go to a doctor. Maybe a paramedic. Carmen could get you, ask you what he said, and also ask if he is actively dying, right now.

“Fak.”

“Carm?”

“Table twenty-five.” Carmen points at the plate again, with his sharpie. Then points behind him, to the broken clock. “Then fix that.”

“Why not call To—” “Do you want a fucking job here or not?” “I—I do—” “Then do your fucking job, Fak.”

Carmen doesn’t need you. The Bear doesn’t need you. They can function just fine. Everything’s fine, without you. Everything’s normal. Everything is the way that it should be. He is shaking so much— When did he eat? Has he eaten? What the fuck is wrong with him? What happened twenty minutes ago? Or was it twenty-five? No. That’s table twenty-five, he’s mixing up his numbers. What time is it? He doesn’t know. The whole kitchen doesn’t know what time it is, anymore. You are gone and so are the minutes.

Fak leaves, with the plate. Shrunken. Following orders. Carmen just turns everyone into himself, doesn’t he? What a fucking monster. He knows how bad it is to be him, and yet he still does it. Look at the orders, Carmen. Run fucking expo. So fucking slow, Carmen. Look at the orders.

The crumpled piece of paper you handed him twenty minutes— Thirty? Fuck. The fucking note you handed him some amount of time ago. It sits on his table, next to all the actual orders. He rereads it, instead of the five cavatellis he’s supposed to be yelling about, right now.

Walk-In Hotfix, $80

Plumbing Repair (Service + 4 Hours), $250

Oven Wiring Fix (House call), $70

Oven Hotfix + Replacement Thermocouple, $120

Non-Gratis: Pinot Grigio, -$20

Advanced Payment, M. Berzatto. -$2,500

You forgot the booths. And taxes. And you should probably get paid a half day, for serving for the past half hour. You also forgot all the times he called you, texted you, came over, the bookshelf you brought him, the basil, the rosemary water, cleaning up his trash, every time you tried food for him, every time you told him everything was going to be okay, every time you made everyone breath in here like it was going to be okay— You forgot everything you do. Priceless. Easily, you are owed millions, from Carmen.

He flips over the note. He reads Sweeps’ quick scribings from David, the fucking asshole out front, the fucking asshole in his head.

Cherry + Lamb, good flavour. A lot of elements. Fresh, Unique. Overall good? Ig? Weird tone.

Said he’d like to speak to ‘Wine Girl’ (ick), mentioned Michelin connect? Number = Connect? (Ick)

You didn’t eat the cherry and lamb dish. That just connected, in his head. You didn’t get to eat it. Not only did you not get to eat it, the motherfucker outside did. Fuck. You were trying to be nice, but you’ve fucked him. Unique is practically a slur to his Exec. Carmen has fun when he makes things for you— He plays— That’s not what his Exec wants. He wants two elements, max. The fact that David actually liked the flavour is nothing short of a fucking miracle. Carmen could throw up. He’s definitely getting an ulcer, again. Where’s your Tums? Fuck, you took it with you, didn’t you?

It’s embarrassing how many rules he forgets to implement, when he cooks for you. Boundless, unrestricted— When he cooks for you. Doesn't cut a single concept. It’s mortifying that someone other than you ate it, let alone David fucking Fields.

Carmen’s eyes feather, almost closing, but not completely. He scratches his fingers through his hair, destroying the cast of gel it’s been stuck in. His curls are desperately trying and failing to reform. It doesn’t matter how much he runs his hands through it, he cannot get it to smell like you again. He cannot find you in himself, he cannot find you in his kitchen. That’s what annoyed him, earlier, wasn’t it? That you were everywhere? That you were carved in, everywhere? He thought he didn’t want that?

His knees bounce where he stands, he bumps into his jacket under the table. Right. You left it. Are you cold? Turtleneck was thin. You looked so good. You always look good. Better, in his clothes, but you always look good. Did he remember to tell you that? Probably not.

“Where—” Fuck, he really is going to throw up. “Where we at on Booth Twelve’s dessert tray, Chef?”

You said it was okay for Carmen to give your number out. You gave your dish out. You shelled yourself out, for Carmen. It feels like a cave is being hollowed out, in his throat. He is so angry and he doesn’t know who it’s for. He doesn’t know where to put it. Is that what happened twenty-three— twenty-four minutes ago? Did he give it to you? No, he gave it to Richie, right? That’s how it started. Marcus hands off the dessert paddle to expo, silently. No one wants to talk to Carmen. That’s probably fair. What did he say? Probably bad. It’s already huge they haven’t walked out on him, yet. Has anyone walked out, yet?

Marcus is here, Syd is still out back— Well, actually, she might’ve left with you, she should if she can. Are you still out there? Tina wipes her eyes, working at the oven you fixed thirty— No, forty— Fuck— Earlier. It’s probably the onions from the broth making her tear up. No, it definitely is. Fak is out front, Sweeps is out front, Richie is still out back.

What did he say to Richie? Something about kids? There are no servers to hand off dessert to stupid fucking booth twelve. Carmen cannot keep looking at the family he’s ruined, in whatever way he managed to ruin it. He grabs the dessert tray. He’ll deliver it himself. He can do it all himself. He’s good by himself.

You’ve been out of Carmen’s life for 0ERR minutes. Yeah. That’s exactly how long it feels like.

“Try it try it try it.” You mumble, hurriedly, excitedly, to Marcus. The bread guy. He’s the nicest of the bunch, so far. You hand him the mug. He takes a sip of the coffee you’ve been perfecting for the last six jobs here, give or take. You’ve been in The Beef’s life for two months or so.

“Holy shit.” He nods, digesting it— Actually digesting it, which means— “It’s edible.”

“I know!” You all but shout, too excited to hide it. You’ve finally figured out how to make this thing produce what it’s supposed to— Instead of what is essentially arsenic with coffee flavouring.

Your excitement makes a line cook behind you grimace. The one you’ve still got yet to win over. “My ears, kid.”

“Sorry.” You reply lightly. Your back is turned to her, so she can’t see you cringe to Marcus, crying for help, practically. He’s sympathetic. He kept saying you just need to prove yourself, but it’s been taking forever, what else can you prove?

He decides to fast track you. “Yo, T.” She nods. She respects Marcus. But you’re just some girl that’s been in her walkway for the past seven weeks. “Try it.” He hands her your edible coffee.

She rolls her eyes, already nonplussed, but she takes the coffee. She is genuinely impressed, for a split second, before it turns into a coy sarcasm. “Wow— You’ve made not poison, great job, baby.”

“I’m gonna get better.” You respond instantly. That’s something you noticed Tina likes. Quickness. “I’m gonna make you a good coffee.” Determination, too.

“Bold.”

“Thank you—”

“No.” She pushes the coffee to your chest; you grab it before it spills. “I like it bold.”

God, she’s so scary. “Heard.” She’s so cool.

She watches you, for a second; wants to see if you crack. You don’t, thankfully. She folds. She finally kinda likes you— Or rather, is willing to admit it, in some small way. “You can come tonight.”

You can come to family, tonight. It takes everything in you not to cheer. You should mix them drinks. Or is that too try hard? No, it’s the perfect amount of try— Right? It was your old party trick in college, you should use it. Prove yourself.

“Cool.” Is all you can say, without seeming like a desperate nerd.

You've been slowly cutting away at every relationship in your life, par for your family— And even that hangs by a thread— And you thought you were fine with that. You thought you were good like that, but once you got used to The Weirdos of The Beef, you cannot help but desperately want friends, again.

Every moment you get outside of your twelve to twenty-four hour EMS shifts, you spend it here. You’re tired, but it might actually be worth it; to talk to people instead of rotting in your apartment for half a week every week.

What month is it? March? When's Squid's birthday again? Did you miss it? It's the one time a year you get to talk without the underlying pressure that you have to hang out now.

Happy Birthday, what have you been up to? Oh, same thing as last year? You're irrevocably a different person now but you're also still the same? Nothing much? Same here. We should see each other soon. We won't. I won't say I love you because I don't want to be weird. Even though we used to say it every day. I will never know you like I used to, and so I won't even try. Same time next year?

Working in The Beef reminds you of her. Reminds you of the other stubborn cook in your life. Was in your life? Don’t think about that. Sometimes you hear her dad's voice out front, buying himself a half-hot half-sweet braised beef sandwich. Sometimes you think about going out there and saying hi. Sometimes you think about asking about Syd. Sometimes you think about asking how the catering gig is going. Sometimes you think about asking if she needs you anymore.

You never do.

“Aye.” Mikey claps your shoulders, bringing you back to earth. You didn't even realize he was behind you. He digs his hands in, a sudden and always painful massage. His preferred way of saying stop fucking tweaking. He leans over your shoulder, looking at the coffee cup that doesn't look as pitiful as it usually does. “Good job, kid.”

“Thank you—” “Now figure out how to make it worth drinking.”

You scoff, rolling your shoulders to push him off you. “I'm fuckin’ trying!”

His hands stay in place, but his massage does become gentle, and actually decent. Per usual. You’re not sure how he always manages to get the knots. “T say you can come to family?”

You had to get all yeses that you are now in fact family to join for family. You look over your shoulder to face him. “Mhm.”

“Good.” He looks around. “Your dad here?”

You nod. “In the basement, something about your furnace? It's fucking beyond my skill set, so I'm up here until he needs me.” As much as your dad started doing this to hang out with you, heads got too hot with you fucking up which tools to hand him one too many times; repeatedly yelling same team in a more and more distressed tone did not seem to be helping either. Whatever. Gave you more time with the coffee machine. You’re going to make this thing your bitch, one day. One day this thing is going to sing for you.

“Oh, good.” And with that, he's already pulling you to his station. “You can help me with family brisket, then.”

“Nooooo—” “If you want family you gotta be family, Jack.”

You whine, but you don't mind this at all. Mikey sees you. Mikey knows you; probably better than he should. He knows you always need something to do.

“Pork?” “Pork.” “Fine.” It's your recipe, so you must oblige.

He's good. Mikey is good. Mikey pays attention. Mikey's made the cycle break in a way that doesn't hurt.

Carmen needs to apologize to Richie, for never taking his stress over running front of house seriously.

Carmen hates being out front already and he’s only just stepped out. Why is everyone looking at him out here, too? He should also apologize for whatever he said forty minutes ago. Thirty-five? Doesn’t matter. What’s important is handing this dessert tray to the fucking jagoff. The man who Carmen dreamed of becoming, the man who he’s now scared he’s become. David Fields. Former Executive Chef. Too many accolades to list.

“Dessert is served, hope you enjoy, Chef.” Carmen manages to bite his tongue for this guy, so why can’t he do it for the people he actually gives a fuck about? He’s a fucking coward. He swallows, setting the dessert paddle down in front of the stupid five fucking guests. Far too big a party, for a fucking walk in. And all they got for dessert was the fucking tasting paddle? Why are they skimping now? Assholes. All of them. Carmen knows all of these people. Well. Knows their faces. Remembers working with them, but never really talked to any of them. Why would he? He was focused. He was good.

“Thank you, Chef.” Says David. It feels like lightning, to hear those words. But not in a good way. It should feel like an accomplishment, to hear this guy say anything remotely positive, to Carmen, but it doesn’t. It feels the opposite, honestly. Feels like something’s wrong. Getting this guy’s approval is wrong.

This is the part where Carmen is supposed to leave. This is the part where the server goes back to the kitchen and continues their job. But he can’t. He’s stuck in place. He’s back in front of the fire, and he’s not putting it out. Carmen swallows hard and his spit feels like glass all the way down his throat. His Exec stares at him, nearly coy— Like he knows. Like he can see the invisible snake coiling around Carmen. Like he knows that Carmen desperately has something to say.

“Let’s have it, Chef.” David goads.

Fuck it. Fuck everything, fuck it. Not like the night can get worse. “Can we step out, for a second, Chef?”

“Lookit this.” Mikey pivots his phone to you, for you to see a photo he's just been sent.

It's of… “What the fuck is that?” You've got no clue. Some weird spiralling array of colours.

“I've no fucking clue. Food? Apparently?”

It's April, and Mikey has let you in. You will not realize how big a deal this is until it's too late. But right now, you're just happy to be hanging out with him before open. Without your dad, too.

Their most frequent regular’s favourite chair broke, one of the legs just fully gave out underneath him. It's an easy fix. Mikey could probably do it himself. Fak or whatever the fuck his name is could absolutely do it himself. Mikey called you, instead. Called you. Not your dad. You think this'll be your first and last solo job. Naive.

“Carmy?” You assume, he's the only person that's on that rich people shit. Michelin Star Chef, baby boy with big dreams.

“Yessir. He’s still killin’ it.” Is all Mikey says, tucking his phone away. You frown at him, screwing the chair leg in, sitting on the floor. He groans. “Don't gimme those eyes, Jack.”

“You should reply!”

“He doesn't need a fuckin' reply.”

You tilt your head, the look you give him translates to ‘Are you forreal?’

He just sighs, exasperated. “You don't get brothers, Jack.”

“I literally have brothers, Michael.”

“Yeah but it's—” He gestures to the general air, attempting to explain nothing. “It's different. We communicate different.”

“Sure.” You can admit that. “I'm sure the dynamic is very different brother to brother, brother to sister. But like—” You jiggle the chair leg, alright maybe it's not that easy of a fix. “It sucks bein’ the baby, I know that much.”

“You're the baby?”

“Yeah, why?” You lift your head from the chair back to him. “I got middle child energy? I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

“No, no— Oldest.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Thought you were one of me, Jack. My own blood.”

You scoff. But it’s not something you haven’t heard before. You’ve got the blood of people who’ve had to take care of people. “Well, being the only sister kinda made me the oldest sister.”

You pad your hand around the floor, searching, before looking up to Michael, again. “You see the fuckin—?”

He tosses you the chair leg cap, before you can finish asking for it. “You’d like Nat. Similar ideologies.”

“I would love to know how your younger sister fuckin’ survived you, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, at that. “She’s a trooper. Surrounded by some of the worst men Chicago has to offer.” He looks at the coffee that you painstakingly crafted for him, this morning. “This is actually kinda fuckin’ good, Jack.”

“Do you have to add actually and kinda?”

He rolls his head back, neck straining. “For what you had, it’s fuckin’ perfection, alright? Happy?”

“Fuckin’ delighted.” You throw the chair up onto its legs, and it stands. “You?”

He gets up from his seat to try out the chair. He takes the coffee with him. There’s a split second where you’re scared that actually this was too hard a job for you and Mikey is going to fall and the hot coffee is going to careen everywhere and fucking scald him and you told him he needed to get a first-aid kit in here but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet—

Mikey sits, and the chair works. He takes another sip of your chai coffee blend, like a vote of his confidence. He never had any doubt you could get the coffee machine to work, never had any doubt you could make a good coffee, never had any doubt you could get the chair to stand strong. Mikey has always always believed in your capabilities, even when you haven’t, and has always been happy to prove yourself to yourself. Mikey is really good at being an older brother, you think. And forget that he never texted back the real baby of his real family.

“Fuckin’ delighted, Jackie.”

“Never fuckin’ call me Jackie.”

“Heard.”

Two executive chefs stand in front of a restaurant, there’s probably a joke in here somewhere. Carmen doesn’t care to find it. He watches your car drive out onto the road, out of the corner of his eye. That’s it, then. You’re gone. He fishes a pack of cigarettes out from the chest pocket of his chef’s uniform.

“You should quit.” Says David, so high and fucking mighty. As if he doesn’t house a bottle of wine daily.

“I’m aware.” Carmen lights it anyways. You don’t smoke. Did his mouth taste bad, every time he’d kiss you? Probably. You probably just bore it for his sake. Maybe that’s why you so rarely went for his lips. He takes a puff, it doesn’t calm him down.

“Your hair is fucked.”

“And the food?”

“Busy. You can lose the basil and eggplant. You’ll re-learn.” David tilts his head, thinking, smarmy. “Someone got in your head.”

“Someone other than you, yeah.”

“Awe.” David smiles, something he so rarely did in the kitchen, but perfected in public. His tone is so perfectly pouty, like it’s disappointing he’s not the only one living rent free in Carmen’s brain anymore.

Carmen steadies his eyes forward, to the street. He cannot look his own personal nightmare in the eyes, but he can say what he’s always wanted to say. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

“How am I an asshole?” “Can you stay ‘til after close?” “You’re welcome.”

Carmen turns his head to face him now, eyes wide like plates. “I— I’m welcome? For—For-for what?”

“You were an okay chef, when you started with me.” David doesn’t fear eye contact. David’s probably never had a bad day in his fucking life. “And you left an excellent chef, so you’re welcome.”

Carmen’s never even heard the fucking word excellent come out of this man’s mouth. Let alone to describe him. It doesn’t feel good, for some reason. It still doesn’t feel good to receive praise from him, despite the fact that he’s everything.

“You…” Carmen needs a second, to catch his breath. He probably should quit smoking. “You gave me ulcers, and panic attacks, and— and nightmares— You— You know that? You understand that?”

“Yeah.” David’s entirely unfazed. All he’s heard is a list of benefits, in his head. “I gave you confidence and leadership and ability— It fucking worked.”

Is this what it working is supposed to feel like? Is this what it feels like to function? Is this what it means, to make it? If it is, then what the fuck does not making it feel like?

“I’m— I’m, I’m— I’m actually fuckin’ stunned, right now, I—” Carmen rubs his hands over his eyes. “My life stopped.”

“That’s the point.”

“That’s the point?”

“You wanted to be excellent. You got rid of all the bullshit, you concentrated, you focused— And you got excellent. And it worked. You’re here.”

You’re not bullshit. You’re not bullshit and he shouldn’t have done whatever he did to make you leave. Carmen is anything but excellent, without the people behind him, and he’s realizing that now. He’s an idiot, because you told him this, the second day of knowing him you told him this. He has a wonderful team— A family— A family he now considers you a part of. And he tanked all of it, everyone— Why? Because he had a bad fucking day? Because a dish got sent back? Because he fucked up tremendously? Boo-fucking-hoo, Carmen. It takes an idiot like David, who thinks he’s a genius, for Carmen to realize they look exactly the fucking same— And that is the actual thing that’s mortifying, tonight.

The real mortifying thing, isn’t that you were so fucking sweet and considerate of his stupid fucking brain and his stupid insane aspirations— It isn’t your dish. The mortifying thing is he prioritized the man in front of him, in any regard. It’s mortifying that Carmen made you feel like you had to prioritize the man in front of him.

“I just— I just made the—The only fuckin’ good thing in my life leave because— Because you got in my fucking head.”

David just raises his brows, like Carmen’s fucking stupid. Like there’s not a problem here. Because to him, there isn’t. And once again, the stupid fucking Exec repeats. “You’re welcome?”

“I’m—” The door opens, and for a moment, despite the fact that he watched your car disappear minutes ago, Carmen still thinks there’s a chance it’s gonna be you; begs a higher power that it’s going to be you. It’s not. It’s Richie.

“Hey asshole—” Richie stops, when he sees David. “Ah. You’re needed, Chef Carmen.”

“Cousin— You’re needed, pronto.”

“Not your Cousin.”

“Heard and resented.”

Richie’s had a habit of calling you cousin, lately. You pull your head out of the back of the Ball-Breaker arcade machine. Its controls are allegedly on the fritz, but you’re pretty sure Chi-Chi just sucks at this game. “Whaddya need? Do I have to run front a-fucking-gain?”

That was a fun out of nowhere three hour shift with zero restaurant experience— Par for bar. It will not be the last.

“Nono— Just a cuppa coffee? More like six.”

You kiss your teeth, tutting him. “You know how the fuckin’ machine works—”

“Want your coffee?” He corrects, like stroking your ego will make you fold. It does. You stand up, stretching your legs.

“Fine. Just get me a list of everyone’s—” He slaps a folded note against your forehead. “Orders.”

“Fucker.” You take it off your head to read. “Whatta ‘bout Mikey’s?” He’s missing from the list.

Richie shrugs. “Surprise him, he’s out back— In one of his moods.”

You don’t know how uncommon it is for Mikey to be so out of it. You’re meeting Mikey during his slow but certain downward spiral, but you don’t know that. No. How could you? No, so you think it’s normal for Mikey to occasionally leave rooms and turn inward.

“Aye aye, Rich.”

He kisses your temple as you pass him, making an all too aggressive ‘muah’ noise, because that’s what fake Italians do, as a form of thanks, and lets you go work your magic on the coffee machine.

You’re pretty integrated into The Beef, at this point. How long has it been? You don’t really need this list of orders, but it’s good to visually ingrain in your brain. You’re thankful to Mikey for investing in a bunch of Torani’s syrups for your coffee dreams. You’re here enough for it to be worth it, anyways.

You’re probably gonna start being here a lot more, soon. Well, maybe.

You haven’t told anyone yet, about what your dad told you this morning. That he’s gotta retire, soon. Like soon, soon. Now, you’re faced with a decision— Keep going with this EMS thing until your body fails and you need to be wheeled out by your own coworkers, or take on ownership of a small family business directly after the fucking pandemic. Really good options, here.

You’re leaning towards the latter, at the moment. You’re leaning towards being called here, for half your jobs. It’d be hard to make ends meet on just whatever crack change Mikey is able to pay you— But you used to bartend in college— You could work dailies whenever you’re short. Probably. It probably won’t be that hard. Could it be harder than what you’re doing now? Could it be harder than watching someone flat line? Probably not.

Ebra, watered down black coffee. T, two sugars, one milk, cinnamon and chocolate syrup. Marcus, spiced coffee. Sweeps, water in a deli cup— A delicacy. Richie, two sugars, cinnamon syrup, ideally boiling hot.

But to be fair, people need someone like you. People need paramedics. Is it selfish for you to decide you can’t handle it anymore? Should you let your body break before you let yourself go on one? Fuck. Fuck. Where’s Mikey? You’re feeling the knots build up again.

Out back. Richie said he’s out back. You pick up your coffee, and Mikey’s— cinnamon and caramel, this time— And head out back.

And you see a sight that you’ve actually seen plenty of times.

You’ve just never seen it in the back alley of The Beef. You’ve just never seen it happen to a friend. You’ve just never seen it happen to Mikey. You don’t drop your coffee cups in some sort of dramatic shock, or anything like that. Because that would take time. It’d take too much time to be shocked. You just turn around, immediately, partially crashing into the door as you run back in, breaking the mugs and spilling scalding hot coffee over your hands and chest— You don’t feel it, you don’t give a fuck.

“Cousin!”

You’re a mom friend. That’s what Syd used to say. You carry Tums, painkillers, cough drops, pepto— All in your purse or pockets. You keep a lighter on hand. You keep safety pins— All ranging in size, just in case of a clothing mishap. You keep kid’s band-aids in your wallet. You’re a mom friend. Everyone used to find you also carrying a naloxone kit a bit dramatic, like you were overdoing it. You always hoped they were right; that it would never be used. Regardless, you'd always replace it when it expired.

“Cousin get my fucking bag, now!”

“Right.” Carmen’s honestly kind of surprised, to be needed. But it’s probably just cover, to talk. People don’t typically need people like him, especially not Richie. He nods to David. “Chef.”

“Chef.” David nods back. He looks at Richie. “Where’d your translator go?”

The fuck? Richie does not look phased, at all. He also looks like he’s been crying— So it might just be that nothing phases him, right now— But at the very least, Carmen would expect some surprise. So this disrespect must not be new. Why didn’t he tell him?

Maybe he did, actually. Maybe that’s what happened forty minutes ago? How’d that lead to you leaving?

“My what?” Richie knows exactly what David’s getting at, but he asks anyways, to embarrass the fucker.

But David doesn’t feel embarrassment, it’s just not in him. “Your somme.”

“She had to leave early.”

“Ah,” He nods, “You’ve got her number, by chance?”

A deep and sharp exhale, through Richie’s nose, as he desperately tries to be a good host. Tries to be star material. But he runs his tongue across his top teeth and he just can’t bring himself to bite it. Richie hates both of the men in front of him right now. “I do, I do, actually— I’ve had her number for three years, memorized, y’know why?”

David shrugs, delighted to upset someone. “She your wife or something?”

A sharp, terrifying chuckle, honestly— One that hides any sign of a smile. Rich steps forward. “Oh, I should be so lucky. I would be so fucking lucky, if a woman like that—” And he pivots his head, to speak very deliberately, to Carmen. “Decided for some Godforsaken fuckin’ reason, that I was worth an ounce of her precious time— Let alone her hand.”

“If only, truly, David.” Still looking at Carmen, squarely in his face. “If fuckin’ only. If I had someone like that— I’d be on hand and fucking knee, for her.”

“Chef.” Carmen’s talking to David but looking at Richie, but that might also be because he can’t look anywhere else.

“Chef.” David shrugs, whatever fight here is beyond him. He doesn’t fucking care. Carmen knows the Michelin thing was bullshit—Certainly David can put in a good word, but inspectors are anonymous, that’s the whole point. But his stupid fucking Exec wanted to see if Carmen would stoop so low as to take the bait. It also wouldn’t hurt to get your number, you’re perfect. Carmen doesn’t think he’d have taken the bait, but the fact that he’s not sure speaks volumes.

David steps back into The Bear, and an Executive Chef and his dead brother’s best friend stand outside their restaurant. There’s a joke in here somewhere, and it’s probably Carmen.

“I’d fucking kill him.” You shake your head, when Mikey tries to brush off the end of his story like it’s no big deal. “I can’t believe no one fuckin’ said anything.”

“They might’ve.” He sniffs, arms crossed— Guarding himself. He sits opposite of you, both sitting on the floor of his office, backs against either wall. “But I couldn’t fuckin’ hear anything but him— And then the fucking car, obviously.”

You can tell he’s trying to move on. He wants you to ask if his mom was okay. You don’t honestly care, and you don’t care if that makes you a bad person, either.

“You’re not nothing, Mikey.”

It’s close to midnight, a humid but cool August midnight. A week or so, since Mikey’s overdose. You’re finally christening your jumpsuit with a patch from The Beef, on the left shoulder. You do keep stabbing yourself with the sewing needle— If you were sleeping beauty you’d be fucking dead.

“I know.”

“Mikey, you’re not.”

“Don’t fucking Good Will Hunting me.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” You both laugh, but you’re still stuck with him, at that dining table, in your head. You’re still hearing Uncle Lee screaming, despite never actually hearing it. “They should’ve said something.”

“It’s different when you’re there.” He shrugs, again. “Hard to speak in those rooms.”

Your lips stay tight, for a moment. There’s a long silence of just staring at each other, because you want him to know that you’re completely serious when you say— “I would’ve said something.”

“Sug tried to say somethin—” “She told you to stop, that’s bullshit.” “She was mediating—”

“And why the fuck were you the one that needed to calm down, exactly?” You frown, deeply. You don’t have anything against Sug, but this story just rubs you the wrong way. The way no one was on his side verbally. “Just cause you’re the guy, means you can’t stick up for yourself? I hate that shit.”

He thinks on that, for a moment; because no one has ever said the thing out loud, never acknowledged it. He nods, tucking one knee up to rest an arm on it. “It sucks, being the guy.”

“It fucking sucks to be the guy!” You shout back, emphatic, practically jumping to agree— You jab yourself again. “Fuck, ow— Yes, it sucks.”

“And—” You’ve really opened a faucet for him. “And no one wants you to acknowledge that you’re the guy— Like you can take the compliment, but you can never say ‘I know, I’m doing it on purpose.’”

You poke at the tip of your nose with one hand and then to Mikey with the other, bang on. “No one wants the guy to know they’re the guy!”

“We always know!” “We always fucking know!” “We’re the guy on purpose!”

It’s rare for people like you two to talk and actually get along. The typical stereotype is that two sweethearts will always end up butting heads, too intimidated— But instead, you’re both just able to honestly commiserate over being who you are. The Guy. The Dependable One. The Head.

“You shouldn’t have to always be good and—and like, understanding of every single fucking person— Especially when they’re a dick!” You yell, exasperated. “You are allowed to fucking stick up for yourself!”

He tightens his lips in a line, because he agrees, but he has been so trained to lay down and take it. To take the teeth; it’s one of the many many jobs of being the guy. You know it just as well. He sighs, “I know.”

“You’re worth standing up for, Mikey.” You emphasize. They should’ve said something. It shouldn’t have been on you. You shouldn’t have had to defend yourself. They should’ve protected you, like you did for them. Like you always do for them.

His eyes flicker, a bit. He clears his throat and punches his chest, shaking his head out of it, because if he doesn’t, he might actually fucking cry, and that’s not what the guy does. “Okay.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He kicks your foot with his. “Now tell me some fucked up thing that happened to you, Jack.”

You laugh, and it quickly turns into a groan as you try to come up with something. “I uh… Oh! I fuckin’ hate the nickname ‘Jack’, that’s something.”

“Oh?” He leans forward, teasingly intrigued— You’ve thrown him a bone, because you’re the guy, too. He’s able to focus on this in lieu of himself.

You nod and continue. “My dad gave it to me, when I was really really little, like five or six— And it was ‘cause I like— For a kid, I was really into uhm, like— Like everything?”

“Like a nerd?” “Like a nerd.”

You chuckle. “I liked helping him go on jobs, and barely being able to hold flashlights. And I liked learning what all the wires and the pipes do— I liked doing chores and like— Making shit for people, or doing shit for people, if it made ‘em happy.” You’re a little too zoned in, on your sewing. The motion helps keep you grounded. “And so he would go like Awe, my helpful little Jack of all Trades, you can do it all.”

You pull the string up and out of the fabric, taught, dramatically high. “Which like, of course he was trying to be like, a good dad and hype me up— But my kid brain just garbled it and translated ‘you can do it all’ to ‘you have to do it all.’”

“Damn.” He cringes but laughs, sympathizing. “You got ‘guy’d’ at fuckin’ five?”

“Well, when did you get ‘guy’d?!” You snap back, he takes a moment to think about it, sighing.

He shrugs. “Probably five.” “Exactly!”

You both laugh, a bit too aggressively, honestly; compensating for the sting. Mikey sniffs, adding. “So that’s why you hate it? ‘Cause of the weight?”

“‘Cause of the weight.” You nod. “Like a constant reminder, that I need to be like— constantly at service.”

“Yeah.” He nods, eyes looking down. Thinking about far too much, and though you have become his closest confidant, there are still parts of him that he won’t show. “Drinking helped?”

“Drinking helped.” You close the last stitch on the patch. “Which is funny, because that whole thing started from wanting to be helpful.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“There was uhm—” You can’t help but laugh a little, at the ridiculousness of it. “There was this girl, and she was my best friend, and she fucking loved— Or I guess still loves— Cooking. And even as a dinky little highschooler, she’d have me try shit, and it’d be like— So luxe.”

“Right.” Mikey smiles, thinking of all the dishes that have been foisted on him by the precocious cook in his life.

“And I wanted to be like… equally impressive. So I started doing research on wine pairings and shit, so I could have something to talk to her about, have somethin’ to say other than wow great job— Because I could tell she always wanted more.”

“And so you became an alcoholic?” “I haven’t gotten there yet!” “Well stop burying the lead!” “Oh don’t you point a finger when it comes to burying a fucking lead.” “Oh, fuck you.”

“Anyways!” You clap a hand on your knee, casting aside the completed sew job. “I’d give her pairings based on research— still teens, so we couldn’t drink yet, but she appreciated the thought. And then I went to college and she went to CIA and we were talking and then we graduated and suddenly we weren’t…” You knock your fist against your hand a couple times. “We weren’t talking, anymore.”

“And so you became an alcoholic?” “Kinda.” “Oh. I was being sarcastic.” “Yeah, dontchu feel guilty as fuck now?” “What happened?”

“It was easy.” You shrug. “I started working at pubs in college, I was getting free drinks all the time, I was trying more wines for her— I didn’t really see it as a problem, because like, I didn’t do it to function, I never reached for anything like ‘oh I fucking need this.’”

“That’s how it starts.”

“That’s how it fuckin’ starts.” You nod. “Then suddenly we weren’t talking and I became an E-M-T, and then suddenly I was watching people y’know, live through the worst moment of their lives or die, and I— Suddenly I did need that drink.” You should’ve just called her. She would’ve done a lot more for you than a bottle could. But you were stupid and tired, and still are.

“Who coulda thunk it?” “I know! Ridiculous.”

“How long you been stable, again?”

“Six months, four days… But who’s counting?” You laugh, and so does he.

You’re both very literally counting. And the buzzer of a timer going off on your phone reminds you of that. You both stare at it, in a daze, as it officially hits Twelve in the morning. Once you silence it, you look to Mikey.

“Michael The Bear Berzatto, you have officially been sober for twenty-four hours.”

He smiles, no teeth, but he smiles. “Gimme.”

“Be patient!” “I am being the most patient a person can be.” “Yeah that’s fair.”

You opt to go for the cupcake first, a big One candle sticking out of it. “This is stupid.” Says Mikey. “Have some fucking whimsy in the face of adversity.” Says you, pulling out your disposable camera.

“Do we need photos?” “What the fuck else are we gonna put in my folder?” “I dunno, write me sonnets.”

“Do you want sonnets?” You ask, and the worst part is Michael can tell you’re being sincere. You would write him sonnets, if he only asked. You would do anything, if he only asked. You quit being an EMT, immediately after seeing the state he was in, last week. You are here for Michael, and he only has to ask.

He shakes his head and blows out the candle when you lift the cupcake to his face, and he makes a wish to whatever higher power exists, that he won’t drag you down with him.

You thread a 24 Hours in Recovery chip onto the embroidery thread you were using and tie it off. When you present it to him, he bends his head down. “Chip me.”

“That’s not what chip me means.” “It means something?” “I’m pretty sure chipping someone means shooting someone—” “Well Google it, Chip.” “Well, fuck, ok— Chip?”

He shrugs, “Better than Jack, no?”

You throw the necklace over his neck, like you’re knighting him. You grow a great degree softer. Even when he’s deliberately not supposed to be The Guy, when he’s supposed to be working on himself, he’s still your guy. Still looking out for you just as much as you look out for him. He will never realize that you consider the exchange equal.

“Yeah, better than Jack.”

“This sobriety thing is going to be easy.” “ —Okay, so— The thing is, everyone kinda says that after twenty-four hours and then a week or two in, it actually hits—” “It’s gonna be so easy.” “I love that you think that and I want you to keep that hope up, I also think maybe let’s just be easy on ourselves if it gets hard—” “It’s not gonna get hard.” “That’s what she said—” “Fucking gross!”

He throws his arm over your shoulder, a loving noogie, but a noogie nonetheless. You try to hit him from below, it’s a failed flailing. You both start laughing and he stops, opting to just hold you there. You hold his forearm with your hands, and sigh.

“...Even when it’s not easy, we’re on the same team, okay? Don’t forget that. That we’re on the same team and I love you.”

He squeezes you a little, bicep curling. In fifteen seconds you will complain that he’s choking you, but right now, he says, “I’m not gonna forget you love me, Chip.” and neither of you know this is a lie, yet.

“I’m sorry.” Carmen sniffs, is he actually going to cry? Holy shit, he might cry. “I don’t know what I said—”

“You don’t know what you said?” Richie scoffs, he can’t help but laugh. “You don’t know what you fuckin’ said? Ah— It’s— It’s all good, man. You don’t know what you said, so it’s all good—”

“I’m apologizing—” “Nonono— No— It’s all good, I don’t need a fuckin’ apology. I know how you feel now, so it’s all fuckin’ good.”

“I love you—” “You love me? You love me? Oh, that would’ve been nice to hear half a fucking hour ago.”

Has it really only been thirty minutes?

“No— No, you know what?” Richie takes a choked breath, pressing his index finger over his nose and mouth, then points it to Carmen. “If that’s what your fuckin’ love is— I don’t fuckin’ want it. And I don’t want that shit for Chip, either— So leave her the fuck out of your fuckin’ love or whatever the fuck you think that is, too.”

That one hurts, because it’s true. Carmen can’t say anything to that; the silence just eggs Richie on more. “Oh, was that a low blow, to you? Cause I’d say saying it was her fault was a pretty low fucking blow— Kinda below the belt shit, if you ask me—”

“What?”

A silence louder than anything either of them have ever heard hangs in the air.

“Fuck you mean what?”

“I said what?” Carmen’s spit still feels like glass, he is destroying his throat. “What—What did I say?”

Stunned, Richie is stunned. And he can’t tell if Carm’s lack of cognizance in the situation makes him more or less angry. He’s pretty sure it’s more. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Cousin, what the fuck did I say to her?”

“You said she failed him.”

Yeah, Carmen’s gonna cry. Carmen is absolutely going to cry. Not weeping, but a tear. Just the one. Just the one, and the dry heaving. The dry heaving and just short of falling over, managing at the last minute to fall onto his rear. He slides his back against the full length window of The Bear. All the guests will get to witness his full blown meltdown. Who fucking cares. He cards through his semi-matted hair, again— It’s not fucking working. It’s not working and he might as well tear his hair out because there’s no reason for it anymore if you're not in it.

“I am a monster.” Not said like a question, not said with emphasis, not choked. Completely monotone. Zero pulse. Said as a fact as simple as the sky is blue. And it is. Because now that he remembers that one thread, he can follow it back. “I am bullshit.”

It’s hard to kick someone, when they’re down. It’s hard to say all the things you want to say to a person, when they’re just saying it about themselves. Richie just stares, debating his options. He could so easily choose to destroy what’s left of Carmen. Frankly, Carm’s sitting at the perfect angle to kick his fucking teeth in. Richie came out here with full intent of throwing Carmen through the window. Came out here with the full intent of proving he’s a fucking problem.

“...I don’t know how to fix it.” But Carmen looks up at him, with a never before seen level of humility. “How do I fix it?”

His best friend loved this guy, and unfortunately you also seem to be on the verge of loving this guy. And even more regrettably, Richie loves this guy. He shrugs, and to any onlookers, his response would seem to be lacking any level of empathy.

“Stop being you.”

“You don’t love me!”

“Of course we fuckin’ love you!”

“You don’t fucking love me!”

Like tidal waves, Richie and Mikey crash against either side of the walk-in freezer door. Mikey desperately trying to escape the freezer; you and Richie desperately trying to keep him in.

Your phone rings, in the middle of this. “Ah, shit, she’s calling back, hold on—” You slide your back off the door slowly, giving Richie time to place extra weight where your body was to keep it closed as Mikey relentlessly slams. He’s pivoted to screaming like— Well, a bear, now.

You move just a few feet away— Enough to fog up the yelling, but not enough that you couldn’t run back to Richie if his arms start to numb.

“Yo, T.” You answer, thankful that somebody has finally returned your fucking calls. To be fair, it’s painfully early— But how is no one awake an hour before they have to clock in? C’mon.

“We’re doing this because we love you, fuckin’ numb nuts!”

“Don’t be fuckin’ mean when he’s in a vulnerable state!” You kiss your teeth, yelling to Richie behind you, just as Tina tries to say hi.

“I am not a fucking patient, Chip!” Another slam, another violent jiggling of the door handle. You’re pretty sure that shit is going to break off one day, if he keeps doing that. You don’t know how right you are now, but you will in a year or so. “Open the fucking door!”

You only remember you’re on the phone with Tina when she pipes up, vaguely hearing the yelling on her end. “...Two week milestone going well?”

“Just fucking peachy, T.” You grimace, rubbing the space between your brows. “You think it’s healthy to lock him in the freezer? I feel like we are fucking this up.”

“Why’s he in the freezer?”

“Guess who was—” You turn your head to Richie, when you speak into the phone. “So fucking stupid— And left his fucking xanax just out in the open with his unfinished breakfast?”

“I apologized—” “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong, Cousin! Now open the fucking door!”

“Yeah, I think freezer is the right call.” Says Tina; you’re both not sure if that’s true, but at the very least when he’s in there he can’t hurt himself or either of you. But fuck, he must be cold. Maybe that’s good for his nervous system? Every yell just mounts with guilt— But you’re his sponsor now. You are not his friend right now, you’re his mentor and you’re meant to do this. This is definitely— slam— the right thing—scream—to do.

“Yeah, probably.” You nod, to no one. “Well, basically, if you can let everyone know to just— Not fucking come in, today, or at the very least not come in for like— At least three hours. Maybe six. It’s not like you can work anyways, the freezer’s off limits until further notice.”

“You sure you don’t need us to come in?”

“Ah, T, that’s a nice thought but—” You wince, as you hear a crash from inside the walk-in. “I don’t know if it’s better or worse, for more people to witness this.”

Richie can tell what the crash is, because he himself has dropped shit an innumerable number of times in that walk-in before. “—Did you just knock over the fuckin’ stock—” “Fuck yourself! Fuck yourself! This is my fucking restaurant! Let me the fuck out, Richard!”

“Let’s just say call me back in three hours.” Is what you settle on. You don’t want to see this, and you don’t want anyone else to have to see this. And when Mikey eventually comes out of his rage state, he will be glad that the only two people that actually saw him like this, are his two closest friends. “Can you let everyone else know?”

“Yeah baby, I’ll let ‘em know.” First time Tina’s called you baby with sincerity instead of sarcasm, you wish you could savour it, but you’re so distracted with everything else that you really don’t even notice it. “Keep yourself safe too, alright?”

“Okay, Mama.” You reply with what is really only half sarcasm, and let her go. You sidle up to Richie, back on holding the door closed duty. Backs against the walk-in door, holding Mikey in, despite punch after punch after punch. He’ll wear himself out, eventually, but you’re terrified about how long that’s going to take. So is Richie.

He nods to your phone. “How long?”

You don’t need to check to know. “In six hours, he’ll be at two weeks.” You wince as one of Mikey’s hits against the door very directly targets your back, putting it in knots. “But it’s not like he’s suddenly going to go, oh well it’s been two weeks so I’m normal now, though.”

Richie just nods, pensive. “M’sorry.”

You shake your head. “I was just bein’ a bitch, we’re all getting used to it, I gettit, just try to be safer.”

He nods again, looking down at you as the beating seems to slow down. Richie tries to imagine a world where you two aren’t here right now; for some reason, he finds that universe more miserable. “We’re so fucked.” Because here it’s you two. You’re so fucked but it’s you two. It will take more than a year for you to figure out that’s how Richie feels.

“I know.” You punch back against the door, alerting Mikey— Not that he wasn’t already alert, and speak to both of them. “Same team, though!”

One last resounding body slam into the door, with everything Mikey has— It moves, just a bit, but not at all enough to open it. And then, a long silence. To the point where you and Richie look at each other, worried if Michael has somehow just died in there. But then a quiet voice speaks, like a white flag being raised.

“Same team.”

You look to Richie for permission, he’s just as clueless as you are here, as to what the right call is. With the most trepidation one could have, you put your hand on the handle and just start to pull on it, not even close to opening it. But Mikey notices the way the hinge moves by a hair, on the other side.

“Don’t open it.” You know he’s up to the door, just opposite of you. Not capable of looking at you; not capable of looking at him. “Six hours. It’s just six hours.”

But you can hear each other. And maybe that’s all you really ever needed. To be able to hear each other, even when he’s not here.

“Six hours. Same team.”

“I don’t know how.” Carmen’s nose twitches. “I don’t know how to stop being fucking—Garbage— I’ve tried—” “Have you?”

It’s a bit knife twisting, from Richie, but necessary. “Have you done the work? Cause it’s— I don’t think you have, Carm.”

“...What the fuck kinda work can I do, to fix me—?” Richie snaps his fingers, pointing at Carmen, interrupting him. “That— That is the exact fuckin’ problem with you, Cousin.”

Carmen almost rolls his eyes, putting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. “What, that I’m self-aware?”

“That you just fuckin’ give up.” “I don’t just give up—” “You do! You give up and you go wah, I’m a Chef with issues and I’m gonna make it everyone else’s fucking problem—” “I am asking for help—” “Are you? Because the last person that helped you just ran out crying.”

Richie exhales, eyes closed. There’s a long forced silence, as a few tables full of patrons exit The Bear, awkwardly shuffling past what is clearly a crisis between the people that have been serving them tonight.

“That was below the belt, I’ll admit.” Says Rich, once they’re out of earshot.

Carmen just shakes his head, though he cannot look at Richie, though he can’t refute anything.

Richie steps next to where Carmen sits, and like an olive branch, Carmen lifts up his arm to offer his cigarette. Richie accepts, thank God— Thank you, for softening him up, because if you hadn’t, again, Carmen would be going headfirst through the fucking window right now.

“Don’t yell ‘t me—” That honestly hurts more than getting thrown through a window. “But I don’t think you got Andrea, at all.”

Andrea? Oh. “Chef Terry?” The Ever’s owner, Richie means.

“Andrea.” Richie nods, taking a puff. “Every second counts— I don’t think you got it.”

Carmen just shrugs, shaking his head, sure, he worked there for years and Richie worked there for days, but sure, he’s the one that didn’t get it. “Yeah? What’d I miss?”

“It’s not meant to make you fuckin—” He gestures to the general form of Carmen. “Tweak. It’s not about speed or— or— like firin’ off on all fuckin’ cylinders.”

“Then what is it?”

“It counts because it counts.” Richie hands the cig back to Carmen. “It’s— The fucking—” He kisses his teeth, trying to figure out the best way to explain. “When you took like, a million goddamn years to make that fuckin’ mont— Mont— What was it?”

“Montmorency.” Your cherry sauce. Carmen spent too fucking long reducing it, yesterday. He redid it like five times. He’d redone it so many times the autopilot in his brain fucked up that fucking plate yesterday, and it threw his entire life into a spiral. No. That's not what happened. He threw his life into a spiral.

“That was worth it, cause it— Cause it took time. Does that— Am I making any fuckin’ sense? Terry did this shit better, fuck.” Richie rubs a hand over his face, you’d probably be able to explain this better too. “It’s not the thing you’re doing that makes it count, it counts because you’re doing it.”

The value is in the time, not what is delivered. It does not need to be the most special, hyper condensed, hyper focused, upper echelon second to count. It will count because it counts. Time spent is worth it, no matter what was bought. Every second you spend, will always count. All the work and the not work and the love and the not love— It all counts. It counts because it counts. You care therefore you care. Any effort made is good effort.

Why does Carmen keep taking eons to learn what you are always trying to tell him?

The door opens, again. Instead of more patrons, Syd steps out— Wondering where the fuck her Exec and Host have gone. “Are we good?”

“No.” Says her Exec and Host. She nods, that’s good, cause she’s not good either.

“Who’s runnin’ house?”

“No one.” Lies Syd, Tina’s running the back, Sweeps is running the front, but she wants to freak Carmen out a little. She grabs the cigarette from Richie. “Burn the money, I say.”

“So, what you’re asking me to do— If I’m understanding, correctly, which— I might not be— You want me to take all my money, okay, and place it in a fucking furnace? Is that right?”

“So I’m sensing—” You curl your hand in the air. “A touch of hostility, which is fair.”

Bargaining with Uncle Jimmy isn’t the easiest thing in the world— Especially when this is your first time meeting him— And you’re begging him for money. Well, helping Mikey beg him for money.

“Listen, Uncle, please.” Mikey swallows, leaning in, elbows on the table. It’s nearly the end of January. New year, fresh start. No better time to pitch a half-baked pipe dream in the middle of The Beef’s dining room. “It’s not like I’m brand new to the restaurant gig— We turn profit, here, we can fuckin’ pay people.”

“Can you pay me?” “We will—” “Or you could just let me cut my losses—” “I wanna do something real, Uncle.”

“Why’s she here, again?” You shrink, when Cicero points at you. You swallow.

“I’m here as… Proof… That he wants to do something real.” You have to stop yourself from doing jazz hands, doubling down on the awkwardness will not make it go away, that is sadly not how that works.

Jimmy stares, for a moment, the cogs in his brain almost audibly whirring, as he stares at the space between you and Mikey, where you sit, at the other side of the booth. “Are you having a fuckin’ baby or somethin?”

The visceral reaction from your side of the booth is immediate. The worst part is he’s not even the first one to ask something like this— No, the manager at Wells Fargo was.

“What the fuck!” “Come on, Uncle…” “Do I— Do I look like a Milf, what the fuck is going on—” “She could be my daughter!” “Alright— So that is a little far, but the sentiment—”

“Alright, shut the fuck up, what is so fucking real that I’m suddenly going to hack up—”

Mikey tosses his necklace onto the table. It shouldn’t be physically possible, because it’s on a string, but it still manages to roll for a comically long time, like a coin, over to Jimmy. To thine own self be true. One Month.

“You will not be giving your money to some fucking junkie, Uncle—”

You wave a hand, interrupting Mikey. “Verbiage.”

He swallows and nods, taking the note. A hard lesson to learn. “You will not be giving your money to— To— You— You’re gonna give your money to someone who is trying, alright?”

Uncle Jimmy hasn’t looked up from the chip since it landed; Mikey continues. “And— And I’m gonna bring Carmy on, and we’re gonna do like—Like high level shit. Like a real fuckin’ Michelin level—”

“How many times have you gotten to a month?”

“First time.”

Jimmy frowns, crossing his arms. “How many times have you tried getting to a month?”

“Five.” Michael says, “Six.” you correct. Christmas was hard. Christmas was extremely fucking hard. You weren’t with the Berzattos, upon Mikey’s request— And neither was Carmen, upon Mikey’s ignoring him completely. And that made things a little fucking hard.

Jimmy just nods, arms still crossed. He’s forming some sort of plan, in his head, you’re just not sure what it is yet. He looks to you. “So you’re his sponsor, then?”

“Yessir.” “Do you feel qualified to do that?” “No-sir.”

Mikey kicks you under the table, your proclivity for honesty is not doing a great job selling this whole restaurant idea. You kick him back. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to feel qualified.”

“You sober?” “Not really.” “Well that’s kind of a key factor, I’ve heard.”

You sigh and lean forward, putting your hands in your lap. This is Mikey’s Uncle— Well, is he, actually? Unsure. But he gives as much of a fuck as you do, so you spill your guts, because you know he’s poking because he’s worried that some kid is taking care of Mikey and it’s the blind leading the fucking blind.

“I’m stable. I drink, sometimes— But never more than one glass, and never multiple days in a row. I’m coming up on a year, I still attend A-A— Though not as often as I’m told I should— And I’ve told Mikey that turbulent month long benders and a full blown decade long opioid addiction are not the same thing and I really shouldn’t be his sponsor.”

Mikey leans forward as well, then, meeting your level. “And I told Chip— And our coord— That I won’t do the program without her.”

After a long moment of silence, taking his time to digest every bit of information, Jimmy nods to the folder on the table. “N’ this?”

“It’s like a… Proposal?” You look to Mikey for help, he shrugs. This motherfucker— You’re not even a stakeholder in this, why are you talking? You turn back to Jimmy. “It’s like a promise.”

You open the folder, there’s loose sketches you’ve put together of The Bear’s signage, plus Carmen’s original piece— It was fun and weird, to work off of an artist you’ve never met before. There’s also cut outs from the New York Time’s and Food and Wine magazine showing off his award winning talents.

“We make money now.” Mikey finally chimes in, crossing his arms. “Imagine what we could do with him.”

“It would be cool!” You wingman. A little too excited for someone who’s never even breathed in a Michelin restaurant. “It’d be cool to have, like, a fine-dining establishment on North Orleans.”

“Or you’d completely cut out the audience that already likes The Beef.”

Mikey defends, “The people don’t know what they like, yet.” while you spread out some more papers across the table, showing off screenshots of food Carmen’s texted, that Mikey has never replied to. “They will like this shit— It’s— It’s art, Uncle. When they see this, they won’t give a shit about sandwiches.”

“They’ll give a shit about the price.”

“Uncle, I’m the guy.” Mikey uncrosses his arms, straightening up his posture, because now it’s serious. “I can— We can do this.”

As you continue to spread out papers, Uncle Jimmy stops you, seeing a peculiar page in the pile. He points to it, so you fish it out and hand it to him. He squints. “Joint bank account?”

You nod. “It’s so I can keep an eye on his spending and withdrawals.” Mikey tries not to wince at the fact a kid is in charge of managing his finances. You try not to wince at the fact that despite managing his finances, he's still reset six times.

“Y’know banks are a fuckin’ scam, right?”

You do not entertain Jimmy for a second, finally losing your whimsy. Your leg is shaking underneath the table— Thank God these tables are bolted. “I know that this is the first time in twenty years that my best friend is keeping savings.”

Not just living paycheck to paycheck, anymore. Not spending every penny on painkillers, anymore. Mikey is saving up because now there is a future to spend it on. Cicero swallows, nodding, eyes looking down, thinking deeply.

When he speaks again, it’s to say the most insane thing you’ve ever heard. “Ten grand a week.”

Your reply is in sync with Mikey, both jumping forward in your seats. “What?”

“Every week.” Jimmy pushes the chip back to your side of the table. “Every week that you keep going, that’s ten grand.”

You flail your hand under the table, grabbing for Mikey’s— He does the same, and it’s like a contest for who’s going to break who’s hand first, with how hard you’re holding each other.

Mikey’s first to ask the question, “Is that… Starting now or starting since I—”

“I’m so glad you asked, fuck no, that’s starting now.” He points to you, now. You flinch. “You’re gonna piss test him every fuckin’ week. I’m not fucking around about this.”

“Right. Heard.” You can only nod, because if you express anything else, it might just be screaming forever and ever. He pivots back to Mikey.

“And it’s gonna be cash— It’s not going in that fuckin’ joint, aright?” “Heard.”

“...Alright. Deal.” Cicero comes forward in his seat, and shakes Mikey’s hand. And despite not being a stakeholder, he reaches for yours, too; you shake it, and after a moment, he ruins this excitement stirring in the room, moving out of the booth. “I gotta piss, now.”

When he leaves for the bathroom, Mikey leans his head to you, putting his chin on your shoulder, whispering, “Art of the deal.”

You push his face away immediately, laughing. “Shut the fuck up! Why did you make me lead that shit!?”

Tomorrow Mikey will relapse again, and you’ll reset his necklace for the seventh time, but you don’t know that yet. Carmen’s gonna be so excited, when he finally comes back to Chicago and gets a sober brother and his dream restaurant. You’re excited to meet the guy, one day. Fingers crossed he likes you.

“That was fucking nuts.” Sydney decides that’s the best way to surmise it. “Like more than usual.”

“I’m aware.” Carmen can only nod, and despite the fact that he’s just going to lie down and take this, it does not remove the bitter feeling in her heart at all. Syd’s fucking mad, and she wants him to know.

“I’ve— I’ve literally only ever seen her cry like, like during Pixar movies or when we graduated. Like she just— That’s not a thing she does. I, I’m so— I literally don’t know what the fuck to do, right now.” For a second, she thinks her vision is flickering. “Oh my god, am I finally having a stroke?”

The three restaurateurs look up to see their neon white logo of a bear’s head, flickering and occasionally buzzing out. Richie’s the first to speak, as they all blankly stare at it. “Who are we gonna call, f’this?”

If this was yesterday, or maybe even if this was an hour ago, it wouldn’t be a question as to who they’d call. Carmen scratches the back of his head, the flaking hair gel is getting itchy. “Ted?”

“Who’s Ted?” Asks Syd; that’s not Tony, Terry or Tommy.

“Ted Fak.” Richie and Carmen answer at once, she almost gasps.

“They’re multiplying?”

Richie rolls back into his memory. “There’s eight— No, fuck, nine of them— I always forget Avery.”

Sydney just nods and hugs her shoulders for warmth. They all keep staring at the flickering bear, like moths.

“I don’t—I don’t have anyone, except her, y’know?” Syd sniffs. “Like after my dad, it’s— it’s literally just her. She’s my best and only friend.”

Carmen presses the palms of his hands over his eyes, “Heard.”

“I don’t want to choose between her and my career.” Carmen thinks she’s pausing, so he waits, but she’s not talking. That was the end of the sentence.

“Heard.”

“If that’s what getting a star takes, I don’t want it.” That’s huge. That’s a big statement, from Syd of all people. That gets the men to turn their heads from the light to her.

Syd continues to stare at the flickering bear, which lights up the two single straight streams of tears perfectly. It’s silent. She’s not snivelling or anything, she just shakes her head in tight swivels, biting her inner cheek. “It’s just— it’s just not worth that.”

“How can I fix it?” Maybe Syd will have a better answer than Richie did, something a little more actionable. She finally flits her gaze from the light down to Carmen, where he sits.

“Can you stay after close?”

“—Nobody in this motherfucking city knows transit etiquette— Why does everyone get on and go ‘wow I love standing in the walkway’— I’m so— There was so much seating just ahead of the blockage, Mikey, I’m so pressed, I’m literally—” You massage your brows, finishing up your rant from this morning’s commute. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“If you weren’t a little passenger princess, this wouldn’t be a problem, Chippy.” “I have my fucking license! I just don’t have a car!” “Then buy one!” “With who’s money!?” “Mine?”

A terrible running joke, from Mikey, is telling you to spend his money— The money he gets from staying sober. The money he’s saving for The Bear. The reason why he thinks this is funny, is because you have no fucking idea where he’s been putting it. But you know he hasn’t spent it, so that’s all that really matters.

You just huff, leaning back against the wall of his office as you watch him work, arms crossed and cringing as he futzes with the wiring. “You’re going to light us up like a Roman fucking candle.”

“It’s Jewish lightning—” “Top twenty-thousand reasons we do not say that— Number One—” “It’s gonna work! Just trust me!”

Mikey’s office looks a lot more lively, lately. He never cleans up the mugs of coffee you give him, every morning. He says it’s his way of tracking which flavour is his favourite, since you’re always switching up. It will never change from the chai spiced blend, and you both know that. It’d be more accurate of him to say he likes the sticky notes you tack on to each mug, saying you love him and saying he needs to keep going.

“I could fix it, y’know.” At that, Mikey turns away from his distressing handiwork to look at you.

“I know. But I wanna prove I can, too.”

That hits you right in the chest. You want to tell Mikey that he never has to prove anything, with you; never has to lift a goddamn finger. But he would hate to hear that. “Okay.”

You hear from outside the office, the back door opening. “Child incoming, no expletives please!”

“What the fuck is an expletive?” Mikey asks you, whispering.

You whisper back, leaning forward off the wall to close in on him. “It’s what you just did.”

Eva runs in, the way that kids do— The way they kinda waddle. Immediately up to you and Mikey. Uncle Mike and Aunty Chip, she calls you both. Sometimes Uncle Jack— Because she hasn’t completely grasped the concept of gender yet— Good, no one should.

“Watch!” You have yet to even say hi, before she immediately attempts to do a cartwheel in the middle of this very small office.

“Good job, Evie!” You clap, after she just barely lands safely on her shins.

She nods, “Can you do that?”

“Honestly? I don’t think I can.” You look up from her to Mikey. “Can you?”

“Can I cartwheel?” He stumbles back, slapping his hand over his chest. Gutted. “Can I cartwheel? Eve— She doesn’t think I can cartwheel.”

“Insane, Uncle.”

“Not what I said!” You can’t hold back your laughter, what a shining this kid has taken to her dad. “I’d love to see it, I really would!”

Mikey just shakes his head, kissing his teeth. How dare you offend his honour, in this way? This forty-two year old man can absolutely cartwheel with the best of them. In five minutes he definitely isn’t gonna eat shit in the dining room of his restaurant. He pats Eva on the shoulder. “You go with your dad and clear out some tables out front, I’m gonna need space.”

“You’re gonna break your neck, Mike.” Richie chimes in, standing in the doorway now, waiting for Eva to return to him. “I don’t wanna plan your funeral.”

“Please, you would plan a terrible funeral.” “That’s bull—”

“Expletive!” You cover Eva’s ears. She just laughs, looking up at you with that cute and bizarre blank kid stare. What a little patoot.

Richie looks to you, forgetting the bit for a moment, “Y'need a grocery run, tonight?”

You nod, removing your hands from Eva, but then she holds them there. Goddamnit, kids are an awful idea but she's fucking cute. “Pay you gas money in the form of Wendy's?”

“Marone!” Richie exclaims, poorly, grabbing your face by the chin and top of your head to kiss your cheek just short of a million times. “The perfect woman—”

“Not Italian!” is the synchronous reply from you and Mikey.

Richie rolls his eyes, “Not Italian— Fu—”

Eva interrupts him, taking as much as a shining to you as she does her father. “Exp—Expultive!” She looks at you for approval and you nod in delight.

“Just go set up front, would ‘ya?” Mikey brushes Rich off, the man just rolls his eyes, picking up his daughter from you to fly her off like an airplane.

“Let's set the stage for your Uncle’s neck injury, sweets. Bwwwwrrr—” Richie makes good airplane noises. Richie’s a good dad. You will never find a good time to tell him this. You watch Mikey’s back flex, as he cracks back into the hole of wires in the wall. He's been working hard on a lot of little things lately.

You will not realize he is trying to make things clean and square, until it is too late. Right now, you’re just happy, because, “You’re already at three weeks again, and you haven’t even noticed.”

“Oh, I fucking noticed.” He doesn’t face you, when he says it, but it’s with a hearty chuckle. He’s noticed it violently, he’s just getting very good at the first month, now— Well acquainted with the burn out. “But now there’s money on the line, I can’t lose.”

It’s not that money’s on the line. It’s that his brother is on the line now. And Mikey couldn’t do this for himself— but the guy could do it for his brother. So he’ll just be the guy, that’s what the guy’s do. Six hours, same team. Nine weeks, Mikey, come on.

“Well you’re doing good, I’m proud of you.”

“You believe in me?” He says it like he doubts your conviction. You nearly punch him in the back of the head.

“Of course I believe in you.”

Mikey bites his inner cheek, though you can’t see his face. “...Why are we keeping the candles?”

Ah. You’ve still got the one and two candles in his drawer with a lighter, ready for the next cupcake. They’re slowly but surely melting with each reset, eventually they’ll be incomprehensible. Do you believe in me? If you do, why are you saving them? Do you think we’ll need them? That’s what Mikey’s asking. You scoff.

“You’re so stupid.” “What the— I confide in you and I get this—”

You interrupt him, arms crossed. “One day, one week, one month, one year, fuckin— When we get to double digits? Ten months? One decade?”

He’s mum, at that. You add. “We’re getting our fucking mileage out of these candles, Mikey. I believe in you.” You think Mikey has a future, still. Mikey knows he doesn’t. He changes the subject because if he doesn’t, he’ll tell you everything and you will stop it.

“I want you to start talking to Carmen, when he comes back.” You should’ve asked Mikey why he was so certain Carmen would be coming back. But you weren’t smart enough.

“What the fuck?” You snort. “Okay, out of literally nowhere—” “You’d like him.”

“He sounds very nice.” “He’s not. He’s a—” “Ball buster, yes, you’ve told me.” “He’d like you.” “Why?” “Cause you’re you.”

“Wow, pretty inarguable there.” You can only smile, unable to see the wheels turn in Michael’s head. “Guess we’ll be besties.”

“I meant talk like talk—” “Are you trying to hook me up right now?” “He’s a virgin, so it’s definitely not a good deal for you—” “And— And why are we talking about your brother's sex life— Did we already explode and this is hell?” “I just want you to be prepared for what you’re getting into, he gets performance anxiety so—” “Mikey!”

“You’ll talk to him?” Mikey turns away from the wall, wanting you to look him in the eyes and promise him.

You shake your head and roll your eyes, but stick a hand out for the Berzatto to shake. “Yes, Bear, I’ll talk to your virgin Michelin star ranked brother.”

“Thank you! I ask for so little.”

After close, after everyone but Carmen, Sydney, and Richie leave, the three make plans to meet in Michael’s office. Carmen will go in ahead to hide your folder because he doesn’t want to see it himself and he absolutely doesn’t want anyone else to see it. Even if one of them could very well explain it, because he’s fucking in them. It’s fine. He looks at your wrapped up painting in the corner of his office. Carmen considers for what feels like a decade, whether or not he should open it. But he hasn’t earned a gift from you, so he doesn’t— Not for now, at least. He hasn’t earned your art right now.

Underneath your ICE folder is his notepad— The one he was scribbling recipes for his Exec into, the one he scribbled your recipe into, and underneath all that torn up paper— His list, from this morning. The non-negotiable rules he wanted— Wants? To add to The Bear. There’s twenty-seven. Half of them are spelt wrong as he wrote them while absolutely losing his shit, this morning. This list did not go over well, when it was proposed during family, at two in the afternoon. Some of these could still work though, right? At least the technique and the boxes and the—

Richie comes in, not knocking, and immediately spots the list. “Oh good.” He grabs the notepad and rips off the twenty seven points. Leaving only the title, NON-NEGOTIABLES.

“Come the fuck on—” Says Carmen. Richie rolls his eyes, tossing the list onto the desk. Richie can tear him and his stupid fucking list a new one another time— Richie and Carmen can sort out their own part of the fight in a week, when they take a twelve hour road trip. Right now though, they are both completely focused on you.

Sydney comes in with two labelled deli containers of coke. Time codes and everything, she can't turn it off. She hands one to Rich, the other one is for herself. That’s fine, soda on Carmen’s shredded throat really wouldn’t be great right now anyways. She takes a sip, looking over Carm's shoulder. “Oh, we’re doing a real list, now?”

Carmen just sighs, letting the dig go, because he deserves it. He clicks his pen, sitting down, ready to write, without hesitation. “Go.”

Richie leads, “You need to fucking relax.”

“Lay off her,” Sydney waves her hand over her neck. “Leave her the fuck alone, for like a week, minimum.”

“No— What? No— You should call her like now—” “Absolutely not the right move—” “Solve it hard and fast—” “Why hard—?”

“I’m just gonna wait.” Carmen decides, typically Syd is the right one, anyways. Plus if he hears your voice right now he might throw up and he doesn’t have your tums, anymore. “Next?”

“An exorcism.” Richie doesn’t laugh, when he says it. “Also read fuckin’ Runnin’ on Empty— By Doctor Webb.”

The two cooks just look at him, like Richie’s grown five thousand heads. He groans before they even say anything. “I’m fuckin’ well read, shut the fuck up— It’s—” He snaps his fingers, pointing to Carmen’s list, “It’s an audiobook, too, on fuckin’ Spotify— Listen to that shit on your commute you have no excuse.”

“Yes, Chef.” Carmen writes it down, he also writes down under things to look into, catastrophizing, while he’s at it. Richie watches over his shoulder, and adds, “Look into sublimation and behavourial dysfunction.”

Syd’s still reeling over the sudden character growth. “You need to relax with the self-help books.”

“Yeah, well you need to read Mark Wolynn’s ‘It Didn’t Start With You.’” Richie’s got lists of books now, instead of zingers. They somehow hit harder.

She’s got no come back for that other than a surprised pout and nod, taking her own phone out to write it down. “Yes, Chef.”

Carmen pipes in, not looking up from his list of to dos “Should I also read that one—” “Yes.” “Heard, Chef. Next?”

“It cannot be on Tony to be your fucking punching bag. If you’re tweaking— Keep that shit between you and your therapist—” Syd switches from her notes app to search, “We’re finding you a fuckin’ therapist.”

“Is that covered in our contract?” Didn’t he write it? Carmen doesn’t know.

“Doesn’t matter. Also I don’t know, but doesn’t matter.” Syd hasn’t read it yet. She also doesn’t know.

You are worth a couple out of pocket fees. Well, more importantly, Carmen is worth a couple out of pocket fees— Well, alright, he’ll discuss his weaknesses of self-prioritization with the therapist.

Before Carmen can even say next, Richie adds. “Also you smell like shit.” The hair gel is pungent in a bad way.

And before he can defend himself, Sydney adds, not looking up from her phone, “We’re going to fuckin’ Kohl’s after this and we’re getting you a skincare— And haircare— routine. You’re seconds away from breaking out, I bet you use fuckin’ Palmolive dish soap.”

“Well— I’ve been using Tony’s, actually—” “We know.” It’s a completely synchronized interruption.

“It’s been her signature scent, since highschool.” “Who do you think took her grocery shopping when she didn’t have a car?” “I thought I was having a flashback everytime you walked by in the kitchen, this past week.” “You should go back to it.”

“I know. I will.” He’s got every intention of re-upping on your shampoo and conditioner, when he’s taken on a shopping spree to get his shit together. Hopefully you won’t mind him copying you. “No more Five in One.”

“You’ve been using fucking five in one!?”

Carmen thought, yesterday, naively, that he would do right by you on Friday. He didn’t, he did the very opposite— But even if he did, that’s weak shit. Carmen’s not gonna do right by you for just one single fucking day. Carmen’s gonna do right by you, for the rest of his life. The three get to well over twenty seven points, and he has every intention of showing up to it. He’s gonna be your man, and he’s going to fucking earn that title. He’s going to prove it.

“Okay. So can you tell me what happened on February 22nd?” She’s a shit therapist. You’re imagining both you and her dead in your head. You’ve been imagining a lot of people dead in your head, for the last two weeks. Every time your dad comes to check on you, you imagine that he’s a ghost.

You imagine having a passing conversation with someone, maybe catching up with Syd, one day. And she’ll ask you ‘Meet any interesting people?’ and you’ll say ‘Yeah. But he killed himself.’ That’s gonna suck. You didn’t prepare for that one. So you need to prepare now. Look at all of your friends and family, and imagine they are dead— And introduce them as such. ‘That’s my friend Richie, he died.’ Make it hurt now, so it doesn’t hurt then.

You didn’t prepare enough. Didn’t do enough. Countless little mistakes and moments you missed. The therapist is looking at you, oh right, it’s your turn to talk again. You’ve told her all these cute little stories but now she wants to hear how the sad shit went. Or maybe it was all sad shit. Maybe it’s all coated in a film of grief, now.

You’ll tell her that Mikey was very thorough, with his plan that you didn’t know about. He waited until he thought you were out of the city— When he knew you’d be out of the city. When your sister in law delivered your nephew and you went to Oak Park to visit.

Just days before, you celebrated three months of sobriety with him and Richie— You’ll tell the therapist, excitedly, that this was his longest streak so far, it took him a year to reach three months— It was a big fucking deal. You were beaming all day. You didn’t realize, however, that days after Uncle Jimmy had made his deal with you two, that Mikey did the math. Figured out exactly how many weeks he’d have to be sober, to get three-hundred grand.

Thirty weeks. Roughly seven months and two weeks. He did it. Not in sequence, but he did it. You’re still not sure where that money is. Uncle isn’t either. Maybe Carmen will figure it out. It’s meant for him anyways. You’ll say that Carmen will figure it out in such a way that she asks— “And do you hold animosity? Towards his younger brother?”

You look at her like she’s a psycho, because she is. Replying incredulously, “I don’t fucking know him.”

‘My best friend Michael is dead.’ ‘My best friend, Mikey, is dead.’ Doesn’t sound right. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.

“Do you wish you did?”

“I really couldn’t say I give a shit, ma’am. Can I tell you about the guy I did know, though?”

She nods, you roll the fuck on. You tell her that the morning after you got to your brother’s place— February 22nd, you all decided instead of staying for the week, as you’d planned, as Mikey planned, you’d instead go home early. Because as much as you wanted to be helpful, having more people in the house was stressing the new mom the fuck out. Understandable. So you took a train back to Chicago early.

You got home, and you found that you’d gotten some mail, waiting for you on the floor, shoved through the mail slot of your door. Bill, bill, invoice, spam, coupons, handwritten envelope— Ah. Mikey’s handwriting. A deep unsettling feeling burrowed its way into you. It just says For Chip. There’s no letter inside. No. There’s a debit card, his, of your joint bank account, there’s a key, yours, a copy of your key to this apartment, and a necklace, his— With his three month sobriety chip hanging off of it.

You call him, immediately. He doesn’t answer the first time. You call him again. He answers on the last possible ring.

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life— Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call with an old friend.

“Yo, Ice-y!” A classic nickname, reserved purely for phone calls with Mikey. Because in his phone, you’re 0ICEChip, so you’ll show up at the top of his contact list, if he’s ever found unresponsive. Typically a pro-tip reserved for those in hospice care.

You don’t entertain him. “Where are you?”

“I’m just out for a walk, sweetheart.” “Shut the fuck up out for a walk— Where the fuck are you?”

He hums at your snarky tone. “Nephew didn’t take a liking to you?” “I came home early.”

The silence is long, and you can hear the heavy wind coming through his phone. He’s outside. He’s somewhere outside. It’s a cold night. It’s usually not this cold at the end of February, but it really fucking came down, this morning.

“Oh.”

“Why did you leave this shit at my door? Where are you?” You thought of 0ICE but you didn’t think to have him turn his location on? Fucking idiot. Fucking idiot. You didn’t do enough. ‘My friend, Bear, is dead.’ You didn’t prepare enough. “Bear, c’mon, what’s going on? I told you, if we need to reset, it’s two steps forward, one step back, it’s okay—”

“It’s not.” “It is! We will get there!” “I’m not. You’re gonna get there, I’m not.” “That’s not true!” “I love you but we both know this was a pipe dream.”

“Mikey—”

“Chip, I’m not going anywhere. You’re— You’re fucking going somewhere. I can’t— I can’t let— We both know where I’m going and it’s nowhere you should begin to be.”

“You don’t get to make that choice for me. You don’t get to make that call. I decide what I bet on— Mikey, where are you?” You’re walking out of your place, you hadn’t even closed the door before leaving again.

Fucking idiot, you should’ve bought a car. How are you supposed to get to him on foot and train? Fucking idiot. The snow is beating down, the wind is cutting into your face. ‘My best friend died on February 22nd. On the State Street Bridge.’— Why didn’t you get a fucking car? You didn’t do enough. You can’t remember any of your training, right now. What are you supposed to say? “Are you using?”

“No. No. I’m— This is me, Chip.” “No it’s fucking not, Mikey! Shut the fuck up, where are you!?”

“I love you, I didn’t want this to be— I-I—I’m not killing myself, Chip.”

“You’re not?”

You shouldn’t have believed him. You should’ve just kept walking. You would’ve figured out where he was, eventually. You should’ve called the coast guard, or some shit. Should’ve just figured it out.

“I’m not. I’m— I’m okay, I’m really just going for a walk— I-I just— I had a… I— I don’t want you to be my sponsor anymore. That’s it.” It made sense. He didn't want you to feel hurt, so he was hesitant. It made sense.

“Why?”

“Cause you’re a kid, and I can’t make you responsible for what I do.”

“I’m not a kid.” “To me, you are.” “Then we’ll find you someone else.” “Yeah, okay.”

You pause, for a good bit, listening to the shakiness of his breath. “You’re cold, Mikey.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re just cold.” That’s all that’s wrong. He’s just cold and he doesn't want you to be his sponsor anymore. “Go inside, soon. Come home.”

“I will.”

Mikey always had that way of making you think everything was going to be okay, even when it wasn’t. “Okay.”

“I want you to start treating our joint like an advanced payment, by the way. A million things are always fucking breaking at The Beef, there’s no point in wiring all the time.”

Mikey wants this to be clean and square, too. Because he couldn’t figure out the wiring by himself— He needs to make sure his baby brother is taken care of, he needs to make sure his restaurant is taken care of, he needs to make sure that you have something to do because Michael fucking saw you.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You nod to no one. “I think your toilets fucked, speaking of.” You laugh, everything’s okay. There’s a long silence, and you think he’s hung up.

“Good. Okay— You should— You should come fix it, sometime soon… Love you, Chip.”

“Love you, Bear.”

You will tell your therapist that after that phone call, you went back inside, cleaned yourself up, unpacked unused toiletries, changed out of your borrowed brother’s sweats into your nice pajamas, because Mikey said he would come home. He said he would come home and you believed him because he never lied to you before. You set up the things he left for you in your handmade clay dish tray; so he can take them back. Just because you’re not his sponsor, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t keep his chips.

You will tell your therapist that you fell asleep on the couch, waiting for Michael. You will tell her you woke up to a phone call from Richie, and all he said, wavering, was, “You should come over.” Richie doesn’t ask things. Richie will always say, come over. You don’t know why that’s the signal you get, since you seemingly must have missed so many other obvious signs, but you know then that your— Your— Your best— Fuck, the knots are fucking debilitating, fuck fuck fuck.

You will not come over. You will walk, in the cold, to your dad’s place. You will not bring anything with you. You will stay there and rot for two weeks, as will everything in your apartment. He will force you to go to this several hour long therapy appointment because he can’t keep watching you do this, and you will resent the woman you are telling all this.

You will continue to see her, for five more sessions, because the first six are covered under your insurance. She will help in a lot of ways, she will hurt in others.

Wells-Fargo will ask if you want to close your account. You don’t want to, but it’ll accrue monthly banking fees, so you take the money out and close it. You buy a shitty maroon 2004 Dodge Intrepid off Facebook Marketplace with the two and a half grand. It barely functions as a car. But it will drive. The next time someone needs you. You can drive. Next time you’ll think of everything, next time you won’t fail.

You stop paying the phone bill, for your business line. It goes defunct. You just don’t think you should be trusted to be helpful, for the next little while. You will blame your father for this, when people ask about it.

On the day of his funeral, you will go. You will go, and you will sit on the curb across from the church, and you will not go inside. It's just not possible. You will buy a pork chop-cheese sandwich from a bodega nearby and you will eat it on that curb and it’s only then, after shoving it down for so long, that you will scream and cry.

You will leave before anyone sees you, and you will go to State Street Bridge, and you will set up a small vigil. You will finnick with the candles and the flowers until you feel they are perfect. They will never get perfect. You just don’t want to leave. You have a tendency to do that.

You will stare at the little stuffed bear, the roses, the picture frame of him, and you will finally say it aloud.

“My best friend, Mikey, died.”

When Carmen shows up, two hours later, not honestly that long after you finally left, he will add a bouquet and a prayer candle. He will readjust all of your work, to his preference, and then readjust it again and again and again— and he will finally say it aloud.

“My brother, Mikey, shot himself.”

No matter how you say it, it won’t roll off the tongue.

And about thirty-nine weeks from that day, you will be in New York, at a wedding, talking with the virgin Michelin star ranked brother, as you promised.

You will have abandoned your bar after making confessions under the counter, and have instead co-opted the single stall gender-neutral bathroom to have ample time and space to tell each other everything you’ve told your therapists. Even now, neither of you can get the words to roll off the tongue.

But Carmen manages to make “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry— I will never be able to surmise, how sorry—” roll off well enough. Alas, he’s interrupted, by a knock on the gender-neutral bathroom door, made by the only fuckers that knows you two are in here.

“Guys I— Guys I don’t know how to run bar, and I don’t think I should’ve been trusted, with this.”

Carmen will not look away from your bleary-eyed face, he will not break his focus even when you laugh at the sudden tension break. He will just tell the Faks to fuck off and figure it out.

“I’m gonna fix it.” Carmen will tell you, and you will nod and say, “I will too.”

Because it’s not just on one of you, anymore. It can be both. The shared burden. The shared grief. No more fucking shoes, because it's all out now.

It’s not negotiable.

I love when tumblr drafts fully start to lag and my macbook lights on fire because the post is too fucking long. I have so much to say about this chapter but I think I will just make a separate post entirely about this. Because I’m. I’m really proud tbh not to toot my own horn but I think I kind of maybe a little bit ate with this one.

Fun fact, that you may or may not believe: The Carmen scenes? Not planned. Fully did not plan to do any of that. This was going to be entirely Mikey flashbacks, originally— There might’ve ended up being more honestly, if I didn’t add Carmen, but after Something to Do when I started writing I was like,,, these cats aren’t cooking, Carmen’s side is missing a second beat before the third. And so, here it is.

I know everyone was expecting a depression week for Carmen— And to be fair, I also kind of was. But I then thought, nah. They’d done too much work, and I don’t think Rich/Syd would allow him to wallow. Like get your shit together, not for you, for her. Ugh.

Speaking of Rich and Syd— FUCK man my heart. The way their scenes from the past and present meshed together in such a deeply painful way I’m sooo SICK WITH IT!!! WHAT DID YOU THINK?!?!! Just fuckin— The way Tony was too scared to reach out to Syd but it’s SO FUCKING OBVIOUS that Syd was on the other side of Chicago thinking the exact same shit i’m SO SICK!!!!! I’M HACKING UP A LUNG HERE!!

Anyways it’s my birthday send me well wishes and an essay on what you thought I’d love to hear it. I know this was a tough one. Thank you for getting through it with me lmao. Tag list! Hope I didn’t forget anyone, pwease note i ownwee add pweople who swend theiw twoughts— It also may or may not hurt my feelings when people don’t read this text at the bottom. It might. It might a lot.

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @sharkluver @fridavacado @hoetel-manager @mrs-perfectly-fine

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#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #mikey berzatto #michael berzatto #carmen x oc #carmy x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx

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thecapricunt1616 · 8 months ago

Text

The Bear & His Honey - Chapter 19

Blurb (More BTC): “Baby you’re stressed- I hear it in your voice let’s go have a cigarette mm?” I gently touch his shoulder and he rolled it to get me to stop “Jesus y’fucking needy. I said no! I fuckin quit, ok? Do you need me to say it 3 fucking times so that you remember I told you? I quit. I fucking quit, okay? has it sunk into your fuckin memory? Ok, good Now get out of my fuckin face. There’s no available seats, and I don’t have time to fuck around and listen t’you talk about bull” he went right back to plating the food and my mouth drops a bit.

♡ Chapter Inspo: "You're Losing Me" - Taylor Swift ♡ Summary: Carmy is dead set on getting a star because he thinks it will assure Syd will stay at the restaurant. Winnie is sick and tired of his attitude lately ♡ W/C: 11.1K+ ♡ A/N: Hello everyone !!! It has been a while since we have visited Carmy and Winnie! Most of you are new here, I don't think i've posted a TB&HH chapter since I had like 100 something followers? Anyhow, this is my OC fic! I hope you enjoy it. You can find the landing page right here if you'd like to read from the beginning / catch up on the last chapter By the way i'm still doing my 300 celebration blackout bingo if you wanted to send in a request! Or if none of those tickle your fancy I have a list of prompts, as well as my rules here on my masterlist! Or, If you just wanna talk i'm always here! ♡ Warnings for BTC: Swearing, Kinda verbally abusive behavior, Sad!Winnie, Alcohol/Drug use, Asshole!Carmy (thanks S3!!!)

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡ ➵ My 300 Follower Celebration Bingo! ➵ Catch up on Chapter 18!

It had been 3 weeks since Carmy had seen his mother. He had called Natalie back when he got out of the shower, and stood on the balcony for about 40 minutes chain smoking like a steam train while he spoke to her, and when he came back inside he just wanted to cuddle and watch cooking shows the rest of the day, to which considering the shit week he’d had and it was only Monday- was to be expected.

After the bruise had gone down enough to be covered with makeup, he threw himself in to his work harder then I’d ever seen before. He would leave the house at 4:30, and not be back until midnight every night. And then, he would stay up until 2 playing around with new recipes and replating dishes over and over, thumping it into the garbage each time he felt it wasn’t just right.

Something was…different with him lately. I assumed it was just the toll Donna’s harsh words were taking. But I missed my Carmy, my sweet bear. He had been so…short with me lately. He wasn’t texting as much, I hardly got an ‘I love you’ out of him most days, because I hardly exchanged more then 2 words with him. It was like living with a ghost, or a roommate that hated you. We hadn’t had sex since before the family dinner everything transpired, but that wasn’t even what got to me most.

I figured he was just…distracted? I knew Carmy loves me, he wouldn’t be coming home every night if he didn’t. So that is why I had taken it upon myself to tell Richie to save me a table tonight and not tell Carmy, so I could surprise him and finally give him the absolutely adorable specially made crochet knife storage pouch that I’d even sewn fabric into and embroidered his initials on. I made sure to wrap it super pretty with navy blue ribbon and brown paper just like the colors of the restaurant before I headed down there.

When I walked in I had a bright smile, I was so excited to see him and hopefully sneak a smoke break outside, it had been a while since we did that. I had even done my hair extra pretty for him, curled how he liked and put in one of my silky bows that matched what I’d wrapped around the present paper. I remembered when Carmy had told me that navy was his favorite color on me, and that it complimented my hair so well. I told him I would wear it more often cause it always brought out the blue in his pretty eyes which of course made him blush and smile one of his shy boyish smiles.

“Cousin!” I chirp happily and wrap my arms around Richie “it’s been too long, how are you? Still got my seat?” I asked, he wrapped his arm around me a kissed the top of my head in that sweet, brotherly way.

“Hey Shortstack, M’sorry we’ve been swamped- this might not be a good time f’you huh? Wanna come back another day?” He pat my back gently and I pulled away slightly, looking up at him

“You mean Carmy is in a mood?” I ask and pout a bit. He gives me that look, and I sigh “I’m gonna go talk to him…he just needs a cigarette” I said and brushed off his objections, pushing open the door to the kitchen to see Carmy absolutely ripping Syd a new one, about what? I couldn’t be sure.

“I fucking TOLD YOU, if it’s not PERFECT it doesn’t GO OUT. You have TWO emulsions on this plate, BOTH ARE SPLIT it’s GARBAGE “ he shouts, chucking the entire plate of food into the garbage that I truly didn’t see a problem with. As someone who came from a home where we had peanut butter bread for dinner at least twice a month, seeing him throw away such expensive food made me nearly twitch, and the tone of his voice made me cringe.

“Carmy?” I held the wrapped present to my chest nervously, Syd looks at me, relief flashing in her eyes “why don’t we take a break?” I asked gently and go up to him, touching his hand and he pulls it away. He was angrily chomping on gum, and shook his head

“Not takin’ breaks anymore. What’s up, need somethin?” He asked, his tone nearly indifferent. I frowned bit, eyes flicking to Tina who would usually be telling Carmy to be nicer to his girl, or Marcus who would be beckoning me over to try some sweet treat he’d been perfecting- but instead they were dead focused on their dishes. Like I wasn’t even there.

“Babe, what do you mean? Cmon, let’s go smoke huh?” I gently rub his bicep and he shook his head again, grabbing a new plate from the stack of them beside his station

“Refire! 2 wagyu- let’s pick up the goddamn pace we’re fucking behind!, chefs! Every second counts, heard?!” he calls out in a loud, grating, nearly barking voice.

He was quickly met with a chorus of ‘yes chef’ and he got right back to plating some…thing? Without even a single glance to the woman he said he dreamed of being his wife. I didn't even know where I’d get started trying to guess what the little plate of flowers, and goop, and..some kind of meat? Would be.

Well, all I knew is it was ‘fancy’ and if I didn’t like it- Richie would be really upset with me, and so would Carmy. Also, that Carmy needed a break, and soon or he’d blow his top.

The food Carmy crafted when I saw him looked like barely a snack to me. Like - a single bite, and I told Carmy that, he used to chuckle and have me try it, but when I did lately he would get pissy and tell me I ‘don’t fucking get Haute Cuisine’ .

But the fact he was just essentially ignoring me and my love for him and how I had gotten all pretty for him and came all the way here but he didn’t give a single shit - it made me livid. He was really rubbing me wrong, lately . I had come out of my way to see him, and he couldn’t even take 10 minutes?

“Baby you’re stressed- I hear it in your voice let’s go have a cigarette mm?” I gently touch his shoulder and he rolled it to get me to stop

“Jesus y’fucking needy. I said no! I fuckin quit, ok? Do you need me to say it 3 fucking times so that you remember I told you? I quit. I fucking quit, okay? has it sunk Into your fuckin memory? Ok, good Now get out of my fuckin face. There’s no available seats, and I don’t have time to fuck around and listen t’you talk about bull” he went right back to plating the food and my mouth drops a bit.

I look up to search for Syd hopefully getting ready to yell at him for that, but she was over helping Tina with something. I swallowed thickly “do you want to maybe try that again? I don’t think I heard you correctly, Carmen” I kick his shoe lightly and he finally looks at me, fire lighting behind his eyes. I couldn’t believe that he was insulting me this way, something had to have crawled up his ass. “Because I know you didn’t just insult my memory knowing my situation. That would be really low, coming from you” I narrow my eyes in fury, the two of us staring eachother down like lions about to fight.

He hadn’t ever dared to speak to me or treat me this way before. Ever since we’d met, he was all blushy smiles and sweet mumbled compliments. His demeanor would brighten, like his energy was being dialed up when I walked in a room. He’d practically trip over his own feet to come give me a sweet Carmy Bear hug. But lately it was as if I was fucking bothersome housefly.

“I said” he dropped the long pair of tweezers he was using and took a deep breath, the vein in his forehead popping out and when he took a deep breath like he was about to scream I quickly said

“Remember. Think. Think right now Carmen about the way you’re going to speak to me. Think really hard because I told you once and I’m not telling you again what happens if you ever raise your voice to me demeaningly- don’t fucking test me” I said and he narrowed his eyes, breathing deeper how he did when his top was about to blow.

“Leave.” He said just above a whisper. I scoffed, blinking a few times not sure I believed what I heard.

“Leave? You want me to leave? Since when have you ever not wanted me around” I asked “what has gotten into you, Bear? You’re hardly sleeping you’re- you’re-“

“WHAT THE FUCK COULD YOU POSSIBLY KNOW, WINNIE?! ALL YOU DO IS PUT GOD DAMN BOOKS ON A SHELF. AND THE REST OF THE TIME? YOU WHINE ABOUT YOUR DEAD FUCKING BROTHER. NEWSFLASH- YOU FUCKING PRISS - YOU ARENT THE ONLY ASSHOLE WHOS BROTHER DIED!! SO CAN YOU DO ME A SINGLE FAVOR? A SINGLE THING, WIN? CAN YOU NOT STRESS ME THE FUCK OUT FOR A SECOND AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE. UNTIL I TELL YOU OTHERWISE? LEAVE ME BE! YOU FUCKING NAG! CHRIST!!! ” He roared. His voice was so scary, so deep, so honest - tears started rolling down my cheeks before I could possibly stop them, and my lip wobbled as I held back hot, embarrassed tears.

Nat comes out of the back office “what’s going on-“ she flicked her eyes from Carmy over to me in the now silent kitchen. I didn’t even know who this is in front of me. But it’s not my Carmy, my Carmy would never willingly stab me in such a deep seeded wound, and then salt it right after by calling me a priss. I nearly choked on my tears, my heart racing and blood roaring in my ears. The same 3 words ringing in my ears

He’s leaving you, he’s leaving you, he’s leaving you.

“Carmen!” Nat snaps, “you can go fuck pal. What the fuck did she do to you?” She comes over to my shocked frame, heaving in breaths panicking worse then I did that night I’d met his mother. And hugged me gently, rubbing my arm

“Go. Fucking GO get her out. I don’t need the dramatic, stupid sniveling” he brushed me roughly toward the door, without a care of the world I nearly tripped over my own feet. I was so upset, I could have thrown up on the floor if Nat didn’t give him a sharp glare as she basically carried me out while I sobbed. She rubbed my back gently as she tried to soothe me as much as she could.

“He’s so stressed, win, this is him blowing out because he’s scared about Jimmy cutting us off.”

“S-sniveling?” I sobbed and Richie pushed open the door, pulling me into a big hug when we got outside “he- he said I talk too much about Chris” I choke sobbed into his jacket and he rubs my back gently, allowing me to cry as hard as I needed “he called me a priss Richie- w-why does he hate me now? What did I do?” I cry, my makeup streaming down my face in thick black streaks.

“He’s a little bitch, he’s become a little fuckin tyrant since Syd said she wanted a star, honey. It’s nothing t’do with you” he coaxed, gently rubbing my back how he did for Eva when she was upset, hoping it would have the same effect but unfortunately for him my heart had just been ripped out and stomped on by Carm so it wasn’t doing much.

“He- he knew what would happen I - I can’t. Oh god I don’t wanna break up why did he do this Richie” my voice horse and broken

“What’ya mean hon, he’s not breakin up with you- kids fuckin whipped are you jokin’?” He said and I shook my head

“I can’t - I - I can’t be with someone who’s abusive that way, Richie. I wish this never happened I - I wish I never came today oh god- oh god he’s gonna wanna come home later- can you- you- “ I choke back a sob, covering my mouth and squeezing my eyes shut at the realization.

“Tell him not to come home” I pull away and wipe my face, handing him the crumpled present “and give him this. I don’t want it” before heading the 2 blocks home. He didn’t try to stop me, it was no use with the state that I was in. The only person that could calm me down like this is Sadie, and I felt I’ve disappointed her because what she said nearly a year ago now, ended up being true. Carmen Berzatto is an asshole, and he’s only going to end up hurting me.

I stormed home, turning off my phone because I knew what I was supposed to do, and I didn’t want to be tempted to stop because people were asking me not to. I took 2 bong hits to calm down my breathing and stop crying finally, before wiping my makeup off and grabbing a box of trash bags. For the next two hours, I went around my apartment collecting any and everything that belonged to Carmy, or that I’d gotten him as a gift, and put them in to garbage bags.

I had told him when we first started dating, that I no longer date men who yell at me, or hit me. I made sure to let him know it was the only time I’d tell him, but if he ever were to raise his voice to me in a mean way we’d be over without even having to say it. So to take it as my warning. And he should have, because I was sticking to my word.

When I was done, I allowed myself to take an hours long steaming shower, and sob on my shower floor about everything. I couldn’t believe that Carmy had called me stupid essentially, made fun of my adhd and bad memory. That he had told me I talk too much about Chris when he knows the only way to keep your dead sibling alive is to share stories. Just like he did of Mikey, but I guess to him that street should only go one way.

I truthfully didn’t even know who this man was. Cold, uncaring, nearly evil. I wanted to scream and sob and kick things and punch Carmy but also kiss him and I wanted to slap him for what he said but I also wanted him to hold me and whisper about how he loves me more then anything in this whole fucked up world between sloppy kisses he left all over my face and neck. I wanted to lay with him in the dark and stroke his forearm as he tells me about his irrational worries and I soothe him by telling him no matter what happens we do it together.

Didn’t he love that? He said he loved that, that he loved me. But how could that be love? The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt Carmy, whenever I do even by accident the level of guilt I feel is immeasurable. But he so easily, so willingly hurt me about the single most painful thing in this world. Like I meant nothing to him at all.

I got into bed after getting into my favorite hello kitty pajamas, only to start sobbing again when all I could smell was him. I held his pillow, crying into it to stifle my sobs.

It was a good 3 hours of sobbing before I gave myself such a bad migraine that I essentially conked out and was woken up to Persephone asking for her dinner long after the sun had gone down. “Gosh- I’m sorry honey dad-Carmy” I correct myself, feeling tears spring to my eyes again. “C-Carmy” I start to sob again, shaking my head and covering my face with my hands. Sephy jumps up on the bed, coming over and licking my forearm sweetly and I sniffled deeply, picking her up and stroking her fur as I kiss her head.

“Carmy isn’t coming around anymore so I’ve been a little upset. M’sorry” I told her and got up, padding to the kitchen and putting on my glasses after wiping my eyes. I realized my phone was still sat powered off on the counter, so I took it turning it back on and grabbing her food for her while it powered up. I got my skincare globes out of the freezer, holding them to my puffy sore eyes, sighing softly In relief.

I sat there for a moment enjoying the feeling of the cold compress when my phone started buzzing over, and over, and over as it loaded through all of the notifications from the day. I popped the globes back in the freezer, seeing the last 56 texts were from Carmy, on top of 17 missed calls and 3 voicemails. I clicked on the thread and to start, it was horrible

-Fuckin really- you leave Richie with a gift to what, make me feel bad?

-Well guess what, I don’t so nice try.

-That’s really fuckin embarassing, you told Richie to tell me not to come home?? How old are you, really.

-Why wouldn’t I come home?? You’re being over dramatic.

-What do you wanna break up over a petty fight???

And after I didn’t reply, it turned into

-Fuck babe the pouch is really nice, I’m sorry.

-Is that pouch what you’ve been working on lately? You did so good, princess it's so nice, I love you.

-I’m sorry angel, please pick up the phone :(

-Come on honey I’ll come home early and make you your special garbage plate, and bring you your chocolate cake yea?

-Winnie, really. I’m sorry baby, I love you, you know that.

-I love you, pretty girl, please pick up the phone.

-Ok so I can’t make it early but I’ll try not to be late, hm? we can cuddle and watch your show

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I read through them. In response, instead of words, I simply send him a photo of the 4 trash bags tied up near the door along with the huge stack of cookbooks and hit send, opening my freezer once more to find something to eat. I settle on a frozen pizza that had been living in there a bit too long but when you have - had. A genius chef boyfriend, every night was something new and delicious so frozen pizza was always off the table.

It wasn’t even 3 minutes before my phone was vibrating on the counter as a call came through, I look over and see the photo Sadie took of us at new years, big goofy 2024 glasses on Carmy and one of those large ‘happy new years’ sparkly headbands was on me, kissing out on her balcony with fireworks in the background as the clock struck midnight. I shook my head at the memory, deciding to just rip the bandaid now and I hit the green button, and hit the speaker button.

It was silent other then the sounds of the kitchen dimming as he walked down the hallway to go outside. “Sweetheart?” He asked, as if he was amazed I answered - he should be.

“No. Not anymore. When will you be by to pick up your shit?” I preheat the oven and grab my phone, going to sit in my bed while I wait for it to heat.

“Baby. Come on Angel, don’t be like that mm? M’sorry, I really am babygirl I-“

“Stop! I - I’m not your baby or your angel, or your babygirl, anymore, Carmy. You fucking forfeited that the moment you yelled at me and told me I was fucking stupid and couldn’t remember anything and then- and-“ I took a deep shaking breath “and what you said about Chris? Fuck you. That’s what I wanted to say, Carmy. Fuck, you. Fuck you for making me fall so fucking far in love with you- just for you to turn around and ruin it. We had something so beautiful and-“

He cuts me off this time

“Had. You’re gonna say we had something, Win? It’s been fucking not even a day can you hold the fuck on? Why are you throwing us away you know that we’re fucking-“

“What? Throwing us away? Tell me, Carmy. What did I say to you about dating men who yell” I said and he remained silent “say it.” I told him and he huffs.

“You don’t date assholes that yell at you or hit you anymore because you learned that y’better than that” he muttered.

“Mmm. So what makes you special?” I asked, and out of everything I said that night that was a knife straight to his gut. He felt like it knocked the wind out of his lungs, because if anything at all- I made him special. I made him feel special. And for him to now believe that I no longer see him as such, what was he if not special to me?

“Honey, baby- don’t- don’t do this” he said, the edge from his voice gone and replaced with that softness, that softness that only came with the real Carmy, my Carmy.

“What makes you special?” I ask again, my voice shaking as I bit back more tears, although I wasn’t sure how I possibly had anymore left to cry given today.

“You” he said barely above a whisper. I don’t know what I was expecting, it was more a rhetorical question for him to answer on his own- but that answer melted me to my core.

“Come home right now and maybe we can talk about you earning your way back. Maybe.” I said and hung up. I sighed, sitting back and rubbing my face to rid it of tears. Suprisingly enough, it was only about 10 minutes until I heard a key in the door and a familiar

“Honey?”

I sit up in bed, wiping away stray tears to try and look strong as possible, but when he came in, all of that resolve crumbled. His eyes were bloodshot, he had to have been crying too. But how? In the back office? Did he really leave the kitchen to go cry? I could hardly believe that. “Honey” he said, nearly relieved that I was really there and sunk to his knees next to the bed in front of me, taking my hands and kissing them all over the backs

“I’m sorry- I’m so so sorry, I’m so sorry pretty” he rests his forehead on the plush of my thigh, sighing softly and I resist the strong urge to detangle his curls from the day, something I hadn’t gotten the pleasure of doing in what felt like years but in reality was only a few weeks.

“Sorry for what” I urge and he nuzzled his face in my tummy

“M’sorry f’r being an asshole, and a bitch, and a piece of shit, and a horrible fuckin’ boyfriend” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around my waist like he’d never let go and kissing around my ribs and stomach “M’sorry honey. So so sorry. I love you” he repeated over and over, kissing different parts of me each time with slow, purposeful worshiping movements.

“Do you really think that about me?” I asked, allowing myself to gently rest my hand on his back, rubbing at the tense muscle through his chefs coat.

“Never. Never. That was so - so fucked baby. I regretted it the second I said it- I don’t even fucking know what’s wrong with me, I- I don’t” his voice cracks and he took a shakey breath “I don’t deserve you” he admits, his voice raw and honest. My hand trailed up, gently scratching at his scalp and that is when he breaks

“It’s just so hard this is all so fuckin’ h-hard baby” it comes out in a sob, and I gently pull him to come lay with me. “I don’t deserve this I don’t deserve- fuck. I don’t deserve to feel good after what I said babe. I don’t deserve comfort” he shook his head and stood, tugging off his coat. “M’sorry- I need to fuckin get it together. M’sorry. It’s just- everything is shit babe. Please don’t come to the restaurant anymore, ok? It’s too much- everything is too much and it’s like peace comin home and seeing you. I don’t want you mixed up with it” he kisses the top of my head

“Are we good?” He asked. I thought for a moment, swallowing thickly and sighing a bit. “Baby please” he plead, sitting down on the bed next to my legs and cupping my cheeks.

“How can we be good if you won’t even let me hold you? You don’t even want me touching you lately , Carmy. Are you sure you’re still…” I bit my lip to keep it from wobbling “that you still want me?” I asked. A few stray tears fall down his cheeks and he pulls me to his chest, hugging me tightly and kissing the top of my head.

“Baby- baby.” He whispered and rubbed my back gently “the only thing in this world that I’m sure of, is that I fucking want you. I want you more than I want the restaurant- I want you more then anything” he assured me, rocking me gently and kissing my cheeks.

“Then why do you spend more time with the restaurant then with me?” I ask gently, hating that I was enjoying his coddling and kisses.

“Cause I’m a way better chef, and a shit boyfriend. So I figure it spares us both the heartache of having me around too much” and the indifferent, casual tone he said it in tells me he truly believed it. That was the part about it that killed me the most.

“Oh bear” I whisper, cupping his cheek and pulling him into a sweet, loving kiss, gently playing with his curls. He nearly sighs in relief in my mouth, his palm spread flat along my back where he rucked up my pajamas so he could be touching me skin to skin, our favorite way. “Do you wanna know something, love” I said softly when I pulled away, planting a gentle kiss to the bridge of his nose. He rested his forehead on mine, eyes fluttering shut as he got lost in the much needed affection.

“Hm” he didn’t even have the ability to make some self deprecating joke, he could only focus on the way his heart felt steadier then it had all day now that he was back in my arms.

“If I could spend every waking moment with you, I would. Because you are my favorite person in this world, there is not one other being I’d rather be with day to day, even Taylor swift” I joke which earned a small smile from him

“That’s a lie, but thank you baby- I wish I could be around all the time, but I fuck up too much” he sniffled, and I wiped the stray tear stains from his cheeks.

“It’s the truth. And how do you mean, you fuck up baby? You are so good at being a boyfriend - today was the first time you’ve ever been nasty to me. And definitely the last, hm?” I confirm and he nodded quickly

“The last- it’s the last I swear. I’ll never be mean again t’you baby that was the dumbest shit I’ve ever done in my life. Y’my best girl, my favorite, perfect angel” he kissed my forehead and snuggled me close, gently petting my hair. We were quiet for a moment, just enjoying each others touch when he said “this is getting long” he whispered as he plays with the ends of my hair that brushed the mattress even while I sat in his lap.

“Mm- I thought you like it long” i kiss that pulse point on his neck gently to assure he was still calm, happy to feel the steady beat beneath my lips as I lingered for a moment, smelling the last bits of his cologne and the kitchen smell from the day on him that I loved so much, distinctly Carmen.

“I do. S’fun to play with” he rubs my back gently and rests his lips on the top of my head in a prolonged kiss, shutting his eyes and lingering for a moment, savoring the smell of my shampoo and hair oil that I’d actually gotten him to start using and to his surprise it did make his curls way less frizzy. The humid, Chicago summers were always his least favorite because it gave him a super curly Italian Afro that would go frizzy by the end of the day in the kitchen, but I loved it more then anything.

“Will you shower with me?” He asked after a few moments of silence, with his cheek mushed on the top of my head. I sigh softly “I had a long shower earlier, I’ll sit with you, though. My pizza should be almost done” I said and he lays back on the bed, taking me with him and I giggle a bit as I roll on top of him and he lets out a satisfied hum at his newfound weighted blanket.

“Never mind. Kinda want pizza” he adjusted my thighs so I’d straddle him and I tucked my hands under his back, kissing his neck gently as I usually would after a hard day, moving from his forehead to his nose and his cheeks then his lips and chin, then his jaw, then his neck, then his chest and arms and hands. I knew he loved it, because he’d sit with his eyes closed every time and essentially let me kiss him to sleep, it was quite adorable actually.

“M’serious baby. Never again, ok?” I said softly when I finished, laying comfortably on his chest with my cheek mushed against it and he took a deep breath. “Never again”

After things had calmed down a bit, we both ate, Carmy had a shower, we were laid in bed and I was stroking his hair gently, my sound machine already playing rain noise but I knew he wasn’t asleep. His hands were busy rolling and unrolling my pajama shirt hem between his fingers as I was sure his mind was racing.

“Why are you doing this, Carm. At work. What’s up, baby. Why are you changing so much stuff in the restaurant?” I asked and he stopped, his tattooed hand coming around my hip and squeezing gently.

“Baby I don’t wanna talk about this. I’m doing it because I have to, ok?” He said and rubbed my hip with his thumb gently.

“Sydney is going to quit if you keep talking to her that way. And then what is this for, Carmen.” I said boldly, my hand steadying on his head

“I’m teaching her” he said shortly.

“You’re treating her how that dick treated you.” I said and he tuts, taking a deep breath.

“Babe I’ve not even told you half of the shit that fuckface said, and trust me I’d expect Syd would stab me how she did Richie if I said that shit to her. I didn’t tell her she should be dead. I didn’t stop the entire fucking kitchen and tell them that Syd was so stupid, and slow, that we need to wait so we can give her a second to catch up. I didn’t literally kick her ass for wasting ingredients. I’m teaching her. She’s gonna thank me, I’m making her better.” He nuzzled back into my stomach and closed his eyes once again, likely expecting me to just take it at that.

“Ahh. So that’s what your boss did, when he was doing all that. He made you better? You think screaming in your face that made you better.” I scoff lightly, annoyed he thought this was at all good “you know she’s my best friend - one of them- Syd is basically Sadie’s sister. Which makes us that close.”

“Well y’best friend chose a career path that’s hard sometimes, honey. I’m tired I worked 16 hours today” he laid down on his side, back to me and pulling open his bedside drawer, tugging out a box of sticker looking things and putting one on his arm. Nicotine patch.

“And when were you gonna say you stopped smoking?” I asked, still confused why he wouldn’t tell me something as big as that, Carmy told me he’s been smoking since he was 15- that was half his life at this point.

“Do you give a fuck? Thought you’d be happy if anything. Thanks for the support I guess” he laid on his stomach, tucking his arms under the pillow, still not facing me.

I chuckle dryly “the support. Yeah Carmy. You are the most supportive fucking person as of late.” I got comfortable on my side, back to him “see you tomorrow night I guess since you can’t even be bothered to wake me up for a kiss anymore.” I snip, crossing my arm over my chest and frowning.

“I literally do do you want me to start recording it? Y’fuckin half asleep why would you remember.” He scoffs “fuckin looking for a fight, swear to god” he muttered

“You’re being a real jerk right now.” I huff and he chuckled sarcastically

“Yes babe. I am a fucking jerk you knew this when we first started dating, you used to be into it that’s the funny thing”

“Yeah I was into it when it was the whole jerk to other people but super sweet to me, thing. Now you’re a jerk to literally everyone and it seems you especially like taking it out on me, someone you say you love.” I said and he huffed, annoyed as he rolled over on his back, extending his arm

“C’mere. I don’t wanna fight like this before bed, please baby. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be easier on Syd, there. Can you come lay now. And stop actin’ like this” he said and I turn around, crossing my arms over my chest and looking at him, he motioned for me to get comfy on his chest so he could wrap me up in a hug and we could fall asleep.

“You’ll try, or you will.” I said and he did one of those fed up slow blink sighs.

“I will be more lenient with Syd’s fuck ups, even if I’ve shown her 50 times how to do it right and she’s still rushing it.” He said and pulled me to his chest, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my temple firmly “can we sleep now?” he murmured against my skin.

“Yes, we can sleep now” I gave in, knowing that I wasn’t going to get a better answer out of him until he’d at least had some sleep. I made it a point, though, when the sound of the shower woke me that I was going to get up and make him a coffee and some breakfast before work and hopefully we would get to spend some time together before he left.

I made us both some scrambled eggs and toast, making sure to put his coffee in his favorite travel mug I’d gotten him last Christmas and adding a bit of cinnamon for him as well. I heard the water cut off just as I was setting the table and finishing making my own latte, and when the bathroom door opened, and he saw the bed had been made- he called out a confused

“Babe? Y’up?”

“In the kitchen” I called back, putting my creamer back in the fridge and mixing up my iced latte I’d made for myself. He came in, towel hanging low on his hips and another around his neck since he hated the feeling of his hair dripping on his skin. It was truly a mouthwatering sight. “Morning handsome” I said and greeted him with a sweet kiss and handing over his mug.

“Morning babe- it’s…fuckin early- Y’don’t need to be up f’work until 8” he pats my bum gently “you made food?” He looked at the table and I nod happily

“Yeah! I figured we could have breakfast together, right? Before you have to go to work..you don’t always have to be so early bear - you guys open at like 5!” I rub his chest gently and kissed his now soft stubble free jaw, he’d been very diligent as of late of shaving his face - sometimes twice a day. I sort of missed his stubble.

“Yeah but I make the menu, honey. And I have to make a list of what I want Tina to get at the farmers market. I have to make sure everything is clean, I have to accept the meat delivery. And the dairy delivery. Someone’s gotta do it- but thank you, could you do me a big favor and slap it in a Togo for me? One of the plastic ones from the cabinet over the microwave that’s gonna be great to eat at work babe” he kissed the top of my head and headed back off to the bedroom to get dressed, leaving me stood alone in the kitchen again.

I wake up, before the fucking sun to spend time with him - I’m still brushed off.

“So we just don’t have sex anymore?” I call as I open the cabinet in search of the stupid fucking container he wanted me to put his breakfast in.

“What’s that mean?” He comes to the bedroom door as he put on his white shirt - “fuckin shit I forgot to switch over my whites! Fuuuuck” he runs over to the washer and dryer in nothing but his boxers and plain white shirt, opening it and smelling them to asses if he could just throw them in the dryer “fuck!” He exclaims “fuckin fuck fuck” he said annoyed and pours in another cup of detergent, slamming the lid shut and setting it to a quick cycle

“It means-“ I stop when he rushed past me, shaking my head and realizing he had completely stopped listening, anyway. “You can ask for help sometimes, you know that right?” I said and he shook his head annoyed, going back to the bedroom to grab his jeans

“You can’t help me babe. Thanks for the coffee but I gotta go over to mine to grab my spare whites- oh- you can help with somethin’ actually, can you just throw those in the dryer when you get back up? Love you” he gave me a quick peck on the cheek, grabbing the container of food and his travel mug of coffee and dashing out the door.

I sighed, giving a defeated “yup” and watching him leave. I sit down at the kitchen table, eating my lukewarm breakfast in silence as I think over the events of the morning. It could have gone so much differently if he just took a second. There was a fleeting thought in my mind when he got out of the shower that we could eat together and then have slow, passionate morning sex. The kind that he would mumble

I fuckin love you, baby- you know how much I fuckin love you, right?

You’re everything to me, my whole fucking world Angel.

You’re my peace baby, my home, my relaxation - I couldn’t ever go without you now that I have you, y’mine princess. Forever

Into the crook of my neck as he lazily thrusted in and out of me, his words and my mumbled praise and agreements with his words bringing us to the throes of pleasure more then the short rolling of his hips. It had been weeks since we’d done that, and it would always bring us so much closer after we did. It was what we needed, right now. Especially right now, it felt like we were worlds apart and I would do anything to bring us back together.

I pouted a bit, realizing just how much I missed him in that way, craving the closeness and the praise and the pleasure. I went ahead and opened our text thread, staring at the last which was the photo of his things in garbage bags we took about an hour putting away last night and I sigh softly. I type out a few versions of what I wanted to say, before settling on

I miss having sex with you, Carmy. Can we please try and make time tonight?

And sent it. It wasn’t the usual text someone would send or receive before 6 am, but Carmen and I had a tendency to not do things in classic or traditional ways. I see the type bubble pop up, then go away, then pop up a few times before I got a response of

Baby I’m pretty busy today but I’ll try to see if I can find time maybe next week. I miss you too, my best girl 🖤

I shook my head, sighing and pushing away my now empty plate. Feeling frustrated and horny and pissed off. What happened to the Carmy that would no matter how tired he was, get under the covers and eat me until I was a trembling mess and ask for nothing in reply, but give in to my begging him to fuck me cause of how good he made me feel. That man, I wanted that man. I was coming to the realization that not having sex was getting to me.

I send another text,

Or you could come home for lunch and fuck me like you know we both need. Or does the big, mean boss man not get a lunch break?

I bit my lip, petty - yes. But if riling him up to the point he has to come home and pound me from behind while rambling about how I’m such a pretty distraction and how could he ever say no to this pretty cunt was what I needed to do to get him inside me again, I would do it. He also needs it, he’s way too wound up.

It wasn’t long before I got a reply

Being needy and filthy over text isn’t gonna clear my schedule, pretty girl. I know you have toys why don’t you go put them to use and tell me how good you can make yourself feel, I know you can baby.

I furrow my brow, frowning and just reacting to the message with a thumbs down. Asshole.

I washed the dishes and switched over his whites to the dryer and go to bed for a few more hours before I would need to get up and get ready for my shift at the library. I listened to Taylor of course while getting ready, still in the process of memorizing the lyrics to her new album. I wished we could have gotten more time to listen to it together, but he doesn’t even have time to sleep it seems anymore, or have sex, or do anything that isn’t directly related to the restaurant.

It was getting exhausting just to even witness. It nearly felt like I was single again, and Carmy just lived here and kissed me sometimes when he felt he needed kissing. It’s almost as if he’d fallen out of love with me and in love with the bear and its success. I didn’t know what Nat meant by Cicero cutting them off - I figured that would probably have something to do with it. I leaned into the mirror, observing my freckles around my nose.

What if he realized you aren’t pretty enough for him?

I shook the thought out of my mind, going back to doing my eyeliner and telling myself I had to make an extra therapy appointment for this week, because the last time I felt like this was before I met Sadie and was all alone out here after Chris died. I finished up getting ready, giving Sephy extra love and snuggles per usual after she ate and then I headed to work.

When I got on the L, funny enough I bumped into one of my favorite people. “Is that Syd the Chef Kid?” I plop next to her and her face brightens with her classic Syd Smile.

“Pooh! What’s up carrot top, headed to the library?” She asked, popping her AirPod out so we could talk.

“Yup! How about you, shouldn’t you be getting your ass chewed out by my ever patient boyfriend?” I said sarcastically, sitting back and sighing a bit as the train pulled off again.

“I should…” she looks down “but uh. I took some time, this morning. You remember where Carmy used to work, Ever?” She asked and looked back over, I nodded a bit and she continued “well- it’s closing, and one of the chefs wanted to uh..talk. About an opportunity- please don’t tell Carmy I’m just going to hear him out and I-“

I cut her off “Sydney- that’s fucking awesome!” I giggle happily and hug her “what the hell- of course I won’t tell Carmy, but that’s like totally awesome! Right? You want to go different places in the cooking industry, that’s how you meet people, like Carmy did. You're so gonna get it if its a job offer” I told her. She looked a bit…surprised that I seemed excited about this, which kind of burnt a bit.

“You don’t- you like.. wouldn’t be mad? If I left? Cause then Carmy would be all… y’know- Carmy. When he’s trying to find a new right hand, and-“

“Syd. I can handle Carmen, trust me. If anything he would be sad but he would be so proud of you too I bet!” I hugged her “just- don’t tell him until you make a decision- ok?” I told her and she nods, smiling a bit thankfully.

“Yeah, for sure. He sent me this..partnership thing I’m not sure I wanna sign yet…At least until I explore my options” she said and I nodded, grabbing her hand and bringing it to my lips, kissing it gently

“Syd- do what is good for you! Ok? I can handle Carmy, he’s…he’s really regimented? And yes, you leaving will throw off his routine but I can talk him down from freaking out. I’m sorry you even have to deal with his behavior, most the time I wonder why I do- but…it doesn’t even matter! This is about you babe! Let’s go celebrate - let’s go to smart bar tonight and fucking party! Cause tomorrow’s your day off, right, you me and Sadie! We’ll get fucked up. We deserve it. And Charli just put out a new album!” I grabbed her hand “you deserve it, Syd. Let’s go! Cmon. Let’s go have fun Carmy has been such a dick lately!” I said and she laughed, her head falling back.

“God. I wish you could hear yourself, Win. Yeah. Carm has been such a dick. He doesn’t deserve you. But uh- I guess sure. Can Marcus come? He’s been bugging about going out” she said and I nod happily and clap.

“Syd!!!!!! Fuck oh my god I’m so excited!” I giggle “pregame at yours! Sadie is so coming. Fuck Mitch I hate that prick but he’s probably gonna be there. And - oh your boyfriend?” I said and she shook her head

“He said - it doesn’t matter. We’re not together. It’s fine. Let’s have fun, right?” She asked as we pulled at my stop. I nodded and got up, kissing her cheek quick

“Text me- I’ll be at yours after I get off work. I’ll wear that dress I lent you! If Carmy is a dick about you being late tell him I said to go pound sand!” I call as I got off, quickly heading to work since I was already late.

The day went extra slow, since of course I was excited for after work. I got home earlier then Carmy of course, because why would he ever make an effort to see me? And took a quick shower, packing my makeup and hair things, as well as a few bottles of alcohol before ubering to Syd’s.

When I got there- Sadie, Marcus, as well as some very handsome tall British man was In her kitchen. “Hey bitches” I said and they turned

“shortstack!” Marcus said happily and I giggle. The pretty blonde male and I meet eyes.

“Hi there” he said and oh - oh…he’s British? Mm. Hmm. Interesting.

“Hey” I said shut and shut the door behind me “like vodka?” I asked , and the way he looked at me made me feel we were the only 2 In the room.

“I’m a tequila guy, but vodka does it.” He smiled a bit, and his pretty perfect teeth made me nearly weak at the knees.

You aren’t single, just angry at your boyfriend. Behave, Winnie.

I giggled in a way that I hoped I would read as friendly, and gently nudge his shoulder-

Fuck. This guy is pure muscle, I’m sure his stamina is absolutely insane - Winnie! You are not single!! Stop being a perv about this pretty British chef …

But he’s so pretty

Winnie! Stop! Stop. Do you need to go home? You are taken. No matter how kind, and sociable, and funny, and fit, and muscular, and tall, and -

Winnie!!!!!!

I looked back at Syd, a fake smile on my face, as I clutched my phone, avoiding the tall, sexy Brit to my right that had such a sweet laugh and I’m sure a huge dick

Winnow!!!

I couldn’t be more ashamed of where my mind wandered if I tried. I phone, avoiding his pretty blue green eyes - Jesus ! Why do all these men around Carm need to have the prettiest eyes!!!

“This is Luca” syd said, taking my tote full of bottles of alcohol, and starting to load them in the freezer. “He’s here because he worked with Carm at Ever- Richie introduced us, cause he went to check up on Jess after they said it was closing and this guy was hanging around like a dingleberry” she teased and he chucked, his eyes crinkling adorably.

Fuck, he’s cute. And tall as fuck.

“I’m Luca- nice to meet you uhh-“

“Winnie. Winnow- call me Winnie, though.” I shook his soft hand, blushing when he brought it to his lips and kissed my manicured fingers kindly.

“Well, Winnie, you look beautiful. Would you like me to make you a drink? You’ve brought quite the selection here” he squeezed my hand kindly before letting it go carefully and motioning to the selection of mixers Syd had set out.

It had been - well- since Carmy had stopped caring to woo me, really since the last time someone had cared to flatter me so openly, so I shrugged and smiled. Blushing at the compliment and offering my thanks.

“Yes, Chef Luca. Thank you” I squeeze his muscular bicep gently and Syd gives me the wiggle ‘get it’ brows as I sit down at the island. I rolled my eyes playfully, if anything she should be flirting with him.

“Where are you from?” He asked as he grabbed a glass, filling it with ice and putting a shot of vodka before a shot of lime and I smiled a bit

“Rochester New York. You’re from somewhere in England, right?” I asked and he chuckled a bit as he shook the drink together

“Right. London. You’re uh- you’re Carmen’s girlfriend isn’t that right” he poured the drink in a glass and handed it over. I nodded, looking down into the drink.

“That I am” I said quietly. I never knew these days what would come after someone saying that, he’s an ass, or he’s a genius or he is the best in the world. I was ready for the unfortunate embarrassing ladder of “he’s an asshole” but instead, I got

“How in the hell do you keep up with that guy? What’s he feeding you?” He joked, causing me to laugh a bit and sip my drink.

“Uh- I guess a lot of patience and love.” I said and Syd and I gave eachother a long glance.

“Where is he by the way? He hiding from me or somethin yea?” He chuckled and I smiled, laughing to match the mood and Marcus thankfully interjects

“Carmen doesn’t do clubs. You should know that” he nudged Luca gently and he huffed a laugh

“I guess- yeah. Makes sense” he said, and it clicked all the sudden.

“Holy shit” I whisper, staring at him and they all looked at me confused, staring at me silently.

“What- what you fucking weirdo” Syd nudges me and I nod towards Luca

“Him- him- that’s who…he like- you” I stared at him again and he furrowed his brow as he looks at me confused

“Who what?” He asked and put his cup down

“Carmy - you? Why? What about you what are you good at what did you beat him at?” I asked curiously and put my cup down as well “he still talks about you- what did you do better? It still haunts him “ I laugh a bit “how did you beat him out, all the time. he…he worships you in a way” I said and he cackled a laugh, nudging Marcus

“I like her! That’s funny darling. Uh- nothing. I just can ride his ass constantly but can never get ahead. Carmen is …. Something. I don’t know how he possibly manages, but -“

“He doesn’t sleep, or eat.” I said truthfully and shrug, and with the bluntness of my voice he just raised his eyebrows, eyes flicking from me to Syd to Marcus and back to me.

“Doesn’t sleep” he repeats and I nod, shrugging again

“Rarely- empire. You know that place?” I asked and he nods carefully and I nod as well “yeah. That place. He wants the bear, to be better. That’s what he keeps saying. So, he can’t. He says he has no time -“

“Does he know who that place is run by?” He asked

“His old Boss” Syd said. And I look over to her to see her looking back at me carefully and I nodded

“Hates that guy. Never work for that guy, Luca he’s a jerk” I told him and he chuckled, nodding

“Yes. That is pretty well known, that’s actually something he’s known for. No one really knows how Fields manages…he seems to be-“

“A robot” I finish for him and he nods

“So- when you say he doesn’t sleep does he-“

“Maybe 2 hours a night. I’ve been telling him he’s gonna give himself a stroke - he doesn’t care. He gets up and four and passes out at 2:30. Sometimes, well- a lot of times he has to sleep until 5 and I keep snoozing his alarms cause he’s so dead to the world he doesn’t even hear them but he wakes usually at 5” I nod “and when he comes home he keeps working, he’s had to buy 3 new sets of porcelain since they’re working for their star or whatever he keeps smashing them. My cat is starting to actively dislike him and his outbursts.” I explained. He motioned to Syd and she looked to him

“A star. Why the hell would you want one- weren’t we just talking about it? How it’s impossible to keep” He asked and she shrugged

“I said that too but Carmy said it’s what I wanted and I told him we didn’t have to but he insisted..”

“How did that thing go, Syd” I look at her and she shakes her head quickly to tell me to stop

“What thing?” Marcus asks “you had a thing?” He nudges her and she flashes a small smile, looking into her drink

“Girl thing- it’s nothing.” She lied and shrugged “let’s do shots! Luca you’ve done a proper tequila shot right?” She turned to the freezer and he laughed a bit

“Yes, Sydney we have limes and salt in England” he said, and I hopped off the counter to help her.

“Do you think Carmy hates him because he’s tall?” I asked her, my first drink already making me more honest and this leads Marcus and Syd to both crack up laughing

“Yo he would be piiissed if he heard her right now” Marcus laughs and I giggled

“It’s true!! Luca my boyfriend must be jealous of your height” I said and he laughed as well, shaking his head

“You are something. I’m seeing here how you and him work. You give em a run for his money I’m guessing” he said and I shrugged, grinning a bit.

“He said that was you. That working with you made him more motivated because for the first time since culinary school he felt someone could have beat him, so he had to learn how to be better and make it look easy so you panicked and he said it worked- also you have funny eyebrows I love them” I giggled and Syd sets a shot in front of each of us

“And you are very talkative, I see who’s the extrovert for your relationship” he joked “also, thank you? I think? I’ve been told” he smiled a bit and Syd put down the plate of cut lime slices.

“Hands” she said and I offered her my hand while Luca said

“With what?” And her, Luca, and Marcus stared at eachother for a moment before they cracked up

“Dude” she said and shook her head “give me your hand, idiot” she joked, taking his hand and he smiled adorably, cheeks painted a cute shade of pink and -

Holy shit. He totally likes her. He wants her!

“Syd I have to pee- also get my face on. Are you coming?” I said and took my shot quickly, licking the back of my hand and biting my wedge of lime “sure” she said and took her, dragging her by her sleeve to the bathroom and shutting the door

“Okay - uh- what’s up?” She said as I shut the toilet lid and sat

“He wants you” I said and she raised her brows, clearly confused

“Marcus? I already told you I’m not-“

“Luca. Sexy tall British man? Looks like he should be in vogue? Yeah, that he. And he totally wants your ass! You have to fuck him and tell me if he’s-“ she quickly covered my mouth, laughing as she shushes me

“Jesus! Winnie! You are loud!!” She said and I giggled

“Okay well- tell me if he’s hung” I told her quieter when she took her hand off and she shook her head, giggling and flushing the toilet behind me to make it sound like we didn’t just come in here to gossip.

“Yeah we’ll see about that, I think 3 shots is enough for you.” She teased. I got ready quickly, changing into the little black dress I had borrowed to Syd a while ago that seemed to fit much snugger now that Carmy had been feeding me so well.

When I opened the door and made my way back to see the guys and Syd talking about some candy dessert thing that Luca had been working on and I grab my phone their conversation having brought something to mind

“Syd- can we make this sometime? Carmy is too busy” I showed her the candied fruit with the yummy looking crunchy coating on it. She frowned a bit, shrugging

“Yes of course we can- but why would Carmy be too busy? Is he acting like that to you all the time, win?” She asked and I shook my head.

“Not yelling- just…not paying attention at least not like he used to. I think we’re going through a dry spell, ya know?” I shrug and sip on my mixed drink I still hadn’t finished.

“A dry spell?” She chuckles “what are you- 55?” I blushed and shrug

“Lets just go out! Ok! Fuck him he didn’t wanna come so let’s not talk about him. Let’s have fun something he doesn’t know how to do” I said and ordered the Uber for us on the app.

By the time we got to the club, I had found that Luca is very funny, and also very fun- and he also didn’t have a bad taste in music. I could see why Carmy was jealous of him back when they used to work together, even though he physically leaves little to be jealous of at all, but I knew he didn’t give a shit about what was going on in other people’s heads. At least, he didn’t think about it too often since he was so lost in his own.

“What are we drinking?” Marcus asks as we head in “I got first round” he added and we all piped up then, causing him to roll his eyes playfully “funny, everyone can make a decision when a wallet comes out. I’ll be back” he said and made his way up to the bar after he got our orders.

“I’m gonna be right back” I told Syd and squeezed her arm, making my way around the room until I found someone who looked like they sold.

“Hiii!” I said kindly and showed them the 50 I had folded in my hand “got something?” I asked and she nods

“Need an 8?” She replied and I nodded, grabbing the bag when she went to ‘shake my hand’ and she took the money.

“Been a pleasure, have a good night” I made my way to the bathroom and locked the door behind me, tightly rolling up a single I had and doing a line off the back of the sink before putting the little baggie in my bra and giggling as I feel the warm rush of relaxation and confidence wash over me. I hadn’t been able to party like this since before Carmy and I started dating.

It didn’t make him the happiest to know that I previously dabbled in drugs, but I only did it sometimes, very rarely. Plus, what does Carmen know about a party? Nothing. So his opinion on this specific matter holds no water. I wiped off the bottom of my nose and fixed my lipgloss before making my way back out to the group. “Let’s dance bitches!!” I said excitedly pulling Syd l and Sadie with me to the dance floor and Marcus and luca followed suit .

I didn’t get back home until around 3 head pounding from the comedown and a cracked phone screen, I wasn’t even really sure how that happened. Luca had to carry me up the stairs because I kept stumbling and he handled his liquor far better then I did. I also found that he was a fabulous dancing partner. “Gnight !! Sexy British chef dude I’ll see youuuuu-“ I point, looking up at him “when that thing”

“The Ever funeral dinner, yes darling. Now you should go get some rest yeah? Where are your keys?” He asked and I shrug, leaning against the door “dunno. Carmy should maybe be home” I said and knock on the door “Carmy!!” I call through the door and knock again and heard shuffling and the door opened

“Where the fuck have you been baby-“ he pulled me into a hug, shutting the door

“Hey !! Don’t be rude didn’t you even say hey!” I said and he looks at me confused

“How much have you had to drink, say hey to who you? Hey. Now why do you look high” he grabs my face, observing my blown out wide pupils

“Say hi to Luca your frienddd. Bye Luca!!” I call through the door not having realized he snuck away since he didn’t want to deal with Carmen questioning why he was holding up his girlfriend who was so inibreated she could barely stand and was high as a kite on south side coke.

” N’yeah Cause m’high” I yawn “kinda. Think I have a little left though m’saving it.” I said without thinking and head off to the bedroom, shedding my shoes and dress in a trail behind me as I go

“High on what” he followed and I lay down, not even really listening anymore, the only thing filling my mind was that I was overstimulated and exhausted.

“M‘not high” I lie after a few moments when I realize what he said and rolled on my stomach, getting comfy under the covers.

“Winnie what did you do?” He comes over, sitting down next to me and rubbing my back lightly “what did you take, baby. Tell me” he said and I look up at him

“Alcohol” I said and he nodded

“And?” He urges me to continue and I shake my head.

“Do I have to look through your shit babe, really” he huffs and rubs his face “I don’t have fucking time Winnie!” He said frustratedly.

And that was when I snapped, I couldn’t find where he got off, judging me and what I did at parties. Especially when he could hardly give a fuck about what I was doing, apparently unless I was waiting at home for him like a sad puppy, just for him to shower and collapse next to me with nothing but a “g’night hun’”

“Can you leave me the fuck alone? Jesus Christ Carmen! It doesn’t fucking matter. I bought an 8th of coke and did a few fucking lines! Are you happy? Now can I go to bed? because I’m fucking human and need sleep. I know That concept is foreign to you. Get out of my face what did you say yesterday? Oh- I don’t need the bullshit. Go to work or something.” I snap, over tired, over hungry, and with a now what was turning into a migraine “bad enough I’m gonna have to fuckin babysit you at that dinner Friday” I mumble and he got up, heading back to the kitchen for which I was grateful, but not without a muttered ‘what the fuck ever.’ Act like an asshole, get treated like an asshole would be my behavior going forward. If he wanted to play ball, so can I.

➵ 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ♡♡♡ ⋙

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