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luxaofhesperides · 7 months ago

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a safe place to rest - duke

(part 3 of the harmless series)

Although he hears about the baby, Duke doesn't get to meet her for a few days.

He does meet someone else though: Danny.

"You need anything before I go?"

He doesn't want to leave Danny alone in the Hatch. Not out of mistrust or anything, but because he's sure that the moment he looks away, Danny's going to disappear again. It took so long just to convince him to take a moment to breathe, to rest and recover from whatever he's gone through.

There's a frantic sort of energy surrounding Danny that has his aura all messed up, which is the only reason Duke decided against letting anyone else know that he found Danny.

He got the basic rundown from the night shift, but he hadn't had time to look more into it before Danny was crashing into him during his day patrol, eyes wide and wild and looking like his world had just ended.

"You," Danny had gasped, "You're with—Batman? Please, take these." And he shoved a bag against Duke's chest.

He had to react fast to grab it, and then grab Danny when he all but collapsed against him.

Now, he sits on top of the spare bed Duke set up in the Hatch, pale and tired and quietly devastated. "I'm fine," he insists. "You don't need to do anything for me."

Duke frowns. "Uh, I absolutely do, you think I'm just gonna leave you to fend for yourself? Come on, man, that's not how I do things."

"You don't owe me anything."

"Obviously not. It's not about owing things. I'm doing this because you need help and I can give it."

"I can take care of myself," Danny says firmly, and Duke holds back a sigh. Yeah, this guy really is Batman's kid. Horrible self-care habits and all.

"You don't gotta, though. You get that, right? You can take one day off and just rely on me to take care of you until you're back on your feet."

"No."

Duke tries to shove his emotions down, to stay neutral and calm. This is a guy who came crashing into their lives, shoving a baby into Damian's arms, and then vanishing. This is a guy who's gone through way too much on his own. Of course he's not going to trust anyone. Duke knows well how heavy everything becomes when it feels like the world's against him. He can give Danny grace.

"Okay. Just so you know, I'm asking to be polite. I'm still going to grab some extra clothes for you, and a homemade meal, so you just stay here and get some sleep. We'll talk more when I get back from delivering all this to Batman." He lifts the bag Danny gave to him for emphasis, then pins the guy down with a hard stare. "You better be here when I get back, or I am going to have no one to show baby pictures to."

"…You're gonna check on Ellie?"

The clear concern and desperation in Danny's expression make him soften. "Yeah, man. I'll check on her and let you know how she's doing. That's why you gotta be here when I get back. Got it?"

Danny bites his lip, then nods slowly. "Yeah. Got it. Thank you."

"Get some sleep."

Duke pulls the door shut, setting the alarm system to quietly alert him if anyone goes in or out while he's not in the Hatch. There's a first aid kit on the table and some water bottles as well, but it's not going to be enough to really help Danny start to recover. Duke takes a moment to curse his past self for not better stocking his crash room for emergency visitors, but in his defense, he isn't in the habit of bringing anyone back to the Hatch, not even other Bats, when the Batcave is more suited for handling lots of people.

Well, it's something to work on in the future.

He doesn't get more than a few steps away when he hears the door opening behind him and looks back to see Danny poking his head out.

"Hey, before you go…"

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Can you maybe not tell anyone I'm here? I'm assuming you know who I am, since you know Ellie."

"Yeah, your Batman's first lost kid, right? Trust me, I've heard of you."

Danny winces. "Great. Figures. I just really need to not deal with all of them right now, so if you could keep all this quiet…"

Duke looks him over, takes in the paleness of his skin, how worryingly thin he is, the dark half-moons stamped under his eyes, and promptly decides then and there that the rest of the world is going to have to go through him to even think about going near Danny. It's a complicated situation he's in and if he needs time to prepare himself for meeting everyone else, who Duke knows from personal experience can be a lot, then Duke is going to make sure he has all the time he needs.

"You got it man. They won't hear a thing about this from me. I'll lock everyone else out of here, too, so you can rest easy. They ain't getting in here to bother you while I'm still around."

"Thank you," Danny says again, sagging against the doorframe. "I'm… I really need to sleep."

"Go crash," Duke says softly. "I can take care of things until you wake up."

Bruce is the only person in the Batcave when Duke arrives. He's bent over the Batcomputer, head in his hands, when Duke parks his motorcycle and heads for the stairs to meet him on the upper level. He keeps his footsteps purposefully loud so Bruce can track him as he makes his way over, Danny's bag slung over his shoulder.

"Rough night?" he asks, just to get the conversation started.

"Yes," Bruce sighs. "There have been a number of—changes."

"Oh. Good changes or bad changes?"

Bruce lifts his head as he considers the question, then rubs his temple. "Unclear. It's nice to see everyone working together for Ellie, but I'm—concerned."

"About what?"

"About Ellie. And everyone. And Danny."

Duke leans his weight against the desk and lets the bag drop off his shoulder, then holds it out to Bruce. "Well. I dunno if this will make things any better, but Danny threw this at me while I was on patrol. I took a quick look through it and, uh. It's kinda rough. It's what he went through and how Ellie was created."

Bruce snatches the bag from his hand and immediately begins rooting through it. "Is Danny—?"

"He vanished as soon as I grabbed the bag. I think he's got a few loose ends to tie up before he feels comfortable being here again."

"What did you think of him?"

Duke looks at Bruce, looks at the papers in his hands, and thinks of Danny. "I think he needs someone in his corner. I think we gotta lot to do to make the world safer for him and Ellie. I think he's been scared for a very long time."

Nothing in Bruce's expression changes, and there's no shift in his aura, his emotions tightly locked up as always. But Duke hasn't gotten this far without learning how to see the little things: Bruce's grip on the bag tightens, his feet shift farther apart, as though he's ready to leap up at a moment's notice, and his shoulders slump just slightly under the heavy weight of all the things he refuses to share.

Sighing, Duke tilts his head to look at Bruce more closely. "Why are you down here? It's the middle of the day."

"I'm researching."

A hand loosely gesturing to the large screen of the Batcomputer has Duke turning to see what Bruce has been so occupied with.

It's not case files, as he expected. It's not even research into Danny and what happened to him.

All that's there is PDFs upon PDFs of child psychology papers and essays on recovering from trauma and research on various methods to help children with failure to thrive and malnutrition and neglect.

There's also, in one window, different safety ratings of baby cribs.

Well. Let it be known that Bruce's love language is information.

"Cool. Have you spent any time with anyone since a baby got dropped in your lap?"

Bruce's silence is extremely telling.

Duke briefly considers trying to get Bruce to go upstairs, but he knows better than to pick a losing battle. Especially after he's handed him information on Danny.

At some point, Bruce will have to go upstairs, if only to eat. He's getting old, and his body can't quite keep going like it used to. Duke will let him deal with the consequences of his own actions, or lack of action, when that time comes. He's not a mediator or peace-keeper. Duke has other pressing matters to attend to.

Taking pictures of the baby for Danny is definitely more important than navigating the minefield of family tensions and miscommunications ever present with the Waynes.

Duke reaches out and claps a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Don't get so caught up in getting all the pieces together that you forget to actually spend time with family. They're gonna need you now more than ever," he says, and waits until Bruce meets his eyes and gives a resolute nod before Duke stands and heads for the stairs that will take up him to the manor.

The sooner he gets back to Danny, the better.

Ellie is cute.

This isn't a surprise. Most babies are cute, and Ellie is no exception.

What Duke hadn't been expecting is how protective Damian is of her, or how everyone else orbits around the two, just on the edge of hovering. Damian's prickly personality is well known, so the rest of the Waynes have taken to acting like cats: always on the same floor, ready to pop in should they be needed, but otherwise out of sight.

"Thomas," Damian greets quietly. Ellie is asleep in the baby wrap keeping her secure against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. Damian lowers his paintbrush, turning to give Duke his full attention.

Duke takes a hesitant step into Damian's studio, then walks up to him once he isn't hissed at to leave.

"So this is our newest troublemaker, huh?" he says, looking down at Ellie. "How's she doing?"

She's so small. Her head has some black hair on it, but it barely covers her ears.

Damian lays his brush down on the easel. "She's doing much better now that she's getting regular meals and care. She still doesn't make much noise. It is… concerning."

The raw fear and care in his gaze is what makes the words tumble out of Duke's mouth. "I have some news about Danny."

If anyone deserves to know about him, it's his little brother.

Damian's gaze snaps up to Dukes, a fierce light in them, and his hands raise to hold Ellie tightly. "What is it?"

"He gave me a bag while I was patrolling, then left. I looked through it before giving it to B, and it's all… I only read the papers, not anything on the flashdrives, but Danny went through some awful shit. He was captured and experimented on by some group called NOVA. They had him for some time doing tests before he was put in isolation for acting out. And then he kinda… went into a death-like stasis. They did more tests and took some bio-material from him to try to figure out how he was surviving in stasis, and used that to make Ellie with the genes of one of the other captured metas. Danny was in stasis for around seven years."

Reading about it, learning about what Danny went through made Duke's stomach turn. It was like something out of a nightmare. Duke knows the fears metas have to live with; he carries it too, a weight he can never put down.

There's a reason civilian metas try to keep their powers a secret. Metas go for a high price on the black market, are at a higher risk of human trafficking, are seen as the best test subjects by unethical scientists wanting to find some way to replicate those powers in other people or in weapons.

Summarizing the horrors Danny had to experience leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. The silence in the studio stretches long enough for Duke to regret opening his mouth. Damian's still a teenager. He may have had a different upbringing and be able to stomach what most people can't, but this is still his brother. Anyone would be rattled hearing about this.

Then, without a word, Damian stands. He storms out of the studio, leaving Duke to catch the stool he was sitting on before it hits the ground and wakes Ellie.

When he goes to catch up with Damian, the kid is already walking into another room, tension in every line of his body.

"Richard," he snaps quietly, and Duke watches as Dick pops up from where he was lounging on the floor on one of the softest rugs in the manor.

"Dami? What's wrong?"

Damian doesn't answer, just unwraps the baby sling and carefully passes a still sleeping Ellie over to Dick.

"Damian," Dick tries again, his voice hardening, demanding an answer even as he adjust Ellie in his arms to make sure she can continue sleeping comfortably.

"I need to speak with Father," Damian answers shortly. "I will be gone for some time. I am entrusting her to you."

Dick glances at Duke, who tries not to look too stressed or tense. He doesn't think it works.

Reaching out, Dick puts a hand on Damian's head, managing to ruffle his hair for a few seconds before Damian steps away, batting at his hand with a scowl. "Alright," Dick says, "But I'm sending someone to get you for dinner if you're not back by then."

Damian nods, then turns on his heel and leaves for Bruce's office.

Neither of them move until they're sure that Damian is out of earshot.

"What was that about?" Dick asks, lowering himself down onto the rug again, one hand rubbing small circles against Ellie's back.

Duke sighs. "You'll find out soon. Just... chill for now and let me get some cute baby pictures."

Dick, as he finds out, is actually pretty good at helping Duke get the cutest pictures of Ellie.

And when Ellie blinks her little blue eyes open, Duke's heart melts and he understands how she's got everyone wrapped around her fingers.

NOVA, whatever remains of them, is going to regret ever hurting Danny and Ellie.

Danny is asleep when Duke returns. He sleeps through the night, and when Duke wakes up early the next morning to make sure he hasn't disappeared, Danny remains motionless in his bed.

Is he in stasis again? Duke wonders, panicked, as he rushes into his crash room and gently shakes Danny, trying to wake him up.

It takes a few tries before Danny lets out a soft noise in the back of his throat. He turns his face into the pillow, then abruptly tenses up and shoots out of bed. In a blink, Danny's on the other side of the room, flying up to the ceiling where Duke can't easily reach him.

Hands up, palms open, Duke says, "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. How're you feeling?"

Danny sucks in a few deep breaths before he slowly floats down to the floor. His eyes are still too wide and there's a faint tremble in his hands. "Fine," he answers blankly.

"Up for eating something? I did promise you food and baby pictures."

Unsurprisingly, it's the mention of Ellie that gets Danny moving and brings some light back to his eyes. He follows Duke out into the main room of the Hatch. There's not really a kitchen in here, but there is a fridge and a microwave, which is enough for now.

One of his workstations has been cleared off and now has chairs around it to turn it into a makeshift dining table. On it, Duke's left a tupperware of French toast, made the way he remembers his dad making them when he was a kid, and as well as a store-bought container of cut fruit.

It's not really a lot, but it's what he could do on a short notice.

Danny takes a seat, and Duke settles in on the other side of the table, pulling out his phone to flip through the many pictures he took of Ellie.

Duke keeps up a light commentary as Danny slowly eats, sharing little stories about the Waynes and all the nonsense they get up to. That turns into sharing stories about the stupid shit he and his friends gets into, followed by some of the weirdest things criminals have done to try to get away from him, including the one that said 'nuh-uh!' when Duke said carjacking is the lamest crime to commit in Gotham.

That story gets Danny to smile, and it takes way too much effort to keep from celebrating it.

All the while, Danny slowly looks through each photo of Ellie, making sure she's okay. He looks so fond and sad that it's breaking Duke's heart, and he swears to himself then and there that he's going to do whatever he can to reunite them.

"Don't you have hero things to do?" Danny asks. It's the first thing he's said since they both sat down.

Duke shrugs. "Nah, not right now. Gotham can wait. You're my priority right now."

"You don't have to—"

"Nope. If you don't want anyone else to know you're here, then you're gonna have to deal with me."

Danny squints at him. "You're both very chill and very stubborn."

"It's the only way I was able to survive working with the other Bats."

"They sound… interesting."

"You can say they're a hot mess," Duke laughs. "But hey, who isn't?" He watches as Danny pushes around the last half of the French toast around the tupperware and straightens up from where he was leaning on the table. "Want me to put that up for you? You can finish it later."

Danny looks down at his plate, then slowly nods. "Yeah. Sorry."

"No worries. You went through some shit. It's not surprising that you don't have much of an appetite." Duke reaches over the table to pop the lid back on the tupperware, then stands to put it in the fridge.

When he turns back, Danny is no longer visible.

Or, at least, his physical body isn't visible. Duke can still easily see his aura, a vibrant green that has streaks of white moving through it like a current of water, which leaves an outline of his body. Danny is also trying to sneak out of the Hatch.

"Oh," he says, "I didn't know you had invisibility. That's pretty cool. I can still see you, by the way."

Danny becomes visible again, glaring at Duke.

"That's such a Batman move," Duke grins, "I should have expected it."

"What was a Batman move?"

"Sneaking away as soon as I turned around. B does that all the time with the Commish. And everyone else, honestly. Though, to be fair, we all do it because we all learned from him. Yeah, you'll have no trouble fitting in with us."

"I don't think what I'm doing should count, since I'm using powers."

"Dude, watch this."

Duke makes sure Danny's looking at him, then bends the light around him to hide him from view. He can see the exact moment Danny realizes he's vanished when his eyes go wide and he takes a few steps closer.

"Signal?"

"Still here," Duke reassures. "Haven't moved an inch." Then he releases his grip on the light around his head, a fun little trick he figured out a few years ago that makes it look like he's a floating, decapitated head. The goons always love that one.

Danny looks at his head. Looks at his invisible body. Then looks back to his head. "That is freaky," he says, a slow smile dawning across his face. "I can do that too."

And sure enough, Danny's body becomes invisible, save for the outline of it in his aura, and now there's just two floating heads in the Hatch.

He's not sure who cracks first, but in no time, they're laughing like everything's alright. Danny's expression brightens and suddenly he's years younger, all the stress falling off his shoulders in the face of their mirth. Like this, he could be any other guy in one of Duke's classes, talking nonsense just to pass the time, quick to laugh and without a care in the world.

This is what he wants for Danny.

This ease, this calm, this lightness in his heart: Duke will keep them safe for Danny.

If nothing else, Duke can be a safe place to land for another meta who needs, more than anything, someone willing to be there for him.

(masterpost for all parts)

#dc x dp #dp x dc #demon brothers #the harmless series #dcxdp #dpxdc #dcxdp fic #my writing #can u tell i love duke #didnt mean to make this ghostlights flavored but i cant help myself theyre just too good #slowly building in more things... NOVA and dannys powers and bat dynamics.....#there is MUCH more to come i promise #this little series is a challenge to write as many povs as possible #there will be some repeats but im gonna try to keep that only to danny and damian

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ricafederica7 · 7 days ago

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It's so annoying watching your boyfriend playing games with his buddies.

Especially when you're soaking the sheets during ovulation week, but trying not to disturb him cause he needs his space after all.

But today your heat was just too much. You were trying to be quiet on the bed, feeling yourself through your underwear; let's be honest, through his boxers, but it just wasn't enough for you. You peep to the living room and there he is, with his headphones on and a focused face on his phone, like he's actually curing cancer. So annoying. And so inconsiderate. You needed him more than his friends.

So you decide to play dirty. Off those soaked boxers of his, and you're putting on some crotchless black bandage panties, no shirt and no bra. You pick up a pillow and off you go to make him fulfill his duties.

You quietly go towards the sofa where he's sitting, on the edge, face glued to his phone, and it's not until you're in front of him that he looks up, down, and up again with a nervous shocked face, and he lets off an awkward chuckle. You put your index finger on top of your lips, shushing him, and putting the pillow behind him, motioning him to lay down.

“Keep playing your game” you say silently while he's all wide eyed.

“Heeeyy, are you there?”, you hear from his headphones.

“Y-yeah…..I-I'm still h-here” he says, stuttering. So cute.

You straddle his clothed crotch slowly, grabbing a hold of his t-shirt and start grinding on him, eliciting quiet moans from you, and a flushed face from him, mouth agape.

Once he feels fully hard, you slide off his shorts and underwear and place kitten kisses on his rosey, precum leaking tip.Your tongue starts wetting his underside, from the base up a few times until you take him fully in your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue all over his bricked cock. He's not even paying attention to his phone, and muted his headphone so he's just looking at you and trying so, so hard not to moan too loud.

“Hey, what are you doing? They're right behind ya”, you faintly hear coming from the game.

You just look up at him and continue your ministries on his cock, letting out a small chuckle.

“I-I…think I ju-just got killed, ah……I think I'm out”, he's such a liar.

You stick out your tongue and lick from the base up, and slowly but surely align his anxious tip with your entrance, and little by little, you start sinking yourself down his stiff dick, squelching sounds from your heat now sounding deafening.

“Ah, ah…..oh my God babe….ugh I needed you so bad….”, now you're all flushed and red in the face. He's still holding his phone, but eyes roaming the part where your bodies connect, frowning. Head tilted back and letting out tiny moans.

You grab the upper part of your tits with your palms, as if you're displaying them for him, and continue bouncing on his cock, stretching out your warm pussy.

“Babe, I don't think I can hold it, I'm close”, damn ovulation, made you so sensitive.

“It's okay princess, I'll cum with you”, his right hand comes off his phone, thumb going straight to your clit, rubbing circles, and that got you over the edge.

“Ah, ah, aah baaabee……I'm cumming ah…”, your soppy cunt contracting on his cock inside, while he groans and shoots his creamy load deep in you.

You collapse on his chest, both catching your breaths, and him caressing your head and placing a kiss on top of your head.

“Good fucking girl”. You chuckle.

“Uuuh, guys………you're……..not on mute”, you hear, coming from his headphones.

-----------------------------------

kenma kozume- kuroo tetsuro- atsumu miya- kei tsukishima- suna rintaro- gojo satoru- geto suguru- choso kamo- inumaki toge- yuuji itadori- hirotaka nifuji- taro kabakura- zenitsu agatsuma- kamado tanjiro- tomioka giyu- muichiro tokito- genya shinazugawa- yushiro- eren yaeger- jean kirsten- connie springer- and all your faves.

(It's my first time ever publishing something I wrote, so I'm open to suggestions, asks and scenarios you want to see. Thank you so much for reading!!)

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shadowsviper · 5 days ago

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Thanos and Nam-Gyu as Cats Part 2

Part 1 - Part 3

I was surprised to see that you guys really like the first part and you asked for part 2 so here you go!

This one has some angst and sadness to it but I promise there's a happy ending for this part!

Part 3 with Se-mi, Min-su, and Gyeoung-su as cats? 👀

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It's been a month or two since you befriended the two cats in the alleyway. You consistently fed them whenever you saw them. Thanks to you, they're looking a lot healthier than when you first met them

Nam-gyu still didn't trust you as much as Thanos did but he's been settling closer and closer to you so a win is a win

He still won't let you pet him though :(

One time Thanos decided to rub all over your legs and had your scent stuck on him and then proceeded to rub all over Nam-gyu to get your scent on him. Nam-gyu hated it

You've never seen a cat get whacked so many times before

Thanos was loud. Sometimes you could hear him walking towards you because he meows as he walks. You can always hear the bounce in his meows. Other times, it's as if he's screaming his head off for your attention

Nam-gyu stays quiet most of the time but occasionally meows at Thanos to shut him up

"You're back! It was getting boring around here without you. Did you bring food-"

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up"

You have an ungodly amount of pictures of the two cats on your phone. Most of them were Thanos because it was like he knew what a camera was. He was always posed somehow and he's a photogenic cat

Nam-gyu on the other hand would always run whenever you pulled your phone out. Half the pictures you have of him were blurry. There's a few good photos you got of him where you caught him off guard

One day, after a nasty fight with another stray cat, Thanos got injured. He leaned his weight onto Nam-gyu, letting him lead the way

When they arrived back at the cafe, Thanos collapsed on the ground. Nam-gyu would've assumed he was dead if it weren't for his breathing

Looking up at the cafe, Nam-gyu realized the place was closed. You probably went home already. Still, he climbed up onto the windowsill, trying to look inside

To his dismay, you weren't there

Nam-gyu meowed loudly, louder than he'd ever done before. Maybe you were nearby and you could hear him

Jumping down from the windowsill, he began to run down the street. Still, you were nowhere to be found. Nam-gyu's ears flattened against his head. You were always there when the cafe closed, and his friend needed you

He decided to go back to Thanos who was still lying on the ground. A quick sniff allowed Nam-gyu to determine that he was still alive

He continued to meow loudly. If you couldn't hear him, maybe someone else can

Someone did

A young teenager walking down the street heard the sad meows and went to investigate. She found the two cats right outside the cafe. From a distance, she could already tell one of them was injured

Normally, Nam-gyu would've fought the stranger, or run off, but he couldn't leave Thanos like this. He looked up at her, meowing again. Maybe she could help

"Oh no," the girl said, running her hand through Thanos' rough fur. "Don't worry, I'll get you to a vet"

The girl gently picked Thanos up, cradling him in her arms. She started to run down the street, hoping to make it to the 24-hour vet clinic. Nam-gyu followed them closely

Once at the clinic, the girl dropped off the cats. Nam-gyu waited patiently inside the room. As soon as Thanos was healed, they were going back to the cafe. He was definitely giving you shit for not being there

Only... they never showed up that week.

You started to notice the absence of the two cats. The first two days, you didn't think too much of it. It was normal for them to disappear at times and then show up again. Only, this time they still haven't shown up

You checked the alleyway, hoping that they were just hiding. You found nothing other than the little makeshift bed they had

You even left food out for them, hoping that it would lure them out. They were still missing

By the end of the week, you placed a missing poster on the front of the cafe. The two cats had been here for a while, a lot of people knew of them. Surely someone had to know where they went

Thankfully, the teenager who had saved Thanos saw the poster and went inside the cafe to tell you where he was

After closing the cafe, you immediately headed over to the vet clinic. You asked for the two cats, giving them a brief description

"Ah, they were brought in earlier this week," the vet said. "The orange one was in bad shape but he managed to pull through. They were recently adopted by two families"

That made you freeze. What do you mean they got adopted? You just found them again

"However, they were both returned for behavioral issues," they continued. "The two of them seem to be bonded and have issues being away from each other. If you're interested in them, you have to take both of them home."

You immediately agreed. You already messed up once by not being there. You won't do that again

The vet led you to the back where the cages were, telling you how they had the worst behaviors anyone had ever seen

A few days after they were brought in, they were adopted by two separate families. Neither of them understood what was happening as they were quickly separated.

Thanos ended up with a small family. Two parents, a moody teenager, and a dog. Yes, a dog. Needless to say, he was not happy

He had assumed that the family had also taken Nam-gyu as well. If he didn't have you taking care of him, at least he'll have his friend

He was so wrong. Nam-gyu was nowhere to be found. The house had already been searched through three times. He even went as far as climbing up the cabinets and getting to higher grounds, only to be yelled at

This family didn't allow him to do many things. The counter was off limits, the beds, the dining room table, and even the kitchen. He was limited to a few spaces. They didn't give him nearly as much attention as you did. They always told him to be quiet whenever he meowed for attention. You've never done that. You always gave him what he wanted

Apparently stealing chicken from this family was also not a good idea. It's not his fault he got used to it after you've been feeding it to him for months

The dog was his thirteenth reason

It was big, annoying, and slobbery. It knew no boundaries and never respected the hisses. One time, the dog nudged him, right where his injury was. His immediate reaction was to hiss and swipe his claws, only to be yelled at by the family again

He had to leave

He did everything he could think of. He destroyed things around the house, did everything he wasn't supposed to, and fought the dog. He even resorted to biting and clawing at the family

The family returned him after two days. When he was brought back, Nam-gyu was still with his new family. Thanos chose to stay in the corner of the cage, refraining from doing anything until he saw either you or Nam-gyu

Nam-gyu had been adopted by a nicer family. Two parents and a toddler. The toddler was his biggest nightmare

He has never experienced so much crying from a human. It was loud and annoying

He hid the first day he arrived. The toddler kept following him around, reaching out and trying to touch him. He would constantly hiss at it. He would rather have you, at least you respected his boundaries

His tail was constantly pulled. His ears were grabbed at by some grubby hands

It was barely 48 hours before he was also returned back to the vet clinic.

It was the toddler's fault, he swears it. He already gave it multiple warnings before he swiped his claws, giving it a small cut. Of course, the human wailed for its parents

The moment he was brought back, he was placed into the cage with Thanos. The two of them quickly checked over each other, ensuring that they were both safe

You walked by several other animals who were waiting for their forever home

You stopped right in front of Thanos and Nam-gyu's cage. Looking inside, you could see them cuddled up in the far corner. You almost laughed when you saw the names they were given; Goldfish and Rat

The moment Thanos saw you, he stood up and walked over to you. He meowed quietly as if unsure if you were there for them. You stuck your finger into the cage, allowing him to sniff and rub his head against you

Nam-gyu stayed in the corner, his eyes narrowed as if glaring at you. He hasn't forgiven you for leaving them

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," you told them. "It won't happen again. I'm bringing you two home with me."

The paperwork was quickly done and soon they were put into a carrier.

Getting them both up the stairs was a struggle. It was two big cats in a large carrier. Thanos' constant moving wasn't helping either, he was nearly shoving his face out of every hole trying to see where they were going

The moment you finally got inside your apartment, you placed the carrier down. Thanos was already waiting to be let out, letting out meows to convince you to open the door faster

Thanos was the first to explore your apartment, he sniffed around and jumped on different counters and tables. You let him do whatever he wanted considering it was a new place for him

Nam-gyu stayed inside the carrier, only poking his head out for a moment to look around

"Dude, you gotta check this out," Thanos called from somewhere within the apartment

"Please tell me they live alone," Nam-gyu said, finally stepping out of the carrier. "I can't do human babies again, they suck."

"There's no one here, but seriously come check this out," Thanos called out again.

You didn't pay the meows any attention. You could tell they weren't directed at you in any way

Nam-gyu followed Thanos' voice into your bedroom. He found the orange cat jumping around on the bed

"It's bouncy and soft! It's so much better than what we had in that alleyway"

Nam-gyu climbed onto the bed but didn't jump. He didn't feel the need to, he simply lay down on the sheets

The sudden silence had you worried. You walked down the hallway where Thanos and Nam-gyu had disappeared. You could hear springs bouncing as you got closer to your room. When you looked in, you found the two cats enjoying your bed. Thanos was having the time of his life jumping around Nam-gyu and annoying him

Good luck trying to get your bed back. It's theirs now. You have to share with them

The first two weeks of having them, you realized how different their personalities were. They were almost complete opposites until they got up to something. Most of the time, they were stealing food out of the pantry

Ever since Nam-gyu has been in your apartment, he's been distancing himself from you. You knew it was because of the incident and you've been trying to get back on his good side.

You tried everything you could think of, extra food, toys. Nothing seemed to work

It wasn't until one day when one of your packages arrived. You absentmindedly opened the box and placed it on the ground. You had been so focused on your package that you didn't notice Nam-gyu being interested in the box

"Bro, they got you a box," Thanos chirped. "It's like that one we used to have"

You finally noticed that the cats had an interest in the box. You looked down to find Nam-gyu inside the box. He simply stared up at you

"You like the box?" you asked. He meowed once. "Alright, you can keep it"

The box ended up being Nam-gyu's favorite thing. He dragged it everywhere he went and he considered it his safe space

Thanos would often try to invade his space by trying to squeeze in. If Nam-gyu was in the mood, he would allow Thanos to share the box. If he wasn't then Thanos is getting smacked repeatedly until he leaves

One day, while you were working on your laptop, you felt a paw touch your leg. You reached down without looking, assuming it was Thanos asking for attention again. It wasn't until you caught a glimpse of orange fur lying on the couch that you realized it was not Thanos asking for attention

You looked down to find Nam-gyu sitting by your leg. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed as you scratched behind his ear

You smiled, realizing that this was the first time he'd allowed you to touch him

When you stopped petting him, he stared up at you. You watched as he slowly blinked and headbutted your leg. He seems to have forgiven you :)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I hope you liked part 2! I was originally going to put these ideas into the first part but I realized that part 1 was already pretty long and this was probably better as its own part, which worked out perfectly since everyone wanted a part 2.

Do you guys want a part 3? I have a few ideas which include the rest of the Thanos team as cats. Let me know :) If you have ideas for this series or headcanons that you want me to add, let me know as well.

Taglist for this series: @janie-osuih @ilikedrinkingsoda

#squid game #squid games #squid game headcanons #squid game thanos #squid game nam gyu #thanos x reader #namgyu x reader #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader #nam gyu #nam gyu x reader #thanos x y/n #nam gyu x y/n #squid game 2 #player 124 #player 230 #squid game x y/n

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daenysx · 2 months ago

Note

I fear I needed part two of modern!James headcanons like yesterday so if you ever feel like gracing us with more delusions about him being the perfect man, feel free to do so

here's part 2! thanks for reading, angel <33 (part 1)

okay, so james has this rebellious side and he's kinda reckless at times, right?

(especially when he's with remus and sirius)

you never know what's gonna happen with these three

but-

i also think james can be really predictable too

he has routines he likes to follow

he enjoys making lists of things in his head and do them in an order- after some time you got them all figured out

like- he'll always eat the same comfort meal every friday night or watch the same episode of his favorite sitcom when he feels too tired to focus on a new show

after an exhausting day, he'll just collapse on bed and beg for you to play with his hair

he likes making shopping lists

and i know- this is really basic but just imagine james potter going through the fridge to keep track on everything you're running low

he is responsible when it comes to chores. it's hot because he mostly completes them without wearing his shirt

his goal is obviously distracting you but he claims 'it's because it gets too hot'

now- back to being smutty here

james loves to be kissed

he actually kinda lives to be kissed

every inch of his skin begs for it

his favorite is when he lays down on bed and you get on top of him to love him right

neck kisses are super important

and-

kisses on his happy trail

i mean for real- he'd be lifting his hips for more, and you'd of course tease him

but he's so ready to surrender, he's like 'please angel, i'll do anything'

he loses his mind every time he feels your mouth on his cock

literally.

never ashamed on finishing too early (i mean, what's too early?)

he says you're so hard to resist and he's just obsessed with your mouth

charming

he loves sleepy sex

loves sleepy everything, really

he thinks you look so cute for him when you're almost awake and blinking your eyes at him

james potter is the type of man who'd get his thigh between your legs to give you something to hold onto whenever you feel restless in bed

he thinks you look good wearing his glasses but you can't believe him because how does he see anything without them?

his favorite color is red

he loves kissing you after you applied your lipstick

even if that means a potential argument

speaking of arguments

i think james believes arguments are too exhausting and he avoids them mostly

he tries to fix things before the argument stage, he feels uncomfortable when he's angry

he's too sunshine for all this

and he grew up in a peaceful home environment so he's not used to do things by arguing

let's change the subject

his handwriting is a mess most of the time

because he tries to be quick and scribbles carelessly

he likes drawing when no one's looking

james has too many friends

everyone likes him because how can they not? but mostly it's because he's really kind and he likes meeting with new people

he has too many friends but only two of them matter the most (wink wink)

and you (obv)

finally

he'd love love love the skincare sessions you give him

i have a fic about it here

but i really do think he likes being taken care of

okay i'm done?

you can send me an ask if you want more headcanons for james! not just for this context but anything you wanna see, i can try

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x fem!reader #james x you #james x reader #james x fem!reader #james potter headcanons #james potter headcanon #james potter imagine #the marauders #marauders #marauders imagine #the marauders imagine #james potter fic #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction

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carmenized-onions · 7 months ago

Text

Don't Say It. | Closing Out

logline; just say it in every way but the one way that makes it weird.

[!!!] series history; did y'all notice the banner rebrands? tell me you think they look nice and good and cool or i'll. start crying.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. how is it more than 7 hours. my god.

portion; 14k was hoping we'd reenter our single digits era but we ball

possible allergies; two mentally ills battle it out (romantic).

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader almost certain there are gendered bits/pronouns but can't honestly completely remember.

(new!) kofi; I have one now! if you've enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

moving into a new place literally in two days!! high stress. so thank you for waitin' as always pwease enjoy and pwease tell me what you think!

You take a good long breath, sitting on the counter in the bathroom. Right. Time is linear and you’re in New York again— Never left. Right. Carmen’s sitting across from you, it’s kind of a shock this floating sink counter hasn’t collapsed under the two of you yet. How long have you been here? Swapping stories took a long fucking time, and there’s still, disgustingly, a lot to unpack.

“Any shoes left undropped?” You drum your hands against your knees, the question is as much for yourself as it is for him.

Carmen opts to open with a soft ball. “You called me Carmy?” Before you knew me, you called me Carmy?

“I called you a lot of things.”

“Like virgin Michelin Star chef?” He’s failing to hide the upturned corners of his mouth, when he says it.

You snort and nod, “Like virgin Michelin Star chef, or Carmy, or Carm, or baby boy, baby bear, mister New York— Basically all Mikey’s, I think the only one I coined was Charmin.”

“Charmin?”

“Like the—” He finishes with you, “—Toilet paper bears.” and whether he should be or not, he cannot stop laughing, when you confess this.

“I thought it was a good bit!” “Cause I’m a piece of shit?” “Bitch—Cause you clean up, and you’re a bear, and Carmen sounds like Charmin, and Charmin sounds like charming and I—”

You pause, cringing, parasocial relationship coming to a head now. When your best friend wants you to get with his hot talented brother living in the Big Apple, it’s hard not to fantasize about, alright? “...I found you very charming.”

God, it’s just far too easy for you to render him completely speechless. It’s really not fucking fair. Carmen looks like a deer in headlights, he looks how he did in your car, a month or so ago, when he bit the bullet and asked you out. Well, promised to ask you out. He swallows, no more glass in his throat, but it does feel a little scratchy, kinda like, like pop rocks?

Pop rocks, yeah. Sweet, salivating. “Do you still?”

You squint, like he’s a moron. He is. “Of course I do.” Cherry pop rocks. Yeah, that sort of spritz feeling, on the tongue, and the way it continues to simmer all the way down. “I don’t want you to stop being you, by the way, Carm.”

“Huh?” What’s that supposed to mean? Of course you want him to change, he sucks.

“I—” You’re quick to clarify, straightening your posture. “I think it’s great to— to do the work, and therapy and reading and self-care— That’s all— That’s very good, and you should do it— For you, not me, but I— One bad night is not how I’ll think of you— You’re— You’re not a bad person, is I guess all I’m trying to fuckin’ say.”

You’re sweet. Sweet but with depth, slowly developed, caramelized, tart. Maybe a fruity molasses.

Carmen swallows, it’s hard to digest the sweet. “I— I’m not a bad person, but I could be better.” Pomegranate molasses. It’s got an acidic kick. Sort of like balsamic.

“I could be better, too.” Could you? Please God, don’t try, he can’t compete. No, shit, hold on, stop pedestaling. “You kinda got my ass, with peoples’ princess.”

Carmen cringes, there’s the acid. “I should not have said—”

“I have a fucking saviour complex, Carm. And it’s just as bad for everyone else as it is for me.”

Bite, yet tender. You continue on. “I do need to work on that. And I should’ve explained more when we first met, it was just— You know… I know you know.” Medium rare, steak medallion— No— rectangle.

Pomegranate molasses, thick—Nearly sorbet thick. Poured onto the plate, centered, perfect circle. Medium rare wagyu steak— A3, maybe; too much fat would ruin the composition. Rectangular, off center. Dust with cherry pop rocks. Bizarre, but it might actually be something. Bad, but something. Not tired or overdone, that’s for sure. Anything but dusty.

Carmen missed you for a lot of reasons this week, but it’s almost annoying how merely being in your presence for a few hours has given him more inspiration to work with than he has had in the last one-hundred and sixty-eight hours, without you. But who’s counting?

It’s easy to make things, when they’re for you. When they’re about you.

“I should’ve listened, when you were ready, but I got defensive and—I— I do that a lot, clearly, I just—” Carmen tries not to bite at his nails and fingers, because his therapist, Sara, said not to do that. What the fuck does she know? A lot, actually.

“That’s just kinda how— we’d do things. Like that’s how we—” Carmen frowns, memories dawning on him. “…I guess maybe we never really talked.”

You don’t need to ask who we is. His family didn’t particularly set Carmen up for success. And every figure after his family didn’t really lighten the load. There’s not much for you to say or do beyond, “I like talking to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re allowed to still be mad at me.” Carmen reassures, he’s not sure why he feels the need to do so. “You can— You can tell me to go fuck myself.”

You shake your head, shrugging. “You can tell me to go fuck myself.”

He shakes his head, immediately, squinting, like you’re a moron; you are. “I would never tell you to go fuck yourself.”

It’s a silent moment of exchanging hard stares and trying to glean something from the other. Once you gather your findings, you finally return to your era of speaking in sync again, with, “I don’t hate you.”

It's a hellish realization, that you thought it was possible, let alone certain, to hate you. He could cry again. “Why would you ever think I hate you?”

You raise your brows, because how could you not think Carmen hates you? “Because you said—”

“I didn’t mean a fucking word.” He says it differently than he did before. Like it’s a final warning. He immediately recoils at his own voice and its aggression.

“I’m sorry.” Carmen scratches his nose, continuing for the both of you. What more can he say? He’s already said it a million times, so what’s one more? When you try to speak, he doesn’t let you. Because he knows you. He knows you’ll brush it off. “I don’t want you to forgive me, right now. I want to prove I earned it.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

“Yeah, Sara said that, too. You’re both wrong.”

“Yeah, I don’t think your therapist can be wrong, in this scenario.”

“Please.” Carmen props his knee up on the counter, his hands, in some way, mimic a prayer. He holds eye contact, he thanks whoever is in charge that you’re holding it again, too. “Let me earn it.”

Carmen will learn that he doesn’t need to earn anything or prove anything to anyone eventually. He’ll need more than six therapy sessions crammed in during his lunch breaks, for that. But right now, he needs to prove this. Needs to earn you. For now, you'll give it to him. For now, you just nod.

Carmen chews his bottom lip, he doesn’t want to say it but he has to. “When I said—” You failed Mikey. “—What I said— I didn’t mean it how I said it.”

You bring your legs up, criss crossing them. “How’d you mean it?” How else could he possibly mean it?

“I meant it like— Like— Of course he died.”

They’re Berzatto men, they’re doomed. “Nothing you could have done would have stopped him from dying— And I— It hurt cause it felt like— In—In that moment— In my head—” He puts a hand up, pausing to reassure, “Nothing you did. But I felt like I was ‘Round Two’ for you. Charity. I—”

Carmen swallows, looking down, can’t meet your eyes for the moment, but he points at you. “You didn’t fail Mikey— He failed to know he was worth saving.”

A wound closes up, a little bit, somewhere in your head and heart. “I think in some ways, I was trying to make up for something—”

You’re quick to clarify, too. “But not cause you’re you— Cause I’m me.” Have to do it all. Have to fix it all. Have to save it all. “Like— I think I might have that edge of paranoia for like, like a long time, if not… forever?”

You frown; what a bleak idea. “Fuck, I may need to go back to therapy, too.”

“You want Sara’s card?” “Sliding scale?” “Sliding scale.” “Is it weird to have the same therapist?” “Probably.” “I’ll look into it.”

You both laugh, the weighted blanket of tension over you both is finally lifting. Carmen’s capable of looking you in the eyes again. “You did literally everything someone could think of.”

You kiss your teeth, you could’ve done a couple more things. “I mean, location—”

“He never would’ve given it to you.” “That’s exactly it, though— I should’ve put my foot down more. I was never as strict as I was supposed to be.” “But if you were strict he wouldn’t let you help him.” “Sponsors are meant to be strict.” “Then he wouldn’t’ve let you be his sponsor.” “Then I shouldn’t have been his sponsor!” “Then he would’ve never joined the program!” “Well—” “It’s not your fucking fault!”

Carmen doesn’t hate you, Carmen doesn’t think you killed his brother. Heavy exhale of too many emotions and a touch of relief. But you can see yourself in his expression. You can see Richie in his expression. The guilt. The haunting. You swallow, “Not yours, either.”

“I could’ve called more.” “He wouldn’t have answered.” “I could’ve realized why.” “And how exactly could you have done that?” “...I dunno, could’ve— Could’ve been the guy, for him.” “Carmen you were the guy, for him.”

Carmen shakes his head. “You were the guy, for Mikey.”

“I— Okay—” You click your tongue, this is hard to explain. You shift on the sink counter, trying to get more comfortable. You won’t. It’s a fucking sink. “I was the guy, but the guy to another guy isn’t much— you—” You snap your fingers, pointing at him. “You’re not the guy, Carmen. Never will be.”

“Ouch.”

“No— You’re something much more important than the guy. You’re— You’re the, the cat.”

He can’t help but smile, confused. He’s so used to bear comparisons. “I’m the cat?”

“You’re—” You keep pointing at him, thinking the metaphor in your head through. “...The guy is— Is like the host of the house party. He keeps the jokes going, the room light, the drinks and food stocked— He talks people through panic attacks while they sit in the bathtub, he loses at beer pong on purpose to make the other team feel better, the guy makes everyone feel like they’re the center of the universe.”

“And the cat?”

“The cat is upstairs, locked in his room, because the cat will get all jittery if he’s around all that yelling and all those people. The cat doesn’t even like those people. And the guy doesn’t want his cat to go through that. But then, when the guy finally gets all jittery and can’t handle all those people himself—” You sigh, honestly stressed by your own metaphor, thinking of all the moments in your life you needed the cat and didn’t call.

“He’ll go upstairs, to his room, and the cat will be there, and he can talk to the cat— Because the cat likes him. And nothing will be solved, but it’ll still feel good and the cat will still think his guy’s perfect and wonderful even when the guy is just— just him— And the cat asks literally nothing of the guy— Unlike everyone else downstairs— and that’s exactly why the guy wants to give the cat everything over anyone else.”

God, you’ve been talking about cats and guys too much. “Not everyone needs a cat, but the guys that do, really do. And you’re… You’re the cat— Mikey’s and mine.”

Carmen can’t say I love you, because that would be an insane response. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. But it’s the only thing he can think of. The only thing he can say besides that, is, “You’re very good to me.”

You’re not exclusively for Carmen, he knows that. You’re not made for him— You’re made for many things. But maybe you’re curated. The Bear wouldn’t exist without your advocacy. And it’s hard to believe, but there might’ve been even more broken shit at The Beef, if you hadn’t been there before Carmen got there. Mikey got to be your friend, before Carmen did. And you got to be Mikey’s friend, when Carmen didn’t. But you both kept him in mind, you told Mikey to text, you drew schematics for his restaurant, you said you’d talk to him. You thought he was charming. You still do. You’re Mikey’s pick, for Carmen. And it’s not like Mikey’s opinion matters that much, but it’s nice to have approval. Though he didn’t fucking ask for it.

“Such a cat response.” “Is that like being a Leo or some shit?”

You both laugh. Ah, thank fuck, it’s you two, again. There’s a comfortable silence while you think for a second, before asking, “Can I add another thing to your non-negotiables?”

“Always.”

“I don’t want you to be different for me.” You think back to being in his kitchen, the way he tried to hold back, when you were around. “I get you, work you, home you— If you want me to be your fuckin’ mixologist, you’re gonna have to get comfortable working with me.”

“You still want to work for me?”

“I shook on it, didn’t I?”

He laughs through a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“Damn,” You snort, “Are you only with me for my skills?”

“No, I’m with you because you’re— You.” The kitchen needs you, The Bear needs you, Carmen needs you. He’s the cat, he doesn’t need anything more than you. He can work on his codependency issues in therapy, okay? “I— I like having you around.”

You readjust your posture again, it’s hard to get comfortable on a sink. “Well, you better get paid soon, then.”

“‘Bout that.” Boy came prepared. He rifles through the pockets of his black jeans, and pulls out a folded slip of paper. He does a yoga class worthy stretch to hand it to you, from across the sink. A paystub, from The Bear, to Carmen. Officially on fucking payroll.

Yeah, turns out, just a bad week, last week. Being in the red doesn’t last forever. Neither does being in the green. There are ebbs and flows. Next week will probably be shit, and yet the wheel still turns. Carmen also might’ve very well plugged in half of the numbers wrong, according to Sugar, when she eventually got to looking at it. But that’s neither here nor there. So he’s reactive. What’s new? Should’ve believed the you in his head, when she said there will be good and bad weeks. He’s still working on being the only voice in his head. But you’re a good replacement for the other guy, for now.

You stare at it, like an ancient scroll. It’s real. He’s really getting paid— Pretty decent too, he could finally buy some fucking furniture, with this. “Okay.” You look up from the slip to him. He looks like he’s on fucking Shark Tank, anxiously awaiting your approval. “And you’ll act like you?”

“I will act like me.” Even when he doesn’t want you to see it, Carmen will act like Carmen.

And that’s all you could ask for, really. You’re about to approve the deal, but then you think again, frowning. “The Exec.”

“Ah.” Carmen shuts his eyes, embarrassed by his own brain. “I know.”

“So you thought about it?”

“I didn’t think about— It—” Carmen doubted his own conviction, because he doubts all of himself. But it really was not ever on the table, to give your number…That said— “I thought about loopholes.”

“Catfishing him?” You guess, and he affirms. “Catfishing him.” Hey, great minds think alike. Doesn’t make Carmen feel any less scummy, for considering abusing your likeness for sake of approval.

“Did you go through with it?”

It’s Carmen’s turn, to blink, slow to realize that you actually don’t know. “Richie didn’t tell you?” You still live in a world where Carmen isn’t completely batshit.

You tilt your head, “Did Richie catfish him?”

“No, uhm—” He seems suddenly sheepish now. Can’t look you in the eyes, again. He nods and points to your pockets. “You got your phone?”

“Uh, yeah—” You pull it out, haven’t gotten any sudden creepshow texts, to your knowledge. “Should I be scared?”

Carmen shakes his head. “Nothin’ worse than what you’ve already seen.” He snaps his fingers at your phone, “Look up uh— I think it’s— Chicago Bear on Yankee Chef turf, or some shit.”

You have to take a moment, before typing, to just look at him with genuine pause. “...What?”

“Just do it.” “Did you kill someone?” “I do not have blood on my hands, the Tribune is just dramatic—” “The fucking Tribune?! Shut the fuck up, Carmy.”

Absolutely no way he’s in the Chicago Tribune.

Okay. Upon searching. Absolutely yes way he’s in the Chicago Tribune. Carmen’s trending on Twitter— Or rather, Chicago, The Bear, Bear, Carmy, Michelin Beef, Fuck the Yanks, and a million other keywords are trending— Local trending, but still trending. Chicago Tribune’s made an article archiving a handful of reaction tweets, summarizing whatever the fuck happened. Alright, this is taking too long, maybe you should just ask the man in front of you— “Oh my fucking God, there’s a video.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t watch—” Carmen is interrupted by his own voice coming through your phone. “—And what kind of fucking Chef doesn’t like black pepper? I’m white and overdone, but you’re an entire other goddamn beast—” “...That.”

It’s a screen recording of some patron’s Facebook Live at some New York restaurant David owns or whatever. Empire? That’s what the blurry signs in the video’s background seem to say. What’s his title at this point, anymore? Doesn’t matter.

It’s nice to see his blurry little face around ten to twenty feet from the camera get yelled at by a Carmen that is also many feet away, but his voice seems to be projecting throughout the whole restaurant; enough to be heard clearly through recording, anyways. “And it’d be enough to just be an asshole— But you’re a creep too— Never fuckin’ pray on my— my— bar staff, or I swear on my life—”

“Can’t make direct threats in New York, Cousin! Penal code!” You laugh when you hear Richie’s voice ringing out in the background. Thank God for whoever’s filming, because they pivot their phone to catch Richie, pretty much next to their table, calling out to Carmen. “It’s a fine!”

He looks tired but wired; they must’ve taken a pitstop here, before heading to the hotel. What a fun road trip finale. Richie is such a motherfucker for not telling you all of this first thing while you put on his cufflinks— This is not dirty details, this is front page shit! Literally! God, he buries the lead like it’s his fucking day job.

“Who gives a fuck about a fine? Everyone—” And back to Carmen. “This is David Fields, he’s the head of the head of the head, in their heads— He’s a fantastic chef, I don’t think he eats or sleeps or knows what another person’s hands feel like— He is fuckin’ brilliant at making the same three fuckin’ plates every fuckin’ day— With the most minute differences— And—And—And— He doesn’t even make them! He takes dishes from prozac riddled fucks like me, makes them worse and then puts his name on it! Unoriginal, a narcissist, and fucking bad at it!”

You don’t look up from your phone, eyes glued to the screen. “Holy fuck, Carmen.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” “Is this good marketing?” “Wait for it, I guess.” “...Are you actually on prozac?” “No. I kind of blacked out. Made a point though, right?” “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Sorry, miss. Could I—” …Fak? Guess he did third wheel on the road trip to New York. He grabs the streamer’s phone. There’s a ‘what the—fuckin— excuse me?’ from behind the camera as Fak pivots the recording to himself.

“Hey World, I’m Neil, that’s my best friend Carmy the Bear, over there.”

“Jesus Christ.” You look up from your phone to Carm, who was at first embarrassed and is now just trying to hold a straight face, hand over his mouth. “I’m aware.” He repeats.

You squint, thinking.“...Best friend?” “...I guess he is?” “That’s— Okay— I don’t— Alright, we’ll come back to that.” And return to your phone.

Fak continues, taking advantage of the sudden screen time. “He’s a really good Chef, knows his shit, if you ever want to see how he does it, please come eat— Dine— Dine with us at The Bear, we’re in Chicago— on North Orleans and Huron— You can— Can book with us at The Bear dot—”

“Don’t have the site yet.” Richie interrupts the impromptu ad, hovering over Fak’s shoulder, barely whispering. “Still The Beef.”

Neil nods and continues. “The Beef dot squarespace—”

“It’s Wix.” “It’s fucking Wix?” “Your problem isn’t with the lack of a domain?”

“It’s Google Sites, actually.” You correct for no one, really, looking up from your phone to Carmen, again. “I made him change it so it wouldn’t have that ugly freemium bar.”

Carmen snorts, shaking his head. Of course you did. “D’you design it?”

You let out a loud, “Ha!” before turning back down to the screen. “I think web design might be the one trade I can’t do.” But you’re willing to learn, if he needs.

Ah, the videographer managed to foist her phone back, returning to catch the very end of the Carmen Show. And it’s a wonderful finale, from Carm.

“—Fuck your two elements, fuck your face— Fuck everything about you— I cannot believe we gave you service— Let alone our best— For a guy in hospitality, you have no fucking right treating my host and somme like that. Fuck you—”

“Fuck you—” Finally a response from David, though it’s quickly interrupted, as Carmen finally starts to back away, not wanting a genuine fight if he doesn’t have to do it, but he certainly wants the last word. “No, fuck you—”

“Fuck you.” “—Chef— Stay in your fucking city— Stay in your fucking city— New Yorks great! Stay in it! We don't play in Chicago— Fuck you!”

Carmen comes back to his road trip squad, he notices the woman recording, and walks up to the camera. For a second, you genuinely think he’s going to square up with her— You’re pretty sure he at least thought about it. “Is she recording?”

“Streaming.” Answers Fak. “It’s the new thing.”

Carmy opts to use his words, possibly because he could maybe get arrested. “Sorry, sorry— I just want to make it clear—”

He gestures to the fucker in the background, bouncers seems to be approaching. Carmen keeps going, face red but calming down, chasing his own breath. “This man worked— and works with wonderful Chefs who I learned a lot under— And— And— I have all the respect for them, and always will— But-But— when it comes to David Fields specifically—”

Your cherry and lamb dish was perfect. David’s palate is just not worth appealing to. Carmen won’t make that mistake again.

“—What he serves is consistently vapid, dusty, and dead on arrival— like his heart— And—And— When you pay him, dine with him, work with him, you are lining the pockets of some fuckin’ creep that pulls rank on honest cooks and servers. So. Decide if you want that. And uhm— Uh— Tip your servers. Don’t ask for their numbers— Like he does. Be normal. Thank you.”

“Carmen Berzatto, folks! Come— Come to The Bear!” Yells out Neil, as security finally seems to be coming for the Chicagoans.

Richie grabs Fak by the back of his coat, knowing when to bounce, shouting, “No legal names! Godssake— This has been Carmichael Burrowski, folks! Don’t call no one—!”

The screen recording ends, not long after that. You’re going to need maybe a… fifty minute nap, to process that. Maybe, somehow, this is good publicity— Maybe in some way, this is putting The Bear on the center stage. But one thing is fact, Carmen completely abandoned the idea of keeping appearances and getting a star through kissing ass. He completely abandoned the idea of being appealing to the man in his head.

And he did that for you— And Richie— Which, honestly, makes it mean even more. Carmen’s a good boss. Not always. Definitely not always. But when it fucking counts, he is. Carmen's a good man. A good friend. A good not-quite boyfriend. Ugh, boyfriend? What kind of word is ‘boyfriend’? That's fucked.

You put your phone away, quietly nodding and thinking, not looking at Carmen. You shrug, attempting to be nonchalant. “Contract and I’ll be your mixologist.”

“Yeah?” There’s such a brightness, to the way Carmen asks. Like a spritz. “Okay. I’ll— I’ll send you a Docusign.” Aperol spritz. There’s more to it, than that though.

You’re so zoned out, looking at the sinks instead of Carmen, he starts to get worried. He just got eye contact back, come on. Was the yelling too much in the video? He was loud and mean. He always is. He told you not to watch.

“Tony?” What kind of bitters suit him? A slice of grapefruit might be nice. Bright but acquired.

“Are you good?”

“Wha—” You shake your head out of it, turning your gaze to Carmen. He jumped off the counter to stand by you. His hand hovers by your head— He considers grazing your hair, and chickens out. But he can’t put it down. “Sorry, was— I was uh— Just thinking of what we could put on a cocktail menu, that’s all.” Yeah, that’s all.

“Don’t work on it, without me.” It’s with a, dare you say, panicked quickness, that he requests this. “Cocktail menu, coffee menu, we should— Should do R and D, together.”

“Yeah, f’sure.” Fucking Chefs, so particular about their menus. “I think it’d be good to uhm— Build it around the main menu, anyways. Sorta match stuff up.” Thankfully, you like particular.

He really needs to not be standing this close, though. Your brain keeps zoning in and out— It’s really not the time to be feeling any sort of type of way about Carmen cursing out that fucking chef and going to therapy for himself and you and he smells nice and he’s reading books and he worked bar all night with you and he looks so nice in bartender black in lieu of his Chef whites and he is trying so hard and— And you cannot say you love him because that would be weird. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid.

And you can’t forgive him either— Well, not aloud, because Carmen wants to prove that he’s done the work— Wants to prove that he’s going to keep doing the work. He’s rendered you with nearly zero options here, to show your affection.

“Yeah, that’s— That’d be good. I was thinkin’ we’d put your station by Marcus.” Why is he still talking about work? He’s so stupid. He’s wonderful. This is the worst. This is hell. “Coffee machine’s already there, and you’ll tend to share a lot of elements, anyway— I think.”

You shift your butt on the counter, turning to face him head on, he’s just slightly between your knees as your legs dangle off the counter. “Carmen.”

“Yeah?” “I’m going to kiss you.” “Yeah, okay.”

Light, nervous, sweet, lifting, soft— A delicate kick to it. Pink peppercorn bitters. That’s it.

Aperol— Vibrantly orange liqueur, derived from bitter rhubarb. It’s an acquired taste. Some say it’s citrusy and herbal, others say it tastes like cough syrup. Either way, it’s awakening. Then prosecco. A splash of soda— Lemon-lime would be best. Aperol spritz. It’s an Italian cocktail. It sparkles. Everything in it fizzes, almost competing with each other. It’s meant to be enjoyed before dinner. It’s refreshing. Pink peppercorns and grapefruit would only add to that brightness, that light. It’s not for everyone, but it is everything to some. That’s Carmen. That’s your Carmen. Oh, maybe a syrup on the rim?

You try to be delicate, the way you put the palm of your hand on the back of his head and pull him in, but it’s just not possible. It’s the first time in a fucking month you’ve initiated— It's been one-hundred and sixty-eight hours since you've seen his face, let alone touched it— It’s just not possible to be kind.

Thankfully, based on the way he’s leaning you back on the counter, hands on your waist, it doesn’t seem like Carmen wants kind. There's a sigh of relief, to just kiss you. He’s fine with the touch of hair pulling, on your part— Possibly more than fine. Possibly way more than fine. The faint whining and pulling your hips to his seem to indicate it’s a lot fucking more than fine.

It would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon to say I love you, but you can mouth the words against him and he can’t tell what you’re wording but at least you know. It’s funny that he can do the same to you, and despite knowing the trick, you can’t tell either.

Carmen pulls back, just a centimeter, or two. He wants to say something. He’s opening his mouth to say something. He's all dopey and half-lidded. Man, he’s pretty. He knows that right? Yeah, he knows that. “You’re so pretty.” You tell him anyway, speaking into his half open mouth.

Whatever thought he had, it’s dead now.“—Jesus fucking Christ.” He moves his hands to hold your face. It’s nice. It’s nice to get peppered with kisses— Yeah, pink pepper fits perfectly with him.

Carm’s voice is heavier now. Maybe from the lack of oxygen. He’s fighting to revive his brain. He’s so serious, when he firmly kisses you, forehead against yours, lips still grazing, saying, “I’m not a fucking virgin.”

You laugh way too fucking hard for his ego. Your hands untangle from his hair, but your arms continue to rest on his shoulders. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’s still amped, too bad you’re you, and you have to ruin the mood to poke at him.

“That a recent development?” “Shut the fuck up—” “I’m just wondering, if he was accurate at the time—” “Why are you doing this to me?” “Did you have a tantric affair in Denmark, the people wanna know!” “I— There was no time, alright? It got away from me—” “Remember when you had your first kind of girlfriend like a month and a week ago?” “It was a recent development, okay?” “Darn. Sorry I was late.”

He pauses the banter to just stare at you, take in your features, take in that you’re here and real and half underneath him. “Not forgiven.” You should’ve shown up sooner. You should’ve injected yourself so completely in Carmen’s life eons ago, and made yourself intrinsically impossible to remove. Absolutely not forgiven, for being late.

“Yeah?” Your eyes upturn, deeply amused. Carmen really is the baby brother. Entitled, bratty, cute. You’re planning to say something coy, something playful like ‘Ohoho, how do I earn your forgiveness?’ But you remember something Carmen said, when he was summarizing his Friday night for you— And for Carmen, what you opt to say is so much worse than hot banter, for his brain.

“I don’t think your mouth tastes bad.” It’s your turn to take in his face and all its features. “I think it’s nice. It’s like the only way I can try cigarettes without getting a headache.”

“I wanna fly you to Paris.” It’s so quick, from Carmen. Choked quick— Like he fought to hold it down but you’ve just opened the Pandora’s box that is his mouth. He keeps going. Your surprised face firmly smushed in his hands.

“I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since I asked you to run bar— I’ve— I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since you washed my hair— I—I—” Too much affection to contain in words, he has to kiss you, and then he has to keep going, and then kiss you between the ‘ands’, and then keep going. Like a shot and a chaser and a shot and a chaser and a—

“I want you to be permanent and carved in my tables and I want you to wear my jackets and I want you in my kitchen and in my menu and in every dumb fucking conversation I have at Christmas tellin’ family what the fuck I’m doing— I want you in every sentence.”

It’s not ‘I love you’. Because saying I love you would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon. But it might very well be more than that. Trying to avoid saying it might be forcing you both to say something that means more than that.

It’s hard to generate a response as poignant as that. Especially because your cognitive abilities seem to have gone completely offline. Your brain is telling you to kill the moment so you don’t have to face the feeling, telling you to say something stupid like, ‘Why Paris?’, because if you don't, you might say it. But you can’t. You’re totally speechless.

Eventually, you manage to choke out, “I would like that.”

“Yeah?” “Yeah.”

“Good.” Ah, a smile from Carmen with teeth. What a rare gift you’ve been bestowed. He tries to celebrate this occasion with another kiss that will inevitably lead to a million more but when he goes for his classic move of sticking his head in the crook of your neck to bite you like a cannibal— You get the chance to look somewhere other than Carmen’s face, and realize you are both still very much so in a fucking bathroom at a fucking wedding in New York.

“Fak is still outside, I’m pretty sure.”

Carmen groans, there’s no way you’re doing this to him again, come on, neither of you have to go this time, you have all the time in the world, in this bathroom. Time isn’t real here. That’s how bathrooms work. “He’s not.”

“Carmy’s right, I’m not.” Says definitely totally not Fak, behind the door. “You guys kissin’ yet?”

“Christ.” You put a hand on Carm’s chest, pushing him back from you as you push yourself up with your other hand. “Mood dead.”

“No—” He grabs your wrist, holding your hand in place against him. “Mood not dead— Mood present and alive—”

There’s some fumbling behind the door. “Wait— Are they?” Oh, so Richie’s here, too? Good. That’s great. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way— Cousin, be a gentleman—”

Carmen leans over and all but screams into your shoulder. “I am being a fuckin’ gentleman, Richard!”

You kiss your teeth, shaking your head, shrugging. “Yeah, it’s dead.” Them’s the breaks.

A slow, heavy, arduous exhale, from Carmen, coming up to lean his forehead to yours for a second. Enjoying the liminal space before it’s permanently ripped out of your hands. “I hate my family.”

You smile, pressing your forehead firmer against his, nuzzling noses. “You love your family.”

“I love my family.” He sighs. He gives you one last kiss, soft, sweet, perfect. “Thank you for taking care of them.”

You shrug. “They’re mine, too.”

God, you’re so quick and mind-bending, he has to go for another kiss, come the fuck on— “Mood’s dead.” You laugh, so cruel, jumping off the counter, maneuvering past Carmen, but you’re sweet— Cruel but sweet— Carefully switching his hold on your wrist to holding your hand, dragging him with you.

You might be leaving the bathroom together, but Carmen’s pretty sure a part of him is going to stay there, like a ghost of a feeling, for the rest of time.

“Okay— Is everyone waiting to piss?” Is your first question, for the crowd awaiting you and Carmy outside the bathroom. Not strangers, though—Well, mostly not strangers. Richie, Syd, Fak, some guy that looks like Fak. There’s no way they all need to piss, there were three other bathrooms available, it's not like you were hogging. “Is fuckin’ anyone runnin’ bar right now?”

“Marcus is.” Syd answers, hurriedly, as she runs up on you, immediately enveloping you— Practically an attack. It’s not in her nature to hug, but you’ve forced her hand here. Carmen hasn’t even exited the doorway behind you yet before you’re stumbling back into him from the force of her.

“Squ—”

The words come out of her like a flood, no spacing between the words. “I’m-sorry-I— We-finished-serving-and-listened-in-on-everything-super-invasive-couldn’t-help-it— You should’ve called me.”

This— These motherfuckers. Oh well, saves you the trip to Denny’s. And frankly, you would hate to re-explain all that. You return the hug with your free hand, the other one still in Carmen’s. You put your chin on her shoulder. “I know.”

There were so many times where you could’ve just gone upstairs. So many times you could’ve just called your old cat. Should’ve just called Syd. She would have been there. Maybe that’s exactly why you didn’t call.

“I should’ve called you.” Maybe that’s exactly why Syd never called her guy, when she needed you, too.

“Well,” You pull her back by her shoulders, “We will next time.”

You can’t let the moment stay sincere for long though, shit-eating grin growing on your face, “You’d give up a star for me?” Nuzzling your face into Syd’s cheek as she desperately tries to get away from you now— Oh how the tables turn.

“Get fucked—” “You love me— I’m all you got, Syd? Woww—” “After my dad I said! After my dad!” “A single widdle tear from me isn’t worth a star?” “It was not widdle— Little— Fuck—”

“This is cute princesses but everyone get the fuck out of the way before I clog an artery.” Richie unnecessarily shoves his way between the Faks to get to you.

You release Syd to face the man, pensive, waiting for a slap, honestly. Richie just looks at you, now that he’s in front of you he’s dumbfounded, awkward. He knows he wants to say something or wants you to say something but neither of you know what that is. What it should be.

Before he can figure it out, you do. “I should’ve told you.” Besides your therapist, Carmen is the only person you told about the phone call— Well, intentionally, that is.

That doesn’t really seem to be the thing he cares about. He’s not going to slap you, and you don’t need to grovel. “Am I dead, to you?”

Your brows furrow, for a second. “Wha—”

Richie grabs your free hand, pressing it to his neck. “Check my pulse, am I dead, t’you?”

“First of all, wrong placement.” You have to wiggle your hand out of his grip to take his pulse correctly. “It’s under the chin, align it with your eye—”

“Do I have one?” “Yes, Richie, you have a pulse.” “So I’m not dead?” “You’re not dead—” “Then call me.”

When your breath hitches, he continues. “I’m not a ghost. I’m here. When shit happens, you call me.”

“I know.” Is the only thing you can say without your voice cracking. “I will call next time.”

“You will fucking call, next time.” Richie grabs your face, smushed in his hands. “And you’ll answer my calls, next time.” He forces you to nod— Not that you wouldn’t, but wants to make sure. “Am I heard?”

“You're heard.”

Richie can see over your head, so he barks at Carmen, who’s very innocently behind you, still holding your hand. “Get your weird little hands off my Chip, you perv—”

“I don’t have weird little hands—”

Syd pipes in, squinting. “Why is that the thing you refute—”

“Why does God let these moments happen to me?” You grumble, words muffled with your face still compacted by Richie’s hands.

“I think it’s beautiful, actually.” Says some guy that looks like Fak. You just stare at him with your partially forced closed eyes. “Just the vibes, so— like— tender.”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” You deadpan, pointing at Other Fak. “Has this guy just learned shit I haven’t even told my own father?”

“We definitely just got here.” Lies Fak, next to Other Fak. He continues, “We didn’t hear anything about the really sad way you both actually did attend the funeral but didn’t—”

Other Fak astutely interrupts to add, sniffing. “But if we did it’d be like, like really meaningful that you both like, did that.” Is he tearing up? Richie needs to check your pulse, are you dying?

“Everyone please back the fuck up?” Carmen sighs, behind you, then beside you, letting go of your hand to put it on your shoulder. “Like maybe give two solitary fuckin’ seconds?”

There’s a stuttering of apologies as everyone realizes yeah, maybe a bit much to immediately jump you. Richie drops your face, everyone takes a step back.

You keep staring at Other Fak. Squinting, you point to him. “Ted?” Guy who they called instead of you?

He nods, “Hi—”

“No.” You wave your hand in front of his face, cutting him off. You turn to Carmen, just shaking your head plainly. “No.”

“Heard.”

“Y’know how going to a different barber is like cheating—?”

“No, like I got it—”

“This is like times a thousand—”

“I am hearing the note—”

“Fak can— Neil can fix shit, I took his spot, it’s fair— Outsourcing someone though—?”

“Won’t do it again.”

“No, you won’t.”

“It was— Should I have called you back in?”

“No, you should have had a broken light until we talked it out or let it be broken for the rest of your life.” There is not much you could ever find yourself getting genuinely jealous about— This, however, is a knife to the heart. Another handyman is a child out of wedlock, practically.

“Heard.”

“I spent way too long stalking you.” Interrupts Syd, she’s looking at her phone, a jumble of aggravated misspelled texts coming from the work group chat. “Fuck, I’ve gotta help Tina with clean up— We’ll—” She sticks a hand out, you reach out and hold it, for a moment. “You’re still— We’re still sharing, right?”

You tilt your head, confused, oh— “I’m still gonna sleep in our room, Syd. You weird pervert.”

Syd lets go of your hand, shaking her own hands around her head, talking just as fast as she speed walks away to the kitchen. ��I am not a weird pervert, I’m sexually normal, don’t be weird, goodbye! Love you, fuck you, see you later!”

Richie claps his hands, “We’re closing out, so I’ve gotta go pick up vases or some shit— Faks, c’mon—”

“Y’know we’re just regular guests, right?” Says Ted. They let Fak come on the road trip despite not doing a job? Medals of Valor need to be doled out.

“Pbbt, come the fuck on, here boy.” Richie starts to walk off, and the whistling is condescending, but they listen anyway. Rich looks over his shoulder, snapping his fingers at Carmen. “Probationary forgiveness.”

Carmen nods, “Thank you, Chef.”

“Dee-Dee’s here, by the way.”

Carmen’s relaxed posture immediately pulls into a taught physique, he’s considering chasing Richie to get more details. “Isn’t Sug here, too?”

“Yessir!”

“Have they—” “They got grouped at the same table. Unc and Stevie have been keepin’ the peace.” “How’s that going?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” And with that Richie fades into the crowd of straggling guests and clean up crews.

You don’t know much about Donna, which was a very intentional choice on Mikey’s part. And that kinda tells you all you need to know. You turn to Carmen, pensive. “You wanna go find out?”

He itches at his collar, thinking. “I think if I say I don’t, I’m a bad son.”

“You didn’t ask to be her son.”

“Oh, fuck, okay.” He stumbles for a second, you immediately cover your mouth.

“Sorry! I just—” Inside thought got outside. “I just meant— That was a lot. It’s just like, I dunno, you can’t be bad at something you never opted in for, y’know?”

“No, yeah, that— That’s kind of… a good thought.” He nods, looking at the ground, swallowing the words. “I— I should be a good brother—and—and Uncle, at least. Say hi to Nat.”

You don’t start walking until he starts walking, intent to follow his lead. You’ll stroll casually, until they crop up, making no deliberate effort to find them. You’re both silently hoping you don't. Carmen brings his head back up to you. “You ever meet Mom—? Donna?”

You shake your head, “No, that was kinda one of our few red lines. For Mikey and me. He’d like—” You gesture with your hands as you explain. “He’d talk about her, and I saw like… photos of them from babyhood, but I never met her or heard details— Never like, came over to the house. It was just kinda like a silent agreement. Hard for him and hard for me with the whole— Uh—”

“Drinking thing.”

You nod. “It’s uh— I’m not easily triggered anymore, though, so I think I’m fine.”

Carmen sniffs, scratching his nose. “Well, if you end up not being fine, we can not— Like not talk to her.”

He’s sweet, he’s smart, he’s the cat. You nod. “You don’t have to talk to her either, y’know. Could just text Nat—” “She’s right there.”

You whip your head up in tandem with him saying, “Don’t look fas— Fuck.”

You put the back of your hand on Carm’s chest, you both stop walking. “That’s Dee-Dee?”

“Yeah, with the—the leopard print belt and the floral dress.” Carmen’s been growing meeker with each step. You’d think his biggest fear is clashing patterns. This is not the same bear in the Chicago Tribune. “Why, you— You do know her?”

“She looks fuckin’ familiar…” You kiss your teeth, trying to roll back in your memory— Come on, you don’t forget shit, where is she from? You’ve seen photos but those were blurry and she was so much younger. You remember this version of Donna, you remember her from somewhere.

“Fuckin’ — Something with Pete— I saw her with Pete— Nat’s husband—” You point to him, across from Donna, at the table. “Him, yeah.”

“Just them?” Carmen gently pulls your arm down, you’ve gotta remember your manners.

“Yeah, I was— Oh, I was—” You squint. “Did Donna come to your opening?”

“No, she was invited, but she didn’t show.”

“Okay— So, she did, actually.” “Huh—?”

“She was— She was outside, when you were in the walk-in.” You nod to yourself, still thinking through the memory. “Yeah, she was outside— I thought Pete was like her son— It looked like they were fighting or crying so I just kinda— Kinda let it be. You were locked in a fucking freezer so I chose my battles.”

“Oh.” Carmen nods, trying to make it seem normal in his head. It’s not. And he can’t seem to force it. “He definitely didn’t tell Nat.” Because Nat would’ve told him.

You hum, rocking on your heels. “Yeah there's no chance we're going to go say hi now, is there?”

“Yeah, that might be best.”

You fold your lips in a line, still staring at Donna, she looks normal, which makes it feel even less normal. Way too much to unpack, if you go over there. Instead, you’ll stand here in the middle of the banquet hall, and unpack the carry-on luggage, so to speak. “Christmas is in a week.”

It’s a freight train of realization, Carmen drags his hand down his face. “Fuck me.”

“I know.”

“I have to go, don’t I?”

You frown, turning your head to him, not wanting to say what you’re going to say. “Do you think she’ll plan anything?” First Christmas without Mikey. Will she have the willpower to plan something, like she usually does?

“Oh, fuck me.”

“I know.”

Carmen holds his hand over his mouth, words somewhat muffled. “I’ll ask Nat, see what she’s doing. Baby’s first Christmas, or whatever. That’s a thing, right?”

“Baby’s do traditionally experience time, yeah.” “You n’ that smart mou—”

Despite staring at their table, the two of you did not notice Natalie approaching you, baby Michaela swaddled in her arms. “Oh my God, I haven’t seen normal human beings that aren’t screaming or shitting constantly in so long— Please— Say something normal and fun.”

You pucker your lips, trying to come up with something. “Ah— Fuck, I can’t think of anything— Oh fuck, sorry I said fuck— God— I’m just gonna stop talking.”

Nat lifts her hand up for a moment to wave you off before re-supporting her baby. “No! No, don’t! Say fuck so much. Say it all the time. She can’t understand, she doesn’t care. I wish I was her.”

“Will do.” You just nod, holding a hand up to Michaela, waving. She grabs one of your fingers, holding on tight. You can’t help but coo. “Hey, baby! Have you been fuckin’ with your mom’s sleep schedule? Awe, yes you have! Yes you have!”

Nat laughs and hums, “Richie told me you used to babysit Eva.”

“He’s exaggerating.” You leave your hand with Michaela, but look up to Nat. “There were just some weekends he was working and daycare wasn’t running so I’d take her around the city for a couple hours— More like playdates than actual babysitting.”

“That just sounds like you’re a fun babysitter.” Carmen rebukes, Nat nods.

“I’m good when you only need a second.” You sigh, half taking the compliment. You glance over Nat’s fatigued face. “You need a second?”

“Yes, fuck, could you?” In the same breath, she’s handing you baby Michaela. “She has in fact been fucking with mommy’s sleep schedule— And no one tells you— ‘mommy strength’ or whatever, needs to be developed— My lats— I think they’re lats? Are insane now. Just from holding her!”

You bounce the baby in your arms, sidling her on your hip. She’s a grabber, that’s for sure. Grabbing your hair, your top, Mikey’s chip— No longer tucked under your clothes. You let her. Well— Not the hair— She could cut off her circulation— Relax, EMS. You’re off duty. “How’s it going with—”

Nat knows what you’re asking before you finish the question. “Better than normal, which makes it feel worse. Does that make sense?”

You nod, “Completely and utterly.”

Carmen’s staring at Pete. He’s not typically a snitch but this is his sister, “Did Pete tell you—?”

“That mom was there on our fucking opening and he told her we were having a baby? Yes, about five minutes before she sat down.” Nat says it with a perfectly practiced smile and a simmering anger.

Your hands slip just slightly, you readjust your grip on Mickey. You and Carmen speak together, “He what?”

Nat doesn't mean to ignore your both but she does, “How'd you find out?”

“I just told him.” You pipe up, guilt covers your face. “I saw them when I came that night. Sorry, I didn't realize that was your mom— Or husband, for that matter.”

Sug shakes her head, waving off the apology. “Not your fault, his.”

“Yeah.” Carmen nods, “Back to that, by the way?”

“Yeah, he realized it was kind of a hard lie to uphold— Because mom sucks at acting surprised.” She sighs, “She’s taking it well publicly but I’m expecting a full blown meltdown in the bathroom of which I can’t escape, so. Beautiful wedding.”

“Yeah, those are kind of unavoidable.” You just had one yourself. “Fingers crossed you make it out alive?”

“Oh, I’m making it the fuck out, it’s her you should pray for.”

You have to respect the power in that. “Damn.”

“I didn’t ask to be her daughter! If she hands it to me I’m handing it fucking back—” Nat’s brain is always running like a faucet, she cuts off her own thoughts with a new one. “Christmas is in a week.”

“We know.”

“Fuck me.” She sighs so hard it blows strands of hair out of her face. “What the fuck are we gonna do, Carmy?”

“Was gonna ask you.” Carm’s distracting himself with Michaela, she reaches for his hand, she doesn’t grab a finger, she traces his tattoos. God, babies are cute sometimes. “Can we figure it out later?”

“Yeah, like everything else we do, I guess.” Sug groans. But she just as equally doesn’t want to think about it as him. And honestly, she’s just happy to see him acting like a fucking uncle for once. “Tony, will I see you at work on Monday? You’re onboarding, right?”

You don’t notice the way Carmen’s face stones up, like a secret has been revealed. He’s been preparing for you to say yes. He’s got that Docusign in his inbox, ready to send. Had Nat budget you in. But you don’t seem to be upset about it— Or maybe you just didn’t catch that Carmen selfishly was hoping you’d come right back to him. Maybe it’s just that you don’t think it’s selfish.

“Oh— Uh, yeah, I guess you will.” Michaela starts to smack you for not giving her attention for more than seven seconds. You turn your head to her, bouncing her again, “Pbbt—Pbbbt— Mat leave over?”

“Gonna need to be.” Nat laughs when she says it, like you’re both on some sort of inside joke. Yeah, The Bear’s kind of a nightmare, of course Nat’s always needed. You laugh back, though there wasn’t really a joke anywhere in there.

“Make sure you get your rest.” Sug scoops Michaela out of your arms, rejuvenated from her second of peace. “Your boss is kind of an ass.”

Unfair drive-by, Carmen waves a hand like a white flag, “Alright—”

“I know, I like him anyways.” “Gross.” “I know, it sucks.”

“Okay, okay,” It’s way too obvious how happy Nat is that her brother has someone. “Both of you get the fuck out of here before she sees you, I told her you’d be too busy in the kitchen to say hi.”

She knows her brother, and Carmen’s grateful for it, but, “Are you sure? I can—”

“I love you, Bear.” Nat gives him a kiss on the cheek, and you a quick hug. “But fucking run, seriously.”

Carmen nods, “Heard. Love you, Bear.”

You quickly dash off together, blending into crowds to go unnoticed. Mumbling plans out as you sprint. “I’ve gotta help Marcus close out the bar.”

“I’ve gotta pack up our equipment.” “You’re on the fifth floor too, right?” “Yeah, you’re rooming with Syd?” “Yeah, you and Richie?”

“I got my own room.” “Okay, rich boy.” “I— It’s a fuckin’ Holiday Inn, it’s not that bad—” “Oooh, Charmin gets his first paycheck suddenly he’s all that—” “You wanna come up to my room or not?”

“Oh?” You practically skirt on your heels when you suddenly stop walking, “He’s bold now—”

“I— That’s not— Like we—” He can’t dig himself out of this one, and his darting eyeline is giving him away. “You told Syd you’d still sleep in your room— I just meant like— Like we could— hang out.”

“We could hang out?” “Stop—” “I’d love to hang out, dude.” “We can watch a movie or somethin’—”

You gasp, thought occurring to you. “Yeah, let’s watch a movie. I wanna watch a movie.”

“I don’t like the look that just happened in your eyes.”

“Yes, you do.” Your turn to smush Carmen’s face in your hands, kissing him with a comical, all too wet, and in no way seductive muah—

Which somehow just makes it all the more entrancing, for him. “Yes, I do.”

You smile, letting him go, splitting off from Carmy in favour of your bar. “I’ll meet you in the lobby, go be a good boss.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“How are they not seeing him fuck up the soup— That— A whole pot—” “You’re literally saying exactly what Remy is saying right now—” “I— Good. I’m still mad about the five star thing.”

Carmen likes Ratatouille. Likes it enough to nitpick. He relates to the weird rat with a complex family dynamic and having a brother that means well but fucks with him so much. He relates to the no credit, the starving, the death and desire of feeding the ego, Carmen relates to feeling like a freak in his own kitchen.

It is weird to feel seen by a rat.

But it’s nice to have you in his room, in his bed, watching some dinky little red-head try to survive in a French kitchen. It’s nice to occasionally watch you instead, out of the corner of his eye. He thought of roughly… fourteen more recipes since leaving the bathroom with you? Who would’ve thought that watching someone use a makeup cleansing balm would be inspiring?

What? It melted beautifully. Or maybe you’re just beautiful? Whatever. You emulsified it in your hands. Emulsion? Coconut emulsion would be interesting; very similar creme texture. On top of a souffle? Delicate. But it still needs zip. The glitter from your eyeshadow makes him think of zesting. Lemon zest. Needs more scent, though. Oh, maybe Kaffir limes. That’s a weird dish. That’s never gonna work. He has to get better at subtracting around you.

He’s doing pretty good at not saying I love you, though, so, that’s something.

“The houndstooth pants are cute.” You hum, as Linguini finally kisses Collette— Though by a rat’s volition. A win is a win. You lean into Carmen’s side, watching the movie pirated on his laptop, because hotel tv pay-per-view was so overpriced for no reason. “Oh, fuck, what’s my uniform gonna be?”

“Chef whites, no?” His arm is around your shoulder, it’s nice. “I can get you a jacket—”

“Well, your servers wear black— And I’m gonna be like, like both right?” You turn your head to him. Bad idea. He’s still very pretty, if not prettier in pajamas. “Like, making drinks in the back and then acting as somme out front. So all black?”

“Hm.” Carmen tries not to frown. Tries not to see you wearing black as you being on the other team. “I guess.”

“Richie’s not getting me in a fuckin’ button up, though.” You don’t notice his expression’s minute faltering, crossing your arms, thinking. “Sleeveless black turtleneck? Maybe black palazzo pants, could do what fuckin— Linguini’s doin—”

You point at the screen. “The bright red converse? Could do all black and then bright blue converse? Would that be cute or is that deeply unprofessional?”

Carmen tilts his head back and forth, trying to let you down easy, “I wouldn’t call it deeply unpr—”

“Heard. Okay, maybe like— Like a red bottom heel—” You kick your foot up in the air, for no real reason. A shoe isn’t suddenly going to appear on it for display. “Like not actual ones, duh— Like a black boot and I paint the sole blue—”

“What’s with you and blue?” He's deeply amused, or maybe that's just Carmen's constant state, right now, twirling his fingers through your hair without a care in the world.

“It’s like, Bear colours. You do blue. Aprons, baskets— I guess I’m thinking of The Beef, but like, your lighting is kinda blue.” You shrug. “I wanna match.”

He nods, eyes on the movie, thinking far too much— Well, for the average person. For Carmy it’s a perfectly normal amount of thinking. “All black, blue sole, blue earrings, maybe? White apron for when you’re in the back?”

Please say yes to the white apron. Please say yes to his team. He'll get your initials monogrammed and everything.

“Yeah, that’s a cute look. As long as it’s easy to take off.” You hum. “Oh, y’know, Richie wanted to—”

Speak of the Devil, and he shall call you for the fifth fucking time. “Fuckin— Pause it, hold on—”

Carmen pauses the wonderful rat chef in tandem with you answering the phone with, “I’m not fuckin’ comin’ to pool, Cousin!”

In one ear, out the other. “Fuck you! When are you getting here?”

“I am not getting out of bed to play pool— A game I have not played— With a bunch of fuckin—”

“If you’re not down here in five minutes, Chip, on God—” “I’m gonna fuckin’ hang up again you motherfucker—” “And what? You’ll just answer again, won’t you?”

Richie’s tone gives him away. He’s giggling, bubbly, absolutely tanked on dirty shirleys. But there’s a very genuine joy to it. You’ve answered his stupid meaningless calls every time, the last four times, despite knowing they are in fact, stupid and meaningless. And that is rife with meaning.

You sigh, but you’re smiling. “Yeah. I’ll answer.”

“Good.” You can hear his smile mirrored through the phone. “Sell your Greyhound ticket to Fak.”

“Bitch, fuck no—” “We can go aroun’ the city tommorow! We’re closed! C’mon have some fuckin’ fun before you start working in hell!” “We’re gonna be stupid New York tourists?” “Eva wanted me to get her face on some m and m’s—” “You want me to come with you to the fucking Time Square M and M store?”

That’s when Carmen shoots up, shoulder against yours, panickedly muttering into the phone, “We cannot go to Time Square a week out from Christmas.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When you realize why there’s a pause, you shut your eyes tight, knowing exactly what you’re gonna get. Carmen realizes after watching your face scrunch up, he puts his face in his hands, “Shit—”

“You’re fucking Carmen!”

“No—” “You said you’re in bed! His bed?!” “We’re watching Ratatouille—” “Without me? You’re coming to the fucking M and M store— Also that big ass toy store—” “This is not a betrayal—” “Matter of fact, we’re gonna go see that big fuckin’ tree, too—” “You just want me to drive us home because you’re gonna be too hungover.”

“No, I want you to drive us home because I love you.” Richie’s slurring when he says it, like it’s some sort of gotcha. “So fuck you, actually.”

Carmen bites back laughter next to you, you just shake your head, tutting. “I love you, too, Cousin.”

“If you loved me you’d come play pool.” “I don’t fuckin’ know how to play pool!” “We’ll fuckin’ learn you somethin’ then!” “Fuck off! I’m already coming to fucking Time Square with you, don’t be whiny.”

“You’ll come?”

You massage your brow bone, “Syd’s not gonna wanna sit next to Fak on the bus, you got room for four?”

“Yeah, but someone’s gonna have to sit on the console.” “I nominate Carmen.” “I second the nom.”

Carmen, now with two votes to sit on the console up front, presses his face into your shoulder. “What the fuck—” You peer down at him and whisper, “We’ll do shifts, don’t worry.”

“Put me on speaker phone.” “You’re talking so loud that Carmen can very clearly hear you.”

“Put me! On speaker phone!”

You put Richie on speaker phone. Carmen clears his throat, gruff, “Yo, Rich, can we finish the fuckin’ movie?”

“Patience is a virtue, or some shit. D’you see the resos?”

You mouth to Carmen, ‘Reservations?’ Carmen nods. “Yeah, I saw.”

“Gonna be fucked.” You frown when you hear that, but don’t want to interrupt. You silently word, ‘What happened?’ Carmen puts a finger over his mouth, he’ll explain in a second.

“Gonna be fucked, yeah.” Carmen sniffs, swiping at his nose. “Good kind, though.”

“Yeah. Good kind.” There’s a sigh from Richie on the other end, that heavy sigh. Practically sobering up with just one sentence. “Christmas is in a week.”

“I know.” Carmen kisses his teeth. This is going to be the worst, for all of you. The missing link is going to be all too apparent. “Good time to be busy.”

“Good time to be busy.” Richie echoes. “Only way out is through.”

“Heard.” Carmen nods, what else is there to say? “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Aright. Don’t fuck in a fuckin’ Holiday Inn Chip’s worth mo—”

That’s when you interrupt, “Alright, what a wonderful phone call this has been goodbye, fuck you, love you, don’t call again, be safe!” You hang up before Richie can reply, head flopping over.

There’s a long silence before Carmen speaks again. “...I’m not tryna do that by the way—”

“No, I know, I’m worth more than a Holiday Inn.”

Snorts of laughter fill the stale air of this shitty little Holiday Inn one bed. Carmen pulls you back into him, arm on your waist. Before you can start the movie again, though, you have to ask. “Reservations fucked?”

He hums, tucking your hair back so he can see the side of your face better. “We started taking reservations last week— Just to test it out. N’ it was goin’ smooth but ‘tuh…” He squints. “Trending today with the whole uh— Chef thing. We’re kinda booked full ‘til the end of the year. And January.”

“Oh shit.” Word on the street is true. Any advertising is good advertising. Even when promoting the wrong fucking website.

“Yeah, good kinda fucked, but like. Fucked.” Carmy nods, and after a second, grabs your hand. “But Christmas— Christmas Eve ‘n Christmas is off— And New Years— So, so you won’t be overwhelmed, hopefully.”

Your brain is already shooting miles ahead, you’re mentally back in Chicago, already. “We really gotta get on that cocktail menu.” There’s so much to do. New job, new menu, Christmas—

“And coffee.” Carmen sounds calm when he says it, which is deeply unlike him.

“And coffee.” You echo, eyes distant. You shoot back up. “Fuck, road trip is gonna be such a time sink. Okay— Well, okay— We’ll just— I’ll make a list tonight—”

You’ve gotta figure out your hours. You don’t want to lose Chicago’s Kindest completely— Can’t be available 24/7 anymore, though. Mattina Tony’s gonna hate that. But he’ll be happy for you. Gotta tell Eden’s Club you’re not going to pick up shifts anymore. They’ll say they’re happy about it, but curse you behind your back. That’s fine.

“List for what?”

“Christmas shopping.” Your eyes flick to him, still thinking. “I win Christmas every year.”

You’re getting Richie new cufflinks— But what of? Can’t just do initials, that’s lame. Fuck, what do you get Carmen? Can’t just do something cooking related— That’s lamer. But it’s also like— His only hobby.

“Don’t think that’s how Christmas works.”

“It fully is. And being in Time Square is gonna widen the fuck out of my search radius. Fuck what do I do for Syd? Fancy knife? They sell fancy knives here?”

Carmen shrugs, “I know a guy in the area.”

“Fantastic. I’ll get a list, you’ll help me out with stores. We’ll get coloured pencils at FAO, we’ll draft up a rough menu on the way home—” “Hey—” “It’s twelve hours of driving, so I think we can get a good chunk done. And then test out and finish on Monday—” “Baby—” “I was thinking we could do a section of house cocktails and coffees named after Chefs—” “I said don’t work on it—” “So like, each one would be themed after what I think of when I think of you—”

Carmen grabs your face with both hands. “Tony.”

“Carmy.”

“Cannot believe I’m saying this to another person, but loosen your grip.” He strokes your cheekbones with his thumb. It’s nice. “You don’t have to do it all.”

It's a long silence of just staring back at him, so much so Carmy’s worried he has failed at this whole self-help thing. But then, you say, “Sara’s a good fucking therapist.”

“She’s got a pretty flexible schedule, too.”

Your face is still in his hands, you’re basically unblinking. “I think you’re a pink pepper aperol spritz with a slice of grapefruit. Maybe like a cherry syrup rim? Or is that too much? That might be too much.”

Carmen sighs in a way that sounds like a laugh. “How many drinks have you made in your head?”

“Just that one. But I think Richie would be something with whiskey and peaches— And somethin’ about Syd makes me think about figs, I don’t know why, which would go good with—”

Carm pinches your cheek, frowning, though there’s an admiration to it. “I said don’t work on it.”

You push his hands away, “I haven’t written anything down! I can’t stop my brain from thinking! How many fuckin’ plates do you have in your head?”

He thinks, tilting his head back and forth. “A couple.” It’s a lot more than a couple. “They’re all bad, though.”

“Bad, how?”

“Bad, like weird.” Carmen gestures to the dimming screen of his laptop. You shake the touchpad awake. Rat chef is inspiring, and a good reminder of what he's meant to do, as are you. “It’s uh, it’s a good movie. It’s good to make new shit. But like, I need to be controlled.”

You tilt your head, “I don’t think so.”

“No?” Despite the fact that you’re disagreeing with him, there’s a happy hum, in Carmen’s voice.

“No. I think we should make really bad weird shit. At least in like, R and D.” You lean back down, against him. “Gotta try it before you brush off the idea. That’s the fun thing about art, y’know? Might work, might not.”

“I think that’s life.”

“Life is art, art is life, food is both.”

“Woah.” “That was kind of a bar, wasn’t it!?” “Kinda tough.” “What’s your bad weird idea?”

“Steak with pop rocks.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes go wide, but with a smile. Shocked but delighted. It's absolutely going in Carmen's top five favourite expressions of yours. You lean into him further, back of your hand slapping his chest.

“I know, but I was thinking the sugar would be good—”

“Like a sort of maple or sugar curing thing?” God, you just get it. And you give a shit about getting it.

“Exactly, n’ then it makes you like— Like salivate.” “I don’t think it’s that crazy an idea.”

He’s so excited to have someone encourage his ideas, for once. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod assuredly. “We should do it. Try it, at least.”

“Okay. Cool.” Carmen tries and fails to not light up at the prospect of ‘we’. “You’ve still got a hard out at twelve?”

“Syd said she will be knocking violently if I’m not back at midnight on the dot, yeah.” You unpause the movie. “And she’s gonna be pissed when I tell her I’ve volunteered us for a tourist spree, so I gotta be on her good side.”

Carmen shrugs, turning his attention back to the movie, arm around your shoulder. “It’ll be fun, if you’re there.”

It gives you both away.

Every sentence gives you both away. The way you speak, the way you act, the way you pose. It gives you both away. The way he moves your hair out of your face so you can see the movie clearly. The way you lift your head so he can tuck his arm under the pillow, so it doesn’t go numb under you. All without asking. The way you see each other, the way you are constantly doting and thinking of the next thing you can make the other—All without checking in. The Berf shirt you wear for pajamas, your refilled toiletries in his hotel shower. The domesticity comes all too easy to both of you. It gives you both away.

“Remy kinda sounds like Carmy, y’know—” “Don’t.” “My petit chef!”

You say I love you in every way but the way that makes it weird and bad and stupid and too soon.

“Good God.” Is the first thing Sydney says, when you return to your shared hotel room. Face and voice filled with disgust, that is really only half sarcastic. “You’re beyond saving.”

You push past her, bumping shoulders as you do, smiling all the while. It’s nice that she can see you again. Even if she’s seeing that you’re down bad. “I didn’t even say anything—”

“Yeah, no, it’s that face on your face— God, it’s over—” “Baby, just say you’re happy for me.”

“I—” Syd blinks, rapid, hands in the air. “I’m happy for you— Tentatively.” Pending Carmen. Probationary forgiveness.

“Thank you. I’ll take it.” You squat down to grab a water bottle from the mini fridge, when you do, you’re able to give Syd a once over.

She’s adorned in an old jazz club shirt from your highschool, boxers, and a long bonnet so old you recognize it. You recognize all of it. It’s nearly enough to make you cry.

Funny, she’s thinking the same thing. Together, you speak.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Jinx!”

“Double jinx!”

“Triple Jinx!” It’s on the third one that you decide to let her win and not say it a fourth time.

It’s on the fourth one that Syd decides she doesn’t want to win. “Quadr— Man, this sucks.”

You know exactly what she means. You fall out of your squat, sitting on your butt with a frown. “It literally would’ve just taken one phone call.” You could’ve been doing this for years.

She sits down next to you, back against the front of the bed. “There were a lot of moments, where I thought to call you, honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like uhm—” Syd’s face scrunches up her face, she’s already opened her mouth so she has to tell you, but she’s realizing she probably shouldn’t tell you. “There was this fucked day at The Beef, where we set up online orders, and I forgot to tick off pre-order—”

You unscrew the bottle cap, squinting. “I feel like that should automatically be off.”

“That’s what I’m fucking saying!” She slaps your knee with the back of her hand, “But uh, no it was fucking on— And we got like— Like fucked— Said that already. Hundreds of orders. And it was so much and and— Richie was, at the time, kind of a dick—”

“You don’t have to mince, I know what he was.” You take a sip of water, nodding. He’s a work in progress, as are you all.

“He was being a bitch and— And— I might’ve maybe lowkey stabbed him.”

“Holy fuck?!” You have to laugh, out of sheer shock. You choke on your water. “Syd?!”

“It— Swear to God—” Syd raises one hand, and puts the other over her heart. “Was an accident. Like— Like I was saying I would, and also I was like— Thinking about it— But I didn’t mean to actually do it— Like he walked into it—”

“Jesus Christ, Manslaughter Sydney—!” “No! …A little. On occasion.”

“You ever wanna stab Carmy?” “Oh, all the fucking time.”

“Fair.” You hand her your water bottle when you spot her looking at it. You see each other, you take care of each other, without being asked.

“And after a brutal stabbing—” “It was barely a graze, to his ass.” “—You thought to call me?”

“Yeah. You’re like. I dunno. I—” She sighs, taking a beat. “I’ve heard people talk about like— When they’re in a life or death scenario, or panicking, their first thought is like ‘I gotta call my mom’.” Syd clutches onto the water bottle like it’s a life preserver. “But I like— Like I don’t have that instinct, duh, dead mom club— But like, like my instinct when I’m scared is to call you.”

“You should’ve.” You want to take her hand, but don’t. Still working on that hesitation. You’ll both get there.

“You should’ve, too.” Syd lightly punches your knee. She tucks her lips in a line, thinking. “I would’ve been there.”

“I think I kinda got stuck in the same thought Mikey had, with Carmen.” You prop your knee up, hugging it to you. “Didn’t wanna drag you down with me. Didn’t want you to know I— That I’m not really uhm— That I’m not all that great.”

“I didn’t ask you to be great.” Syd says it before she thinks it, and it’s enough to make your eyes water. In a good way. She continues. “I didn’t ask you to be my somme, either. I always thought you were cool. I would always think you’re cool.”

“I…” You clear your throat, controlling your micro-expressions poorly. “I— I know. I think I just… Always do too much? Like I do everything to make myself like— Needed.”

If they need you, they can’t leave you. Though, that didn’t really stop you two from growing apart, so there goes that theory.

“You are needed.” Syd nearly rolls her eyes at you, but realizes that might be insensitive.

Syd could’ve called Terry, when the walk-in door broke. She called you. Syd could’ve called Claire— They’re not all that close, but she could’ve, when Nat went into labour. She called you. Syd could’ve called Fak, when Carmen’s oven broke. She called you. It’s insane that you’d ever think you weren’t her lifeline.

But she clarifies anyway, “Not that— Not that you need to be needed though, for me to want you around.”

You snatch the water bottle from her. “Well, I know that now.”

“Good.”

You all but chug the water, God you’re dehydrated. Syd laughs, “It’s not gonna fucking run away from you.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” You grin, screwing the cap back on. Sniffing, you sober up a little. “We’re never not gonna be friends again.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Lest you go full on He Had it Comin’ on your fuckin’ co-workers again.”

She scoffs. “I promise to try to not stab someone in your presence.”

“Deal.” You both laugh. You put your hand out to her, and without confirmation, do a handshake that must be more than a decade old. Dap, up-down, jellyfish out. Though, for your purposes, squid out.

Incredible, you’ve hit Syd with love and nostalgia, she has to say yes now. “We’re roadtripping with Richie and Carmen instead of taking the Greyhound.”

“It’s so crazy that you think that’s gonna happen—” “It will be fun—” “Define fun for me, right now—” “We can get Christmas shopping done—”

“Fuck. Christmas is in a week.” “I know!”

Syd scrunches up her nose. “What do I get my dad?”

“Sounds like you need to do some window shopping.” You could probably recommend something if you thought about it for two more seconds, but then you wouldn’t have an excuse to drag her along. “We could go to a Tiffany’s or something.”

“What and get him a locket?” “I’m honestly just naming stores, at this point.”

She’s thinking about it, really thinking about it. “...Could go to the MET, go through the gift shop. He’s a tchotchke guy.”

You hum, nodding. You can get her to fold. “Look at some expos, get some artistic inspiration?”

Syd’s eyes roll back, and she rolls her head back with them, head on the edge of the bed, in dismay. “...Are we doing gifts?”

You shrug, “Was thinking I’d get you a little something.”

“So super over the top and extravagant?” “What’s the fun in telling?” “I hate you.” “So you’ll come?”

She sighs, husky. “Yeah…” She says it like she’s upset but you both know Syd is a little excited.

You pump your fist, delighted. A win.

A comfortable silence fills the room. You flop your back down on the floor, laying on the carpet. “Thank you for helping Carmy.”

“Didn’t do much.” Syd shrugs, lazily turning her head on the bed to you. “He just needs pushing, sometimes.”

You hum, nodding. “Well, thank you for pushing.”

“You’re so welcome, dude.” You both laugh, and after another long gap of silence, she kicks you. “Stop lying on the dirty ass hotel floor, we paid for a bed.”

“There’s something about laying on the floor, man.” You shake your head. “Get down here. I can see the scope of the universe from down here, actually.”

With a profoundly deep sigh, Syd rolls over to you. Your shoulders touch as you both stare at the ceiling. She hums, pointing to the popcorn tiles. “Oh yeah, secrets of the universe, right there.”

“I told you.” You nod, wisely. You frown. “...When do you think it’s like, too soon, to say ‘I love you’?”

“Oh my fucking God it’s that bad—” “Just answer!” “Definitely right now is too fucking soon!” “Well, yeah, I fuckin’ figured—!” “I’d say like, another month or two, minimum.”

“I think I might explode, by then, if I’m being honest.” You turn your head to her. “I’m really worried I’m gonna forget I haven’t already said it and I’m gonna say it at a stupid moment and it’s gonna be lame and embarrassing and bad.”

Syd turns her head to you. “Yeah, that’s probably what’s gonna happen.”

“Okay, so you’re no fuckin’ help.” You snort.

“What do you want me to say? You love to the point of embarrassment.” She shrugs, smiling at your demise. But then Syd sobers up a little, turning her body to face you, leaning her head on her hand. “Are you sure, though?”

“I think so, yeah.” You cross your arms, nodding, assuring yourself, practically. “I feel what I think can only be described as emotionally violent— affectionately. And I think that’s what love is. Pretty sure.”

“Hm.” Syd watches you watch her. You’re absolutely getting lost in your own brain. She pokes the space between your eyebrows, you wake back up. “What’s in there?”

You blink, “Thinking of all the worst ways I could say it.” In front of everyone, accidentally while saying goodbye, off-handedly while hanging up, over text, and so on and so forth.

“Okay, that sounds awful and unproductive so let’s go to bed, huh?” Syd grunts, sitting up. She reaches for your hand to help you stand up with her. “Just try saying it normal.”

You take a breath, looking her in the eyes, say it normal. “Love you.”

“Yeah, just say it like that.”

“Oh, so I can say it—” “In two months.”

“Wait, is one more month hard off the table now—” “Now it’s three.” “Fuck, it’s gaining interest?!”

Just try to make it to next year without saying it, you’d take that happily. Just make it to Christmas. Okay, maybe just make it until you get back to Chicago…Maybe just take a vow of silence.

You shake your head, coming back to reality.

“Wait, what the fuck, Syd, say it back!”

wooooo

was it everything you expected? i hope so. or hope not? suspense and what not. i won't rant too much about it because i'm loopy from staring at my computer at work all day and then answering asks all night. but please send thoughts!!

if you enjoyed, again I have a kofi now! I also just love to hear your thoughts on things, so please send thoughts !! but tips are also appreciated!!

tag list time, fingers crossed it mostly functions! I add ya if you ask and send in an essay ! and if you don't send in an essay it means you don't read my little post scripts and it makes me sad!! please stop making me sad baby!!

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#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy x reader #carmen x oc #carmy berzatto #the bear x reader #the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear hulu #the bear fx #sydney adamu x reader #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader

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zeroseuniverse · 1 month ago

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Safety Blanket

Word Count: 1.2K Summary: "You’re right. I can't resist. This is... incredible." Hoshi let out a dramatic sigh of contentment, resting his head on the mound of pillows. "I told you. It’s the ultimate self-care." Pairing: Hoshi X Fem Reader

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She walked into the living room, hoping to find her best friend, Hoshi, ready to hang out and do something productive. Instead, she was met with an unusual sight—an entire fortress of blankets piled high on the couch, with only a small gap near the edge for Hoshi's face to peek through.

She blinked. "Uh... are you okay?"

There was a muffled voice from within the blanket fortress. "I'll let you take one guess."

She raised an eyebrow, walking closer to the pile of fabric. "Hoshi, what... what happened? Did you get buried under here or something?"

A hand emerged from the side, flailing weakly in the air. "Nope! I'm just... embracing my inner potato today." The voice was muffled by the blankets, but she could tell Hoshi was grinning.

She couldn't help but laugh. "Inner potato, huh? Is that a new thing? Because it looks more like you’re hiding from the world."

Hoshi’s head popped out from the blanket cocoon, his messy hair sticking out like a haystack, eyes wide with determination. "It’s called self-care. You should try it sometime."

She squatted down next to the blanket mountain, peering into the small gap where Hoshi’s face was framed. "So, you’re just... hiding in there? Not doing anything productive? Not even thinking about lunch?"

Hoshi dramatically sighed and lay back into the mound of fabric. "Well, considering I spent the entire morning trying to perfect my dance routine for one move, which I still haven’t nailed, I decided it was time for a retreat. You can only fail so many times before you need an emotional support blanket."

She leaned back and crossed her arms, trying to suppress a laugh. "So, you’re giving up on dancing?"

Hoshi shot her a look, his face partially visible beneath the blankets. "I’m not giving up. I’m just... recharging my spirit with the power of blankets. You can't underestimate the healing properties of a cozy fortress." He adjusted his position, fluffed his pillow, and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. "Okay, I might be a little bit giving up. But at least I’m comfortable."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something endearing about his dramatic behavior. "What happened to the guy who wanted to become the world’s best dancer?"

Hoshi’s head popped up again, and he gave her a serious look, his blanket cocoon shifting with the motion. "He got temporarily replaced by a potato. It’s a phase."

She chuckled. "Alright, well, if you want to embrace your potato self, I guess I’ll leave you to it. But the world’s best dancer doesn’t get to hide forever, you know."

Hoshi’s eyes sparkled mischievously. "That’s why I’m training to become the world’s best blanket ninja right now. It’s all part of the plan."

She shook her head in mock disbelief. "You’re ridiculous."

Hoshi grinned, sinking further into his blankets with a dramatic flair. "Thank you. It’s an art form, really."

She let out a sigh, still smiling. "Well, enjoy your blanket paradise, Potato Hoshi. Let me know if you need anything. Like, I don’t know, a snack or a wake-up call when your blanket fortress collapses."

Hoshi’s muffled voice came from beneath the pile, far too calm. "I’m already preparing my escape plan. Just give me a few hours. Maybe days."

She laughed. "Alright, take your time, Potato Hoshi. Just... don’t forget about the world outside your blanket fortress."

Hoshi, from the depths of his blanket hideout, gave a triumphant thumbs-up. "World? What world?"

And with that, she left him to his blankets, knowing full well he’d emerge sooner or later, probably with a new ridiculous story to tell. After all, this was Hoshi—a potato by day, dancer by night.

She had left Hoshi to his blanket cocoon for a good while, but curiosity—and an undeniable sense of comfort—pulled her back. As she peeked around the corner, she saw him still hidden beneath the layers of fabric, looking like a human burrito, only his eyes visible. He was definitely not planning on leaving anytime soon.

She hesitated for a moment, but then the mischievous side of her took over. She wasn't going to let him have all the fun. Without saying a word, she casually walked over to the fortress and, in one swift move, pulled a corner of the blankets back and slipped underneath.

Hoshi, who had been staring at his phone with a half-interested gaze, blinked in surprise as she crawled in beside him, her face emerging from the same gap he'd been peering through.

"What are you doing?" Hoshi asked, his voice half-amused, half-confused.

She gave him a grin, her hair slightly tangled from the blanket’s cozy chaos. "Joining you, obviously. I can't let you have all the potato glory to yourself."

Hoshi’s face lit up, and a playful laugh bubbled out of him. "So, you’ve decided to embrace your inner potato as well? Welcome to the club."

She snuggled into the pile of blankets, enjoying the soft warmth around her. "You’re right. I can't resist. This is... incredible."

Hoshi let out a dramatic sigh of contentment, resting his head on the mound of pillows. "I told you. It’s the ultimate self-care."

She laid beside him, mimicking his posture. They both stared at the ceiling for a few moments, cocooned in silence. The outside world—work, obligations, the chaos of life—seemed a million miles away.

"How long do you think we can stay here?" she asked lazily, her voice muffled by the blankets.

Hoshi raised his hand as if he were about to give a speech. "As long as we need. The world outside does not exist in Blanket land."

She chuckled, nudging him lightly. "You’re ridiculous."

"I’m serious!" Hoshi replied dramatically. "I’m at peace with the universe right now. No distractions. No responsibilities. Just blankets and—" He paused dramatically, looking at her. "—you. My fellow blanket warrior."

She smiled. "I never thought I’d be hiding from the world inside a blanket fort, but... I think I get it now. This is the best idea you’ve ever had."

Hoshi grinned, satisfied with his self-proclaimed genius. "Told ya! It's the ultimate fortress of tranquility."

She rolled onto her side, facing him. "What do we do now? Should we come up with a plan to conquer the world, or just nap for the rest of the day?"

Hoshi tapped his finger to his chin, deep in thought. "Hmm, I think I’m going with Plan B: nap first, conquer the world later. This blanket fortress has taken a lot out of me."

She laughed and settled her head onto a pillow. "Sounds good to me. I’ve got absolutely no plans anyway."

The two of them lay there for a while, wrapped in warmth and comfort, talking about everything and nothing. No deadlines, no pressures, just the soft hum of the world outside, barely reaching them beneath their blanket fortress.

And as they both drifted into a peaceful nap, She couldn’t help but feel that this was exactly what they both needed. After all, sometimes the best adventures were the ones where you simply stayed still.

"Hey, Hoshi," She whispered sleepily, "I think this might be my new favorite thing."

Hoshi let out a contented sigh, his voice barely a whisper. "I told you. The Potato Club is the best club."

She smiled, snuggling deeper into the cocoon. "Best club ever."

And so, in their blanket fortress, the world outside could wait.

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astrophileous · 1 year ago

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Hmmmmm for Hotch maybe him lowkey coddling reader when she gets hurt shortly during a case shortly after they start dating? Maybe the team wasn’t aware until they saw him fret this much when he had never done it to this level in the past? 🥹

Thanks for the request babes!! My first Aaron fic ever, so hopefully it's not too bad for a first 🥺 I hope this is to your liking ❤️

Warning(s): gn!reader, established relationship, talks of traffic accident, mentions of injuries, protective hotch, mean words (hotch is just worried abt you ok??)

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

You heard him before you even laid eyes upon him.

Amidst the beeping machines and the moderate ruckus of the emergency room, Aaron's voice penetrated the air like a sword. The authority dripped like lava from his tone as he badgered Derek for your whereabouts, and before you could shuffle out of the hospital bed that had been your safe haven for the past hour, the cubical curtain surrounding you was suddenly yanked open.

Your movements ceased once you locked eyes with a frowning Aaron Hotchner.

"Hey—"

"Are you insane?"

You looked at him dumbfoundedly.

"Do you have a death wish? Is that it? Or are you just stupid?"

A few feet behind him, you could see Derek and Emily exchanging silent looks between the two of them. Everyone knew that Aaron was notorious for being frigid, and he had a strong impartiality when it came to any of his team members doing something impetuous on the field, but the words seeping out of Aaron's mouth at that moment sounded overtly harsh to those who knew him.

"Hotch—" Derek took a step forward, trying to come to your defense, "—it's not (Y/N)'s fault."

"I'm not talking to you." Aaron's response was cutting and final. It baffled Derek enough for him to trace his step back.

"What's wrong with you?" you asked once the shock dissipated, returning your voice to its rightful owner once more. "Why are you being like this?"

"Me? You're asking me? I should be the one asking you."

Your eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "We were chasing the UnSub—"

"You went rogue," he cut you off. "Morgan told me everything. There's no point in denying it."

Derek raised his arms in surrender when your stare of betrayal slid his way. "Fine. I'm sorry I grabbed a random civilian's bike and crashed it against the UnSub's car. You don't have to worry about paying anything back, I'll figure something out."

"Is that what you think this is about?" Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose. "I could care less about monetary compensations. We can deal with that later. You could've been killed, don't you understand?"

It was his last admission that finally made the pieces in your head click into place. Beneath the anger inside Aaron's words was actually a hidden anxiety ready to break free. He was worried about you, even if he was showing it in the least hospitable way possible.

Your relationship with Aaron was young; green around the edges and blooming every single day like tulips in spring. Nobody else in the world knew about it yet, and the two of you wanted to keep it that way. At least, that was what you agreed upon after having that lengthy discussion following your first official date.

And yet, none of that mattered when your fingers opted to reach out for Aaron's hand. You pretended not to notice the gasp that Emily let out as you urged your boyfriend to look into your eyes.

"I know you're worried, but I'm fine. I'm right here with you, and I'm okay." Aaron's shoulders physically collapsed at your reassurance. Every other noise in the hospital seemed to drown out in the aftermath. "The doctor's gonna clear me in no time, trust me."

"It still doesn't erase the fact that what you did was reckless." Aaron stepped closer towards the bed, overcrowding your senses as his thumb swept over your left eyebrow, just below the wound you had obtained from the crash. "Does it hurt?"

You shook your head no. The injury to your head was relatively minor. Your arm, on the other hand, was sustaining a quite sizable gash from your collision with the car.

Aaron's eyes followed your gaze that had meandered towards the gauze covering your arm. "How many stitches?"

Reluctantly, you answered, "Seven."

You heard his sharp breath before he turned around to face Derek. "Where's the UnSub now?"

Derek jerked his head to the right, where you reckoned the UnSub was being treated for their own injuries from the crash. The words of protest died in your throat as Aaron began to saunter to the other end of the ER with Derek hot on his heels.

With the two men's departure, Emily was the only one who remained.

"So—" she smiled knowingly, leaning against the foot of your bed, "—you and Hotch? When did that happen?"

You slammed your head back on the pillow, muffling your groan with your uninjured arm. "Shut up."

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kirain · 1 month ago

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Your headcanon that Emmrich's right arm is always gloved because he has scars from when he tried to pull his parents out of a collapsed burning building is now OFFICIAL canon as far as I'm concerned. Can we please get a fic of Emmrich being self conscious about the scars? 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

Oh wow, thank you! 🥺 Here you go, anon!

The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with an ominous orange glow that seemed to taunt Emmrich. Vae sat opposite of him, her hands resting in her lap as she waited. Though usually cheery and confident, Emmrich trembled ever so slightly, his head bowed as though the weight of the moment pressed heavily on his shoulders.

"All right," he whispered.

Vae reached out, her touch light as she took his gloved hand in hers. "I'll go slow," she said softly.

Despite her promise, Emmrich's breath hitched, his back tensing. As she began to slip off the ornate rings and bracelets that adorned his fingers and wrists with a gentle tug, his eyes squinted shut, his brow furrowed and twitching. When the last piece of jewelry fell into her palm, he flinched, and Vae paused, worry overtaking her curiosity.

Quickly, her hand moved to cup his cheek. "It's all right," she soothed, her thumb brushing against his skin. "You're all right."

His breathing steadied just enough for her to continue. Carefully, she removed the heavy bracer next, the worn leather scraping against the golden rim as it slid free.

"You're doing great," Vae praised as she set it down on the night stand. "We're almost there."

But when she reached for his glove, Emmrich suddenly pulled his arm away. "I'm sorry," he wheezed. "I can't."

Vae froze, her heart twisting at the anguish in his voice. His expression was one of shame, his face turning away from her. After a moment, she reached out again and guided him back.

"Emmrich," she said, her tone laden with compassion. "Look at me. Please." He hesitated, but opened his eyes to meet hers, the vulnerability in his gaze almost too much for her to bear. "I won't push you," she vowed. "But you need to know—nothing about you could ever disgust me."

He sighed deeply, shivering under the weight of his self-doubt. "The scars... they're unseemly," he warned, gripping his wrist so hard it caused Vae to wince. "It's already a miracle you want to be with an old codger like me. My body is—"

"Stop," Vae pressed, forcing a playful smirk. "You're in better shape than I am."

A weak chuckle escaped him, though it carried a deluge of sadness. For her, he was trying to push through, masking the pain beneath, but she realised the truth.

He wasn't ready.

"All right," she said, rising to her feet. "Let's get some dinner, then."

"Vae?"

"Sweetheart, I said I'm not going to push you. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable, but you clearly are." She gestured to the door without a hint of malice or disappointment. "I can wait, however long it takes. For tonight, let's forget this and have a nice—"

Before she took a step, Emmrich's hand shot out, grasping her wrist with surprising persistence. "Wait," he begged, his voice cracking.

She turned back, startled to find him glaring up at her with wide, pleading eyes.

"I'm sorry," he stammered, releasing his grip. "I do want to do this. It's just... I'm frightened it will change the way you see me."

Vae's expression softened, and she knelt before him, placing a tender hand on his knee. "Emmrich, do you really think so little of me?"

He froze, guilt flickering across his face. "What? No, of course not! I only meant—!"

His jaw clenched, the contradiction hitting him like a bolt of divine judgement. Vae was young, but she was a woman, and she had chosen to be with him—for better or worse. To assume she would leave him over his past, over some marred skin, was indeed an insult to her character.

But it wasn't true. He trusted her. However difficult, however loudly the voice in his head screamed that she'd recoil at the sight, he trusted her, and he wanted to prove it—even though he knew she'd never demand it. Slowly, he took a breath and offered his arm, the motion hesitant but resolute.

Vae gasped, staring up at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he whispered. "I'm sure."

"All right, then. Stop me, if it's too much for you."

With the utmost care, Vae began to unbutton the long glove, her fingers working indulgently until the fabric slipped free. What lay beneath made her heart ache: a web of burn scars stretched across the top of Emmrich's hand, climbing up and around his forearm. The angry, uneven texture spoke of unimaginable pain and resilience.

"Darling..."

There were so many things she wanted to say, but as the image of an innocent boy crying out for help flashed in her mind, all she could do was stare; not with disgust, but with sorrow for the suffering he had endured.

But Emmrich misunderstood her silence, and his incessant need to fill the quiet overwhelmed him. "It got pinned under debris," he explained, his voice shaking. "Burning rubble, when I tried to clear the wreckage for my parents. I know it's hideous. I have full mobility, but the epidermis never healed quite—"

Before he could finish, Vae leaned in and pressed her lips to the top of his discoloured knuckles. The simple act silenced him, his words catching in his throat.

When she pulled back, she hugged his arm to her chest, holding it like a precious artefact. "I love you, Emmrich," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Scars and all. They're a part of you, and they make you even more beautiful in my eyes."

He whimpered, then pulled her into a tight embrace, his scarred hand cradling her head. Though his reaction was unexpected, Vae smiled and leaned into his chest, her arms wrapping around him like a vice.

"Thank you," he sobbed, his scorched fingers quivering in her hair. "Thank you, my darling."

"You silly man," she moaned, her own eyes welling with tears. "You have nothing to thank me for."

In that moment, the pain Emmrich always seemed to feel disappeared, the weight lifted. His whole life, he'd seen those gruesome marks as a reminder of his failure, but Vae saw something else entirely.

A symbol of his devotion and bravery.

#emmrich #emmrich volkarin #emmrook #veilguard #emmrich x rook #rook x emmrich #rook #da: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age

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estellan0vella · 9 months ago

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Art of the Not-So-Graceful Swoon and Serious Conversations ❀ includes: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Megumi, Yuji, Yuta, Toge & Nobara (Requested as SMAU but I did it as a written piece because I didn't think an SMAU was the best way to approach this topic)

CW: DISORDERED EATING MENTIONED

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, feeling dizzy. The room spins slightly, and you grab onto the counter for support. Satoru Gojo, your boyfriend, is sitting at the table, casually munching on some snacks. He looks up and his expression shifts from playful to concerned in an instant.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks, standing up quickly.

You try to nod, but the movement makes your vision blur. You haven't eaten properly in days. The constant struggle with food has taken its toll, and your body is finally giving in. Before you can respond, your knees buckle, and you collapse.

"Hey! Y/N!" Satoru's voice is filled with panic as he rushes to your side.

The world goes dark for a moment. When you come to, you're lying on the couch, a cool cloth on your forehead. Satoru is kneeling beside you, his eyes wide with worry. He brushes a stray hair out of your face, his touch gentle.

"You scared me," he says softly. "What happened?"

You take a deep breath, feeling weak and embarrassed. "I... I haven't been eating much," you admit, avoiding his gaze.

Satoru's expression shifts from concern to something deeper, a mix of hurt and understanding. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, his voice gentle but firm. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

You feel a lump in your throat. "I didn't want to bother you," you mumble. "I thought I could handle it on my own."

He sighs, sitting down next to you. "You don't have to handle everything alone. I'm here for you. Always."

Tears well up in your eyes, and you quickly wipe them away. "It's just... it's hard," you confess. "I struggle with food. Sometimes, it's like my mind just won't let me eat, no matter how much I want to."

Satoru takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "You don't have to fight this battle by yourself," he says softly. "We can figure this out together. But you need to eat, okay? Your health is important to me. You are important to me."

His words hit you hard, and you finally let the tears fall. Satoru pulls you into a gentle hug, holding you as you cry. His presence is comforting, his embrace warm and safe. After a few moments, you pull back, feeling a bit lighter.

"I don't want to be a burden," you whisper.

"You're not a burden," Satoru insists, his eyes meeting yours. "You're my partner. We support each other. That's what a relationship is about."

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and fear. "I'll try," you promise. "But it's going to be hard."

"I know," he says. "But we'll take it one step at a time. Together."

He stands up and heads to the kitchen. You watch as he prepares a simple meal, bringing it over to you. "Here," he says, offering you a small plate. "Just a little bit to start. We can work up from here."

You take the plate, your hands shaking slightly. "Thank you," you say, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

Satoru smiles, sitting back down beside you. "We'll get through this," he says confidently. "And I'll be right here with you, every step of the way."

You nod, taking a small bite. It's a small victory, but with Satoru by your side, it feels like the beginning of something better. The road ahead is uncertain, but you're not alone. And for now, that's enough.

The room spins around you, the edges of your vision blurring into a hazy fog. You've been pushing yourself too hard, neglecting meals, telling yourself you’ll eat later. But later never comes, and now the toll it's taken on your body is undeniable. Suguru's voice, usually a comforting hum in the background, seems distant and distorted. You can barely make out the words, your mind struggling to keep up.

"Suguru, I…" Your voice trails off, weak and unsteady. You reach out, trying to grasp something, anything to steady yourself, but your fingers find only empty air. The last thing you see before everything goes dark is Suguru's worried face, his eyes widening in alarm as he realizes what's happening.

When you come to, you're lying on the couch, a cool cloth pressed to your forehead. Suguru is kneeling beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair. His expression is a mix of concern and relief as he notices your eyes flutter open.

"You're awake," he says softly, his voice steady but edged with worry. "How are you feeling?"

You try to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forces you to lie back down. "I'm okay," you manage to say, though even you can hear the strain in your voice. "Just… dizzy."

Suguru's brow furrows. "You fainted. Do you know why?" His tone is gentle, but you can sense the underlying worry. He's always been attentive, always noticed when something was off. And you know you can’t hide the truth from him.

"I… I haven't been eating much," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's just been hard lately."

He nods, his expression softening with understanding. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks quietly. There's no accusation in his voice, only concern. "You know you can talk to me about anything."

"I didn't want to worry you," you confess, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "I thought I could handle it on my own."

Suguru sighs, his hand never stopping its gentle movements through your hair. "You don't have to handle everything by yourself," he says. "I'm here for you, always. Please, don't shut me out."

The sincerity in his words breaks down the last of your defenses, and the tears you've been holding back spill over. "I'm sorry," you whisper, feeling the weight of your struggles crashing down on you. "I just… I didn't know how to talk about it."

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "It's okay," he murmurs. "We'll get through this together. But you need to take care of yourself. Skipping meals isn't the answer."

You nod, wiping at your eyes. "I know. I'll try. It's just… hard."

"I know it is," he says, his voice filled with compassion. "But we'll take it one step at a time. We'll make a plan, and I'll help you stick to it. You're not alone in this."

His words are a balm to your aching heart. For the first time in a long while, you feel a glimmer of hope. With Suguru by your side, maybe you can find a way through this. You take a deep breath, letting the warmth of his presence fill you with a renewed sense of determination.

"Thank you," you say, your voice steadier now. "For being here. For understanding."

Suguru smiles, a soft, reassuring smile that makes you feel like everything might just be okay. "Always," he promises. "We'll face this together."

And with those words, you know that you're not alone. With Suguru's support, you're ready to confront your struggles, one step at a time.

You’re standing in the kitchen with Kento Nanami, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the aroma of the breakfast he’s prepared. The sight of the food—crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, perfectly toasted bread—makes your stomach churn. It’s been days since you’ve had a proper meal, but the anxiety that knots your insides at the thought of eating is stronger than your hunger.

“Are you alright?” Nanami’s voice is calm, but there’s a hint of concern in his eyes as he sets a plate in front of you. You nod, forcing a smile. The last thing you want is to worry him.

“I’m fine,” you lie, your voice barely above a whisper.

He watches you, his gaze steady and unwavering. You can feel the weight of his worry, but you’re determined not to let it show. You pick up your fork, your hand trembling slightly, and take a small bite. It feels like a rock in your stomach.

“You haven’t been eating much lately,” he says softly, sitting down across from you. “Is something wrong?”

You shake your head, the room starting to spin slightly. “I’m just not very hungry.”

Nanami’s eyes narrow, his expression unreadable. He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. “You need to take care of yourself,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “Skipping meals isn’t healthy.”

“I know,” you murmur, but even as you speak, your vision blurs. You can feel yourself slipping, the edges of the world fading to black. The last thing you see is the alarm in Nanami’s eyes as he calls your name.

When you come to, you’re lying on the couch, Nanami kneeling beside you. His hand is cool against your forehead, his expression a mix of relief and worry.

“Thank goodness,” he breathes, helping you sit up slowly. “You fainted. When was the last time you ate?”

You look away, shame flooding through you. “I… I don’t remember,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

Nanami’s sigh is heavy with frustration and concern. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his tone softer now. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you bite your lip, trying to hold them back. “I… I’ve been struggling,” you confess. “With food. It’s hard to explain. I just… I can’t bring myself to eat sometimes. It’s like… this fear, this anxiety, it takes over and I can’t…”

Nanami pulls you into a gentle embrace, his arms strong and reassuring around you. “You don’t have to explain everything right now,” he murmurs. “But you need to know that I’m here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

You nod against his chest, the tears spilling over now. It feels like a weight has been lifted, just admitting the truth. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I’m always going to worry about you,” he replies, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Because I care about you. We’ll get through this together, alright? But you have to let me help you.”

You take a deep breath, nodding again. “Okay,” you say softly. “I’ll try.”

Nanami smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “That’s all I ask,” he says. “One step at a time.”

You lean into his embrace, feeling a glimmer of hope. It’s not going to be easy, but with Nanami by your side, you know you can face whatever comes next.

You wake up feeling a familiar tightness in your chest, the kind that has been gnawing at you for days now. It's the hunger, or rather, the lack of desire to eat. You drag yourself out of bed, your limbs feeling heavier than usual, and head towards the kitchen where Choso is already busying himself with breakfast.

He looks up and smiles when he sees you, his dark eyes warm with affection. "Morning," he says, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. "I made your favorite."

You force a smile and mumble a greeting, avoiding his gaze. The smell of food wafts through the air, and instead of making you hungry, it churns your stomach with anxiety. You know you should eat, but the thought of putting anything in your mouth makes you feel nauseous.

Choso sets a plate in front of you, pancakes stacked high, syrup glistening. "Eat up," he says cheerfully, sitting across from you with his own plate. You pick up your fork, but the sight of the food blurs as your vision starts to tunnel. Your head feels light, and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

"Are you okay?" Choso's voice sounds distant, concerned.

You nod, but it's a lie, and before you can stop it, everything goes black.

When you come to, you're on the floor with Choso's worried face hovering above you. "Hey, hey, stay with me," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "You fainted."

You blink, trying to make sense of what happened. The memory rushes back, and shame floods your system. You struggle to sit up, but Choso's hands on your shoulders keep you steady.

"Easy," he says. "Take it slow."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, feeling tears prick at your eyes.

"Don't apologize," he replies, helping you sit up and then moving to sit beside you on the floor. "But we need to talk about this."

You nod, swallowing hard. "I know."

Choso sighs, his hand reaching out to take yours. "You've been skipping meals, haven't you?"

You don't trust your voice, so you just nod again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, his tone gentle but with an edge of frustration. "I could have helped."

"I didn't want to bother you," you admit, looking down at your intertwined hands. "I thought I could handle it on my own."

"You don't have to handle everything alone," he says, squeezing your hand. "Especially not something like this. I love you, and that means I want to help you, even with the hard stuff."

You take a deep breath, the words you've been avoiding finally coming to the surface. "I’ve been struggling with food for a while now. Eating feels like a chore, and sometimes I just… can't."

Choso's eyes soften, and he shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Thank you for telling me," he says quietly. "But we need to make sure you're getting the nutrition you need. Fainting isn't something we can ignore."

"I know," you say, leaning into his embrace. "I want to get better. I just don't know how."

"We'll figure it out together," he promises. "Maybe we can see a nutritionist or a therapist, someone who specializes in this. But for now, let's start small. Can you try to eat something? Just a little?"

You nod, feeling a flicker of hope. "Okay. I'll try."

Choso smiles and helps you to your feet, leading you back to the table. The pancakes are still there, a little cold but still inviting. He cuts a small piece and hands you the fork. You take it, feeling a bit more steady with him by your side.

As you take your first bite, Choso watches you with a mix of concern and pride. "We'll take it one step at a time," he says. "I'm here with you, always."

You nod, chewing slowly, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, things will get better. With Choso by your side, you know you won't have to face this struggle alone.

The room spins as you clutch the edge of the counter, your vision blurring and darkening at the edges. Your head feels light, and your stomach clenches painfully, reminding you of the meals you’ve skipped over the past few days. Sukuna's voice is distant, an echo in the back of your mind, as you try to focus on his face, but your body betrays you. The last thing you see before everything goes black is his eyes widening in surprise.

When you come to, you’re on the couch, a cool cloth on your forehead and Sukuna’s face hovering above you, etched with uncharacteristic concern. His crimson eyes narrow as he sees you stir.

“You fainted,” he says flatly, though you detect a hint of worry beneath his usual gruffness. “What the hell happened?”

You try to sit up, but Sukuna’s large hand gently presses you back down. “Take it easy,” he commands. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

You close your eyes, a wave of shame washing over you. You’ve been struggling with food, your relationship with it complicated and fraught with anxiety. But admitting this to Sukuna, of all people, feels impossible. You don’t want him to see you as weak.

“I… I haven’t been eating much,” you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. “It’s been hard.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you dare to open your eyes, expecting to see disappointment or anger. Instead, his expression is unreadable, a mix of frustration and something softer that you can’t quite name.

“Why?” His tone is demanding, but there’s a gentleness there too, hidden beneath the surface. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“It’s complicated,” you say, turning your face away. “I just… I can’t. Sometimes, it feels easier not to eat at all.”

Sukuna’s fingers tighten around yours, not painfully, but with a firmness that grounds you. “You need to eat,” he states, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Your body needs food. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

You know he’s right, but the fear and anxiety that grip you make it hard to accept his words. “It’s not that simple,” you protest weakly. “It’s a struggle every day. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Try me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “I might surprise you.”

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “It’s like… there’s this voice in my head, telling me I’m not good enough, that I don’t deserve to eat. And when I do eat, I feel guilty. It’s a vicious cycle.”

Sukuna’s eyes darken with a mix of anger and sadness. “Whoever put those thoughts in your head is an idiot,” he says bluntly. “You’re more than good enough. And you deserve to take care of yourself.”

He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in an awkward but comforting embrace. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmurs. “I’m here. We’ll figure it out together.”

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, and for once, you don’t try to hide it. Sukuna’s words, rough around the edges but sincere, start to chip away at the walls you’ve built around yourself. Maybe, just maybe, with him by your side, you can find a way to heal.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “For being here.”

“Always,” he replies, and you know he means it. In his own way, Sukuna is offering you a lifeline, and for the first time in a long while, you feel a glimmer of hope.

You find yourself sitting on the edge of the bed, your vision swimming slightly. The room around you feels oddly tilted, and you blink rapidly, trying to clear the haze. Toji notices something is off immediately. His sharp eyes, always so perceptive, narrow with concern.

"Hey," he says softly, crossing the room in a few long strides. "You alright?"

You force a smile, nodding even though your head feels like it's filled with cotton. "Yeah, just... a bit dizzy, that's all."

He kneels in front of you, his large hands cupping your face gently. The warmth of his touch is reassuring, but it also makes you acutely aware of how cold and clammy your own skin feels. "When was the last time you ate?" His voice is firm, but there's a layer of worry that he can't quite hide.

You avoid his gaze, your eyes drifting to the floor. "I... I don't remember," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toji's frown deepens. He stands up abruptly, heading towards the kitchen. "Stay here," he orders, though there's no real harshness in his tone. You hear him rummaging through the cupboards, the clatter of dishes and the sound of running water.

You try to stand up, but the world spins violently and your knees buckle. Darkness creeps in at the edges of your vision, and you barely register the sensation of falling before everything goes black.

When you come to, you're lying on the couch, a damp cloth on your forehead and Toji sitting beside you, his expression a mix of anger and fear. "What the hell were you thinking?" he growls, though his hands are gentle as they brush a strand of hair from your face.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. "I didn't mean to..."

"Didn't mean to what?" he interrupts, his voice rising. "Didn't mean to scare the hell out of me? Didn't mean to starve yourself until you passed out?" He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "You need to eat, okay? You can't keep doing this."

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I know. It's just... hard."

Toji's expression softens. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I get that," he says quietly. "But you have to try. For me. For yourself."

He reaches over to the coffee table, grabbing a bowl of soup he must have prepared while you were unconscious. "Here," he says, handing it to you. "Start with this."

Your hands tremble slightly as you take the bowl. Toji watches you, his gaze intense but filled with a deep, unwavering concern. "You're not alone in this," he reminds you. "I'm here. We'll get through it together."

You take a tentative sip of the soup, the warmth spreading through your body. It's comforting, not just the food, but his presence, his support. You meet his eyes, seeing the determination there, and it gives you strength.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice breaking.

Toji shakes his head. "Don't thank me," he says firmly. "Just promise me you'll try. Promise me you'll let me help."

You nod again, this time with more conviction. "I promise."

He smiles, a rare, genuine smile that lights up his face. "Good," he says, wrapping an arm around you. "We'll take it one step at a time. Together."

You lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope. With Toji by your side, you know you can face this battle. One day, one meal at a time.

The room spins as you struggle to focus on Megumi's voice. He's talking about something—you're not quite sure what—his words blending into a distant hum. You nod, hoping it's the right response. Your stomach twists uncomfortably, not out of hunger but from the anxiety that has been gnawing at you for days. You haven't eaten much; the thought of food makes your throat tighten.

Megumi glances at you, his expression softening with concern. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," you manage to say, but the words feel heavy, forced.

The next moment, the world tilts, and you feel yourself falling. Megumi's eyes widen, and he lunges forward to catch you just as darkness overtakes your vision.

When you come to, you're lying on the couch, a cool cloth on your forehead. Megumi is sitting beside you, his brows furrowed in worry. His hand is warm against yours, grounding you in reality.

"Hey," he says softly, "take it easy."

You blink, trying to shake off the fog in your mind. "What happened?"

"You fainted," he replies, his tone gentle but firm. "I think you haven't been eating enough."

Your heart sinks. You've been careful, trying to hide your struggles, but it seems you weren't as successful as you'd hoped. You look away, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Megumi squeezes your hand, his grip reassuring. "You don't have to apologize. I'm just worried about you."

You take a deep breath, the weight of his concern pressing down on you. "It's just... hard sometimes. Eating, I mean. It feels like... like too much."

He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving your face. "I get that. Everyone has their battles. But you don't have to go through this alone."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I didn't want to burden you."

"You're not a burden," he says firmly. "I care about you. If something's wrong, I want to help."

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. "It's been tough lately. I don't know why, but the thought of eating just makes me anxious."

Megumi's expression softens even more. "It's okay to feel like that. But we need to find a way to get through this together. Have you talked to anyone about it?"

You shake your head, a fresh wave of shame washing over you. "No. I was too scared."

"Then let's start now," he suggests. "We can look for a therapist, someone who can help. And in the meantime, I'll be here for you. We can figure out small steps to make it easier."

His words offer a glimmer of hope, a promise that you're not alone in this fight. You nod, feeling a bit more grounded, a bit more hopeful. "Okay. That sounds good."

Megumi smiles, a rare sight that warms your heart. "We'll take it one day at a time. And remember, you can always talk to me. No matter what."

You squeeze his hand back, grateful for his support. "Thank you, Megumi. Really."

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "We'll get through this. Together."

As you lie back, his hand still holding yours, you feel a sense of relief. It's not going to be easy, but with Megumi by your side, you're ready to face the challenges ahead.

You’re walking beside Yuji, your boyfriend, through the bustling streets of Tokyo. The sun is high, casting a warm glow over the city, but you feel cold and lightheaded. It's been days since you've had a proper meal, your struggle with food overshadowing even the most basic of needs. Yuji, ever cheerful and kind, chatters about his day, but his voice seems distant, like it's coming from underwater.

You try to focus on his words, on the excitement in his voice, but your vision blurs. You tell yourself you’re fine, that you just need to push through it. But your body disagrees. Suddenly, the ground seems to rise up to meet you, and darkness swallows you whole.

When you come to, you’re lying on a bench, Yuji’s concerned face hovering above yours. His usually bright eyes are clouded with worry. "Hey, hey! Are you okay?" His voice is frantic, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. You can see the panic etched in every line of his face, and it breaks your heart.

“I… I think so,” you manage to croak out, though you don’t feel okay at all. Your limbs are weak, and your head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. Yuji helps you sit up, his hand steady on your back.

“What happened? You just collapsed,” he says, his voice softer now but still edged with concern.

You hesitate, looking down at your hands. How do you explain this? The guilt, the shame, the constant battle with your own body? “I… I haven’t been eating much lately,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yuji’s eyes widen in shock. “Why? Why haven’t you been eating?” His tone is gentle, but you can hear the underlying worry.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “It’s… it’s hard to explain. I’ve been struggling with food for a while. Sometimes it just feels easier to not eat at all.”

Yuji is silent for a moment, processing your words. Then, he reaches out, taking your hand in his. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” he says softly. “But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here for you.”

His words are like a balm to your aching heart. You’ve been carrying this burden alone for so long, it almost feels strange to have someone else share it. “I didn’t want to worry you,” you confess, tears welling up in your eyes.

Yuji shakes his head, squeezing your hand gently. “You don’t have to protect me from this. I want to help you, but I need you to let me in. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

You nod, the tears spilling over. “Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you, Yuji.”

He smiles, that bright, reassuring smile that you love so much. “Let’s go get something to eat, then. Just a little, if that’s all you can manage. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

You nod again, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. With Yuji by your side, the battle doesn’t seem so daunting. Together, you can face this. Together, you can find a way through.

As you walk towards a nearby café, Yuji keeps a protective arm around you. It’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel safe, grounded. You know this is just the beginning, that there will be many more challenges ahead. But for the first time in a long while, you feel hopeful. With Yuji beside you, anything feels possible.

The day begins with a subtle sense of unease that you can't quite shake off. Yuta notices, of course—he always does. His concern is evident in the way he hovers around you, a gentle presence that never feels overbearing but always attentive. You've been struggling with food for a while now, and although you try to keep it hidden, Yuta's perceptive nature makes it impossible to completely disguise the toll it's taking on you.

By midday, the dizziness starts to creep in. You ignore it, pushing through the fog in your mind and the weakness in your limbs. Yuta suggests lunch, his voice hopeful and encouraging, but you shake your head, offering a weak smile. "I'm not really hungry," you lie, trying to convince both him and yourself. He doesn't push, respecting your boundaries, yet his eyes betray his worry.

Afternoon comes, and the world starts to blur at the edges. You're sitting on the couch, trying to focus on a book, but the words swim on the page. Yuta is nearby, engrossed in some task, but you can feel his occasional glances, each one a silent check-in. You stand up, intending to get a glass of water, but the room tilts violently. Your vision darkens, and before you can call out, your knees buckle.

The next thing you know, you're lying on the floor, Yuta's frantic voice calling your name. His hands are gentle but firm as he helps you sit up, his face pale with fear. "Hey, hey, look at me," he says, his voice steady despite the panic in his eyes. "Are you okay? What happened?"

You blink, trying to clear the haze from your mind. "I... I don't know," you stammer, though you both know it's not entirely true. The truth is, you've been skipping meals, pushing yourself too hard, and now your body is paying the price.

Yuta's expression softens, a mix of relief and concern. He helps you to the couch, making sure you're comfortable before he speaks again. "You haven't been eating," he says quietly, not an accusation but a simple, painful truth. "I can tell. And now this... It's serious."

Tears prick at your eyes, shame and guilt welling up. "I'm sorry," you whisper, unable to meet his gaze. "I just... It's hard. I don't want to worry you, but—"

"But I am worried," Yuta interrupts gently. He takes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "I love you, and I hate seeing you hurt yourself like this. You don't have to go through this alone."

His words break through the wall you've built around yourself, and the tears start to fall. Yuta pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly as you sob into his shoulder. "It's okay," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "We'll figure this out together. We'll get through it."

You nod, the weight of his words a small comfort amidst the storm of your emotions. It's not going to be easy, and you know the road ahead is long and filled with challenges. But with Yuta by your side, his unwavering support and love, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, you can overcome this.

As you sit there, wrapped in his embrace, you feel a flicker of hope. It's fragile, like a candle in the wind, but it's there. And for now, that's enough.

You're walking down the busy street with Toge Inumaki, your boyfriend, as the sun begins to set. The air is filled with the sounds of chatter and the distant hum of traffic. Toge is by your side, his presence a comforting constant. His unique way of speaking in rice ball ingredients has always been something you've found endearing, a quirk that makes him special.

But today, something feels different. You haven't eaten properly in days, struggling with your relationship with food. The world around you starts to blur, and you feel a wave of dizziness wash over you. You try to steady yourself, but your vision goes black, and you collapse.

When you come to, you're lying on the pavement, Toge's worried face hovering above you. His usually calm eyes are filled with concern, and he's holding your hand tightly.

"Salmon," he says, his voice shaky.

You try to sit up, but he gently pushes you back down. "Tuna mayo," he continues, his words conveying a depth of worry.

"I'm okay," you manage to croak out, but the weakness in your voice betrays you. The truth is, you're not okay. You haven't been for a while now.

Toge helps you sit up slowly, his arm supporting your back. "Kelp," he says softly, pointing to a nearby bench. You nod, and he helps you over to it. You sit down, feeling the world still spinning slightly.

He sits next to you, his hand never leaving yours. The silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken words. You know you need to explain, but you're not sure where to start.

"Toge, I... I haven't been eating," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. His grip on your hand tightens, and you see the pain in his eyes.

"Mustard leaf?" he asks, his tone a mix of confusion and concern.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "I've been struggling with food. It's been hard for me to eat. I didn't want to worry you."

He looks at you, his expression softening but still filled with worry. "Salmon," he says, a hint of frustration in his voice. He cups your face with his hand, his thumb gently brushing your cheek.

"I know," you whisper, tears starting to well up in your eyes. "I'm sorry, Toge. I didn't mean for it to get this bad."

"Tuna," he says, shaking his head. He pulls you into a hug, his embrace warm and reassuring. You cling to him, feeling the weight of your struggles lifting just a bit.

After a few moments, he pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes. "Bonito flakes?" he asks, his tone gentle but firm.

You nod, understanding what he's asking. "I need help. I know that now. I can't do this alone."

He smiles, a small but genuine smile that reaches his eyes. "Kombu," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It's his way of telling you that he's here for you, that he'll support you through this.

You lean into him, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. It's going to be a long journey, but with Toge by your side, you feel a glimmer of hope. You know that you're not alone, and that makes all the difference.

As you sit together on the bench, the world around you starts to feel a little less overwhelming. Toge's presence is a reminder that you have someone who cares deeply for you, someone who will help you find your way back to a healthier place. And for the first time in a long while, you believe that you can do it.

Extra Addition: Nobara Kugisaki

The world around you starts to blur as you sway on your feet, a wave of dizziness crashing over you. Your stomach has been a hollow pit for hours, gnawing at you with a persistent ache you’ve grown accustomed to ignoring. You’ve managed to keep your struggles with food hidden from Nobara, convincing yourself that you can handle it. But now, as you stand in the middle of her living room, the edges of your vision darken, and you know you’re about to faint.

“Hey, are you okay?” Nobara’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp with concern. You try to respond, but your knees buckle, and the floor rushes up to meet you.

The next thing you know, you’re lying on the couch, Nobara’s frantic face hovering above you. Her hands are trembling as she pats your cheeks, her eyes wide with panic.

“Wake up! Come on, open your eyes!” she demands, her voice shaking. “What the hell happened?”

You blink up at her, the room slowly coming back into focus. “I’m... I’m okay,” you croak, though your voice is weak and unconvincing.

“Okay? You call that okay? You just collapsed!” Nobara’s face is a mix of anger and worry, her usual confident demeanor replaced by raw fear. “You scared the hell out of me!”

You try to sit up, but Nobara gently pushes you back down. “No, stay there. You’re not moving until you tell me what’s going on.”

There’s no escaping it now. You take a deep breath, your throat tight. “I haven’t been eating much lately,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been... struggling with food.”

Nobara’s eyes widen even more, if that’s possible. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice is high-pitched, almost shrill with worry. “I could have helped! We could have figured something out together!”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mumble, feeling the weight of your secret lifting but replaced by a different kind of heaviness — guilt.

“Bother me? Are you kidding?” Nobara’s hands are still trembling as she cups your face, her eyes searching yours. “You’re not a bother. You’re my partner. We’re supposed to look out for each other.”

You see tears welling up in her eyes, and it breaks your heart. Nobara, who always seems so strong and unshakable, is crumbling in front of you. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching up to wipe away a tear that escapes down her cheek.

She sniffles, trying to compose herself. “Don’t be sorry. Just... don’t hide things from me, okay? We’re a team.” Her voice is softer now, the panic giving way to determination. “We’ll figure this out together.”

You nod, feeling a strange mix of relief and shame. “Okay. Together.”

Nobara takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. “First things first. You need to eat. I’m making you something, and you’re going to eat it, even if I have to feed you myself.”

You can’t help but smile at her intensity. “Yes, ma’am.”

She gives you a shaky smile in return, brushing her fingers through your hair. “And we’re going to talk about this, really talk about it. We’ll get you whatever help you need. But you’re not going through this alone, got it?”

“Got it,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the blanket she tucks around you.

Nobara stands up, a new determination in her step as she heads to the kitchen. “Just stay there and rest. I’ll be right back.”

As you lie there, waiting for her to return, you feel a sense of hope you haven’t felt in a long time. Nobara’s reaction, her over-the-top panic and fierce protectiveness, shows just how much she cares. And for the first time, you believe that maybe, just maybe, you can overcome this with her by your side.

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