Loosen Your Grip. | R & D
logline; even when it seems counter-intuitive.
[!!!] series history; so many parts, so many words.
Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. 8 hour mark officially! Lets go!
portion; 15k knowing the next chapters, this trend isn't going to change. they have started to line up with the chapter number, to my chagrin.
possible allergies; i think this one is relatively harmless? Stress though. Everyone's stressed. Idk what to tell you man, it's the bear. oh but more things were yoinked from Season 3!! Think that's just gonna be ongoing tbh. also if this is bad don't tell me. tell me it's really good, actually. i've never doubted a chapter more than I do this one.
pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader it's so fem. it's so she/her'd it's so girl'd i'm so sorry
kofi; if you’ve enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!
i'm so sorry for the delays beloveds, can you say 'most high stress but high reward month and a half of my life'? i can!!!
The Monday morning after New York— The first morning waking up in your own bed in a day or two— Comes rudely. Well, not immediately. First you have to roll over and grab aimlessly at your nightstand, searching for your phone to turn off your alarm. Through blurred vision you slide it to snooze, and as you debate going back to bed, your eyes glaze over some texts you’ve received in your sleep, from numbers you never bothered to put in your contacts. It takes a minute to absorb the information and register it as real, but once you do—
“...Are you fucking kidding me?!”
—You’re definitely not gonna be heading back to bed anymore. You’re wide-eyed and wired— You can probably skip coffee this morning. Maybe every morning forever.
“Oh— I fucking hate this fucking city, I fucking hate Chicago— Fuck this!”
In lieu of coming to terms with your world shattering news, perhaps this is an important moment to express gratitude, for the things that have gone well in the past few days.
The rest of the weekend in New York was as lovely as a last-minute trip in a cramped car full of kitchen equipment and four neurotics can be.
Gratitude. Highlight reel?
There’s a bag M and Ms monogrammed with Syd’s, Richie’s, Carmy’s, and your faces in your pantry now. Eva shouldn’t be the only one allowed to have fun. Though snacking on all your cute little faces does make you feel like a slight monster.
Managed to get a good gift for Richie. Thank you Tiffanys. It was certainly an interesting moment when everyone tried to come up with lame excuses as to why they had to split up from the group to definitely totally not go get Christmas presents.
Carmen’s knife guy wasn’t able to do engravings on such short notice, and you’re not the type to settle for less, especially not with Syd, so that’ll be a next year gift, it seems. You came up with a serviceable back-up while strolling through the MET— Which was a mostly fun field trip, it was very inspiring. You all could've done without Richie's pretentious prattling about postmodern absurdist dadaism. Mostly because you're pretty sure half of it was wrong; but still a good trip, all told.
Still lost on what to get Carmen… You’ve got a week, it’s fine. You’ve done more with less before. How do you subtly ask a guy, ‘hey, what the hell else do you like besides your job?’ You’ll figure it out. Figure it out like you figure out everything else, like you always do. Hopefully.
It's Monday. You've got a week. It's fine. Stop looking at your phone. This is such bad timing. This is awful fucking timing. You’ll figure it out. Stop looking at your phone, stop looking at the texts. Do the Connections, send it to Carmy, he already sent his, be normal… Just such bad timing—
At the very least if you can't bear to look away from the life ruining texts, just shut your phone off. You’ve got to stop ruminating or you’ll rot in bed forever. And you really have to get out on time, today.
“God wants me to kill myself—” Gratitude. Express gratitude.
The drive back went ‘well’. Everyone had their licenses so the squad took shifts either driving or sitting on the uncomfortable console. Or, in your case specifically, sitting half on Carmen’s lap in shotgun on occasion despite the many complaints from Syd and Richie. You had a good excuse! Neither of you slept for the entire trip just to work on the cocktail and coffee menu. It was practically a sacrifice! It was just easier to sit up front together, okay!? You had to be close, you were scribbling ratios and drawings of glasses into a stolen notepad from the Holiday Inn with pencil crayons bought from FAO Schwarz—
Oh, hey, put that on the gratitude scoreboard, that was another thing that went well. Pretty cool to go to the oldest toy store in America. Might not have gotten the chef in your life anything yet, but the kids in your life are covered— You’re winning best Aunt for sure.
Oh, huge highlight— Didn’t say love you, like some idiot. Got away with that by the skin of your teeth, honestly. Hard to stare up at the Rockefeller Christmas Tree next to the guy and not blurt out something fucking stupid. Thank God for Syd, who stomped on your foot when you seemed a little too doe eyed.
With great pain and bemoaning, you finish expressing gratitude, which hasn’t helped much. You slam your phone screen down on your nightstand and roll out of bed.
Today’s Monday. Today’s your first day at The Bear. Today that is the priority and there is nothing else to worry about.
You signed your contract last night. Talked to Syd for hours about it, planning next steps and goals and classes and budgets and a million other things. You’re both a little easily excitable, when it comes to lists and plans. Watching you sign yours gave her the ‘confidence’ to sign hers, if you can call it that. Not like you knew she needed the help, though.
“I love my life, I love my life, I love my life…” If you keep saying it while washing your face in the bathroom, it’ll become true, right? …Where’s Sara’s card again?
The Bear doesn’t run service on Mondays, so it’s a good day to do onboarding— Good day to do R and D. …What does one wear to R and D? Don’t need the serving uniform. Don’t need to dress up. Don’t need the jumpsuit… This is the first time you don’t need a uniform and that is bizarre.
You’ll wear your dad’s flannel, at least. Feels illegal to not wear the patch worked flannel. But besides that, you’re just a normal… restaurateur… part of the team…
Your hand hovers over where your necklace sits, in the small jewellery box on your vanity. “Mikey, if you want me to keep wearing it, make my ceiling cave in or some shit.”
You give it ten seconds and nothing falls. With a curt nod to no one, you pick up your book bag filled with loose tools and the menu filled notepad. Leave your bedroom, put your shoes on, grab your keys out of your clay dish tray on the way out.
It’s snowing.
That’s a lot of stuff falling, so to speak.
That’s basically a sign. That’s basically what you asked for.
You head back in, grab the necklace, hook it over your neck, and tuck it under your shirt. Baby steps. You head back out.
…And then soon after, head back in— Forgetting one of the most important things you need today. “The fucking glass, goddamn it!”
There’s a chance that today might be a little bit of an off day for you. No one’s gonna notice that, though.
“Mikey, why didn’t you tell me? You want me to look stupid on my start day, don't you? Fucker.”
You’re good. You’re you. You figure shit out. You’re compartmentalising perfectly and no one’s gonna be able to tell that you’re internally scrambling to figure out where you're gonna live once your lease gets terminated.
“ ‘Sup with you?” Okay, so Tina did immediately notice upon opening the back door for you. She tries to help you with the huge sheet of plexiglass you’re carrying, but you wave her off, stumbling further inside The Bear. Thankfully it’s a slow start to the morning, so the walk way is clear for your fumbled steps.
“I got it, T, just spot me—”
“Woahwoahwoah—” But alas, immediately Carmen is rushing over, making a big deal over nothing, “Fuck are you doin?” And grabs the thick sheet of glass from you. “Wait by your car next time, why do I gotta keep tellin’ you?”
“I am very capable—” You grunt, but you’re relieved when he takes the weight off you. You nod to the table in front of expo. “Put it on the island.”
“What’s it for?” Carmy asks but he follows direction without hesitation.
“Syd’s idea.” You walk with him, sidling up to Syd who’s already stationed up on the island with what looks like way too much paperwork for Chefs. You bump her shoulder as a greeting, she bumps you back. She lifts up the stack of papers and you pick up her deli container of Coke and ice, letting Carmen slide the glass onto the table.
“Unless it’s bad—” You correct, putting the cup down and digging through the tool bag on your shoulder for the right parts. “If you hate it, then it’s my idea.”
Syd snorts next to you, putting the papers back down on top of the glass. “Nice save.”
“What’s your idea, Chef?” Carmen taps his fingers against the glass, bemused.
You finally fish out two lock hinges from your bag, gesturing to them with a little flair like you’re Vanna White as Sydney explains. “For R and D. Thought since we’re like— Constantly changing shit and needing to review, it’d be like, useful to have a whiteboard— But those are huge and inconvenient for a restaurant— Duh— So—”
“Glass!” You come in with the assist as she rambles on. “On hinges— These one’s lock so you can have the glass sort of tilted up like an easel, or on the station— And then when you start service you can just flip it down off the counter for the night. Easy!”
“And—And—” Like a TV ad, Syd points out, “We can put paper under it and still be able to see— So it’ll make editing clearer— I-I think.”
Carmen always takes a nerve-wracking amount of time to think through other’s ideas, but once he nods, you both breathe easy. “Smart idea. Thank you, Chefs.”
You just smile, and this seems to bother Carm. Or at the very least, something is bothering him, as he frowns. “You got a second?”
Your brows furrow, for a moment, worried. You nod, putting your tools down. Glass can wait. “Always.”
Carmen comes around the counter, before he pulls you aside, Syd whispers over your shoulder, “Trouble in paradise.” Making you snort. When has it ever been paradise?
The two of you lean across from each other in the doorway of Carmen’s office, not quite in, not quite out. He looks worried, and his worrying is making you worry. He’s first to say something, concerned hand on your shoulder.
“Are you good?”
Fuck, he caught you too? “Hmm? Yeah, I’m good, do I not—”
You’re halfway through your response when he interrupts, he seems even more panicked by your words. His hand abandons your shoulder. “Right— Stupid, stupid fucking question— I just— Sorry—”
“Woah—” You grip both his shoulders, rubbing down his sleeves lightly. “Are you good, Carmy? You’re right, sweets. You caught me. I’m a lil’ off today. What gave me away?”
“Right, yes— You’re nice.” He’s saying it more to himself than you, like he needs to remind himself. Even so, it still hitches your heartbeat. “I— I’m good, I was just—You didn’t text me back this morning.”
“Oh.” You say it so breathlessly, with relief. It’s cute that that’s what’s got him freaking. “Sorry, yeah, I’ve been trying to not look at my phone, I just got some…” You shake your hand in the air for effect. “Bleh news. Put a wrench in some things for me, that’s all.”
“Yeah? What’s up?”
“Ah—” You shake your head, waving it off, “Too much to get into. Later, though?”
“Yeah, yeah. Whenever you want.” He nods. “Ah, I wanna get into uhm—” Carmen snaps his fingers a few times, finding the words. “Get into drinks, today. I made all the concentrates and syrups ahead of time—But Uncles gonna come in first with The Computer to go over some numbers shit— Should be here in thirty?”
You nod, squinting. “Is it like… A special computer or something?”
“Computer is a guy.” Carmen says, while Syd yells the same in tandem with him, “Why wouldn’t he be!?” Walking past you both as she carries produce out of the walk-in.
“Why wouldn’t he be?” You grin, reiterating. Your smile soon sobers though, as you finally notice a giant silver blob of machinery behind Carmen. “Baby, what the fuck is that?”
You’re already walking past him, quickly winding up all over again. It’s a gorgeous espresso machine— “It’s an Ascaso.” Explains Carmen. “It’s the best.” And it’s sitting exactly where your beautiful beat up mistake of a heavily-stained coffee machine used to be.
“Baby, baby, baby—” you’re looking above and below the station for your rusted companion, hushed and panicked. “Don’t tell me you threw away the old one—”
“You want the old one?”
Richie’s timing is perfect, as he walks in from front of house, and even from just hearing the last sentence, “Fuckin’ told you, Carm.” He knows the context. He keeps walking— On a mission, seemingly.
“I’m grateful— I- I am.” You kneel down and shove some mixing bowls aside to see if it was tucked in the back of some shelf— It’s not here. She’s not here. “New is good— New is nice— I’ll learn how to use the new one— I will— But— I— I need the old one— You didn’t throw it away, did you?”
When he stays silent, you turn and look up to Carmen from where you’re crouched on the ground, pleading. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“I— I—” The Chef is nearly sweating from this line of questioning alone. “It— It barely worked—”
“I know it didn’t! That’s the point!”
He blinks. You just seem to be saying all his trigger phrases, today, huh? “That’s the point?”
“I knew how she worked.” You push yourself back up onto your feet. “It’s got an espresso function that doesn’t work, if you tamp the basket the basket literally breaks off so you have to hold it and burn your hand a little— You have to hold the hot water button at the same time as the grind button for some reason or it won’t dispense— It’s literally a fucking nightmare— I covered it in like ten sticky notes of instructions at one point and they became pointless because no one but me was willing to use it. And— And I’ve got it memorized.”
“...And you want that?”
“No one’s gonna know how to take care of her, she’s my baby!” You gesture, albeit a bit too dramatically, speaking with your hands. “If you throw her away or donate her, no one’s gonna take the time to figure it out— They’re just gonna think she’s broken but she’s not, she works! She just needs the right hand!”
A dull silence falls between you, as Carmen purses his lips, squinting. There’s an ever slight chance your ‘I’m totally fine’ facade is cracking. “...Are you sure you don’t want to talk about your thing right—”
“I’m good!” “...Okay.” “Did you get rid of her?”
“Relax, Handy!” Carmen does not say this.
You grimace, looking behind Carmen to see Chi-Chi yelling from around the bend, in The Beef’s corner territory. Looking over him with the blue apron calling you your least favourite nickname by far— Well, second least favourite, only to— “She’s over here, Jack-Off. More our speed than rich boy’s ack - queso bullshit…” It’s nostalgic. Bad nostalgic but nostalgic.
He slaps the top of the machine, you and Carmen both wince as a random spigot falls off it. Chi-Chi clicks his tongue, staring at it in silence. “...Refresher would be good, though.”
You’re already walking back to your damaged darling, patting Carmen on the shoulder as a form of goodbye, he pats your hand back. You don’t get to see him smile, as he watches you get to work. “Don’t fuckin’ call me Jack-Off and don’t touch her, I’ll show you, I’ll break your hand Cheech, I swear—”
The man in question shrugs, a devilish and terrible smirk on his stupid face. “Ey, love a woman in charge. Show me the ways.”
Even on your most off days, working with The Beef will always be second nature for you. Even when the space is significantly more cramped than it used to be.
You rewrite directions on how to use the coffee machine while showing them to Ebra and Chi-Chi. Ebra tends not to learn new tricks, so he stops listening by the time you get to syrups. That’s fine. No one ordered syrups in their coffee at The Beef back in the day all that often either.
Mikey really shouldn’t have invested in all those syrups back then. He really only did it for you and the staff. To be fair, when he did convince regulars to try your coffee they always changed their tune. The people don’t know what they like yet. They will like this. You were his proof that that idea was true.
“You gotta toss these, Boss. Slows you down.” You overhear Cheech saying behind you. You turn to see his arm on Ebra’s shoulder, holding the small blue baskets for sandwiches in his other hand. “Just the wrapping is fine. These people are gonna throw this shit out anyways, waste of plastic.”
Cheech turns his head to you, “Right, Handy?”
“...Don’t call me Handy.” Don’t freak out about throwing the old stuff away. Don’t freak out about throwing his old stuff away. You shrug, looking at Ebra over your shoulder. “Maybe just offer them, if they ask for one?”
“Y’know what the people are asking for, babe?” Cheech sucks his teeth, pulling Ebra closer, who looks nonplussed. “They’re asking where the nearest brick is to throw through our window. This rich people shit is getting on their nerves.”
You sigh, eyes flitting to Ebra for confirmation. “Yeah?”
He shrugs, nodding. “Ninety-eight percent, Jack-Off.” Cheech and the gang have been a terrible influence. How are you going to undo this?
“C’mon, E…” You scoff, but nod as you turn around, arms crossed. Gesturing with the frother as you do. “Well, I’ll make note of that. Now back to the fuckin’ hand frother, Cheech?”
“I know how to crank it, Handy—” “I swear to fucking God—”
“Ey!” Tina comes up to your corner, smacking the back of Chi-Chi’s head with a hand towel when she does. “Don’t talk to the baby like that, clean your mouth.”
He puts one hand on the back of his head, hissing, and another up in front of him, in defense. “Ey, T, it’s all love, aright? Playing!”
“Yeah well, you’re not gonna wanna play wit’ this one. ‘Specially not now—” She nudges you, smiling that coy ‘I’m about to blow up your spot’ smile.
You grimace, attempting to interrupt her. “T, don’t—” “That she’s Jeff’s.” “—Goddamnit.”
“Oh! Oh shit!” Cheech laughs, delightfully shocked. “You finally closed on Charmin’? Congrats—” It’s a blessing and a curse that Carmen, the guy you only ever saw in photos and heard in stories that you had a very minor and not vocal crush on, is now your… boyfriend? Undetermined.
You wave a hand in his face, “Shut the fuck up—”
“So where should I send flowers?”
You hate this family. “For the record, I have not closed shit.”
“What’s closing?” Tina takes a half step back, surveying your face, it doesn’t reveal anything. “What’s that? Gramps?” She turns her question on Ebra, who shrugs, equally as old and unknowing.
“Well Jack-Off’s a little Mother Mary for my taste—”
You scoff, “So not true, for the record—” but Chi-Chi continues his tirade. “So I suspect she just means they haven't had the ‘are we datey-wating carmy baby?’ talk.”
You all but growl, crossing your arms as you wait for the second tutorial coffee to finish dispensing from the beloved whirring machine behind you. You can get the fuck out of here as soon as it’s done, and you’re praying that’s soon, because this interrogation is about to turn terrible. “We are currently unlabelled, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”
Tina kisses her teeth, poking at your shoulder. “Richie told me you spent the whole wedding together and you come back with no label?”
You sigh, composure falling apart. You are not ready for a mother’s disappointment. “We talked out a lot of important stuff—” “Mija, that is important stuff!”
“I just— We’ll talk eventually—”
Chi-Chi conveniently interrupts you when it looks like Tina’s about to go off into a full rant on the downfall of romance in modern relationships. “So you’re still on the market, Handy?”
“For you?” You smile, then drop it. Pushing your hand against his forehead. “Never. Now froth the fucking milk.”
He mumbles an endless series of expletives, but gets to work. You give him a quick tutorial on the hand frother— You fought hard for the old machine, but you are overjoyed to see an automated steamer and frother on that Ascaso. That part is gonna be a dream. You can make so many new drinks for Carm— The menu.
When you finish, you take the latte from Cheech to hand to Tina; and when you do, you catch her looking… off. She’s staring at the piled up diner baskets, next to the unused napkin dispensers.
You put your hand on her shoulder, massaging it lightly. “You good, T?”
Your hand shocks her back into reality, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good, baby.” It takes her a second to remember where she is. She takes the latte, nodding. “I’m good. You good?”
“I’ve got my complaints.” You shrug. “But nothing I won’t survive.” Probably.
Tina takes a sip of her coffee, continuing to nod. She wants to dig deeper into your thing, you want to dig deeper into hers, but the painful groaning from the front of the kitchen, “And when did I fuckin’ greenlight this?” interrupts both your trains of thought. Uncle Jimmy tends to have that effect.
With a knowing nod, you walk together to the front, leaving Ebra and Cheech to continue experimenting with the coffee machine before they open their side of the restaurant.
You watch from the sidelines as Carmen defends his choices, “The old one was shit, she was burning her hands on it. She’ll need the three groups to keep up.” and you’re able to quickly glean they’re talking about the new espresso machine.
“Okay, I hear that,” Jimmy nods, “but why the fuck did it need to be ten grand?”
“Ten?!” You can’t help but shout, you slap your hand over your mouth. Budget is none of your business. But fucking ten? You part your fingers to mumble through your hand, “Sorry, continue.”
Carmen cares too much about your drink menu. Berzattos tend to invest too much into your special interests. Though this time, instead of syrups, and in addition to a 10k coffee machine, you see on the stainless steel table your shared sketches laid out alongside all the ingredients needed– Including the concentrates, whips, and other compounds Carmen made ahead of time for you. He’s so sweet. God, you love him. God, that’s disgusting. They have all, of course, been haphazardly shoved aside though, to make room for The Computer’s— Computer. Carmy’s nonplussed by that fact, it seems.
Jimmy gestures to you, deadpanning to Carm. “See, Chip understands the power of the dollar.”
“I’m not involved.” You add, waving your hand, it’s a terrible moment for your favouritism to shine through. Though you do enter the radius of this trainwreck of a quarterly review, kneeling down by the kitchen island to finish what you started with the plexiglass and hinges. “Ignore me, continue.”
The men stand on either side of you, as you bolt down the hinges. Carmen brushes off the dollar comment with a simple, “It’s the best.”
Why do you need the best? You think; Jimmy concurs with your brain, speaking for both of you. “Why do you need the best?”
The question seems to make no sense to Carmen. He freezes, blue-screening. “Cause—”
You duck your head under the counter at just the right moment— Or just the wrong moment? Because you don’t get to see Carmen looking down at you, then back up at his uncle. “Because.”
You don’t see Uncle Jimmy practically roll not just his eyes but his entire body back into himself, witnessing the puppy love that is going to ruin his credit score. “Chip…”
When you slide yourself out from under the counter, Carmen puts his hand on the edge of the counter to make sure you don’t hit your head— Because you have an awful tendency to do so. You’re too focused on the way Uncle Jimmy says your name like you’re in trouble to notice though. “What’d I do?”
“You’re you.” Jimmy grimaces, shaking his head. It’s not your fault. Not completely. “F-Y-I– Your boss just cut your bar budget by ten grand.”
“Hm.” You squint, lips in a line. “And what do I do if the budget I was planning was just ten grand?”
“Well respect yourself more than that.” Cicero scoffs, arms crossed. “Take twenty, now you’re back to ten. You’re welcome.”
“Generosity knows no bounds.” You shake your head, laughing him off as you duck your head back under the counter. “Thank you, Unc.”
“Sorry, who exactly are we giving twenty thousand?”
“Oh fuck—” Despite Carmen’s best efforts, you still manage to bump your head on the roof of the counter, alarmed by the new voice— The Computer, you assume. “Fuckin—Ow— Sorry! Y’know what, hol’ on, let me just finish up here—”
“It’s the drink budget. Tony’s the new mixologist.” Natalie answers for you. “And sommelier.”
“Ah,” hums The Computer. “She’s the one we’re paying Quarter-Master for?”
“Nah, that’s me.” Gary strolls by, calling out to wherever his manager has gone, “Richie, you find that book yet?!”
“I’m taking them too!” You finally pop your head out from underneath the counter, finished bolting in the hinges. “Apparently I need actual W-S-E-T certification and a bunch of memorized google searches, youtube videos, and wine review blogs do not legally make you a sommelier.”
“I think it’s impressive you made it this far on basically nothing.” Syd taps the top of your head, she’s the one who made the call on schooling. She looks to her co-owner. “Classes are coming out of the advanced.”
“So is this.” You tap the plexiglass, nodding up to Carmen as well. “You’re workin’ with like… A thousand left for pre-paid work?”
“Hm.” Carmen nods, looking at The Computer, and you turn your head to him too. “Did you account for that?”
“Did I account for a thousand dollars?”
Carmen shakes his head like a white flag immediately, hearing the sarcastic tone, “Alright, you don’t—”
“A thousand dollars does not take you out of the hole, man.” He’s right, but you don’t love the tone. He tilts his head, reading something off his screen. “Payroll is a little high, for a somme.”
“I don’t disagree—” You try to say, because yeah, your contract does have a weirdly high salary.
But Jimmy, Nat, and Carm all speak over you. “It’s not.”
“That’s not pay for a somme, that’s a pay for Chip, you don’t need to enhance on that.” Jimmy deads the topic then and there. “You’ll see. Just trust me. You were sayin’ somethin about tiny plants?”
“Microgreens.” Says Syd.
“Yes. Do less of that.”
And you just watch, from the sidelines, as this crew flows into a bit of a repetitive we’re doing this, which gains the response, well stop. Do less, charge more, figure it out, duh, don’t duh– What’s that you’re hearing about a daily changing menu? Carmen seems to be the only one campaigning for it. At a point he just starts pacing, pointing at numbers on The Computer’s screen that he doesn’t understand but pretends he does.
You’ve got a million ideas, but it’s none of your business. It very literally isn’t your business, until Jimmy turns his head just so, grimacing at the non stop debate, to see you standing aside, arms crossed.
He sighs, beckoning you to the table, like it’s a witness stand. “What’s that fuckin’ face on your face, kid?” Oh, for the love of God, why are you so easy to read?
You pfft, shrugging. “I’m not makin’ a face—!” But you come forward nonetheless as he boldly speaks over you.
“You’re makin’ a face,” — “This is just what I look like,” — “Y’know how I know you’re makin’ a face?” — “Enlighten me.” — “Cause it’s the same fuckin’ face—”
He takes this moment to point at the face on your face. “That your dad makes.” A man that gambles as well as Cicero is a man that knows your dad’s tells. And a man that knows your dad’s tells is a man that knows your tells.
You bite down on your inner cheek, poorly pretending to be confused, shrugging again, “I dunno what you’re talking about.”
“Come off it.” “I’m not on anything, Unc—” “You’ve got a problem, say it.”
“I don’t have a problem!” You have a lot of problems, but they can’t know that. That makes you judgy and pushy— You don’t know enough about the business to have an opinion. “I’m just observing, that’s all.”
Uncle looks up, to Heaven, to Mikey, and sighs the world’s heaviest sigh. It sounds painful. When he finally tilts his head back down to you, it’s to say, “C-K.”
“Cicero.”
“Y’know why I’m able to pour mas queso into this fuckin’ kid?” He loosely gestures in the direction of Carmen, who in response seems to bite down a lot of venom. It’s bad to think he’s pretty when he’s annoyed, isn’t it?
You tilt your head, “Honestly, I always assumed some sort of mob association.”
Jimmy holds back his laughter, it comes out as a disgruntled cough. He shrugs. “It’s because when I saw your dad at the table, makin’” —He gestures to you— “That fuckin’ face, I knew to pull back.”
“You don’t need to pull back.” Your reply is a touch too panicked and instant for anyone’s liking, makes it a little less believable. But Cicero smirks, and you know that face as well as he knows yours. Check. He’s got you.
“Then speak on it.” And he pushes you forward, just slightly, like a slap of support on your back. You grimace, looking to Carm and Syd for permission to have opinions, and they both nod, like it’s obvious. With great hesitation, lips pressed together, you finally allow yourself to come off as judgy, opinionated, a fixer.
“I think the chargers are kinda stupid.”
A plate no one eats off of, that they still have to clean, that’s on top of another plate? Definitely super necessary. Definitely not some rich people NOMA bullshit.
You look to Syd, apologetic. She shrugs, open mouthed, head tilted, “I– I mean, I didn’t invent them.”
“It’s presentation.” Carmen nods, to himself. He doesn’t like to budge. “That first look at the table affects everything.”
“Yes.” You nod, directly across the counter from him. “I agree, I just think the plates are stupid.”
“You got somethin’ better?”
“Think so.” You hum, tilting your body back to yell to the back of the restaurant. “Ay, Cheech! Pass me a fuckin’ basket!”
It’s without hesitation that you hear, “Hut!” before even seeing the man. You see the blue basket being hurled towards you before you see the man. You catch it, albeit a bit clumsy, but you catch it.
You toss the basket on the table. Everyone stares. You defend yourself before anyone even criticizes it, “Easier to clean than plates, because you just need to rinse the plastic. Ties together a colour scheme, costs nothing, they’re gonna be tossed anyways.”
“It looks cheap.” Carmen tuts, but he really does seem to be trying to hear out the idea, despite his reservations.
“It looks purposeful.” You double down, leaning on the counter just so, “It carries a story, that we didn’t forget where we started.”
“Ooh.” Marcus, clocking in just in time, hums behind you. “Kind of a bar, Chef.”
“Thank you, Chef. Morning, Chef.” You fist bump him over your shoulder, not looking. Too focused on convincing the man before you, you let him think in silence for some time before asking. “Think on it?”
“No.” Carmen shakes his head, and you’re a little crestfallen, for a second. “It’s good. Let’s do the baskets, yeah—” He then remembers to ask for permission, he turns his head to Syd, “Yeah?”
“Yeah? Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah. Baskets are good.” Syd nods to Nat. “Can you look into, uh—”
“Returning the expensive as fuck earthenware shit? Happily.” Nat is far too cheery upon receiving a paperwork rabbit hole of a mission. She brushes past you, excitedly whispering, “Please keep going.”
“Oh, uh—” Are you some sort of thought leader now? “Well, uhm, I think I heard you sayin’” —You snap your fingers at The Computer, “That R and D cost is a little high?”
“A lot high.” He corrects.
“Kid with crayons.” Jimmy tuts, “Need to pull back a little.”
Carmen’s screwing and unscrewing the cap of a mason jar— Marmalade, it’s for Syd’s drink. He made it this morning, it’s labelled down to the minute. Just let him work on his fucking drinks menu, please God. He’s been dying for this moment and it’s being thrown off by this bullshit.
He can’t keep biting his tongue, “Hey, uh, why don’t you just tell us to do everything a little bit less so we can skip this and get back to work, huh?”
You hear Uncle Jimmy inhale as preparation to verbally beat Carmen’s ass. You put one hand up in front of the old man’s face, the other hand grabs a dry-erase marker. “He didn’t mean it like that and he apologizes, Unc.”
“Does he now?”
“He does.” You drop your hand, focusing on lifting the glass panel, clicking the locks in place to keep it up. You nod to Carmen through the pane. “Right, Carmy?”
Poor Carmen nearly deflates, “...I’m tryna be the guy.”
“Not what the guy does, baby boy.” You hum, uncapping the marker with your teeth. You turn your head to Cicero. “Guy had a lapse, he forgot you were his boss and just thought of you as family, so he spoke to you like family, cause he loves you, Unc.”
Cicero nods, tilting his head just so at Carmen. “S’that right?”
Carm manages to shake his head and nod all at the same time, “S’a facet.”
“....Well, just don’t do it again.” A crisis is averted and an uncle is softened.
“I love to see a family come together.” You hum, nonchalant, writing on the glass, ‘R & D - Cost: Bad’
“Bring it from bad to good.” The Computer notes very helpfully. “You can cut—”
“Hol’ on.” You put your index finger up, effectively shushing him, “Just think about it first. We don’t have to go straight to cutting. Let’s look at our options.”
“Your options are fucked.”
“Just—” You tut, rubbing the bridge of your nose, man, you really are becoming your dad right now. Loosen your grip, Jack. “Widen the scope. We cut costs through returning those chargers— How else can we ‘return’ shit? Carmy?”
Thank God you’re the guy, because Carm can’t hack it. “Heard? Yes?” And frankly, he doesn’t want to.
“What’s the main cost on R and D?”
“Supplies. Food— Y’know, lot of trial and error.” He nods to a bus tub filled with failed attempts over this morning’s session. But you like that, right? “Trying new things, y’know?”
“...Carmen.” He doesn’t answer, because he can hear he’s in trouble. He is staring at you stare at the tub in what seems like a sort of contemplative, serene, searing anger. “Sweetheart, are those four wagyu filets in a fuckin’ bus tub?”
“Yes, it’s got a blood orange reduction, but– But Syd suggested mint—”
You don’t let him finish, “Is it poison?”
“It’s not.” “It’s edible?” “It is.” “Okay, so then, babydoll, why is it not being eaten?”
Syd winces from the sidelines, hissing under her breath, fist over her mouth. Carmen cannot help but notice. You’re perhaps… a dash upset.
“We can’t eat everything.” “Did you offer it to the crew?” “Yeah—” “You offered it to Nat, Unc, Cheech— All the servers? Or did you just offer it to the cooks?” “...Heard.” “Did you take a bite of all of these?” “Not all.”
You start writing on the glass again, explaining as you do, “Okay. So then uneaten food from R and D should be sold on one of those fuckin’ food waste apps— Too Good to Go, or somethin’. We advertise it to The Beef regulars, try to get the other side of our city to understand the finer things, prevent any brick through window incidents, how we feel ‘bout that?”
You remember small things far too well. You did make note of the rich people shit getting on The Beef customers' nerves. You make note of the people who live on your block, who cannot afford to eat here. You make note of the fact that Carmen resents subtracting with a passion now, so you find another way. He can still try new things, just needs to handle the results better.
“...You keep a binder or somethin?” Is all Carmen can think to ask.
“Steel trap memory.” You tap the cap of the marker to your head, “Good though?”
He nods, “Good.”
“Good.” You take a breath, dragging a hand down your face, practically coming out of a fugue state. Carmen knows your need to have something to do, just as much as him, so he slides the jar of fig marmalade to you from across the table. You take it happily, unscrewing the lid. You’ve also been dying to get to this menu.
But Richie comes up from behind, scratch and sniff wine book in hand— Didn’t Mikey get you that? It was meant to be a gag gift but it’s actually quite useful. “Chip, can you also tell Chef Carmen the daily menu fuckin’ sucks?”
“Re-lax.” You sigh, pulling over all the ingredients and tools you need for Syd’s drink. “Syd told me ‘bout this though, daily pre fixe, or whatever it’s called?”
“It’s—” Carmen crosses his arms over himself, immediately defensive but trying his best not to be. “It’s an idea I’m floating, for now— It’s what the best restaurants do, and— And even if we don’t have full intent on getting a star, right now, it’s still important.”
“I just think…” You hum, trying to figure out the most delicate way to say it. “It doesn’t exactly give you the most room to collaborate or create—”
“The whole point of it is to collaborate and create—”
“Oh yes,” —As if waiting in the wings for this, Richie pops out behind you again, “What wasssit? ‘Vibrant Collaboration’ and ‘Constantly Evolve Through Eating My Own Head like a fucking ouroboros’.”
“Relax.” You hiss this time, putting a hand up in front of Richie. You can speak for yourself. “You don’t have time to be creative or collaborate when you’ve gotta make decisions in less than twelve hours.”
Carmen tries to defend, he gestures to the one good plate of wagyu with mint that came out of this morning, “But the—”
You nod and hum, knowingly. The sweet sound stops him. You already know the answer, but you ask anyway, as you scoop fig marmalade into your cocktail shaker. “Did you get to try the pop rocks thing yet?”
“Well, no, it’s not viable to perfect that in such—”
“A short amount of time, angel?”
“Oooh…” Richie mimics Syd’s movements, air whistling between his teeth as he takes a sharp breath. He gestures, standing behind you, staring at Carmen as he slides his thumb across his neck. He mouths, ‘Mad mad.’
Carmen’s two closest friends are freaking him the fuck out and one of them wasn’t even doing it on purpose. How do they know that? How can they tell that? Are you gonna break up with him? Are you even dating? This work together thing was a terrible idea—
“You don’t have time to be thoughtful about things, if you do an entire menu every day, you’re gonna have to cut corners on what you’re willing to experiment with.” You reword, more productive, better for his brain. “Plus, prix fixe is a fuckin— In—In my opinion, is sort of a lacking idea, maybe, for a new restaurant.”
Carmen’s willing to give up the daily rotation, he’s not so willing to give up the pre fixe. “It’s what the best restaurants do.” Carmen loves the word best, huh?
“Have those restaurants—” You bite your tongue from what was going to be an immediate catty response.
You try again, measuring out orange liqueur and lemon juice as you do so. “You’re thinking like a Chef and you need to think like a customer— A- A guest, for a second.”
Carmen gives you the floor, mostly because he cannot compute the command. You continue, “Let’s do a little roleplay, alright? Let’s say we’re just average people, not workin’ at The Bear, and we’re goin’ on a date.”
“When?” “...When?” “When is the date?” “No, I’m— It’s— This is hypothetical.” “Yeah but in the hypothetical.”
You shrug, clicking tongs together as you grab large chunks of ice for your shaker. “I dunno, Friday nights? We have like a Friday night date night.”
“Oh, so you’re doing good.” Richie hums, proud of this hypothetical you, “Weekly date night is a cornerstone.”
“Moving on.” You elbow Rich behind you, shaker sloshing in hand, “I’m not a foodie, you are— In this hypothetical. You’re looking around at restaurants in the area for the date, you find The Bear— You find through their website with an improper hyperlink that the menu is,” —You list off on your free hand— “prix fixe, unavailable online, and changes daily so you can’t go off of reviews either. Also, it’s a new place, so you can’t really ask around for opinions.”
“Right.” Carmen nods, as does Syd. Uncle Jimmy’s got that stupid smirk he gets when he sees his kids fall in line. You pour the ouzo over the ice, focus on the drink, not Carm’s mopey expression.
“So, we probably wouldn’t go, right?”
Carmen keeps nodding, eyes downcast— Not upset, just can’t take feedback without keeping his head down. “Prob’ly not, yeah.”
You pound the shaker shut, shaking it lightly in one hand as you try as hard as you can to sweetly explain. “People are open to like, two surprises on an outing. New place, new food— But they will need a set menu and they will need to have it available beforehand— And they’ll need to be able to choose.”
He looks like a cat in the rain, so you add, “But. Maybe we can do a daily special? Or weekly, depending on burnout, but like, y’know, a semi-frequent one new thing. And maybe on like, Valentines or some holidays we do a fresh prix fixe. That’s how some of the best places do it.”
Carmen’s eyes upturn, smiling with them, at that last part. “You do keep a binder.”
“Syd does. I just pay attention.” You shake your head. “She mumbled about it all night when we got back.”
Adamu is immediately aghast, she should’ve realized ages ago, you were practically quoting her. “You said you couldn’t hear me!”
“No, I said you weren’t bothering me, and you weren’t.” You can’t hide your smile as you break the seal on the shaker. Syd sucks at sharing her ideas, but you’re happy to act as a good mouth for her good brain. “Hand me a lowball.”
With a grumble, Syd walks off in search of the lowball; while everyone does seem to agree this is best practice, Carmen does still seem a little sore about it.
“It’d probably also serve us well to do a seasonally rotating menu, right?” And so you throw him a bone. “Like Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall? Base it on what’s in season with local vendors?”
“What grows together goes together.” Tina says, nearly sing-songy. “Farmer’s market is rough though, Jeff.”
“Fuck a farmer’s market— With love, fuck a farmer’s market.” Back to writing on plexiglass you go. “We gotta do vendors, maybe f’ like, eggs and dairy we can do farmer’s market, but it’s just not feasible. Maybe for holiday pre fixe or daily specials? But full stock, it’s just not— It’s not it. And I say that while having farm fresh eggs and local honey in my pantry, alright?”
Carmen agrees, like a bobble-head this guy. He nods to Tina. “That cool with you, T?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool with me.” Tina is a millisecond off to pipe in, which is really not noticeable– To anyone but you, that is.
“Why’s— Why would T not be good with that?”
“She’s in charge of farmer’s market.”
“Hm.” You bite the end of the dry-erase marker. “T, would you be cool with rotating that, now and again?”
“Ooh?” She tilts her head, shrugging, “Yeah, yeah, kid. If you wanna take the reins.”
“Not me.” You return to scribbling on the glass board. You point at Carmen and Syd through the glass. “Them.”
“I’ve paid my sous chef dues.” Says Syd, returning to the table with your glass. You tut, shaking your head. You refocus your vision from your writing to beyond the plexiglass, at them.
“You need it for inspiration! You fuckers keep forgetting you like cooking, I need you to visit the farmer’s market once in a while to remind you.” You take the lowball glass and tong a few ice cubes in. “Non-negotiable. Heard?”
A soft, simultaneous, “Heard, Chef.” from your cats.
“Good.” You strain the mixed concoction out of the shaker, into the lowball glass. It’s a very pretty peachy pink. You tweezer a slice of dried fig and place it on top. You grab a toothpick, stick it down the glass, pull it out, and taste the toothpick. Balanced, solid flavour, should be good.
You slide the drink over to Syd. “I can’t drink everything obviously, so first dibs goes to whoever the drink is based on— I don’t care who drinks it, just let me know if it goes down smooth.”
You also in turn hand Syd the recipe card and sketch, and you’re quick to move on as she reviews and sips away.
Ouzo. Dry anise tasting spirit. It’s got a licorice aftertaste, but oddly sweeter for it. It’s strong. Resilient. It’s made from remnants of unfermented wine grapes and a mix of other distilled and unused spirits. Better than the sum of its parts. It goes well with figs. Muddle it together with fig marmalade— Sweet yet earthy, spring-like. Orange liqueur to marry the flavours, lemon juice to brighten. Shaken, pour over ice into a lowball, serve with a dried fig on top.
Syd manages to reserve her reaction to a slow but repetitive nod, like entering deep space. She only comes back to reality when Richie reaches for the drink, wanting to try. She’s quick to pull it away from him, coveting the glass.
“Ah… what else? Rapid fire.” You knock your head around, remembering what The Computer talked about, and in quick succession, you line up every problem and talk through them, possibly solve them— As best as a newbie can. At the very least, you open the floor to actual discussions as you make drinks all the while.
“Opening a full sixth day I think will shoot us in the long run, especially if we ever get a kitchen plague going. Maybe we just open for half the day on Mondays going forward, try out breakfast? Stop booing me, I’m right.”
Richie’s. Also served over ice in a lowball. It’s similar to a whiskey smash. Nixing the mint. Whiskey bourbon— A good one, but not too good that it’s a sin to mix. Something with a cinnamon spice, that's warm all the way down, but never burns. Water it down a bit by stirring peach juice over the whiskey with ice for a brief moment. Float blueberry syrup on top. Add a toothpick, spearing two blueberries and one peach halve, balance it over the glass, for stirring. So the drinker can mix the blueberry syrup in and have a cute colour changing experience.
“Wine pours, me and Gary got that. We can also just start charging by the bottle by default— Whatever works.”
Marcus’. Simple but effective. A rum and coke ice cream float. Made complex by the fact that the ice cream is on a rotating schedule, based on whatever Chef Brooks is feeling that night and what’s in stock. Right now? Pistachio. So tonight it’s actually rum and seltzer, and it will probably continue to be rum and seltzer, based on the way Marcus’ eyes light up by the opportunity to get weird. More often than not, you’re going to need that neutral base. Served in a milkshake glass, because what else?
“I don’t understand why I couldn’t just grow these microgreens myself in house. They’re just plants you murder early, are they not? Am I missing something?”
Tina’s. Varied take on a spiked agua fresca. Fresh blended mango agua fresca— With ginger, of course. A healthy kick is a necessity for a mom drink. Sweetened with simple syrup, spiked with white rum, dash of agave bitters, top with coconut water. Served in a tall glass, because why would you skimp on portions?
“Why are we shipping flowers from New York? No, fuck that, go to Violet’s Violets— I fixed her cooler once, she falls in love and gives a discount to literally anyone who’s nice to her. Just send Marcus with some dessert and you’ll be set for life.”
And of course, Carmen’s aperol spritz. You go with the cherry syrup rim for now because it’s important to try. You’re almost certain it’s too much though.
“Napkins…” You rub your icy cold hands— From shaking up so many goddamn drinks— Over your eyes. “Why are we renting?”
“Buying is insanely overpriced.” Answers Computer.
You nod, shrug, but nod, fingers tapping the glass, “Well, it’s like renting over owning right? It might be better to own because, y’know, you might suddenly get told by your napkin vendor, like, like years down the line, after basically paying for these napkins in full through rent, ‘hey, actually, we’re gonna jack up prices or just take those napkins back’ even though you’ve —again— Literally had them for years—”
“Chippy, are you good?” Richie tries to massage your shoulder, tries to break you out of the doom spiral, but admittedly, it was never his forte. Still isn’t.
“We—!” Your voice hangs and is grating in a way it usually isn’t, ignoring the question. “We can produce our own napkins if we buy linens by the yard and hem ‘em ourselves. We—” You snap your fingers a couple times at Carmen, praying he backs you up. “We can even get The Bear monogrammed on them.”
“That sounds nice…” It’s Carmen’s turn to ease you off the ledge of insanity, gently. “It also sounds expensive, were you gonna do that?”
“Fuck no.” You’re quick to shake your head. “I fucking suck at sewing, my own jumpsuit is covered in my blood— No, my—” Oh. “Hold on.”
Your hand immediately goes for your back pocket, quickly pulling your cell-phone out, and dial one of your first starred contacts. Richie, over your shoulder still, sipping his blueberry and bourbon cocktail, excitedly mumbles. “Oh, put it on speaker.”
You’re annoyed before he’s even answered, knowing the headache you’re about to get. “Trust me, the first thirty seconds minimum will not need—”
“Hey!” It’s impossible to convey how earth shatteringly loud and drawn out his voice is, immediately upon answering. There may be eight seconds of the sustained vowel? Maybe more. Almost everyone flinches, par for Syd, Carm, and Rich. Though for all different reasons.
A touch grating, in the same way your voice just was. Like father, like occasional daughter, you suppose. “Hey kiddo baby darling sweetheart angel princess—” Oh, he’s mad. The whole ‘slew of nicknames when you’re pissed off’ thing? Yeah, that didn’t start with you. “Did someone die? Because that’s the only reason my darling baby only daughter calls anymore!”
You sigh, immediately exhausted, putting your weight on one leg. “Y’know, once a month is honestly a lot of times a year for a fully grown woman to call their dad, on average. I absolutely call you more than my friends call their dads.”
Richie almost chokes and whispers over your shoulder, hesitant, internally preparing for a dreadful future. “Please tell me that’s not true.”
“Oh, and you should be so lucky that you have a dad to call! Cause I bet those friends are calling funeral homes, aren’t they?!”
“Dad—”
“I should have never taught you independence. Worst mistake of my life to teach you how to be your own person. Richard, never teach your kid how to use a screwdriver, it will be the last day you are a father.”
“Noted, Big C-K.” Richie goes for your dry erase to actually write it down, you pull it away from him. That’s gonna require a long talk down later.
Carmen mouths to you, across the table, he meant to ask earlier when Cicero said it but there wasn’t time. ‘C-K?’
You mouth back, gesturing to the logo on your very own flannel ‘Chicago’s Kindest.’ He’s not the best with acronyms.
“Oh— And thank you for bringing that up! And what’s this I hear about you cutting your hours with C-K? I hear this from Tony of all people ‘fore I hear it from you?”
“I got a long-term bartender gig that’s actually gonna keep my bills paid, alright? And I like it. Putting that mixology double trade major to good use. Cicero’s got stock in the place, actually.”
“How you doin’ C-K?” Cicero pipes in next to you, waiting for his moment.
“Ah… I’ve got my complaints. For one, my Jack keeps you more company than me!”
There’s a series of hums and haws, that weird uncle secret language of heavy exhales that manage to say more than any actual words they could say.
You let the heaving run its course for ten seconds before cutting it short with, “Anyways, I’m still gonna keep the business running, just only in the mornings. It’s not like I brought in that much business anyway, I’m not pulling a foundation.”
“Everytime a small business dies, a rich man laughs, Jack!”
“It’s not dying! It’s alive! It’s present and alive!” Don’t get flashbacks. “Anyways, speaking of small businesses, I need a favour—”
“Ooh, the truth comes out, princess calls cause she needs bail—”
“For the love of God, let me get through a sentence, Pops!” You grumble, continuing. “Remember that overpriced monogram machine you bought for no reason?”
“It was not for no reason, it was invaluable because it saved my mitts from hand embroidering all those logos— And and— you have to remember—” You mouth the words along with him, mimicking him, because you know exactly what he’s going to say, “that it all starts in your community— And now you have like eight beautiful outfits, cause of me… And also it’s fun.”
“Well… If it’s fun, would you consider making some linen napkins?”
And it flows like ping pong, because your dad is a repairman— Well, former, but still. He’s simple. He handles negotiations simple. So do you.
“For who?” “Restaurant. The Bear.” “Why?” “Cause they need linen napkins.” “How many?”
You look over your shoulder to Richie, he does the math in his head pretty quickly, “Bout seventy to a hundred covers a night.”
“Six hundred.” “Pay?” “We’ll pay supplies, and I’ll give you like—” You look to Syd, expectantly. She has no answer, so you put your advanced on the line. “A thousand?”
“A thousand!? Less than a dollar a napkin! Is this pre-housing crisis?!” “I work here, okay?! Discount me!” “My God, princess, are you in love with the owner or something?”
That world feels like it's choking, but that's probably just you. You blow hot air out of your mouth, looking anywhere but Carmen. Refusing to see him even in your periphery. Refusing to see his blue screened but ever so slightly expectant expression. Well? Are you? …Or something?
After a long moment, you find a way to avoid the question. “Ah–Uh, Syd co-owns the place.”
“Oh, Adamu?!”
Syd pipes in, leaning over the table. You hold the phone out for her. “H–Hey, Mr. CK.” She waves, despite the fact that it’s a phone call.
“Hey kiddo. Aw, what a sweetheart. Lead with her next time!”
“Alright!” You bring the phone back to your face— It’s remained off speakerphone this entire time, but he continues to yell loud enough for the table. “I didn’t realize you were best friends.”
“Of course we are. Y’know she brought me this uh– this salmon mushroom risotto the other night? Unbelievable.”
You squint at Adamu curiously, whispering. “You bring my dad food?”
She whispers in return, defensive. “He lives on my block, don’t be weird.”
“For her, I’ll do it for eight-hundred, okay kiddo? I know how tough it is to start up a business, can’t imagine trying to move on top of that.”
Your turn to blue screen. Moving? You’re immediately over the love thing. “...Pardon?”
“...I’ll do it for eight—”
“No– Yes, sorry, yes dad that’s great—” You arch the phone away from your face, focusing your attention on Syd. “Syd, you’re moving out?”
She sighs, “Trying to.”
“Pops.” You straighten up, not looking away from her. “I’ll call you back to sort details later, okay?”
“Sure. You also need to let me know holiday plans, are we going up to Oak Park or—”
Somewhat disrespectfully, you speak hurriedly, “Yeah, we’ll figure it out, love you, bye!” and hang up. Still locked on Syd, you ask. “When you tryna move?”
“Like, soon as possible.” She stretches out her shoulders. “My own dad is sort of… Encroaching on my space.”
“Right.” Your eyes flicker with too many ideas, and you’re trying to temper expectations. “You wanna live by yourself?”
“I mean, I don’t really know anyone on the same timeline as me, with the same ‘low budget’ as me.”
The Computer attempts to interrupt the interruption of his review, holding a finger up, “And why are we talking about—”
But you hold the palm of your hand up, continuing on, “I need to move out asap and have a ‘low budget’.”
That’s Carmen’s queue to chime in, he loves your place. “What happened?”
Also Richie’s, “What? Chip, your spot’s like a historical site, ya can’t move.” and this is generally agreed upon by a sea of dismayed voices.
“To make an extremely long story short, I don’t have a choice.” You wave your hand in the air, silencing murmurs. “My sweet old lady landlord— The only landlord I’ve ever respected, got bought out by a fuckin’ big business gentrification ass company— I’m not in a rent controlled zone so they’re gonna keep jacking the rent until I move out so they can tear it down and build a new spot— They also may or may not have found out that me and Loretta— My landlord— Haven’t exactly been keeping up to date on my lease.”
“Meaning?” Carmen knows the answer will be bad.
But it’s somehow worse. “Meaning I pay my rent on time in cash and she texts me once a year saying ‘do you want to keep living here?’ and I say ‘yes’, and we continue on.”
“Well, hold up—” Richie holds a hand up, like he’s a genius. “Squatter’s rights?”
“I thought about going that avenue, but—” You gesture to Syd. “If you’re already moving, and looking for a roommate?”
She looks up and around, thinking about it. You decide to join her in the brainstorm, scooching yourself just an inch to the right, writing on free space on the plexiglass screen, ‘pros and cons’
“Pro.” You murmur as you write. “I have a better credit score than you.”
Syd sputters, half sarcastic. “Well, that’s just uncalled for.”
“It’ll give you more options for places! Better ones! Ones with in-unit laundry!” You defend.
“In-unit laundry…” “Your eyes just lit up in such a sad way.” “Con. You are an ass.”
“That’s a pro. A real con would be that I have a lot of plants and if I ever go on vacation I’m gonna need you to take care of them, and I’m not gonna have a binder for you, because I water them based on vibes, and if I come back and they’re dying I’m gonna be pissed off and very passive aggressive about it.”
“Violently honest.” “Pro. Mostly direct. Aside from when I’m not.” “Con. I’m not direct.”
“Con. That’s fine but if I get the idea that you’re mad at me I’m gonna act really weird about it until you reassure me that everything is okay and you don’t want to throw me out the window.”
“Yeah. Con. Same.”
“Pro. I’ve lived by myself for a while, which is good to have when you’re moving out of your parents for the first time. Con. I’ve lived by myself for a while, and I’m very used to the lifestyle of big t-shirt no pants, I’m not giving that up.”
Now that one takes Syd a second to unpack, “But, but like, underwear though, right—?”
“No shit I wear underwear!”
“Okay! It’s important to note!”
“Don’t be weird.” Richie grumbles behind you, solidly directed at Carmen.
Who’s whole face really just scrunches up in confusion. “‘Don’t be weird’? You don’t be weird.”
“I’m not bein’ fuckin’ weird—” “Then why are you up in my shit—” “Up in your shit? Oh wow—” “Fully not what I was referencing—” “Don’t be weird, cousin!” “I literally— I did not even move— Not a single cell in my body—” “And— And you only know that ‘cause you had to lock it down, you dog—”
“I don’t remember having kids, why the fuck am I in a Kindergarden?” Uncle Jimmy interrupts.
“I’m just takin’ care of my boy, Unc.” Richie raises a hand in defense, feigning innocence. “Can’t be too careful.”
“You super can, and you super are.” You grimace, elbowing him again. “And also, not important–!”
“Actually, no, very important.” Syd of all people interrupts. “Non-negotiable, like you can’t— …Like you— …When I’m home it’s like— Don’t—” Ah.
You roll your eyes and save her before she just about breaks out in a feverish sweat. “Syd, I wasn’t planning on it. That’s like roommate rule one.”
“Syd.” Richie points to his own eyes, then to hers, ‘watching you’. “Don’t be weird.”
“What the fuck—”
“Everyone shut up, pros and cons—!” You shout, gaining the attention back. “Pros. I have a car, we work at the same place, I have all the furniture for a living room already, you'd never have to wait for a landlord to fix something ever again, and I could probably do a bunch of D-I-Y renter friendly projects, if you wanted.”
“...Oh my god, a French-door pantry.” “I think I could swing that.” “Pros. You’ll never have to cook again. I guess that’s my only pro, actually.”
“Con. I have been feeding the cat on my fire escape for like a year and if I’m moving I am going to have to adopt her, so we’re gonna have a cat. She’s cute, she has five toes on each paw. Something dactyl, it’s called.”
“What’s her name?” Squid’s not excited per se, but she’s not saying no.
You shrug. “I never named her, let’s name her together.”
“No, that’s too much pressure—” “No, you’ll do great—” “What do you mean I’ll do great—?” “Three–” “Oh like together together? No! What—?!” “Shut up, just do it, head empty, two—” “No! I’m just not gonna say any—” “Yes you will, Squid. One!”
And together, perfectly in sync, like it was planned all along, you both say on queue, “Calamari!”
“There we go.” You write ‘Calamari’ on the plexiglass. “That’s my girl— That’s our girl, actually. I’m still not sure if she’s a girl.”
You click your tongue against your teeth, knocking your head back and forth in thought as you look at the scribblings on the glass. “Non-negotiables?”
Syd leans forward on the table, chin propped up in her hands. “I need forty-five minutes of bathroom time at the beginning of the day.”
“...Do you have a fuckin’ lactose intolerance?” “It’s my me time!” “Alright! Fuckin’ fifty minutes of toilet time for Syd. Ah, I need east facing windows… and uhm…”
Syd stares at you, and alas, she can tell, “You have a big non-negotiable…”
“It’s not that big… It’s more a group thing than a roommate thing, really…” “What is it?” “I think… It would be fun… If we all started playing Dungeons and Drag—”
There’s an immediate, staggeringly loud array of groans, you’re still writing it down nonetheless, all the while defending, “I honestly think a little roleplay and math would fix you assholes! I really think it would! I’ll D-M, I’ll make it so easy— Please?”
Syd grimaces, but inevitably nods. “Y’know what, you’re never gonna get a concrete schedule for that down, and no one else is gonna agree so yes, sure from me.” Still a win.
“Okay.” You hum, capping the marker. “So… Aim to move first of February? You down?”
It takes some time, and you realize as Syd’s brain frozen, that you might be overstepping. “Sorry, that’s going too fast, you think on it—”
“...I’m down.” You make it very easy for her to say yes, by giving her the option to say no. “Yeah, let’s do it. February. I’m down.”
“I’m so happy for you two, but I’m still fuckin’ reeling— Chippy, it’s– it’s— So many memories—” Richie’s being overly dramatic on purpose, hand on your shoulder, really laying on the vocal fry in his voice; but it is true. “I mean, come on, first time I’d ever been stabbed was on your block.”
“Sorry, what?” Carmen was having fun watching his two favourite employees figure out they’d be perfect roommates. He loves to be a fly on walls around you more than he’d like to admit. Richie managed to ruin it with one line. “Stabbed on your block?”
“Yeah,” You suck the air between your teeth, trying to think of some sort of white lie, but slowly shake your head, “I— Yeah, there’s no real way for me to down play it, I was so fuckin’ scared.”
“You were tweaking!” Richie laughs, clapping his hand against your shoulder, to him it’s a charming story— You’d probably be laughing too, if Carmen didn’t seem so… unpleased, let’s say. “You fuckin’ thought I was gonna die!”
“You fucking were!” You slap Rich’s hand away. “It was so close to a cerebral artery— First and last time I’ll administer stitches in my fucking kitchen, hand to God—”
“What’s the story?” Oh, new face from Carmen you haven’t seen before, bewildered annoyance, you’d describe it as, it’s going in your bottom five. “You live in a bad neighbourhood?”
“It’s rustic—” You try, but Richie opts to speak on your behalf. “Oh, Chip lives in a terrible neighbourhood, Cousin. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”
“Yeah but it didn’t seem that bad— No— Hold on, go back, stabbed why?”
“So I heroically defended a boy from crooked—” Richie tries, but you opt to speak on his behalf. “Richie was helping me bring up groceries, we saw some highschoolers shaking a kid down, Richie tried to break it up, one of ‘em stabbed him with one of those shitty switchblade comb things.”
“You got stabbed by a kid?” Syd snorts, but immediately regrets it because she has perfectly set him up for—
“Yeah, and wouldn’t be the last time, would it?”
“Richie, c’mon…” You reach up, patting the guy’s shoulder. “It was an accident and she apologized—”
Richie just raises his eyebrows, interrupting with a simple, “Mm-mm.”
And so yours raise in tow, “...Fuck you mean ‘mm-mm’?” And your head turns to Syd, alarmed. “Syd, you apologized, right?”
Her mouth just sort of hangs, sputtering noises do come out of it, but nothing that strings a sentence together. You grow more agog, repeating again, astonished, nearly laughing from the shock, “Syd?! You apologized, right?! And told him it was an accident, right?”
Syd takes a beat, but she gets there. “I— I. Am. Sorry I stabbed you by accident, Richie.”
“Hm.” Richie crosses his arms, considering, mostly sarcastically. “Yeah, I’ll take it, I guess. Would’ve liked a card.”
“I am not getting you a card.” “I’m jus’ sayin’ I’d’ve liked one.”
Carmen’s still five steps behind, “Are you gonna be fine living there? In January?”
You choke back a laugh, because this is how men try to show they care, one must imagine. “I’ve been fine for the past handful of years living there, I think I’ll be fine for another month, sweetheart.”
“Crime is bad in January.”
“I was a first responder, and I know that’s not true.” You shake your head, shirking off laughter. “It’s actually in the summer that you see shit go down. Again, I will be fine. But you are free to visit.”
“Point of order.” The Computer finally pipes up again— Might’ve forgot he was here, if you’re honest. “What are we talking about anymore?”
“Point of order— I feel like numbers— Talking numbers is great but it’s all just like— Paper, y’know?” You unlatch the plexiglass, gently settling it back down on the table. “We should be talking more.”
Tina nearly whistles in agreement, nodding by your side. “Heavy that, Jeff.”
“That’s what I’m sayin’, like—” You snap your fingers to the rest of the crew, hand moving to and fro to point at everyone, “Did y’all know until right now that Syd was moving? …No, right? Let’s like— Fuckin’ remember to check in, like y’know, family, Chefs.”
And without calling her out, you can feel Tina’s demeanor next to you change, relaxed.
“Heard, Chef.” Is the agreement from the crew, however, The Computer nor Cicero seem convinced, so with a sigh, you put on your most authoritative voice.
“Y’know. Three Cs! Caring cuts costs!” A phrase no one has ever said, but it sounds legitimate when you put it like that. That gets them to acquiesce.
Thank God, Marcus helps you move the conversation along, “...What’s everyone doing for the holidays?” Alas for both of you, the silence is deafening. “...Or not.”
You volley back for him, “If no one has hard plans I was thinking of having a lil’ Holiday party? Nothing big. Sort of a ‘goodbye old apartment’ party? Come by after you hang out with your families or whatever?”
“Not gonna go up to Oak Park?” Rich leans one arm on your shoulder, nursing his whiskey cocktail in the other.
“Meh.” You shrug, attempting to push him off you, but he doubles down. “We’re not so intense about holidays since everyone’s aged. I’ll visit my nephew on New Years.”
“I’m doin’ Eve with Eva, but I’ll be free on the day. I’ll come by. We doin’ gifts?”
“I mean I got you something, so,” You tap the bottom of his glass as Rich takes another sip, making him flinch. “Catch the fuck up.”
Syd pipes in, sniffing. “Me and my dad only celebrate on Christmas Eve now, so I’ll come.”
“Incredible. Two down.” You gesture to Marcus and Tina across the table. “You guys? Tina I assume you’ve got a loving family and shit?”
Tina smiles and nods, rightfully proud. “I do have a loving family and shit, but maybe I’ll come by late with them too?”
And Marcus tacks on with her, “I’m gonna be with my mom most of the night, but I’ll come through for a couple hours.”
“Perfect, perfect. Invites open to any plus ones as long as you text me first!” You hum, writing names down on the glass board. It’s kind of a nightmare of different lists at this point. “Richie, can you make sure Fak and Sweeps get the invite?”
“Yessir.”
“And us!?” Shrieks Cheech in the back, who really shouldn’t be able to hear you, he should be in the zone, slinging sandwiches.
You yell back without turning to him. “Yes, fucker, you and E can come, if you want! No fuckin’ plus one for you though!”
“Oh come the fuck on, Jack-Off!”
“Oh, make me a fuckin’ sandwich, big man!”
“Oh, I’ll make you a fuckin’ sandwich!”
“Oh, my dick!” A response that makes no sense, consistently the perfect bookend. You sigh, and finally, your eyes flit to the most terrified two in the room. “Berzattos… Holiday plans?”
“I think we’re gonna do dinner on Christmas Eve, and then the morning together? Well, I am.” Sug hesitates, she’s looking between Uncle Jimmy and Carmen. “I was gonna ask what Carm’s plan is…”
“I’ll go. I’ll go.” Carmen has to stop himself from biting the skin off the tips of his fingers. “I’ll go. And I’ll come to the party, after.”
“I’ll probably just go home with Pete after. Baby’s first Christmas, y’know.” Natalie hums and nods awkwardly. There’s a question both of them want to ask. Neither of them are brave enough to ask it. And while you can sense there’s something dancing in the air, you’re not going to overstep on this front.
“Mazel. I can buy silly decor with reason now. …Now let’s talk about the important grievances.” You hum, happy to end that chapter.
You turn just slightly to gently slap Richie’s cheek as he stands next to you. “Rich, you need to line your beard up, this neckbeard shit is pissing me off—”
“What’s with the fuckin’ drive by?!” “It’s been on my mind forever— You can’t be wearin’ suits and then be rockin’ that unkempt shit, clean up—” “I’m clean! I’m fucking clean!” “Who said? Who fuckin’ said? Cause I sure didn’t!” “How’m I s’posed to be linin’ my shit up every mornin’—” “You do not grow a beard that fast—” “Oh fuck you, I’m not fuckin’ Carmen, I grow a fuckin’ beard.”
Carmen’s just surprised to hear his name out of any name come up. “What– Now that’s a fucking drive by, what the fuck?”
“If we’re voicing grievances, I’d like to voice my fuckin’ complaint with Captain Crash-Out over here—” “Who the fuck is sublimating now?” “You’re not usin’ that term correctly, cause you’re not integrated—” “I thought you two worked this out on the road trip!” “We did!”
You only half regret starting this feud with the beard comment— To be fair, you’re right. “This is it working?”
“This is, in fact, it working.” Syd confirms plainly, her disappointment more than apparent. Rubbing the tips of her fingers to her temples. The fight is out of her, at this point.
“Alright.” You slap your hands together. “Richie, what is your complaint?” Are you just union rep now? You might be a union rep now.
“Carmen is fucking killing me.” The cocktail swishes and nearly spills as Richie points at the Chef, emphatic. “He won’t change shit for guests!”
“No substitutions!” It’s almost cultish, the way Sydney and Carmen yell it out together.
Richie scoffs, head reeling back. “What happened to it bein’ about hospitality?”
“I mean…” You suck air through your teeth, squinting. “If we’re sayin’ no substitutions, it’s no substitutions— Unless it’s like an allergy or sensory thing— But even then, it shouldn’t be like a major component getting replaced.”
“See? See?” It’s almost maniacal, rabid, how delighted Carmen is that you’re on his side. “Fuckin’ thank you. This is why I lo—”
Before Carmen can finish his sentence, Richie flails about to suddenly throw the peach and blueberry skewer from his drink at Carmen— Not the pointed side, he doesn’t want to stab the guy. Just wants to save him from running his mouth. The peach slice hits Carm’s chest as Richie stutters out, “F-Fuck you, fuck you, fine. No substitutions— What the fuck am I supposed to say then?” speaking over whatever syllables fell out of Carmen’s mouth, muddling them.
You cock your brow, but Carmen seems to quickly let the childish toss go, more than eager to move on. So you do too. “...Say some bullshit like, like, The Bear encourages —uhm— explorative culinary experiences where you let your taste buds go beyond your limitations and comforts— So eat a fuckin’ mushroom, you’re not gonna die.”
“If they don’t like mushrooms—” “Then they shouldn’t order it!” “How hard is it to just fuckin’ switch it out!?” “So hard! So hard! I think! I could guess!”
“I could do it.”
“Could you?” You cross your arms, leaning your weight onto one leg, pivoting to Richie. “Okay, roleplay, you’re Carmen, I’m you—” Just as Richie opens his mouth, you hold your index finger to his lips. “I know you wanna be a bitch, I’m askin’ you to just skip that part for me.”
His shit eating grin is only a little endearing. “How am I supposed to be in character if I’m not allowed to be a bitch?”
You clench and unclench your hands in the air, but let it go, opting to move on to your little thought experiment. “Chef, patient—” Instincts never give out, huh? “Christ, patron doesn’t want mushrooms in their anolini, I need you to sub it.”
“Ah, well I’m happy to do that for you, Host Richie, I—” He’s going to go into some scathing spiel, and you love the guy, but you have to rub dirt in the wound for the lesson to stick.
You speak over him, voice stern, “Chef. In order to keep pace, I need you to make this call in fifteen seconds, what are you subbing it for?”
Richie’s head shakes back and forth as he scrambles to get his brain to work.“Fuckin— Fucking– Eggplant.”
“Eggplant?” You ask politely, tone unsure. Carmen asks it with you, tone ridiculing.
“It’s a sauce isn’t it?” You squint, turning your head to the actual Carmen. “It’s like a really thick mushroom sauce stuffed pasta?”
He tilts his head from side to side, but nods. In gist, yes. “It’s a ragout. Low and slow cooked stew—” Carmy’s ready to rave about it and teach you every facet of the dish, but perhaps that’s too romantic for a public setting. God, he’s weird about love. “We keep it going on our back burners all day— It takes an hour minimum to make from scratch, you can’t just sub it.”
“Yeah, well…” Richie stops himself short of getting snarky for no reason all over again, taking a second to think about it. “Well, I didn’t know that. You didn’t explain that shit to me.”
“I don’t have time to hold your fuckin’ hand—” Carmen stops short of getting catty when you give him a very soft and yet gutting disappointed look. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sniffing. “I can’t explain why I do everythin’ I do when I’m— When we’re in a middle of a rush, I just need you to trust when kitchen says we can’t do it. Trust that I thought it through.”
Richie has to control himself, has to make sure the corners of his mouth don’t upturn just slightly, has to make sure it’s not clear that he is overjoyed that there’s finally middle ground, can’t get his hopes up. He nods. “I just wanna make everyone happy, y’know?”
“I know. You’re—” Carmen’s nose scrunches up for a second, God, he’s never had to say that he think’s Richie’s good to his face. And he’s not gonna start now, “Eggplant would be a good sub, if we had time.”
Richie prods his tongue along the side of his cheek, thinking. “Maybe I could look into knowin’ restrictions faster and estimatin’ their orders, so you can have ‘em on deck?”
And Carmen does think that’d be a waste of time, but he’s learning. He hears it out. “Could give it a shot, yeah.”
“Same team.” Richie reaches across the counter, and Carmen actually takes his hand, a quick dap. Civil.
“Same team.” First time you’ve heard Carmen adopt your idiom; you can’t help but smile, though you’re trying to hide it. You’re too focused on arguably the two most important men in your life to notice the silent conversation Uncle Jimmy is having with The Computer, speaking solely through nods and exchanged glances.
Pay is for Chip. Cicero nods, and The Computer nods back. He gets it now. Pay is for Chip. Not just the mixologist, not just the sommelier, not just the repairman, not just the not-quite girlfriend, Chip. You’re Chip. You’re the cog, the piece. The grease between everyone.
You’re the guy. Always have been, always will be.
The silent conversation and the warm feeling in the room is cut short though, by The Computer. “Can she deal with the butter thing?”
“What the fuck is the butter thing?” You immediately jump onto the case, when Carmen looks down and away from you, you frown, leaning in. “What’s the butter thing?”
Jimmy snaps his fingers at The Computer, he hands him an invoice, which is then handed off to you. Old Major Farms, Orwellian Butter, salted and unsalted. $11,268. You just. Stare. The math comes all too easy to your head. Worth a week?
“It’s the best.” Carmen repeats as your eyes remain worryingly unblinking. “It’s—”
“Carm.” Syd all but hisses, shaking her head in tight swivels, waving her hand around her neck for him to cut it. “Making it worse.”
“Angel is like, the worst it can get.” Hums Richie. Recalling your barometer of anger. Recalling the times when Mikey would say ‘what’s the point of paying bills?’ And you’d have to pull him aside. “Can’t get much lower than that besides—”
“Light of my life.” You look up from the paper in your hand, and both Richie and Sydney wince. Your voice is terrifyingly delicate as you nod over to the room behind you. “Apple of my eye. Can I speak to you in your office, please?”
Carmy’d like to say no. “...Yeah.” But you already started walking before he even answered, so there’s not much of a choice here. You head in by yourself, and thankfully, the door closes behind you, so Carmen’s got a second before he gets devoured.
He walks around the counter, and as he nears the door, Richie grabs his arm. He whispers as he hands Carmen what’s left of his cocktail. “You need to lock the fuck in.”
“I know.” Carm returns, shooting down all that’s left of the lowball. Why’s Richie’s the sweet one? Why’d Carmen get the cough syrup drink? That’s not fair. Do you not think he’s sweet? “Thank you for the— Intercept.”
Richie nods, he’s been unwillingly playing quarterback for Carmen since going to Rockefeller and seeing that goddamn giant tree and Carmen couldn’t stop opening his big fucking mouth after seeing you under the star. “Just think with your brain, not your—”
“Don’t.” “Was gonna say heart.” “Sure.” “Don’t be weird.”
“I know it’s expensive.” Carmen gets it out before even fully closing the door behind him, “But it’s normal prices, for high-end restaurants. I know it’s different—” He stops short when he finally turns around from the closed door, to see you, holding your painting.
It’s facing you, you’re reviewing it in your hands where you sit in the office chair; the brown wrapping paper freshly ripped and on the floor. Carmen still doesn’t know what’s on the piece.
“Carm.” You twist the piece around in your hand, turning it to him. He can see the nine squares. The Beef to The Bear. Mikey. “This is not another restaurant.”
Carmen continues to stare, silently, though he takes a step closer, reaching a hand out to graze over the canvas. You keep going, clarifying. “We’re not just another high-end restaurant. We’re us. And so we should be doing things like us. We’re the best, we don’t need the stuff to be.”
He was with you until that last part. His pursed lips say as much.
“It’s—” You smack your lips together, haphazardly handing him the canvas, he’s very quick to grab it with both hands, not wanting it unstable for a second. “Hold on, let me show you somethin’ — I think I left one in here.”
You roll the office chair back a bit, sinking down in the seat to reach far behind a tall cabinet; you have to pad your hand around in the dark nook for quite some time before you pull out— A screwdriver. An oddly shaped one, at that.
“...Has that been here the whole time?”
You nod. “Like threeish years at least, I think I threw it back there while telling it’s origin story. It’s part of the first set I ever got.” You grip the flat wooden handle. “It’s the worst screwdriver on earth, like, by far.”
That gets a little chuckle out of Carmen. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You look up from it to him. “It’s a handmade set. Dad’s dad made it.” You awkwardly roll closer to him, he leans over, head next to your head as you both look down at it. “It’s got a flat wooden handle, made of poplar— So not only is it fucking impossible to get a good grip on, it’s also so fucking slippery. It’s part of a whole set, passed down from my grandpa to my dad to me.”
“Sounds fucked.”
“It is.” You laugh, and so does he. “It’s purposefully meant to piss you off.” You rub your thumb over the dent marks in the wood— All from the times you threw it at something— Including the very cabinet that it hid behind. “You ever wonder why I took over the handyman gig, bein’ the youngest and all?”
Carmy shrugs, glancing from the screwdriver to you. “Just assumed you were the best.”
That gets another laugh out of you, and Carmen’s overjoyed by the sound. “Yeah, I’m probably the best. But that’s only cause I kept up with it.”
You turn your head up to face Carmen again as you explain, “When our dad started bringing us to jobs as kids, he would make us exclusively use this set of screwdrivers— Sort of as a secret test. My brothers would get pissed off, as planned, and they’d quit and cry. And I dunno, I guess I’d cry and keep going? And I learned a couple tricks, eventually.”
“Tricks?”
“Like.” You pull back in the chair and run your hand across the office desk. The corners of it are screwed into the metal cabinet below it. “It’s really good if you’re screwing from the top down.” Using it as an example, you start to unscrew it. “It’s balanced. And it’s really all in the grip— Always loosen your grip with this one. Even if that seems counterintuitive.”
You get it to unscrew just fine with your loosened grip. “But if that doesn’t work, and you just can’t get it to work—” You lift the screwdriver in front of his face, showing off the sides of the handle. He smirks at the— “Just make your own grooves, it’ll be easier to hold.” Tiny teeth marks.
“Carm.” You tap the handle to his nose as he zones in too much on it. “I’m the best repairman because I can work with anything. You’re the best Chef because you can work with anything. You don’t need the best when you’re the best.”
He’s the best?
He’s the best.
He’s the best.
“I truly think you could make just as good a plate with Becel as this fucking Animal Farm butter.”
Carmen’s the best. You think he’s the best.
He’s gotta think with his head and not with his heart and not with anything else, either. Lock the fuck in, Carmen.
“I dunno bout all that.” He shrugs, bashful and attempting to hide it, trying to shake the praise off his back.
“Well I know ‘bout that.” You shrug back, “I’m actually kind of a genius, when it comes to knowing who’s good and who’s not.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Carmy hums, and the sound is sweet without reservations. “...Painting is very good.” He nods to himself, on repeat, like a bobblehead. “Or I guess it’s less a painting and more a buncha photo transfers?”
“Yeah.” You set the screwdriver aside on the desk. “Most of them I took.”
“They’re good. It’s—” He pauses, tongue against his teeth. “It’s nice to see evidence he kept up, or somethin’.”
You nod, seeing Carmen’s brain struggle to keep pace in real time. “We took that one I think the day we talked to Uncle Jimmy about The Bear? Had to print out articles as proof we could make it work— Or, that you could make it work, rather.”
Carmen sniffs, crossing his arms, hands in tight fists— Probably too tight— where they hide. “Yeah, kinda fuckin’ up my end of the bargain, hm?” The light laugh that follows is hollow.
“Eh. You both did.” You smile, though it’s hesitant. “ But at least you’re still here fixing it.”
Still here. Still fixing it. That is in essence, the piece. Carmen gets lost staring at the squares, so you speak as he does. “I was trying to like. I dunno, replicate your brain.” He can see it. The messy yet coherent, controlled yet chaos. The love. The grief. The progress. The home. You see him. He can see that you see him.
“11k for butter,” Carm’s head doesn’t move but his eyes raise to you. “Is a week. More than a week.”
Ah. Carmen can see you too, see your thought process. The Ascaso, worth one of the worst weeks of Mikey’s life. The fucking butter. Worth more than a week of Mikey’s sobriety.
All you can do is nod solemnly. “It is, yeah.”
He nods back, tongue prodding his cheek. “That’s too much.”
“I’d agree.”
“I’ll switch to local.” You make it easy for him to fix his mistakes, by giving him the space to realize them.
“I think that’s the right call.” You nod, smiling. After a moment, you reach for Carmen to uncross his arms, and when he does, you take his fist and uncurl it— Your hand is a very soothing balm to the spots where he dug his nails into his own hand.
“Loosen your grip, Carmy.”
And so, he does. With a laugh and a look to high heaven, he loosens his grip. Really loosens his grip. Well— Not completely, he’s not going to say that, but he will say something that is just nearly as difficult but not quite. He'll bite down a little. He’ll make the grooves, for now, until his grip is good enough.
“Come to dinner with us?”
would you believe me if i said I had to rewrite a bit of this last scene because intially it went so rom-com and I was so disgusted when I reread it in the morning I had to stare at it in the subway ride to work like "what the fuck am I gonna do"
was this chapter good? God I hope so. I felt like with where we're going, it was kinda necessary to do Chip's onboard, set the stage for what work is like for her. I had to loosen my own grip with this one lmao. just allow myself to be a LITTLE messy. if it's bad, lie to me. tell me sweet little lies peach
DAD REVEAL THOUGH EH? MR CK!!! So much did happen this chapter. Chips on board! Squid Ink moving in together era commences! Christmas party!! Also. Would you believe me if I told you no shit syd was gonna move, she was planning it in S2, but I was planning this whole time for Ink to get evicted!! I want those fuckers to be roommates STAT!!!
anyways, i really hope i remembered to write down everyone that asked to be added to the taglist, i might've not. i'm very sorry if i didnt
oh also if you wanna be added!! send in your thoughts!! words for words baby, essay for essay cmonnn gimme ur character analysis!! (oh and also ask to be added, ofc)
@hoetel-manager , @fridavacado @sharkluver , @spectacular-skywalker , @silas-aeiou , @deadofnight0 , @sunbreathingstuff , @anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @blueaproncarmy @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @mrs-perfectly-fine @thefreakingbear @anytim3youwant
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DR. FACILIER (DISNEY VILLAINS AU)
My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. And please don’t spam-like!
Pairing: Dr. Facilier!Mingi x fem!reader
Word count: 8,130
Note: I was rereading over this while drafting it here from my Wattpad and I totally forgot how much I loved it 😫
The sound of the front door being slammed shut echoed throughout your home, followed by the sound of keys being dropped into the glass bowl kept in the foyer.
"You're not gonna believe what just happened." Your brother, Wooyoung, hissed angrily as he stormed into the living room.
"What?" You asked, rolling your eyes.
"I went to that voodoo guy and he screwed me over."
"You what?" You sat upright, giving him a sharp glare. "You know those people are quacks."
"I was curious." He defended.
"What exactly did this guy do?"
"He did some card reading to predict my future and it was horrible."
"I don't see what the problem is. You paid to have your future told."
"He was all upbeat and excited saying that he saw a bright future for me and then when I paid him and pulled cards, he told me I was gonna lose all my money and die alone."
"Seems pretty accurate to me."
"Hey!" He huffed, slapping your arm.
"It's the truth! You lost money on that reading."
"Don't you get it? He made me think I was gonna get a good reading and I didn't. I was tricked."
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"I don't know. Something."
"No."
"Do something, Y/n." He whined, shoving your shoulder.
"Cut it out."
"Not until you do something."
"You can take care of it yourself. If you're not satisfied, go talk to the guy."
"If I go back, he'll recognize me. Plus, he has a sign up that says no refunds."
You stared up at the purple and green sign that read: Dr. Song's Voodoo Emporium. There were two torches up on either side of the sign, casting an orange glow on the letters.
You didn't even know why you were there. Maybe you did care that Wooyoung got scammed or maybe you knew he wouldn't quit complaining about losing money if you didn't do something.
"It's now or never." You muttered to yourself before pulling open the creaky door and stepping inside.
"Welcome." A deep and somewhat husky voice greeted you from somewhere in the shadows. "You know, I always say fate brings people into my little shop."
Suddenly, the room was illuminated by many candles and lanterns, all being set aflame on their own and all at once. Stepping out from the dark shadows was a tall, slim man with silvery hair pushed away from his face. He donned an outfit consisting of a vest, an animal print suit jacket, dark trousers, and boots. In his hand was a cane with a gold skull on the end.
"So, darling, do you think fate brought you here?" He asked, extending his hand to you.
"I think you ripping off my brother brought me here." You answered.
He retracted his hand, his strong brows tugging together. "What ever do you mean?"
"You scammed my brother."
"I don't know your brother." He stated.
"You told him you saw a bright future for him and when he got a card reading, you told him he would lose all his money and die alone."
"Sorry to inform you, but I can't control that."
"Yeah, right."
"I swear. It's not me. It's the cards."
"The cards?" You scoffed. "Please."
"It's true. I don't decide people's futures."
"I knew it. You're just a scam artist." You hissed, stalking towards the exit.
"Woah, woah, woah, woah!" The man hurried to stand in front of the door, his hands up as he tried to stop you from leaving.
You sighed, crossing your arms as you waited to hear what he had to say.
"I'm a man who likes to make bargains. So, how about this? I give your brother another reading for free if you let me give you a reading right now."
"You scammed my brother and you think I want a reading from you? No thanks. I'm not interested in your tricks."
"No tricks."
"You're lying. I know how con men like you work."
"Fine. I guess you don't want to help your brother."
"You know that's not true."
"Oh, but it is. If you really wanted to help your brother, you would take this simple deal."
"Why do you want to give me a reading so badly?"
"Can I not give a pretty lady a free reading?"
Your eyes narrowed. "If I do this, you'll give my brother another reading?"
"Of course." He grinned, extending his hand. "What do you say?"
"Fine." You give in, shaking his hand.
"Wonderful." He smiled, gesturing to a round table in the middle of the room. "Have a seat."
I can't believe I'm doing this. You thought to yourself.
"I don't want any funny business, Dr. Song."
"Please, call me Mingi. And I can assure you, no funny business."
In a flash, a deck of tarot cards appeared in his hands. He shuffled through them before fanning them out across the table, three of them sticking out from the rest.
"Oh." Mingi gasped. "It seems fate has already picked for you."
That's weird.
You didn't even see him touch the cards. They just moved on their own.
Mingi flipped the cards over, humming to himself. "Interesting."
"What?" You inquired, leaning forward to get a look at the cards.
"You're lonely, aren't you?"
"Excuse me?"
"You're lonely." He looked up at you, his dark irises boring into yours.
"No. I'm not."
The corner of Mingi's mouth twitched as a breathy chuckle left him. "You are."
"I'm not. I'm content."
"Are you?"
"I..." You trailed off, swallowing.
Were you lonely? You didn't feel lonely. Not all the time, anyway.
"You've never been one for relationships, have you?" Mingi inquired, tapping on the first card.
"How do you know that?"
"I know all. Past, present, and even the future. And it seems to me that you've always been hesitant of getting into relationships. You say you're content now and, while that may be true, you're unhappy." He tapped on the second card, most likely indicating the present.
"I'm not unhappy." You denied.
"Deep down, you are. I see it clear as day." His sharp eyes stayed focused on you.
You didn't like the way he was looking at you. It felt like he was staring right into your soul, reading your every emotion.
"Let's see your future, shall we?"
He glanced down at the third card, his brows raising in fascination .
"Seems like you're going to find love in an unexpected place." Mingi's head tilted, a strand of silvery hair falling over his forehead. "A very unexpected place."
You blinked a few times, waiting for him to continue. "And?"
"That's all."
"What?"
"That's it."
"What will he look like? Where will I meet him? How long will it be until I meet him?"
"I don't know."
"But you said you could see the past, present, and future."
"To a certain extent. I don't know all the details."
You pressed your lips together, feeling slightly peeved. To your disappointment, you couldn't exactly be mad at him. The reading wasn't a bad one, it just wasn't as detailed as you'd hoped. Part of you wanted to hear more, but the other part wanted to leave that place as quickly as possible.
"You seem rather interested for a person who thinks I'm a scam artist." Mingi smirked.
You immediately backpedaled. "I'm not interested. I just expected more detail."
"That's not how my readings work. In fact, that's not how any readings work. You don't always get what you want."
"Well, I let you give me a reading, so a deal's a deal. You give my brother another reading for free. No tricks."
"Of course." He placed one hand over his chest and raised the other. "I assure you, I'm a man of my word."
"We'll see about that." You turned on your heel, ready to leave the establishment.
"Wait. I never got your name."
"You don't need it."
You reached for the doorknob only to have the lock turned by some strange shadow that resembled Mingi. The sight was unsettling and caused you to step away from the entrance.
You glared over your shoulder at Dr. Song.
"Unlock it."
"I'd like your name first."
"It's Y/n."
The door unlocked in an instant.
"That wasn't so hard, now was it?"
You abruptly pulled the door open, ready to leave. You had only taken one step outside when Mingi called out for you again.
"One more thing."
You huffed out a sigh of annoyance as you turned towards the fortune teller.
"Here's my card." He held a small business card between his middle and index finger, offering it to you. "In case you ever need me."
You took the card from him, knowing you'd never use it.
"I'll see you around, my dear." He waved as he watched you leave the shop.
"I get another reading?" Wooyoung asked.
"Yes. No charge."
"Will it be a good one?" He questioned, skeptically.
"He didn't say."
"What if I get a bad reading again?" He whined.
"You should just be thankful he offered you another for free."
"You're right. Thanks for going down there."
"You're welcome."
"So, should we go down there tomorrow?"
"We? No, no, no, no. There is no we. You're going down there alone. I'm not going back there." You denied.
"Why not?"
"He's annoying."
"That's not a valid excuse."
"I don't see why I have to accompany you."
"What if he tries something? Any tricks, I mean."
"He promised no tricks."
"I still want you to come with me."
And that's how you ended up back at Dr. Song's Voodoo Emporium... again.
"I don't wanna do this." You groaned.
"It won't be that bad. We'll be in and out in no time." Wooyoung assured you.
You highly doubted that.
Your annoyingly optimistic brother stepped inside, pulling you with him.
The shop was lit up better than the previous day, allowing you to see all the strange doodads inside: jars lined up on driftwood shelves, bottles of of every shape and size filled with multicolored liquids, books with foreign symbols on the spines, even animal skulls.
"Well, look who's wandered back into my shop."
You rolled your eyes as Mingi stepped from the shadows, making yet another dramatic entrance.
"It wasn't by choice." You stated.
"I'm here for my free reading." Wooyoung spoke up, stupidly unaware of the tension between you and Mingi.
"Ah, yes. Wooyoung, right?"
Your brother nodded.
"Come. Have a seat. Since your last reading for the future was bad, I'll give you a redo for it."
"Sounds good."
You stood off to the side, giving the two some space. From there, you watched Mingi, making sure he didn't pull any tricks.
He pulled out his deck of tarot cards, shuffling them around before presenting them to Wooyoung.
"Pick three cards and we'll see what your future holds."
Your brother's hand hovered over the cards laid out across the tabletop until he selected his first card, then the second, then the third. Each selection was made carefully, as he didn't want to get another bad reading.
"Alright. Let's see what we have here." Mingi hummed, flipping over the first card.
"Oh. This one is good. It means that you'll have some luck."
Mingi then flipped over the second card.
"Mhm." He hummed, with a nod. "This one could mean that there will be a rough patch for you at some point."
Wooyoung frowned.
Mingi flipped over the last card, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Well, it seems that you'll get through that rough patch and be content in where you are in life."
"Really?" Wooyoung asked.
Mingi nodded.
"What about getting rich? You mentioned that last time before you got me to pay for a reading."
"Ah. Well, I can make that happen for you if you still want it."
Your brows furrowed as you watched their exchange, feeling unsettled by Mingi's words, as well as his shifty behavior.
"Yes!" Your brother answered, enthusiastically. "Is that even possible?"
"Of course it is, Wooyoung. I have friends on the other side that can help me to change your future around."
"Woah. Seriously?"
"Of course. I can make your dreams come true. What do you say?" Mingi extended his hand out towards Wooyoung.
As your brother reached towards Mingi's hand, you saw that shadow from the day before reaching towards Wooyoung. Sensing that something wasn't right, you jumped into action, lunging forward and pulling your naive brother's hand away.
"Don't!"
Wooyoung looked at you with wide eyes and an expression that said, 'What's wrong with you?'
"Are you insane?!" You shrieked.
"No. I'd say I'm the complete opposite actually. I'm about to be rich!"
"No you're not, you idiot. He's trying to trick you. Are you not even the slightest bit worried by these so-called 'friends from the other side'? There could be some serious repercussions to this."
"Uh..." He trailed off.
"Are you seriously going to trust the guy who scammed you?"
His jaw dropped in realization.
"You!" He pointed at Mingi. "You we're trying to trick me again."
"You almost fell for it." He muttered under his breath.
"Unbelievable." You scoffed. "We're leaving."
Wooyoung stood up and the two of you started to walk out.
"Don't be like that." Mingi called out.
"Look, my brother got his free reading and that's that. We're done here."
You didn't allow him any more time to speak as you and Wooyoung left the shop, slamming the door behind you.
"Now do you see why I wanted you to come with me?" Wooyoung asked once the two of you were outside.
"I do. I'm glad I was there, but that doesn't mean I wanted to be."
"You're right. He's a total scam artist."
"I know. Good news is, we won't have to deal with him ever again. You got your free reading, so everything is settled."
Wooyoung gave a nod of finality as the two of you walked away.
You scanned the shelves for any snacks that caught your eye. Wooyoung was in "desperate" need of honey butter chips and annoyed you into going to the convenience store. You figured since you were going out of your way to get his snacks, you might as well get something for yourself.
"Well, would you look at that."
Your brows furrowed at the familiar voice. Turning your head, you spotted someone you didn't expect to see.
Mingi stood at the end of the aisle with one hand resting on his cane and a shopping basket over his other arm, a smug grin on his face.
"You've gotta be kidding me." You muttered.
"What was that?" He asked, walking over.
"Why are you here?" You questioned, ignoring him.
"What does it look like?"
"Stalking."
He chuckled. "Just because we happen to be at the same place at the same time doesn't mean I'm stalking you. You know what I call it?"
"What?"
"Fate."
"Well, I call it annoying." You remarked, walking away.
"Ouch." Mingi hissed. "Those are harsh words."
"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have shopping to do."
You left the aisle you were in, not wanting to share the same area with that fraud. You relocated to a different aisle, perusing the snacks there, picking up a couple things. To your disappointment, Mingi had followed you.
"Why are you avoiding me?"
"Because I have no interest in speaking to you. Nor do I have a reason to speak to you."
"That's a shame."
"Yeah. A real shame." You remarked sarcastically.
You tried, yet again, to get away from him, but to no avail. No matter where you went, he followed.
"Why don't you tell me about yourself? Do you have any hobbies?" He inquired.
"Is that your way of flirting? If so, you're doing a terrible job."
He had that same shameless smirk on his face, letting you know that he didn't care that he was annoying you to no end. You already have Wooyoung harassing you at home, you didn't need another one.
"Come on. I wanna know more about you, darling."
"Don't call me that."
"Why?" He asked, leaning over your shoulder. "Does it make your heart race? Hm?"
"No, it makes me want to throw up."
"You are merciless." Chuckled Mingi. "Don't worry, though. I'm a very persuasive man. I'm sure I could get you to change your tune."
Your patience was wearing thin. You didn't know how much more you could take. This man's incessant questions and flirty remarks were beginning to drive you to madness.
"Look," You started, placing a bag of snacks into your basket. "I'm not interested, okay? Nothing you say and nothing you do will change my mind, got it?"
Mingi's brows raised at your harsh words, but you could see that he wasn't affected by them. In fact, he actually had the audacity to smirk.
"We'll see about that."
Weeks passed and every time you left the house, you ran into Mingi. It didn't matter where you went, he was always there. He had somehow found a way to be exactly where you were every single time—and it was annoying.
Mingi's shadow slipped underneath the front door of his shop, slinking across the walls until it got to the office located in the back.
"Ah. There you are." Mingi greeted. "What have you found out?"
His shadow moved close to him, leaning in, telling him something in a hushed voice.
"What's that?" Mingi asked, leaning closer so he could hear better.
His shadow whispered in his ear, a smirk tugging at Mingi's lips as he listened to the information his shadow provided him.
"Ah. So, she's going to an art festival? Perhaps I'll pay her a visit."
You walked along the sidewalk, browsing the tents set up on the street. There were many different artists selling a wide variety of wares. From uniquely-shaped vases to colorful works of art—they had it all. You enjoyed going places alone every once in a while, so when you heard about a nearby art festival, you knew you had to check it out.
Your fingers ran over a canvas painting, feeling the texture of the pigment. Bright colors were spread across the surface, layered and mixed to make different hues and shadows in the artwork.
"This is a really nice painting." You told the vendor. "How long did it take you?"
"Around 48 hours."
"Woah. That's a lot of work."
"It is." The vendor nodded. "But, I enjoy it, so I don't even realize how much time passes."
You smiled softly.
You loved hearing about the interests and hobbies of others, especially how they enjoy it so much it doesn't feel like work or that they get so immersed in it that they lose track of time.
"Fate just keeps bringing us together."
The soft smile on your face fell immediately.
That better not be who I think it is.
You slowly turned towards Mingi who stood behind you, propped on his cane that he constantly carried with him.
Every time you saw him, he was wearing some sort of vest and jacket, each one with a different pattern or color. Today was no different, except that there were round glasses perched on his nose. You had to admit, the spectacles made him appear softer in a way.
You paused.
The mere thought that Mingi looked softer put you back in your place. You quickly reminded yourself that this man was a scam artist (and a stalker, apparently) and shook away any thoughts about him being remotely soft, pushing them away to the deepest corners of your mind, hoping they wouldn't resurface.
You told the vendor goodbye and wished them luck on their sales before approaching Mingi, your expression cold and void of any emotion except anger and annoyance.
"If you don't quit stalking me, I'm going to call the cops."
"The cops? I'd like to see them try and do something." He chuckled.
"Why can't you just leave me alone? I only visited your measly little shop to right a wrong for my brother. The deal is done. I have no business with you any more, so I don't know why you keep following me around."
Mingi tilted his head to the side, an amused expression plastered on his face.
"What do you want from me?" You asked flat-out, not cutting any corners.
"I want you, Y/n."
You weren't expecting that answer at all. You tried to cover up the fact that you were caught off guard, responding in a cold voice.
"You can't have me."
"Is that a challenge?" He raised a brow.
"No. It's a statement."
You turned on your heel, leaving him standing on the sidewalk. You didn't care that you had ditched him. After all, he's the one who encroached on your day out.
A nearby tent caught your attention. The vendor had many intricate wood carvings on display. They were so beautiful that you stopped for a moment to admire them, complimenting the man on his incredible handiwork. You chatted with him for a moment, asking how he makes such complex creations. You ended up purchasing a small keychain with a carving of a skull hanging from it.
You continued down the street, taking a few moments to check out anything that caught your eye. One of those items was a medium-sized canvas with multicolored neon shapes painted on the surface. The background was black, making the vibrant hues stand out. You loved it and you had to have it.
Greeting the woman running the booth, you immediately picked up the canvas, mentioning how much you loved it. After glancing at the price, you decided you would purchase it. You looked down only for a moment, digging through your wallet to retrieve some cash for the lady. You had just counted out the money when a hand extended past you, neatly folded bills held between two slender, ring-clad fingers.
"I got it covered."
The lady took the money, thanking the person. You turned to see Mingi behind you, his tall form leaned over you slightly. You had to keep it together long enough for the vendor to hand you the canvas which had been placed in a plastic shopping bag. You gave her a friendly smile and wished her luck on the rest of her sales before walking away so she wouldn't hear you scream at Mingi.
As much as you wanted to think he bought that for you out of the kindness of his heart, you knew he didn't. He had something up his sleeve.
"Aren't you gonna thank me?" Mingi asked before you had the chance to say anything to him.
"No."
"Ah. Well, I suppose that's fine. However, you do owe me."
"I beg your pardon?" You asked, stopping in your tracks.
"You owe me." He repeated.
"I don't owe you anything."
"Oh, but you do. I just paid for that painting."
"That was your choice. I had nothing to do with it."
"You still owe me."
"You know what?" You muttered, digging through your wallet. You pulled out enough money to cover the cost of the painting, shoving the cash into his chest. He stumbled a bit, placing his hand over the money to keep it from falling.
"I paid you back. We're square now." You told him.
"Did you?" He raised a brow.
You narrowed your eyes at him as he showed you an empty hand. You looked in your wallet, then began patting down your pockets, reaching into one of them, pulling out the wad of cash you'd just given to Mingi.
"Wh-what? How did you—"
"Like I said, you owe me."
"You... you..." Trailing off, you tried to find the right words to describe the man in front of you. "You snake!"
He seemed unfazed by the attempted insult.
"Whatever it is you're wanting me to do, I won't do it." You snapped.
"Spend the day with me." He told you.
"You really think I want to spend the day watching you scam people? No thanks."
"Would you rather do something else? I'm sure I could think of other ways for you to make it up to me." He told you, his eyes looking you up and down.
Your mouth fell open. "You sicko."
"That's not what I meant." He huffed. "Look, I just want you to spend the day with me, that's all. Come hang out at my shop with me."
"I'm not interested." You told him, sternly.
"Excuse me, young lady." Someone called out, catching your attention.
You turned towards the voice to see where it was coming from. A man in a black coat wearing many odd necklaces made of bone stepped out into the street.
"Me?" You pointed to yourself.
"Yes."
"What is it?" You inquired, stepping towards the man's tent, noticing all the unique and odd jewelry he sold.
"You are quite a stunning young woman."
"Oh. Thank you." You responded, thrown off by the strange and sudden compliment.
"I think you'd look lovely wearing this necklace." He grabbed a black velvet box from behind the table, opening it up to show you the product.
The chain was silver and on the end was a unique pendant, one that you'd never seen before. An iridescent stone was encased in intricate, silver designs. The gemstone is what really caught your attention. It changed colors in the light, looking purple from one direction, then a green-ish teal color from the other. But, if you looked at it straight on, it was a mix of colors—it was enchanting.
"It's beautiful." You commented.
"I made it myself." The man told you, removing it from the box. "Go on. Have a look. You can try it on if you'd like."
You stepped forward, your hand reaching for the necklace. Just then, Mingi's hand shot out, grabbing onto your wrist before you could even touch the pendant. You turned to him with a questioning look on your face.
"Sorry, but we're not interested." He told the man in a stern tone, his voice dangerously low.
The vendor gave Mingi a hard glare as you were dragged away.
"What was that about?" You asked once the man was out of earshot.
"There was a bad energy surrounding that necklace." Mingi responded, his face solemn. "It's probably cursed."
"Cursed? Why would someone try to sell me a cursed necklace?"
"There are dangerous people in the world who love meddling with the lives of others."
"Isn't that what you do?"
"No. I help people. Sometimes I have sneaky ways of doing it, but it's nothing like what that man does."
"You both trick people. I don't see the difference." You stated.
"That may be true, but at least I don't try and sell people cursed items."
You were about to tease him for admitting that he indeed scams people, but you knew all along, so there was no need to joke about it.
You did feel a little touched by the fact that he stopped you from getting a malediction from a cursed necklace. You honestly didn't think he had it in him.
"I'll spend the day with you." You spoke up.
"What?" Mingi turned to you, his normally sharp and narrow eyes now wide in surprise, glimmering with hope.
You had to stop yourself from fawning over how insanely adorable his eyes were.
You cleared your throat before repeating yourself. "I'll spend the day with you."
"Really? What made you change your mind?"
"You just saved me from catching a curse. I guess I owe you for that."
The very next day you found yourself standing in Mingi's voodoo shop again, this time on your own volition. You walked around the room, getting a good look at everything inside. If you were going to be there all day, you might as well make the most of it.
He had all sorts of strange knickknacks, trinkets, and novelties. One of those being lucky rabbit foot keychains. You figure that was typical for a voodoo shop. On the driftwood shelf, besides all the strange liquid-filled bottles, there appeared to be elixirs and bath salts, some promising good luck, while others just promised a boost of energy. In a basket under a wall of ominous-looking masks were dozens of voodoo dolls.
"Do people actually use these?" You asked.
"They sure do, my dear." Mingi answered.
"Seriously?" You turned towards him. "Do they work?"
"Would you like to test one and find out?"
You recoiled your hand, not liking how confident his tone was. "No thanks."
"Very well. The offer is still on the table if you change your mind." He hummed, straightening his jacket and smoothing his hair out.
The door to the shop opened, catching your attention. A customer stepped inside, looking around the small building.
"Ah. Welcome." Mingi greeted. "Is there anything I can help you with on this fine morning?"
"I was told you do card readings." The young man spoke.
"I do indeed. Have a seat."
You watched as Mingi's shadow moved across the floor, pulling the chair out for the customer. Every time you saw his shadow move, you got a shiver down your spine. Something wasn’t right. It may be Mingi's shadow, but it seems to have a mind of its own and is beyond his control.
"Am I interrupting something?" The man asked, noticing your presence.
"No. She's just watching me work, that's all." Mingi brushed it off. "So, what would you like to know? Your future? Or maybe there's a certain someone you have your eye on and you want to see if you'll win them over. Hm?" He raised a curious brow.
"Y-yes! How'd you know that?" The man questioned.
"I know everything. I can see right into your heart and soul." He responded, shuffling his tarot cards.
"Wow."
Mingi then began the card reading, holding them out to the customer. He selected his cards and Mingi begin interpreting each one. He shook his head, making a tsk sound.
"Seems like you won't ever get with this girl."
"What?" The man frowned.
"Yes. The cards are telling me that she'll find someone else."
You crossed your arms, upset by the man's reading.
"Aw. Don't look so down." Mingi cooed, placing the end of his cane under the man's chin, using it to lift the his head. "I have something that'll help win her heart."
"Really?" The man's face lit up instantly.
"Of course." Mingi stood from his chair, striding over to a cabinet. He retrieved a small box, carrying it over to the table. He open it up revealing a beautiful necklace with a heart- shaped charm.
"That's beautiful."
"It's powerful too."
"What?"
"The necklace is charmed. If you put it on her, she'll fall in love with you."
"For real?"
Mingi nodded.
"Hm." The man hummed. "Do you have anything else?"
Mingi seemed disappointed, but turned up the charm, smiling brightly. "Of course."
He strode over to the shelf of bottles, retrieving one of them. "How about a love potion?"
You rolled your eyes.
Yeah, right.
"A love potion?" The customer parroted.
"Yes. If you give her some of this, she'll fall for you instantly."
"Really? How do you know?"
"I got it from my friends on the other side. They can make all sorts of magic potions."
"Woah."
Friends on the other side?
He's said that before. As far as you know, you've only seen his shadow, so who are these friends of his?
"How much?" The man asked, pulling you from your thoughts.
You cleared your throat, grabbing Mingi's attention. You stared at him intently, shaking your head no, silently telling him not to trick that man.
"Excuse me a moment." Mingi walked over to you, making sure you were both far enough from the man that he wouldn't hear.
"What are you doing?" You whispered harshly.
"Business." He responded, plainly.
"No you're not. You're scamming. What's the truth behind that necklace? And that so-called love potion?"
"Well, they both really do work. If he uses the love potion, he has to be the first person she sees. The necklace only works when she's wearing it. And as soon as the necklace is clasped around her neck, her soul immediately belongs to my friends on the other side."
"What?!" You whisper-yelled trying not to completely freak out. "You're gonna let him sell this girl's soul without knowing?"
"If he chooses the necklace, yeah."
"How can you be so nonchalant about this? Do you not have any remorse?"
"I have to please my friends on the other side."
"What?"
"You see, doll. I have these friends—beings, if you will. They help me make things become a reality for people, but they need something in return. I do the bidding for them and give them what they want, and in return, they give me something I want."
"That's sick." You spat.
"It's just business, dear." He brushed you off, returning to his unsuspecting customer.
"So, what do you say?" He asked, taking his place back at the table.
"How much for the necklace?"
"Free of charge." Mingi smiled. "All I ask is payment for the card reading. That's it."
The customer was enticed by the offer and was ready to accept.
Knowing what you know now, you didn't want the poor guy to get caught up in a bigger mess. You stared Mingi down, shaking your head. He stared back, his eyes not leaving yours for a long moment as he reconsidered. Then, before the customer could answer, he spoke up.
"Actually," Mingi started. "Forget the necklace, the potion too. There's another way you can possibly change the outcome of all this."
"Really? How?"
"What you need to do is take her out. Ask her on a date and see where it goes from there."
"Are you sure?"
Mingi nodded. "I can't guarantee that it will work, but it's worth a shot. The sooner you do it, the better. That way no one else snags her before you."
"Okay. I think I can muster up the courage to ask her. Thank you so much." The man smiled, pulling money from his pocket. "I'll definitely try that."
Mingi took the cash from him. "Before you go, take this." He grabbed a rabbit's foot keychain, placing it into the man's hand. "Good luck."
"Wow. Thanks a lot!" The customer beamed, leaving the shop.
As soon as the door closed, the fortune teller turned to you.
"Are you happy? You probably screwed me out of a customer." He grumbled, counting the cash.
You saw his eyes widen before he began to frantically recount the bills in his hand.
"He paid me extra."
"What?"
"He paid me a few dollars more than what I charge." He gaped.
"Really?"
"Yeah. He must have really liked my advice." Mingi smiled, shoving the money into his pocket. "I'm a genius."
"You wouldn't have given that advice had I not stopped you from completely ruining his life."
He pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes. "Fine. I suppose you have a point."
Throughout the day, you watched Mingi give readings to people and try to sell them items that you knew had a twisted backstory to them. Somehow, you were able to get him to rethink things and give his customers an actual solution to their problems rather than scamming them into purchasing something that would possibly ruin their lives.
All in all, you'd say your time spent with Mingi wasn't all that bad and you were glad that you were able to possibly save the souls of a few people during your time in the shop.
"Well, today was... enlightening to say the least." You said. "I should go now."
You prepared to leave until Mingi stopped you.
"Would you like something to eat before you go home? You've been here all day and neither of us have eaten. I'll pay."
"You won't use it as an excuse to say I owe you again, will you?"
"No." He shook his head. "Promise."
You were pretty hungry and you couldn't turn down free food, so you agreed. A delivery order was called in shortly. You assisted Mingi in tidying up his shop after a long day while you waited for your meal to be delivered.
Half an hour passed and you found yourself sitting at the round table in the middle of the shop chatting with Mingi while the two of you ate.
"So, what did you think?" Mingi asked, grabbing a large bite of ramen.
"Well, I didn't like how you tried to trick people. I did, however, like what you told them after you chose to be honest."
He couldn't help but feel proud of himself after hearing your words. At first, he was angry that you made him feel guilty for attempting to scam people, but as the day went on, he realized it wasn't so bad. He'd have to find a way to make up for it when he contacts his friends on the other side later, but he wasn't really worried about that at the moment. He was having a wonderful time with you.
Mingi's shadow was agitated that you managed to get in his head and talk him out of striking any deals. The shadow knew you were bad news from the start. You deterred Mingi from doing many tasks, which caused his friends on the other side to become impatient. What happened today would be the cherry on top. They would show him no mercy if he continued this behavior.
"So, the voodoo dolls do work?" You questioned.
"Of course."
"I bet you sell those to people without warning them of the consequences." You commented.
"On the contrary. I actually do warn people before they buy those. I don't want anyone to do something they'll regret."
You looked at Mingi's expression and the way his eyes stared into yours. He was telling the truth.
"Hm. So you do care for your customers." You teased playfully.
He let out a chuckle. "Of course I do."
"This food is great, by the way. Thanks for buying."
"It's the least I could do. I know you didn't exactly want to be here today."
"Actually, if I'm being honest, it wasn't all that bad. Also, I appreciated the way you protected me yesterday when that weirdo tried to sell me a cursed necklace. I felt like I really did owe you."
"I just didn't want you to get yourself in a messy situation. Truth is, I care about you a lot." Mingi admitted.
His words surprised you and made your heart melt at the same time.
Before you could process what was going on, Mingi's shadow lunged for you, knocking you from your chair, pinning you to the ground.
You let out a yelp, struggling to pull yourself off the floor. You couldn't help but wonder how a shadow was so strong.
"Hey!" Mingi shouted. "What are you doing?"
He got up from his seat so fast, his chair nearly fell over. "Get off of her!" He roared, his voice so gravelly and threatening that it sent a shiver down your spine.
Then, you felt the ghostly grip on your wrists disappear. You pushed yourself into a sitting position, your heart pounding violently against your rib cage.
"Y/n." Mingi panted. "I'm so sorry. I... it's never done that before. I swear I had nothing to do with it."
"I need to go home." You responded, your mind in a haze.
"Wait. Please—"
"I can't handle this." You told him, heading towards the door. "I'm sorry. I need to leave."
That's the last time Mingi saw you.
You were in the middle of cleaning your room, tossing things you didn't want into a donate box and throwing away invoices from past online orders and other paper junk into the trash.
There was a knock on the front door, but you paid no mind to it, assuming your brother would answer it since you had your hands full at the moment.
However, the knocking persisted.
"Wooyoung! Can you not hear there's someone at the door?" You shouted down the hallway.
"Yeah." He called back from the living room.
"Are not gonna answer it? I'm kinda busy."
"You do it. I'm in the middle of a drama."
You let out a long sigh, stomping into the living room.
"Can you not pause it?"
"No." He responded, his eyes glued to the TV.
"You're unbearable." You said through gritted teeth, going to answer the door.
The person on the other side was not who you were expecting.
Mingi stood at your doorstep, his head hanging low. You would have told him to go away had you not noticed he wasn't wearing his usual getup. Instead of his customary vest and cardigan or suit jacket combo, he had on a white dress shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks. It was much more toned-down than the outfits he usually wore.
Before you could open your mouth, he spoke.
"I'm done."
"What?"
"I cut ties with the shadow realm."
"Why?"
"For you."
"For me?" You parroted.
He nodded. "This crooked and shady life I'm living isn't the life I want. Especially if it ends up hurting you."
"This isn't a trick... is it?" You inquired.
He shook his head.
"So, let me get this straight. You cut ties with those friends of yours for me?"
"I did."
"And what about your...shadow?" Your eyes trailed to look at the shape cast along the concrete walkway behind him.
He followed your gaze, noticing your uneasy behavior. "It's gone. Just a normal shadow now. Cutting ties got rid of all the abilities I had."
"I see."
"I'm really sorry about what happened that evening at my shop. I had no control over my shadow. It just attacked without warning. Truthfully, I think it's because it knew—"
"Y/n! Who's at the door?" Wooyoung shouted from the living room, cutting Mingi off.
You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes.
"None of your business!" You shouted back before turning to Mingi. "I'm sorry about him."
"It's fine. Maybe we could just stand outside and talk." He suggested. "That way we have some privacy."
"Good idea."
You stepped outside, closing the front door so Wooyoung wouldn't try to eavesdrop.
"Alright. You were saying?"
"Right. My shadow... I think it knew that I was going soft."
"Going soft?" You inquired.
"Yes." He nodded, taking in a deep breath like he was preparing to say something extremely important. "Y/n, I was drawn to you from the start. I got my shadow to follow you around after you first came to my shop. That's how I always knew where you were. I just wanted to see you any chance I got. Then, my feelings began to get more serious and I wanted to do things to make you happy. I wanted to protect you. I guess my shadow realized that I was becoming soft and drifting from my old ways. It tired to hurt you because it thought you were getting in the way."
There was so much information to take in. Mingi had his shadow follow you? But, he likes you and obviously cares for you. Not only that, but he's changing his ways for you. He cut ties with the shadow realm for you. That's a pretty big commitment.
"You were right for calling me a stalker. In a way, I was. I'm sorry." He apologized.
"Actually, it's okay. Technically, it wasn't you following me. Also, I can see that you've changed drastically. You're not the same voodoo shop owner I met a month ago."
Mingi's heart soared hearing you say that. Knowing that he had, at the very least, earned your trust was a big accomplishment for him.
"So, would you maybe be willing to give us a chance?" He asked, softly, his hands finding yours.
Your eyes landed on your joined hands, looking at the way his large ones encased your smaller ones.
"I think..." You trailed off, looking back up at Mingi. "I think I'd be up for that."
His eyes became wide, looking rounder and more innocent, sparkling with hope.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You nodded.
Being caught in the moment, Mingi started to lean in, only to catch himself before he got too close.
"Can I kiss you?" He asked, softly. His voice barely above a whisper. He didn't want to do anything you weren't okay with.
"You can."
Mingi then closed the narrow gap between your faces, his full and plush lips pressing delicately against yours. Your eyes fluttered closed immediately, melting into the kiss. His large hands let go of yours, holding the small of your back, pulling you against him. The closeness had your heart racing. You had never experienced anything like this before. You were feeling emotions and feelings you had never felt in your life. A rush of heat flooded your body and it felt like butterflies were running rampant in your stomach. All these new feelings were overwhelming but so amazing.
The feeling of Mingi's hands running up and down your back sent tingles up your spine, making you feel warm from the inside out.
Your fingers latched onto the ends of his silvery hair, grabbing at the long strands in the back. Based on the sigh he let out against your lips, he liked that.
After a while, you pulled away, feeling short of breath. You and Mingi stared at each other for a few moments, both of you panting, trying to catch your breath. Mingi's partially exposed chest rose up and down with each huff as his hooded eyes stared into yours. Your arms were wrapped around his slim waist, holding him tightly, not wanting to let go.
"You were right." You spoke up, still breathless.
"What do you mean?"
"About finding love in an unexpected place."
You could see Mingi's cheeks tint pink.
That's exactly what he said to you after your card reading. At the time, Mingi could see into the future, but even he didn't know who you would end up with. He had no idea he would be the one.
"I guess I found love in an unexpected place too." He admitted.
"Why do you seem so surprised? I thought you knew everything." You teased with a smirk.
He couldn't help but grin.
"As much as I hate to, I'd better get back inside. You know, before Wooyoung comes out here and starts harassing me."
"Right." Mingi chuckled.
"I'd like to see you again." You told him as you went to open the front door.
"You have my card. Just give me a call." He winked. "We'll sort something out."
Hongjoong: Hades ⟡ Seonghwa: Maleficent ⟡ Yunho: Captain Hook ⟡ Yeosang: Evil Queen ⟡ San: Cruella de Vil ⟡ Wooyoung: ⟡ Jongho:
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