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nicksolemnlyswears · 1 year ago

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THE BEAR AND THE BEE HIVE

summary: in which carmy falls for the sweet café owner that supplies him with endless americanos

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

word count: 14.4k

warning: it's a little bit of a slow burn. sorry. i'm a sucker for it and i feel like carmy is a slow burn kinda guy. 18 +, cursing, smut, p in v, oral (m. receiving), fingering, they use protection guys! i deserve a pat in the back. nothing too wild. oh, and very brief mention of suicide.

a/n: i started writing this way back in october and then it was nearly done and i abandoned it. well i finally got around to completing it tonight!

this is my first time ever writing for carmy and i tried my best writing this. i love carmy and the show but i didn’t expect it to be hard to write him as a character. i wanted to get him right so i took my time with it and didn’t rush it. hopefully you guys like my carmy. enjoy!

i think i've had this stored in my drafts for like 4 months and it's time for me to set it free.

The cigarettes were not enough anymore. No matter how many smoke breaks Carmy took, he still felt the edge on his shoulders. A fear laced with anxiety that overtook him.

After deciding that blowing through yet another wall in his restaurant was the way to go, Carmy took a break. He needed it before he used the sledgehammer to destroy the restaurant in its entirety, along with his dream.

He remembers a coffee shop only a block away from The Bear and thinks he could use a coffee right about now. Maybe the mixture of caffeine and nicotine will be able to relax his shoulders, if only for an hour.

As soon as he opens the door, the smell of ground coffee beans greets him. He looks around, taking in the cozy ambiance the decorative wood brings to the place and the splashes of warm yellow that lighten it up.

Then he sees you, and his focus shifts entirely. His eyes only see you.

"Hi, welcome to Bee Hive!" You chirp with a small smile.

Carmy freezes, forgetting why he's there in the first place. He slowly steps up to the register, where you patiently wait for him. It's just after the lunch rush, so you're in no hurry.

He finds he's acting like a teenager who has just seen a pretty girl. Only he's not a teenager, and you're more than a pretty girl.

"What can I get for you today?" You ask, not noticing the effect you've had on him. You take a sharpie out of your yellow apron, preparing to scribble down his order in a cup.

Carmy has perfected the empty on the outside but screaming on the inside face. Strangers don't tend to know he's almost always losing his shit.

"I-I don't…sorry," Carmy looks at you briefly before diverting his eyes. He apologizes in a flurry, looking for an excuse for his weird behavior, "Uh, it's my first time here. What do you recommend?"

"It's not a problem," you say softly as if to calm him, "I'm a simple girl. I love the latte, but if you're looking for something stronger, the americano is one of the favorites."

Carmy nods as you ramble about the drinks, where the coffee beans come from, and the different notes of each blend. He hangs onto every word that slips from your lips. The static in his brain clearing up for the first time in hours.

It ends too soon as you realize you're talking too much and probably overwhelmed him. You sheepishly smile at him and trail off, but he continues to stare, waiting for you to continue.

"I'll take the Americano," Carmy nods, giving you a tight-lipped smile. Although he had been hanging to every one of your words, he was too focused on the shape of your lips and the sweet tone of your voice.

"Good choice," you nod, grabbing a cup from the tray beside you, "What's your name?"

Carmy looks up, slightly alarmed, as if you've asked for his social security number. "What?" He thinks you'll be forward and ask for his number next, seemingly forgetting how coffee orders work.

"Your name? For the order?" You explain, trying to ease his worries. He's odd, but in an endearing way. You believe this is his first time here because you're confident you would've remembered him.

"Fuck, right, yeah," he nervously says, pinching the bridge of his nose, "My name's Carmen."

"Your Americano will be right out, Carmen," you tell him, capping your sharpie back up.

Carmy quickly pays and stands to the side to wait for his order. He forces himself to not look at you or in your direction as you take other customers' orders. He just knows he's made a fool of himself already. Not that it matters. Why would it matter? He's there for the coffee. Nothing else, no one else.

As he walks out of Bee Hive, he sips his coffee. His shoulders instantly drop, and his fear-induced anxiety starts to dissipate for the moment. He's unsure if the effect is because of the caffeine or the thoughts of your pretty smile.

Visiting your coffee shop becomes routine for Carmy. Whenever things at The Bear become crazy -or he starts to lose his fuckin' mind- he makes his way to Bee Hive with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

For twenty minutes, he's free of Richie's constant hounding, Sugar's struggles with the permits and scheduling, and Sydney's disappointment because the menu is still extremely underway.

Each time he's stopped by, you've been there to greet him, and each time, you've left a little heart by Carmen's name, which makes his heart race in a peculiar way. His hands would touch his chest to check if it was heartburn, but it didn't feel like that. It's not anxiety either cause he knows pretty well how that feels.

All he knows is he hasn't done anything to deserve such a gesture. He's convinced himself you draw little hearts for everyone because he's not special.

One Thursday afternoon, Carmy realizes he doesn't know your name. He looks for a name tag, but you're not wearing one on your yellow apron. He should know your name if you insist on making small talk despite his short answers.

He can't help it. He gets too in his head to answer like a normal person, so his answers come out choppy and dry.

"Alright, Carmen, your order will be right out," you say, handing his cup to one of the baristas. You always hold out and ask him what he wants to order. He has the right to change his mind anytime, but for now, he's stuck with the americano, which he drowns in sugar.

As curiosity eats at him, he gathers the courage to ask. "Thanks. Hey, uh, I've-I’ve never gotten your name…” Carmy says, cursing at himself for not formulating the question correctly. His hand comes up to grip his hair instinctually.

Your smile widens when he asks your name. The silly crush you've developed for your customer fluttering to life. It's just a crush over a stranger, nothing to write home about.

You tell him your name but follow it with "-call me Honey. Everyone knows me by that name. I'm sure if you ask my friends about me with my real name, you'll throw them for a loop."

You're rambling, hoping he doesn't think calling you by your nickname is weird. Then again, how can he judge when he has a sister people call 'Sugar' and he and his siblings also don the nickname 'Bear.'

"Honey." Carmy repeats your nickname, smiling as he finds it fitting. "In that case, call me Carmy."

"Nice to properly meet you, Carmy," you say, grinning.

Like all the days before, Carmy steps aside and waits for his coffee. He doesn't let himself continue the conversation or ask more about you even if it’s everything he wants to do.

It's rare for Carmy to be in a good mood, and whenever it happens, it doesn't tend to last. His goal of opening a restaurant in 12 weeks makes it impossible for him to relax and enjoy the ride. To prolong this unusual feeling, Carmy stops by Bee Hive on his way to The Bear.

"Have you made your boss angry, Honey?" He asks as he pulls out his wallet to pay. He ordered the americano as he always does.

"No…why do you ask?" You ask, tilting your head in confusion.

"Uh, 'cause you-you're always here. Do you not take days off? Not that I'm complaining. I-I like seeing you here." Carmy's words get quieter as he speaks, red creeping up his neck. So much for trying to make a joke.

You look around the room and tell him, "Imma let you in on a little secret."

Carmy follows your hand, waving him to get closer. The smell of cigarettes invades your senses as you get close to him. You'd never admit that the mix of his cigarettes and your coffee is addicting. As both lean over the counter, you whisper, "I'm the boss. I can't run away even if I wanted to."

"You own the coffee shop," Carmy pans in shock.

Carmy is more than surprised at your words. Especially now that he knows how expensive it is to open a business. You can't be a day over 25 and own a successful coffee place. There is hope, after all.

"I do," you nod, standing straight once more.

A couple of years ago, you had inherited a hefty amount of money from an estranged aunt. Fresh out of college and with no real plan, you thought it would be a good moment to follow your dream and open the cozy café.

"How do you do it?" Carmy asks, amazed at the girl smiling at him. "I don't know if you know, but, um, I-I'm opening the restaurant around the block. Used to be The Beef?" He finishes grimly as he points to his side of the block.

"Oh, yeah. The guys who worked there helped me move some equipment when I first opened two years ago," you reveal, "Tell you what, whenever you have a break, come around. I'll give you a free americano and tell you all about it. Neighbor to neighbor."

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Carmy agrees. "I'll take you up on that."

Weeks go by, and Carmy seemingly forgets about Bee Hive and your pending conversation. You try not to overthink about his absence or how you might've scared him away. He's probably just busy remodeling his restaurant. You know better than anyone how much time that takes.

Still, his presence has become part of your routine, and you can't help but look at the door each time the bell rings. You expect to see him walking up to the counter, the remnants of cigarette smoke coming out his nose as he breathes.

You're pretty close to your assumption because Carmy has been dealing with the fire suppression test. They didn't fail the test once but twice, and if they didn't pass it on the third try, their plan to open the restaurant in 12 weeks goes out the window. Fak has tried everything, and nothing works.

He'd sent Richie once on a coffee run, but the fuckin' idiot went to the nearest Starbucks. Carmy had been looking forward to tasting your coffee and seeing his name in the cup with the little heart because he's 100% sure he's the only Carmen you know. It's not a common name in these parts of town.

One very early morning, he's walking to work, and as he passes Bee Hive, he sees you inside, wiping tables down before you open at 6:30.

Impulsively, he knocks on the glass, not giving himself the time to overthink things. You turn to look at the window and see him standing outside, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his familiar plaid jacket to protect himself from the chilly March air.

"Hey stranger," you greet him, opening the door and inviting him in.

"Hi," he breathes out, staring at you, "you're here early," he tries to casually mention.

You roll your eyes dramatically and say, "It's a downside of the job. Did you know people want coffee at the crack of dawn?"

You try acting as nonchalant as possible. It's not like you missed seeing one of your favorite customers, his beautiful blue eyes, or the way he rocks a simple white t-shirt.

"I had no idea," Carmy smiles, bringing his tattooed hand up to his lips, "I, uh, usually drink mine at night." That much is true. On those sleepless nights when insomnia takes over him, the best remedy is coffee.

"Would you make an exception and join me for a morning coffee at the crack ass of dawn?" Anxiously, you play with the rings on your fingers. It feels like you're asking the guy on a date when it's just a friendly coffee.

"As long as you have some business advice to spare?" Carmy responds shakily. He briefly looks down the street to glimpse at his restaurant. It's too early for anyone to be there yet.

"Deal."

Throwing the towel over your shoulder, you make your way behind the counter. Carmy attempts to make small talk with you as you prepare both drinks.

This is the first time he's watching you in action since you tend to stick to the cash register when he's around. It's not a coincidence. After the first time he came to Bee Hive, you wanted to see more of him, so you stationed yourself at the register where you'd be sure to see him, and he'd see you.

"Here you go." You place his coffee mug on the table along with yours before disappearing momentarily and returning with an orange soufflé coffee cake. You're pulling all the stops for Carmy to leave a good impression.

Carmy thanks you and sips his coffee, "Wow, this is fire!" He expected to taste an americano, but what you prepared was entirely different. He can make out hints of hazelnut and caramel in the coffee.

"Thanks. I took the liberty of changing your order. You can always come back to the americano, though…" you shrug shyly, looking at him over the rim of your mug.

"I-I appreciate it. Thanks." Carmy throws you a nervous grin. He gestures with his tattooed hand to dig into the cake you brought out. He shouldn't be the only one eating.

You and Carmy share the cake as you talk about yourselves and the crazy businesses you own. Somehow, talking to you comes easy to him. He's still nervous and scared to fuck things up, but the warm coffee and your even warmer smile ease him into it.

"How do you do it? This place is always packed, and you seem like you run a tight ship," Carmy wonders, playing with the fork. The cake is long gone, although the notes of orange remain on his tongue. Would you taste the same?

"It wasn't without mistakes. I had to learn a lot from my fuck ups and listen to my team because although I'm the owner, they are the ones doing most of the work. Whenever there's a flaw, they are the first to know," you speak softly, afraid of ruining the calm ambiance you've set up, twirling the small amount of coffee left in your mug.

It's your favorite part of morning coffee. When you have just the smallest bit of coffee left, and you know you'll never drink it because it's cold, but it gives you an excuse to remain where you are.

"So, all I gotta do is listen?" It's funny you say that because Carmy listens, but his friend's voices get muddled somewhere along the way. As much as he tries to focus on them, they merge together and form a cacophony in his head.

"A lot of listening and a lot of experimentation. I've been open for two years, and it's only been in the last six months that I can confidently tell you we found our groove," you admit with a grimace.

Bee Hive is your baby, but bringing it to life was everything but easy. You messed up so many times, costing you so much money. You didn't know shit about owning a business or building one from the ground up. Doing research and putting your pride aside to ask for help got you through it.

"I've only been doing this for, like, less than a fuckin' year, and I already want to pull my hair out," Carmy admits with a pitiful laugh.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you it gets better soon," you say apologetically, reaching for his hand that rests on the table.

Carmy freezes, glancing at your hand on top of his. He hasn't got a clue what to fucking do with the display of affection. Was it a display of affection? He doesn't fucking know. "It's, uh, it's, uh, it's alright. As-as long as you give me coffee, I think I can make it through," Carmen furrows his eyebrows as he stutters through the sentence.

"I can't wait to see what the award-winning chef does," you say, bringing your hand back to your lap, none the wiser to Carmy's internal struggle.

He should've done something to keep your hand on his. Place his other hand on yours or fucking turn his hand around to grasp it. He liked feeling your warm skin on his. It hasn't been a minute since you pulled away, and he's craving it already. It's ridiculous. Is he really that touch-starved that he's seeking affection from a near stranger?

He coughs and darts his eyes between the wooden table top and you, "Fuck. You-you know about that?"

"I might've done some research after finding out you're opening the restaurant. I got curious. I'm sorry." Apologizing is your default thing to do. Messing things up is your area of expertise. You really didn't think he'd mind you mentioning it.

"No, no, no, uh, you don't have to apologize. You just caught me off guard," Carmy shakes his head, reassuring both of you.

"Okay, good," you lightly smile at him, averting your eyes when your gazes meet.

If there's a time for you to make a move, it's now. Taking a shaky breath, you speak up, "I was wondering if you'd ever like to-."

A loud knock on the glass door interrupts you. You and Carmy jump and look towards the source of the noise. It's one of your regular clients, waving at you to open up. Looking at your watch, you see it's 6:30 already.

"Shit. I'm-I'm sorry I took so much of your time," Carmy apologizes, picking up his mug and the plate to put away.

You grab his wrist to make him stop in his tracks, "Relax. I enjoyed talking to you. Maybe we can do it again soon?"

Carmy nods wide-eyed. He likes the idea just as much as you do. You take away the mug and plate with a soft 'okay.' He then follows you to the door as you unlock it and turn the sign to 'open.'

"I, um, gotta go work on the menu. I'll probably be back later for another coffee?" Carmen asks you as if he's asking for permission, which you find adorable.

"I'll be behind the register," you say, watching him walk away. He turns his head back for a moment, and you catch the smile gracing his lips as yours turns to mimic him.

"Oh, he's cute," your customer, an older lady, says, watching him go along with you. "It's about time you got a boyfriend."

"Mrs. O'Hara, here for your tea?" You ask her, ignoring the comment about your love life. That woman will set you up with anyone. She does love her tea, though, and expects you to provide it on time.

It's slow, but Carmen warms up to you. Instead of grabbing his coffee to go, he now drinks it at the café, coincidentally around the same time you take your break.

He's been hesitantly opening up. It's not like he's telling you about how fucked up his family is or how his brother committed suicide. More often, it's about the restaurant and his work as a chef, the struggles of getting every permit they need on a tight schedule since they are supposed to open in about four weeks now, or the occasional childhood memory. It's everything you need to know at this stage.

You love listening to Carmy talk, even if you have to coax it out of him sometimes. He's passionate about the restaurant despite all the stress that comes from it, and he adores the people he works with. He's shy but not in a dorky way because he's actually fascinating. Before meeting him, you never knew that collecting denim was a thing.

The smell of cigarettes that clings to him is also tightly laced with his character. When you step outside to get some sun and the scent of someone smoking hits you, your heart instantly speeds up, hoping it's him coming for his daily americano, or to come swoop you away into a sunset.

"-I fell on my ass in the middle of the street. I was freaking out, thinking I was gonna get run over by a car," you exclaim as you tell Carmy about the crazy Christmas you spent in New York last year.

"It's New York. You probably would have been run over," Carmy chuckles along with you. "There was this one time I was running late and-" His phone vibrating interrupts him.

"Sorry, it's just the fridge guy," he tells you with a furrow of his eyebrows. You notice he does that a lot when he's thinking deeply. Carmy silences it and looks back over to you.

"You should pick that up. A busted fridge is the last thing you need. Trust me. Been there, done that." You encourage him to take the call. The restaurant is more important than your story about how you bruised your coccyx in New York.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Carm! Call him back before you forget," you insist, grabbing his empty cup to trash it. You don't give him any other option, leaving him there to help your employees with a faulty machine.

He watches you closely, closer than ever before. He allows himself to watch how you frown at the machine and how your ringed fingers fumble with the knobs. His eyes keep trailing down involuntarily, and they take in how nicely your jeans hug your ass.

He goes into a spiral into these old pair of Levi jeans popular in the 90s and how they would fit nicely with the shape of your hips and legs. Carmy continues on the tangent, imagining himself peeling them off your body.

The phone vibrating in his hand snaps him out of it. Clearing his throat, he picks up the phone and walks outside. He waves at you through the window as he makes his way back to The Bear. Your frustration at the machine vanishes momentarily as you wave back, except the machine splatters, forcing you to redirect your attention. When you look outside again, he's gone.

Stakes are high at The Bear. There's less than four weeks until Friends and Family, and there is much to do. Marcus has returned from Copenhagen and is working on the desserts. Tina is doing her job as the new sous chef. Fak and Sweeps are helping out wherever they can. And Richie is being Richie, trying to be open but resisting change.

"I need coffee or a pop. Anything with caffeine," Sydney says, throwing her head back. She and Carmen have been working on the chaos menu for hours, and she keeps messing up. Carmy insists that it's okay that they'll adjust and get it right soon, but she's beginning to lose hope.

"Me too. I'd kill for an espresso," Natalie agrees, softly rubbing her hand over her growing bump.

"I thought you couldn't have caffeine cause of the baby," Richie mentions, remembering Tiff's time while pregnant.

"I don't need you to fuckin' tell me what I can or can't eat, Richie," Natalie yells, glaring at him. Although he's right, the doctor told her to limit her caffeine intake. Hard to do when she's up all night thinking about everything she needs to do for The Bear.

"Shit. I'm sorry for fucking caring," Richie screams back, lifting his hands up in defense.

"I can go to the coffee place down the block. Get everyone something," Carmy pipes up, looking forward to seeing you today.

Natalie is quick to shoot that idea down, "You can't. The fridge guy is coming in 20 minutes."

"Fuck, that's right," Carmy groans, digging his head in his hands. His fingers rake through his hair, messing up his curls. He wanted to see you and talk to you, even if it was for five short minutes.

"I'll go," Sydney sighs. She needs to leave the kitchen for more than five minutes, or she'll go crazy, "Just tell me what you guys want to order."

Natalie grumbles about getting decaf, Richie orders a plain black coffee, and Carmy asks for his americano. As Sydney leaves to ask Marcus, Carmy yells after her, "Please, go to Bee Hive. If you get Starbucks, I'm gonna fucking lose it."

Richie and Natalie exchange a look. Richie because he's confused, and Natalie because she knows something is happening with Carmy. He's never been picky over coffee. In fact, they have an old coffee machine in the office that now goes unused because he's always at that coffee shop.

"Sorry, I didn't get the fuckin' memo. Since when is Starbucks bad?" Richie frowns, looking to get a rise out of Carmy.

"I don't think it's about the coffee, cousin," Natalie responds, directing her gaze towards her brother, who is hunched over the counters, chopping vegetables.

"If it's not about the coffee, what is it about?" Richie questions, crossing his arms.

"Shut the fuck up, Sugar," Carmy grumbles, looking at his sister with a glare. He already knows where she's going. She tried to bring it up a couple of days ago after she walked by the coffee shop and saw him being friendly with you.

Natalie smiles and responds, "Carmy has a crush on the barista."

"That's ridiculous. I don't have a crush on her." Carmy shakes his head, avoiding Richie and Natalie's eyes on him. They always do this. They gang up on him if he shows even the slightest interest in a girl. They think they can help, but all they do is embarrass him.

"Come on, Bear. Why else would you go almost every day to get coffee?" Natalie asks, giving him a look.

"Because it's good fuckin' coffee. Jesus, it's not that deep." Carmy grabs the veggies he chopped and drops them into a container to use later.

"It's okay to admit you like a pretty girl, cousin! I'm excited for you! Makes you human and not a lonely hermit," Richie jokes, pushing on Carmy's buttons. "When was the last time you got laid?"

"I swear to God, Richie. Shut the fuck up," Carmy points at him angrily.

"No, I should go with Sydney and see who this girl is!" Richie says, walking out of the half-built kitchen.

Carmy follows him instantly, "You're not going fuckin' anywhere, fuckin' jagoff." He's turning red from anger, seeing Richie with his mocking smile. Natalie follows behind them, amused at the situation. It reminds her of the banters they used to get in with Mickey.

"Admit that you like her," Richie shrugs, giving him a choice.

"No, I won't," Carmy refuses. "You always do this shit."

"Then, I'm going," Richie nods, stepping towards the door.

"Fuck! Shit, alright. I like her, okay? Don't fucking go anywhere," Carmy yells, rubbing a hand on his face out of frustration. It's like he's not allowed to keep anything good to himself.

"Was that so hard?" Richie grins, clapping a hand on Carmy's shoulder.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," Carmy grumbles, walking back to the kitchen. Natalie follows him with a smile, shaking her head at Richie.

Carmy sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. He has yet to admit that he likes you more than he should. He's been avoiding it, afraid of what it might lead to, or rather, what it might not.

He couldn't let Richie go see you. He has a big fuckin' mouth and will tell you Carmy has a crush on you whether it's true or not. Just like that, he feels the sour taste in his mouth, his heartburn making an appearance. Carmy should go look for his pepto before it gets worse.

Unaware of the argument back at The Bear, Sydney walks to Bee Hive. She's walked past many times but has yet to have the time to stop and try it out.

As she waits in line, she reads over the drinks menu. It's clear that it's been carefully curated. Starbucks has nothing on this menu. She can see why Carmy would prefer to come here instead.

When it's her turn to order, Sydney takes out her phone to recite everyone's drink order. She also points to a few pastries, thinking Marcus would like to try some of them and get inspiration. That and she knows Natalie will enjoy them as well.

You're sitting at a table close to the pickup counter. You often find yourself all over the store, ensuring everything goes smoothly. Sometimes, you stop to talk to your regulars and see how they're doing.

You notice Sydney struggling with all the cups she has to carry. It's proving difficult despite the to-go trays your barista put them in. Deciding to approach her, you ask, "Do you need help?"

"Oh, no. I'm fine, thanks," Sydney responds with a nervous smile. She's trying hard to grab everything, including the box with the pastries.

You continue watching her struggle because you know she needs help. You let her try and figure it out for one more minute before stepping in again when she almost drops two of the drinks, "Need some help now?"

"Yeah," Sydney sighs, "I guess I can leave one of the trays here, go to the restaurant, and come back for the rest," she speaks mostly to herself.

"Are you going far?"

"No, just the restaurant down the block," Sydney responds with a sigh, scratching her eyebrow as she tries to figure out the logistics of carrying the drinks. She could get a box to put everything in.

You perk up at her response. The only restaurant down the block is Carmen's. Could she work there? "Carmy's restaurant?"

"You know Carmy?" Sydney asks, tilting her head. Maybe Nat was right. Carmy spends his time here because of the woman in front of her.

"He comes here often. Anyway, I can go with you to help you out. It's not far, and I'd feel bad if your drinks got cold." You offer to help her out because you're a nice person. Not because you want a chance to see the curly-haired man you are developing feelings for.

"You really don't have to…"

"It's really not a problem," you press, grabbing one of the to-go trays and motioning for her to lead the way.

Sydney sighs in defeat and nods, "Thanks. I'm Sydney, by the way."

"I'm Honey," you smile, following her outside.

You chat all the way to the restaurant with Sydney. She reminds you of Carmy in some ways, so you can see why they are friends. Before arriving at the restaurant, Sydney apologizes in advance for any sort of mess there might be, including yelling.

As you near the building under renovation, your palms start to sweat. Maybe you shouldn't have come. You're showing up unannounced, and he's probably too busy to talk to you anyway. You can slip in and out without him noticing. That's the goal now.

You open the door for Sydney, letting her go through first, and quietly follow her into the restaurant. There's no time to escape, as all eyes are instantly on you.

Richie is arguing with Fak when he sees you walk in. He narrows his eyes as Carmy looks in your direction from the kitchen. With just one glance to Carmy's face, he knows who you're supposed to be.

"Guess I didn't have to go anywhere. She came to me," Richie whispers, rushing out the door.

"Shut the fuck up. Where are you going? Don't embarrass me!" Carmy whispers out to Richie unsuccessfully.

"Oh, you'll do that all by yourself," Richie throws over his shoulder.

"Honey, hey, what-what're you doing here?" Carmy speaks, not giving Richie a chance to open his big mouth. He stands between you and Richie, blocking him for the time being.

"Sydney needed help with the drinks," you answer nervously, averting your eyes.

"Oh, thanks for that. You didn't have to," Carmy approaches you and takes the drinks from your hands. His fingers brush with yours momentarily, causing you both to blush.

"I did, or else you probably wouldn't have anything to drink," you whisper to him.

Sydney, Fak, and Richie all watch the interaction amusedly. Richie has a big teasing grin on his face as he makes a plan in his head.

"Hi, I'm Richie! Carmy's cousin," he introduces himself, shoving Carmy to the side and shaking your hand enthusiastically. "I gotta say Carmen right here is obsessed with your coffee. He's banned us from getting Starbucks."

Carmy curses under his breath as Richie does precisely what he tells him not to. He has the urge to throw the coffee at him and run away.

"Is that right?" You ask, amused, looking over at Carmy with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh yeah," Richie answers for him as Carmy tries to find the right words to say. "Cousin, why don't you give the nice lady a tour of the place?"

"It's not done yet. Could be dangerous," Carmy hopelessly says with a gulp.

"Nonsense! You'll take care of her!" Richie insists. He takes the coffee from Carmy's hands and pushes him in your direction. "Go give her a tour."

Richie, Sydney, and Fak all disappear to the office to stay out of the way and try to snoop simultaneously. Fak sends Carmy a not-so-discreet thumbs-up that makes you giggle.

He's internally screaming at his so-called friends but is glad to see you. It was all he wanted before Sydney left to get their drinks. It's strange having you here at The Bear, though. He's so used to seeing you in your own space back at Bee Hive.

Trying to make things better, you say, "Sorry you've been roped into this. You probably have better things to do. I can go-"

Carmy doesn't let you finish. "No, stay. I want to show you around."

"Let's see what you got then, Berzatto," you grin, following him to the kitchen.

Carmy takes his time showing you The Bear. He wants you to stay. He wants to spend time with you but doesn't really know how to say it. So he takes it slow, answers your questions about the restaurant, shows you the front and how everything will be laid out, and introduces you to the ones around, including the fridge guy working on the handle.

Sadly, you get a call from Bee Hive asking you to come back. Carmy walks you outside, dreading having to say goodbye.

"I'm really excited for The Bear to open. You have a great place and team," you tell Carmy.

"I really got lucky with them, huh?" He asks, playing with a dish towel.

"I gotta go. I'll see you later, Berzatto." You don't know where you got the guts to lean towards him and kiss his cheek.

Carmy stays still as his face heats up. You start walking away and throw him a smile over your shoulder. When you're a distance away, he touches the cheek you kissed. Back inside, Richie runs over to Sugar to tell her what he just witnessed.

It's late when Carmy leaves The Bear. As he walks to the train station, he has his hands stuffed in his jacket pocket. On his way, he sees a lone light turned on in your café. Crossing the street to check it out, he sees you're still there with glasses perched on your nose in front of the computer.

He tries the door, and to his luck, it's open. You look in his direction, startled, but relax once you see it's him.

"Nice glasses," Carmy teases, pulling out a chair to sit.

"Are you making fun of me?" You purse your lips, propping your chin on your palm.

"No, I…I think you look cute with them," Carmy admits. After a stern talk from Sugar and Richie, he's realized he should probably make a proper move on you because if what they say is true, you also have a crush on him.

"Thanks," you blush, the light from your screen making it obvious to Carmy, who can't stop the corners of his lips from turning up into a smile.

"Late night?"

"One of my baristas is moving out of state. I have to find someone new, preferably who has experience," you say with a sigh. Glancing at him, you add, "Are you perhaps interested in the position?"

"Poaching me from my own restaurant, nice. I'll let you know I'm an excellent worker," Carmy jokes, tapping his fingers on the table.

There's no doubt in your mind he's an excellent worker. He has to be if he's considered one of the best up-and-coming chefs. Or to work in one of the best restaurants in the world with three Michelin stars.

"I don't know. I'll need references," you speak as if not believing him.

Carmy smiles and softly chuckles, "Fair enough."

There's a moment of silence between the two of you that Carmy is quick to fill, "So, uh, have you had dinner yet by chance?" This is it.

You shake your head no and look at him with hopeful eyes.

"Wanna go grab pizza? I know a place," he asks, finding your gaze on him.

"Say no more," you say, closing your laptop and taking off your glasses. "I'm starving."

Carmy waits for you to lock Bee Hive and grab your things. Then, you both walk to the pizza place. To pass the time, you and Carmy talk about your days and anything that comes to mind. Nothing serious as you get to know each other.

Waiting in line to order the pizza, you tell him all about your nickname and how you were donned 'Honey' to everyone who knows you. In return, he tells you about his nickname 'Bear' and why his restaurant is named as such. For the first time, he dares mention Mickey.

"Best pizza in Chicago," Carmy says, taking a slice of the pie and placing it on your plate.

"I'll see about that," you murmur. You wait until he has a slice of his own and dig in simultaneously.

"It's good, but this is not the best pizza place in Chicago," you say after chewing the first bite, "I'm gonna get your chef license revoked."

"Are you? With what proof? Have you tried all the pizza places to know?"

"I don't have to because I've tried the best," you hum, taking another bite. The cheese stretches as you pull it away.

"Oh yeah? Which one?" Carmy questions you, taking a drink of his beer.

"Mine. The pizza I make is the best," you shrug modestly.

"Wait. You cook?" Carmy asks, giving you a look of surprise.

Cooking is a universal thing. Most people know how to cook up to a degree, yet only some are as confident in their skills as you are. You know you're definitely not up to Carmy's level, but if there is something you know how to do properly, it's pizza.

"Yeah! You're not the only good cook here, Berzatto," you sass back at him, dipping the pizza crust in the marinara sauce.

"Sorry for assuming," he raises his palms.

"You're forgiven," you chirp.

"When will I try this famous pizza of yours then?" Carmy wonders. An attempt to see if you'd like to see more of him.

"I promise I'll make it for you once you open The Bear. You're too stressed to fully enjoy it now," you respond. You were reaching out. Throwing hints that you want this to continue in the foreseeable future.

The conversation continues to flow with an empty pizza box in front of you. Customers come and go until it's only the two of you and a drunk customer picking up his pizza.

"Tell me about your tattoos. Were they an act of rebellion or something else?"

It's an excuse to touch his hands. You reach for them, turning them to see the black ink on his hands and fingers. You gently trace over them with the pads of your fingers. Over the hand that's stabbed, the letters S.O.U. on his knuckles and the forget-me-nots. The one you're dying to touch, though, is the one on his bicep; you'd give anything to feel the hard muscle underneath the rolled-up sleeves of his white t-shirt.

"Uh, my first tattoo is the 773. Got it when I left Chicago for the first time. After that, I sort of became addicted to them. I found they helped my anxiety when it was becoming too much. The pain distracted me and made me feel stronger than I actually was," he says, letting you touch him. He finds that he likes it. Your touch is soft and warm. Comforting.

"So what you're trying to say is you're a masochist," you say, bouncing your eyebrows at him. Your touch goes further up his arm to turn it and look at the fish tattoo on his forearm.

"I guess so," Carmy responds with a breathy laugh, "Do you have any tattoos?"

"Maybe…" You shrug as the pads of your fingers trail back down to his palm until you pull them back towards you. Carmy instantly misses the feeling, opting to cross his arms to retain the warmth you left behind.

"It's bad, isn't it?" He says knowingly. Your reaction told him everything he needed to know.

"The worst," you grimace, shaking your head at the memory of you getting it.

"So, rebellion or something else?"

"Rebellion. For all the wrong reasons," you groan, burying your face in your hands, "Growing up, everyone saw me as a good girl because that's what I was. Breaking the rules terrified me. So, as a teenager, I didn't want to be seen as a goody two shoes, so the summer before I went to college, I decided that getting a tattoo would make me a badass."

"Did it work?"

"God, no. I only got the outline done 'cause it hurt like a bitch. Then I went crying to my parents, fully having a meltdown, apologizing for disappointing them," You scrunch your nose as you say the following words, "They laughed in my face, called me a wimp, and told me to suck it up."

Carmy fully laughs at your story. Head thrown back, eyes closing, "What did you get?"

"That's a secret, Berzatto," you purse your lips, avoiding responding. You just know he'll make fun of you for it.

Everyone who has seen your tattoo has made fun of you for it, yourself included. It's so silly and not badass. Carmy will have to wait to see your tattoo, and you hope this continues so he can see it up close.

"Really? That bad?" Carmy stares wide-eyed.

"It's terrible," you nod, leaning on the table. "We should probably get going before the waitress throws a fit."

Carmy looks over his shoulder to see the waitress glaring at them. It's five minutes till close, and they've made no move to go. He turns back to you and nods towards the door. Carmy helps you with your jacket and leaves a tip on the jar for the waitress. At that, she happily calls after them with a 'Good night!'

"Do you live far?" Carmy asks, seeing how dark it is now that most places have closed. There are too many lamp posts that aren't working. He'd feel better if he could walk you home or you called an Uber. Preferably the former.

"Only a couple of blocks away. Why?"

"It's late. Let me walk you home," Carmy says decidedly, not giving you much of a choice.

"Thanks," you respond with a small smile.

The pace you set is slow. You don't want your time with Carmy to end just yet. He's such an interesting and sweet guy. He's a little awkward, but it adds to his charm, and you can see he's trying.

Somewhere along the way, his hand brushes against yours briefly. Then, it happens again, and you decide to bite the bullet. You grasp his hand in yours.

"Is this okay?" You ask when he falls silent.

Carmy doesn't have a lot of experience with girls. He can't even remember the last time he held a girl's hand. All he knows is he doesn't remember ever feeling this good. "Yes, uh, this is okay."

Carmy walks you up to your front door when you reach your house. You unlock the door but stay outside face-to-face with Carmy.

"Thanks for the pizza," you say, fiddling with your fingers. You were about to make one more move for the night. Because as long as Carmy allows you, you'll keep pushing for more.

"Sorry, it wasn't the best," he retorts, rubbing his jaw with his hand. You notice he does that a lot when nervous.

"Your company made up for it," you reassure him, "g'night Carmy." You kiss his cheek goodbye, watching as his cheeks blush.

"Night," he whispers.

As you turn to leave, Carmy stops you by grabbing your wrist, "Wait-uh, can I? Uh-shit. Fuck it." For a second, Carmy shuts out the excessive thoughts in his head and does what he's been dying to do for weeks.

Carmy cups your jaw and kisses you. It's soft and slow. He gives you enough leeway to pull away if it's something you don't want, but you reciprocate eagerly. You've been waiting for this all night.

As confidence surges through his body, Carmy throws an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You wrap your arms around him, one of your hands resting on his neck, tangling on his curls. The tug of your fingers feels like heaven.

The kiss turns needy and desperate, your lips moving perfectly in sync. His tongue brushes over your lip; Carmy has been dying to test a theory. Are you as sweet as your name?

He's rewarded by a little noise in the back of your throat as he slips his tongue into your mouth. It's endearing, and he finds a way to make you do it again. With heads tilting to deepen the kiss, he concludes he was right. You're pure honey. Sweet and addicting.

When Carmy returns to his apartment, he gets the urge to create, to cook. He wants to bring your taste to life with his cooking. Something with honey.

"I was wondering if you'd want to come to the restaurant for Family and Friends."

You and Carmy are in your little office at Bee Hive. He stands between your legs as you sit on the desk. His lips are slightly red and swollen, and the hair at the nape of his neck is messier than usual.

"Hm, I could be persuaded," you pretend to think as you play with the golden chain around his neck, pulling him towards you.

"Yeah?" Carmy laughs, leaning to brush his lips against yours. When he feels you nod, he closes the small gap between the two of you.

His hands hold your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. He tastes like coffee, which is to be expected from the discarded cup beside you. It's funny how your relationship, if it could be called that, has moved all around Bee Hive from the register to the front and now to your office.

You're at a weird spot where you're not exactly friends because friends don't kiss, but you're not a couple either. It's a situationship for sure. You're content with what you have now, although you'd also love it if Carmy were to ask you to be more. You pin it on him being shy. He'll get around to it.

"What do you say?" Carmy questions as he kisses a trail from your cheek to your jaw.

"Consider me in," you giggle when he kisses a tickly spot.

Carmy brushes a strand of hair out of your face, remaining close to you. This is what he needs. After months of stress and anxiety of having to deal with The Beef, now The Bear, he needed you and your calming presence. Someone removed from the chaos, a safe haven.

He's quiet as his thoughts consume him, and you take the intimate position to fix his gold chain. Turning it so the clasp faces the back instead of the front. "I'm excited, Carmy," you say with a smile, brushing his cheek with your thumb.

"You can bring someone with you," Carmy offers nervously because he realizes he probably won't have the time to spend much time with you. "I-I don't think I'll be around much. I'm sorry. I'd understand if that makes you change your mind," Carmy drops his head as he braces himself for disappointment.

As the weeks pass, you learn more about Carmy and his insecurities. It doesn't deter you from wanting to be with him. Everyone has their issues. "Berzatto, stop. Look at me," you softly divert his attention, "I'd love to go and support you even if it's from the sidelines."

"You sure?" He asks once more.

If reassurance is what he needs, that's what you'll give. "Don't worry about me. This is your moment, Carmy. Enjoy it. I'll be around afterward."

"Thank you for understanding," Carmy responds, stealing one more kiss from you.

When he returns to The Bear, he helps Sydney prep the dishes they finally chose to serve. He notes how everything is laid out and anything they should fix before opening.

Richie struts into the kitchen with a suit on. Apparently, it's his thing now. Carmy figures staging at Chef Terry's restaurant had a good impact on him. All Carmy wanted was to show Richie he had what it takes. That he's not a fuck up.

"Glad to see things are going well with Honey," Richie thunders.

"What are you talking about?" Carmy says in a rush as he plates the lamb expertly.

"That thing on your neck," Richie says, motioning to his own neck. He has a smug look on his face.

"I don't have time for this, cousin," Carmy grumbles, wiping the plate where the sauce might've splattered.

Groaning, Richie grabs one of the new pans and holds it in front of Carmy. "I don't see anything," he frowns, looking at Richie for an explanation.

"Right here," Richie points towards the edge of his t-shirt around his neck.

Carmy pulls it back and finally spots what Richie has been referring to. There is a fading purple bruise on his skin, a hickey. You must've done it when he was back in your office. He'd been too busy touching you to notice.

Sydney, silently watching, pipes up, "No wonder he hasn't been as on edge lately." Carmy shoots her a glare, which causes her to shrug and laugh with a, "What? It's true."

"Ay, yo, Sugar, get in here!" Richie yells down the hall to the office.

"What is it?" Natalie barges in, afraid something went to shit.

Carmy ignores Richie as he babbles to Natalie what he found. His face is red, though, as Sydney nudges his side.

"That's enough about me. We have shit to do," Carmy shouts in his chef's voice.

Everyone in the kitchen, including Richie and Natalie, repeats, "Yes, chef!"

Walking out of the kitchen Richie, 'whispers' to Natalie, "I've always wondered if he likes to be called chef in bed."

"Fuck off, Richie," Natalie glares, but then it falls, and it's replaced with a teasing grin, "He definitely does."

"I heard that! Don't you two have better things to do?" Carmy screams at them.

"Yes, chef!"

Carmy keeps hearing Cicero's 'Uh-oh' throughout the whole day. He understands Cicero, he really does, but to call you a distraction?

His work with The Bear is only starting. They managed to make it to Friends and Family. Now, they have to keep up their best work to fill up the restaurant daily and have a waiting list. His work is far from done. He should listen to Cicero.

Cicero said it with the best of intentions. He doesn't want the Berzatto siblings to fail. He wants to believe they'll succeed and, most importantly, get him his money.

If there is something Cicero has learned throughout the years, it is that girls are distractions. They mean well, but oftentimes, they keep your eyes off the ball. Especially when it's a new relationship like Carmy's. Ultimately, it's up to Carmy to decide what he wants to do. Cicero has played his part by giving him his advice.

One last delivery is made to the restaurant an hour before opening. Richie is the one to receive it and place it in front of Carmy. "She's a keeper, Cousin," he says with a pointed look and a nod. He also wants the best for Carmy, and yet it doesn't align with Cicero.

You knew Carmy would be too stressed and all over the place to eat or drink, so you sent everyone at The Bear a drink and a pastry. One of the cups has Carmen's name with a little heart and 'good luck' written on it.

"Yeah, she is," Carmy sighs, turning the cup in his hands to look at the message. His thumb brushes over your handwriting longingly. Is listening to Cicero the wise thing to do? He's one of the most successful men he knows in his family.

When it's 10 minutes till open, Carmy changes into his uniform and looks in the mirror. His heart is racing, begging for Friends and Family not to be a complete failure. Walking out of the bathroom, Carmy is a man on a mission.

It starts relatively well, but like everything in Carmy's life, the kitchen starts welcoming in the chaos.

They are too slow getting the orders out, which causes Sydney to start doubting herself and asking Carmy to step in. He reassures her she's doing good. They just have to keep up the pace.

Then, one of the new chefs disappears mid-rush. Forcing Tina to work two stations and Marcus to step out of his to help Sydney. Carmy ignores some weird tension between them as he works on ensuring the dishes are good to go.

Next thing he knows, Sugar is rushing into the kitchen, yelling at him about forks. It's wasted time, as he can't do anything about it. A shrill reverberates inside his head as he looks at the ticking clock. It's enough to give him a headache.

With no one to take a dish to its table, Carmy takes it upon himself to do it. There's no time to re-fire or wait for someone. He places it on their table and pours the tea into their cups before retreating with an 'enjoy.'

He looks at his restaurant, and suddenly, the ringing in his head gets louder. Sitting in a booth is his old boss, staring back at him like he did back in New York. Like he was waiting for Carmy to fail.

His voice echoes in Carmy's head. Why are you so fuckin' slow. Hurry up. Go faster motherfucker. Talentless piece of shit.

Right before Carmy spirals, it all goes away. His focus shifts entirely as he sees you taking your seat for the night. The one he chose because he'd be able to see you from the kitchen. You have successfully blocked the mirage he'd conjured up.

You're there with your brother as Richie talks you up, thanking you for coming. As if sensing him, your eyes lock with Carmys. Shyly, you send him a wave, which he returns, thanking you in his head for getting there at the perfect time.

Carmy ducks back to the kitchen with newfound energy. Richie enters shortly after him.

"Chef, your girl is here."

"Thanks, Chef, um, do you have the notepad?" Carmy asks as he continues cleaning dishes and making sure each one is up to par.

"Here you go."

Taking the notepad from Richie, he begins scribbling. I love- No, too fuckin' soon. Thank you for- Nope, it's too stale.

I'm happy you're here, Honey. Wait for me after you're done? -Bear

"Here," Carmy hands it to him without even looking at Richie.

"Keep up the good work, Chefs," Richie yells out to the room before disappearing to the front of the house. The door swinging shut behind him.

"Yes, Chef!"

Something isn't working in the kitchen. They're too backed up, and no matter how hard they try, they're always a tad too slow. Through Sydney surrounding the wheel to Richie, Carmy steals glances out the kitchen window. You're smiling at whatever your brother says, your lips sipping the wine he chose. Carmy can get through this night because, in the end, you'll be waiting for him.

"There he is," you sing as you spot Carmy walking out of the kitchen. The chef's whites back in his locker as he sports his white t-shirt, jeans, and jacket.

Fak, who kept you company while Carmy finished up, speaks up next, "My brother, I'm gonna grab a sandwich and head home. Honey, it was a pleasure meeting you."

"You too, Neil!"

"Thanks for everything," Carmy tells him, giving him a hug and a pat like dudes do.

Carmy turns and grabs your hand to pull you close and kiss your cheek. "What did you think?"

"It was the most delicious thing I've ever tasted," you tell him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

There's a reason Carmy has had so many accolades despite his young age. He has a gift in the kitchen. The moment his food touched your taste buds, your life changed. He and Sydney outdid themselves, and the way everything flowed showed how much work they put into the restaurant.

"You're exaggerating," Carmy modestly says, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"I'm really not," you shake your head, pursing your lips. Carmy can't resist placing a small peck on your red-painted lips.

"What about your famous pizza?"

"No, it might be the best pizza in Chicago, but whatever I ate today topped it," you smile at him, scrunching your nose. "Consider your chef's license reinstated,"

"Thanks," Carmy laughs breathily, "Do you mind if we walk? I feel some of the rush still."

"Lead the way, Mr. Berzatto."

Carmy grabs your hand, leading you to the streets of Chicago. It's silent momentarily as the wind cools Carmy's heated face. He places his hand along with yours into his pocket.

"Did your brother like it?" He asks, breaking the ice.

"Oh yeah. I'm officially like the best sister ever," you respond, squeezing his hand.

You had accidentally forgotten that your brother had passed the Bar exam. So, you didn't have time to get him anything in celebration. You figured dinner at a lovely new restaurant would help while you got him a proper present.

"How did you feel throughout, though? It looked intense." You often found yourself looking through the small glass window into the kitchen. They were always on the move, looking for the next thing to do.

"It didn't just look like it. I'm used to it, though," Carmy admits with a sniff. Everyone's best and worst habits shone through for those couple of hours. It's an environment he's all too familiar with, in and out of the kitchen.

"That rough," you grimace.

"It's fine. We have a lot to work on, but it's a start, and it wasn't entirely terrible," Carmy says, thinking back on tonight. Before coming out to meet you, he wrote down a couple of things to go through with Sugar and Sydney.

"Good, 'cause I hope The Bear sticks around the block," you say, bumping your shoulder with his.

You invite Carmy into your house when you arrive. He takes up your offer, holding your hand to help you balance as you take your heels off. It reminds Carmy he forgot to mention how beautiful you looked today.

He follows you to the kitchen, watching your hips sway and your dress skirt swishing. Padding to the wine fridge, you pick out a bottle of red to celebrate.

Carmy indulges in looking at your legs as you stretch up to reach for the glasses of wine up in your cabinets. His blue eyes darken as your dress hikes up, exposing your pretty thighs.

His gaze darts back up at you when you turn around to place the glasses on the kitchen counter. You hand him the wine opener so he can do the honors because you suck at taking the cork out. It's why you mainly stick to cheaper wines with twist-off caps.

"Here is to The Bear and its amazing owner," you say, lifting your glass in front of you.

"Here's to not fuckin' it up entirely," Carmy follows, making you giggle. Your wine glasses clink, and you take a drink.

Placing the glass back down, Carmy pins you against the counter, his strong hands resting on the edge of it. You look at him through your lashes, a hand coming up to his chest to feel the steady thumping of his heart.

"You look beautiful. I like the dress," Carmy murmurs. It's better late than never.

The dress you wear is a pretty shade of light blue. Simple yet dressy. The neckline gives him a good view of your cleavage and has long sleeves to compensate for the shorter length. They currently cover the goosebumps lining your skin.

"Yeah? I picked it out thinking you might," you reveal, biting your lip. The shade reminded you of his eyes.

"You were right," he whispers, cupping your jaw. As pretty as the dress is, he's sure it'll look so much better on the floor.

Carmy closes his eyes as he leans down to kiss you. He's always struggled with words, so he hopes it's enough for you to catch what he's trying to say.

You smile into the kiss, blindly leaving your glass to the side to be able to touch him. Your palm presses against his chest and taut abdomen. He hides a nice amount of muscle under his t-shirts, a pleasant surprise.

Carmy easily lifts you up to sit down on the kitchen island. He steps between your legs, never breaking the heated kiss. The hands on your waist trail down to your thighs and under your dress. Carmy's tattooed hands squeeze your ass and thighs, earning him a moan from you.

This is the farthest you've ever gotten, and you're more than ready to have all of him. Carmy knows this, which leads to his thoughts getting out of control.

He has to make a decision now. Does he allow himself to be with you, or does he remain by himself like always? Richie's, Sugar's, Cicero's, and Sydney's voices all shout at him different things. Some are in favor, and others are in opposition. 'Uh oh.'

He can't lead you on and sleep with you if he will back out tomorrow. The voices become deafening in an instant, ripping him away from your embrace. His emotions bubbled over and spilled all over the place.

"Wait, stop, I just-" Carmy breathes heavily, taking a couple of steps back from you. Carmy's hand comes up to his forehead as he attempts to organize his thoughts.

"What's wrong?" You ask worriedly. Did you do something wrong?

Carmen's thoughts spill out his mouth without making much sense as he paces in your kitchen. "I can't stop thinking about it and owe it to my team..."

"Carm?" You slide off the kitchen counter, approaching him slowly.

"-keeps saying it's a distraction," he rambles mostly to himself. His heart is pounding painfully in his chest. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he was having a heart attack.

"Hey, hey, hey. What's a distraction?" Softly, you grab onto his arms, stopping him in his tracks, trying to find his lost gaze.

"You. Whatever this is," Carmy breathes, finally meeting your eyes, which he instantly regrets as your eyes turn sad.

The watering of your eyes is unintentional, as is the knot forming in your throat. "You think I'm distracting you?" You question barely above a whisper.

His response is instant, "Fuck, no, the opposite. W-When I'm with you or-or think about you, things get clearer, and it's-it's when I feel the most focused." Carmy holds your shoulders, comforting you because he never meant to hurt you. He can't stand the sad look in your eyes.

Slowly, you begin to piece together his rambling and conclude that other people have been telling him you're a distraction. You wonder if they don't want him to be happy. The Bear is the center of Carmy's life, and before that, it was the restaurant in New York. He deserves more than this crazy job.

"Then fuck what others tell you, Carmen. You deserve to have a life outside The Bear." Maybe you're selfish because you don't want to lose him, but you hope he believes your words.

"I-I don't. I don't deserve all your attention or your affection. I'm nothing special. I don't deserve you." Carmy says, shaking his head with furrowed brows.

Weeks ago, he had no source of enjoyment. He said it himself at the support group. Now, he has you, yet he can't bear the thought of you wanting to be with him. He feels like he's tricking you into a bad deal. That's what he is, though, isn't he? An overachieving fuck up with tons upon tons of baggage.

Carmen Berzatto is an anxious person with too many problems in his life. He has a fucked up family. His mother is a mentally unstable alcoholic. His brother was addicted to painkillers and decided that shooting himself on a bridge was better than living this life. That's without mentioning all the trauma he has from his job and the terrible people he's worked with.

What good does he have to offer you?

"Yes, you do," you reassure him, placing your hands on his cheeks. The cool metal of your rings soothes him somewhat, grounding him. "You deserve all that and more, Carmy. You're so sweet and kind and hard-working. You've been through shit. You deserve something good in life. Maybe it's me, or maybe it's not, but don't close yourself off."

You're begging at this point. Whatever this relationship is, it's just starting. He's not giving himself a chance. You like Carmy so damn much. He's funny without knowing it and thoughtful, too. There are so many qualities he doesn't realize he has.

His eyes watch you as tears line them. He's silently pleading for you to convince him. To get him out of his own head and forget the expectations others have on him.

"I'm not going to force you into anything, Carm. It's your call, but I've enjoyed our last couple of months together. I know we don't know each other completely, but I want to know everything about you. I have feelings for you, so whatever you decide, I'll support it."

Being honest is all you can do at this point. You pour your heart out and hope Carmy chooses you.

You and Carmy stand in the middle of your kitchen. Face to face, reaching out towards each other. It's clear as day that you want the same thing. It's only a matter of taking the right steps now.

"I can't let you go," Carmy responds, grabbing the hand on his cheek. His thumb brushes over the back of it.

"Then don't."

Carmy's decision is made. Without another thought, he smashes his lips against yours. He grabs the back of your neck, tilting your head to meet his heated kiss.

It's more intense now that the cards are on the table. Nothing to hold him back.

Tongues clash together as your bodies seek each other out. The temperature rises when Carmy lifts you up to wrap your legs around his hips. His hands are on the back of your thighs, holding tight onto you.

"Bedroom?" He asks, breaking the kiss, a trail of saliva between the two of you.

"Down the hallway," you breathe heavily, kissing down his neck.

Carmy makes it to the bedroom, opening the door with a bang. He spots your bed, placing you in the middle with him holding himself up on top of you.

He watches as your back meets the bed and your fair fans around you like a halo. The curvature of your breasts accentuated even more from the position.

Carmy hikes your leg further up his hips as he dips down to kiss a wet trail down to the neckline of your dress. He leaves open-mouthed kisses on the rounded flesh, nipping at the skin playfully when you arch your back to push more into him.

"Carmy," you breathe, cupping his jaw to pull him back to your lips. Grinding your hips, you manage to graze against his bulge.

"Shit," Carmy shakily curses, thrusting his hips to meet your touch once more.

Curiously, your hands wander across his body. Carmy's moans in your ear make your panties wetter than they already are.

You grasp the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and off. You're desperate to have him, your cunt aches for him. Your nails scratch down his firm stomach when he bites into your earlobe, softly calling your name.

"Unzip me," you pant, pushing him away and pulling your hair off to the side.

Carmy grabs the small zipper, pushing it down and exposing your pretty skin. As he slides the fabric off of you, he kisses your shoulders and back, taking note of the goosebumps on your skin.

His mind is in the present, and nothing can take it away from him. It's like a switch he managed to turn off in his brain. No more family drama, no more The Bear. It's just you...and him. Honey and Bear.

You stretch your neck to the side, giving Carmy more space to pepper kisses across the delicate skin. The dress pooling at your feet exposes your chest, and Carmy's hands come up from behind you. His fingers shyly brush up your stomach, tickling you, until they find your breasts.

He draws a moan from you as he squeezes them in his palms, pushing you back to meet his chest; turning your head to the side, you find his lips.

The kiss breaks when he slides one of his hands into your underwear, dipping his finger to feel your wetness. Your arm reaches back to dig your fist in his curls.

"You're soaked, Honey," he moans, finding your clit to tease it.

"Been waiting for so long, Carmy," you whine as your hips stutter along with the flicks of his wrist.

"I'm sorry. I'm here now," he purrs into your ear.

Carmy can hear the distinct 'shlick, shlick, shlick' of his fingers against your clit. It spurs him on as he slips a finger into you. He can't wait to have his cock inside of you, snug and warm.

"Oh my god, Carmen," you gasp when he prods another finger into your entrance. Hanging onto his arm across your chest, you roll your hips against his fingers.

"I got you," he says, digging his fingers deeper into you and curling them.

Your knees buckle as the tips of his fingers curl and hit your g spot repeatedly. If it weren't for him, you'd be on the floor. With your tummy tensing under the weight of the pleasure, you stutter out, "I'm gonna cum."

Carmy's hand is wet from your juices as he ups the ante. Just as your walls begin to squeeze around his fingers, he pulls them out to circle around your clit.

"Oh, f-fuck!" You squeal, throwing your head back onto his shoulder.

The way your clit softly twitches under the pads of his fingers fucks with Carmy. It makes his cock throb and leak into his jeans.

Untangling from his embrace, you place a breathless kiss on Carmy's lips. His slick digits dig into your hips as he prolongs it.

Blindly, you find the edge of his jeans and unbutton them. If Carmy notices, he doesn't say anything. You want to give him one more reason to stay with you.

He moans into your mouth when you grasp his length through his boxers. He's rock hard as he desperately ruts against your hand.

With your hold still on him, you push him to sit on the bed. Carmy looks up at you lustfully. You plant a single short kiss on his lips before kneeling on the floor between his legs. You leave love bites down his chest while looking up at him through your lashes.

Carmy brushes away any hair that falls on your face, his blue eyes focused solely on you. When you reach the waistband of his pants, you pull them down along with his underwear.

His length pops up from its confines, slapping against his tummy. Its tip is a pretty pink shade, with a thick length and a slight curve to it. You salivate instantly at the sight of it.

Carmy's nervous under you. It's been a long since he's been with someone else, and he's never been the most confident.

"Relax," you say teasingly, kissing around his lower tummy to calm him.

Finally, your hand wraps around his cock, lightly pumping it. Leaving sloppy kisses down his happy trail, you feel Carmy's stomach taut in anticipation.

It's been so fuckin' long.

With your eyes staring into his hungry ones, you kiss the pink head that glistens with pre, teasingly brushing it against your lips. Keeping eye contact, you lick his length from base to tip. You alternate between kissing and licking for a minute, enjoying watching Carmy squirm.

"Fuck, Honey," Carmy throws his head back at your torturous pace.

"Look at me," you sweetly say.

Taking mercy on him, you part your lips to take his length into your warm, wet mouth, bobbing your head to a steady rhythm. Prying one of Carmy's hands from the bedsheets, you place it in your hair, encouraging him to use you.

"Good girl," he moans, fisting your hair to force you to take more of his cock. You let your hands rest on his thighs, feeling the strong muscles underneath.

Carmen observes you with hooded eyes as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him expertly. He's obsessed with how your lips leave behind a tinge of red lipstick on his skin.

"Shit-Fuck me," he yells into the room when you swallow around him.

You want him to cum, but Carmy has other plans. He doesn't think he'll last long if you make him cum now, so after the stunt you pulled, he pulls you off his sensitive cock.

The sight in front of him is erotic as a string of saliva connects you to his cock. The tears lining your eyes and blushed nose add to that pretty picture.

"c'me 'ere," he says, helping you up and kissing you as he leads you back to the bed. He tugs off your wet panties, throwing them somewhere in the room.

You lay back on your pillows with Carmy slotted between your legs. It's torture having him so close and yet so far. Now that you've gotten a taste of his cock you need more.

Carmy touches the inside of your thighs, inching his way closer to your cunt. He instantly notices how fuckin' wet you are. You're dripping even more than before.

"Sucking me off, got you this wet, princess?" He asks, leaning his forehead against yours.

"Mhm, Carmy, wish you would've cum in my mouth," you admit, tilting your head up to brush your lips against his.

"You have such a dirty fuckin' mouth," he chuckles darkly.

Where did this side of you come from? You're usually so sweet and delicate. He should've known you would be a freak in bed. To think he almost let this all go.

"Carmen, please."

"Please, what?" Carmen teases, lining his cock against your opening, wetting his cock.

"Fuck me," you moan, kissing his jaw.

"'m gonna fuck you good, princess," he promises, with a shaky nod before he remembers, "Fuck! I-I don't have a condom with me."

"I should have some in my drawer," you mention breathlessly.

Carmy opens the condom in record time but is surprised when you take it from his hands and roll it down his shaft yourself. You just want an excuse to keep touching him.

With your leg hiked up, he aligns himself and slowly pushes in. You both gasp at the sensation. Carmy, for one, is trying to not bust a nut so soon because you're so tight and warm.

Meanwhile, you hold onto Carmy's back as he stretches you out. It's been so long, and your toys aren't nearly as thick as him. You breathily moan in his ear, which he takes as a good sign as he begins thrusting more forcefully and deeper.

Carmy hopes this isn't a dream, and if it is, he hopes he doesn't wake up anytime soon. He has one hand holding onto your thigh and the other holding himself up. His gold chain dangles above you as he picks his head up from its spot on your shoulder. You take the chance to tug on it, returning his attention to your lips.

"You feel so fuckin' good, princess," Carmy groans, squeezing your thigh.

"I love your cock, Carmy," you whine, feeling the drag of his cock on your walls. The pleasure is all-consuming, leaving a fuzzy feeling in your brain.

"You like when I fuck you like this?"

"Yes, yes, yes, keep going."

His hips snap hard against yours, hitting that spot each and every time. His pelvis hitting your clit. He squeezes your thigh, hips, and sides before his hand squeezes your tits, too, playing with your nipples.

Suddenly, he straightens up, pulling you down the bed to have you flushed against his pelvis. He's a sight for sore eyes that forces you to keep your eyes open.

His thrusts are more forceful like this, where he digs his fingers into the fat of your hips to pull you towards him with each snap. It makes your tits bounce, hypnotizing him.

Through your lustful gaze, he looks like a marble statue. His chest glimmers under the lowlights of your room as sweat clings to him, his chain jumping against the blushed skin of his chest, and his fucking hair falling over his pretty eyes. The set of his jaw could've been sculpted by Michaelangelo himself.

Your hands indulgently reach down to touch him in any way you can. You can only reach his stomach, where a nice pair of abs appear due to the effort.

"You like what you see?" Carmy teases. He's entirely lost on you because otherwise, he wouldn't be as cocky to say that.

"You're so handsome," you pitifully say. Your brain not computing as it should, but how can it when it's being fucked out of you?

Carmy doesn't know how to respond. It's not often he's called handsome or looked at as lustfully as you're looking at him. Thankfully, he doesn't need to say much as your eyes roll back and you squeeze your walls around him.

"Carmy, I'm so close," you pant, trying to find any part of him to hold. He offers you his hand, lacing your fingers together.

"Just a little longer, princess," Carmy groans as you clench around him. "Fuck, don't do that to me."

He glances down at the spot where you and him meet to see a ring of white on the base of his cock. He's enthralled with the way you stretch to accommodate him and the way your pink walls drag along his length when he pulls out. Fuckin' beautiful.

Putting all his knowledge to use, he thumbs your clit, making you jolt. He needs you to cum now, or he won't make it. His balls feel like they're about to burst.

"Carmy," you cry out, tightening the hold on his hand.

You teeter on the edge for only a second until you cum, waves of pleasure washing over you. Carmy curses from above you as your tightening walls choke his cock, making him cum too. He stutters his hips a couple more times, riding out his orgasm.

He leans back down again, catching your lips in a small kiss. His body slowly relaxes against yours as his head rests on your neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and perfume.

"That was good," you breathe heavily, rubbing your hands up and down your back. You're just starting to think clearly.

"Fuckin' amazing," he adds.

There's a beat of silence before you both burst out laughing.

A bubble encases you, and it can't be popped as long as you stay in your bedroom. Carmy doesn't want to leave; it's late already, and in a couple of hours, he has to get up and go to The Bear to repeat the process.

For once, he forgets about that and focuses solely on you. He has a couple of hours to spare. Sleep is overrated.

You face each other on the bed, talking in hushed whispers. Your fingers trace the '773' tattoo on his bicep like you've always wanted to do. It tickles Carmy, so he grabs your hand and kisses your palm.

"Now that I'm thinking about it. I didn't see your tattoo," he whispers to prevent disturbing the peace.

Your face warms at his words. You had forgotten about that. He's seen a lot of you in the past couple of hours. What's a bit more of skin?

"You missed my big bad tattoo?" you joke, poking his nose.

"Show me," he says with a lopsided smile.

You make it dramatic, rolling your eyes and giving him a big sigh. Sitting up on the bed, you peel the bed sheets from your body. Carmy props himself up on his elbow in anticipation.

Right there, on your left side and under the curve of your breast is a small outline of Winnie the Pooh's face. Carmy touches it, biting his lip to hold back a laugh. Unsurprisingly, it's precisely what he expected from you.

A few chuckles pass his lips as he pulls you back into his arms.

"Don't laugh. It made sense at the time," you whine, covering yourself back up.

Carmy pulls you to his chest, kissing your temple, "I'm sure it does. Pooh Bear loves his Honey," Just like he does.

"Exactly! Someone gets it!"

And he does because Carmy, aka The Bear, is quickly falling for his Honey.

A couple of days later, Carmy is back at your house helping you prepare the famous pizza you promised him. He lets you take the lead on everything, preferring to follow your instructions rather than let his mind run wild. It's not like you'll let him do most of the work anyway; it's your recipe, and you're protective over it.

"Can you chop up the veggies?" You ask him as you lay down the dough in a pan.

"Yes, Chef," he nods, kissing your cheek as he digs through your kitchen drawers for a knife.

"Oh, I like the sound of that," you muse, shaking your shoulders as you knead the dough to spread it.

"Don't let it get to your head, Hun," Carmy smiles, slicing the vegetables expertly.

Cooking with Carmy is surprisingly easier than you thought. He's not controlling over the kitchen or judgy. He lets you do your thing in peace, following your orders no matter how strange they might be. This is your kitchen, not his.

As you spread the sauce and cheese over one of the doughs, Carmy gets a call. He wipes his hands with a rag and picks it up. You only hear his side of the conversation.

"No, I'm off tonight. I'm with my girl. Call Sugar. She should be able to help you with that. Great. Thanks."

Carmy had promised himself that he would try to balance it all better. He has his team to help each other out. The Bear is a priority, but so are you because you help him keep whatever sanity he has left.

Carmy hangs up, and when he returns to you, he notices the grin on your lips as you put the toppings he chopped on the pizza.

"What's with the smile?" Carmy stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he props his head on your shoulder. Your hair tickles his nose, smelling the notes of coconut of your shampoo he digs his head farther into it.

"I'm your girl?" You ask, the smile still present on your face. He'd missed your initial reaction when you heard him call you 'my girl.' You almost dropped the container of pepperoni that was in your hands. It's a shock cause he never asked you to be his girl.

Carmy pauses and tenses up against you. "Uh, yes? Hold up. Turn around," he orders, as he places his hand on your hips to turn your body around.

"Yes, chef," you respond cheekily, your arms around his neck, careful not to touch his sweater with your messy hands.

"Aren't you my girl?" He frowns, rubbing a thumb over your hips.

"I could be, but I don't remember you asking," you pretend to think.

Carmy never directly asked you to be his girlfriend, and you never asked him to be your boyfriend. You might as well be a couple since you've been dating long enough. You decide to seize the opportunity now to get it out of him. Having a proper anniversary day would be nice because you hope this lasts.

"I see, my mistake," Carmy nods, catching your vibe, "Honey…"

"Yes, Carmy?" You blink innocently at him.

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my girlfriend?" He finally asks.

You could joke around but decided against it cause the moment is perfect, "I'd love to," you nod, giving him a small kiss.

When the pizza is cooked, you bring it over to the dining table. Serving Carmy a pretty slice. Excitedly, you wait for him to bite into it and taste it.

"What do you think?" You ask expectantly.

"You were right. Best pizza in Chicago," Carmy agrees with an unbelievable laugh. He's got a lot to learn from you. It's the truth, or maybe he's blinded by his feelings. Only time will tell where you and Carmy will end up.

The End?

thank you guys for pulling through and reading! i know it's a slow burn but i hope you liked it! i certainly enjoyed writing it even though it took me like 4 months.

if you liked it, i would appreciate you liking it, commenting or reblogging. if you have some feedback feel free to send it my way too. i wanna get better at this whole writing thing!

thank you! bye xx

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #fanfiction #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #the bear fanfiction #the bear #carmy x reader #carmy x you #carmy x fem!reader

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endless-ineffabilities · 5 months ago

Text

chemical override (12)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: see that up there? He's a good fella. He's not going to fumble this time.

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The Mallorca getaway continues. Ewan takes on a new approach when it comes to winning you back. With flirty dares and rising tensions, will you be any closer to making a choice?

The news barely needed any time to settle.

It spread like wildfire, from those with professional connections in Hollywood to casual celebrity gossip enjoyers. In less than an hour after the first batch of headlines broke out, it was clear—Bruce Haversham is now an industry pariah.

It was yesterday when Ewan rejoined the group by the pool, a strange look in his eyes. Before Phia could finish asking if something was wrong, Freddie exclaimed a very surprised, “What the fuck?” as he scanned his phone, and the rest was history.

The following morning, the villa gradually wakes to meet the sunrise.

The place screams simple luxury, with the interiors painted in a standard white and cyan, lush potted plants stretching tall in the corners. There are eight bedrooms and four full bathrooms, so your large group split up as desired.

You’re sharing a room with Phia and Liv, which means that Phia has gladly taken the role of being your personal alarm clock.

You are already awake when you feel her breathing in your ear. You crack open an eye and see her leaning over your bed, a wide grin stretched across her lips. “Day three!” she squeals. “Rise and shiiiine. Buenos dias!”

You groan halfheartedly. It’s impossible to be grumpy even in this hour when Phia acts like it’s going to be the best day ever. Like the day before that. And the day before. And pretty much every day since you’ve met her.

“What time is it?” you croak, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“6:30,” she happily chirps. “It’s our turn to make breakfast.”

Some of the boys volunteered to be the chefs yesterday, and the highlights were Freddie and Matt’s spaghetti bolognese, and Ewan’s sparkling sangria.

You remember telling Emma in the late afternoon that you’ve never tried sangria and you’ve always wanted to, but surely that’s not the reason why Ewan chose to make that drink for dinner. But you knew he had been lounging around, always within sight of you.

He almost never stays far from you.

When you make your way into the kitchen, most of the girls are already busy. Pots and pans hiss and smoke on the stove, filling the air with the scent of cooking.

“We bought ingredients for pancakes, right?” you ask, shuffling through the cupboards.

“Of course we did,” Liv replies, as she slices and carefully arranges fruits on a platter.

“Stacks of pancakes coming right up!” you say, mustering some of Phia’s early morning enthusiasm.

“Oh, I could kiss you,” Liv preens.

A few minutes into your process, you hear gasps in the room. You don’t turn right away, knowing that with your group, it could be anything. From something as simple as juice spilling, or Fabien suddenly going bald. A flock of actors will be dramatic.

But someone barks out, “Ewan! You’re not supposed to be in the kitchen.”

“Let us girls cook in peace. You’ll get your turn again tomorrow,” Phia scolds.

Your breath hitches as you suddenly feel someone standing right behind you. “Good morning, darling,” Ewan’s voice rumbles softly, and you turn to find that he has moved closer, his hand propped on the kitchen counter by your waist. “Are you making pancakes? I’d love to help.”

“Do you want his help?” Bethany questions you plainly.

Ewan shuffles to your side, casually leaning against the counter as he looks at you, his brows raised as he bites his lip in a cheeky manner that sends your pulse skittering.

“I… I wouldn’t mind,” you stammer, and he turns to the rest of the girls to give them a what-can-you-do shrug.

“Fine,” Phia relents with a knowing smile, throwing you a wink that is impossible to miss.

Ewan proves to be a good sous chef, taking note of your remarks, and sticking to the steps you laid out. To be fair, you don’t even have to say much, the both of you falling right into a comfortable rhythm. He hands you the right ingredients without missing a beat. The wide kitchen is filled with the soothing noises of cooking and soft chatter, but your focus is zeroed in on the effortless system that you have going with Ewan.

It’s simple. It’s calm and domestic. It reminds you of a time long gone, when you were dating in LA, spending nearly every waking moment with each other. Before everything got so… complicated.

He stands by while you ladle some pancake batter onto the griddle. He’s there, but you miss him.

“You okay, darling?” he ducks his head so only you can hear. “Did you not sleep well?”

You find concern etched in his features. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just… thinking, I guess.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

Ewan knows you well, so does he know that you’re worried about his nonchalance at what happened to Bruce? The PR arrangement is effectively scrapped, which means that the biggest hurdle that once stood between you and him is no more.

He’s always been so forward and upfront about his feelings, but why does it feel like nothing has happened? Like nothing has changed?

Perhaps the distance that you enforced has become too wide to manage, and he has lost interest? His brow furrows when you don’t answer, and his hand gently squeezes above your elbow. “Hey,” he whispers, trying to catch your attention, “what’s wrong, darling?”

Okay. Maybe he hasn’t completely lost interest. But still.

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “But, how are you doing? With all the drama surrounding Bruce and all that?”

“Well, he’s out of the project. And we’re all glad for it.”

“That’s good.” You flip a pancake too late, slightly burning one side.

You rock back on your heels as you wait, and you turn to find Ewan watching you with an unreadable look in his eyes, his lips curling in that signature Ewan way that can mean everything and nothing at all.

“What?” you finally ask.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, mirroring your tone from earlier, one that fails to mask the thoughts swirling in his mind. “I appreciate your concern, my love. Thank you for asking.”

“No problem,” you say softly, clearing your throat to be heard better. “I’m happy you’re done with that asshole and his unfair demands.”

“Yeah,” he nods. His face is so close to yours that you can spot the tiny flecks of yellow in his blue eyes. His eyes dart to the side, then back to you. “Darling?”

“Mmm?”

“I know I’m just your humble assistant—” He clutches his chest in a playful gesture, smirking knowingly. “—but I think that pancake has turned to stone.”

“Oh, shit!” You hurriedly take it out of the griddle, but he’s right. Even its sides are charcoal-coloured. You groan at your shoddy work, putting it aside to be tossed to the bin later, as Ewan—the cheeky bugger—laughs openly at your distress.

“Alright, alright.” You roll your eyes at him. You should be annoyed, but how can you, when this moment feels like a vivid snapshot of a better time?

You can pretend that you don’t care for it, but what’s the point? Even after all this time, and everything you’ve been through together, and apart.

Always.

“Ewan,” you say, trying to keep a straight face, and failing, “let’s just keep going, okay? And no more accidents. We’re not going to poison everybody.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Yes, it was.”

“How so?”

“You were… being distracting.”

He tilts his head, and stares at you so intensely that you have to turn back to the griddle. As you should, anyway. Oh, if smugness had a face…

The stack becomes higher, then multiplies into two, three… The whole time, the skip in your heartbeat becomes more and more impossible to ignore. Once again, you’re that newbie actress, that girl with a crush, who had to spend an entire day doing press with the Ewan Mitchell.

Your Ewan, who can level you with just a glance.

“Okay,” you exhale. “Just a few more, then we’re done. And please—quit looking at me.”

“What?” Ewan shifts away, as if he hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes with his eyes glued to you for no particular reason. “I can’t look at you? You know I would do anything for you, darling, but that’s kind of an impossible request.”

“Oh my god,” Phia's voice inserts itself in the moment, causing you and Ewan to turn around sharply. It is only then that you notice that everyone has gone out to the patio, judging by the source of the ruckus.

Phia stands there, cool as a cucumber with a glass of juice in one hand, wagging her eyebrows when you make eye contact. “Ewan… just…ugh.”

“What?” Ewan snorts at her faux frustration.

She shakes her head for a few seconds, before landing on, “You’re impossible. I can’t deal with you two. I just can’t.” She then walks away, only pausing briefly to remark, “At least those bloody pancakes were made with love.”

Ewan begins arranging the pancakes to take out to the dining area in the patio, while you tidy up the mess. It’s not long before the rest of the lads come thundering down the stairs, still disheveled and groggy from sleep.

“Time for breakfast,” Ewan remarks as you finish your work, his hand drifting to the small of your back, sending warmth radiating through your skin.

Inevitably, you’re once again caught up in a moment where he is all there is, and you wish he would just make some comment on where things stand between the two of you. Some reassurance, something more than flirtatious remarks and fleeting touches.

But a new arrival in the kitchen melts the moment away.

“Good morning.” It’s Matt, leaning casually against the wall.

Your face heats up in shame. You have been so preoccupied with Ewan and the state of your relationship with him, that you forgot to factor in Matty. The sweetheart you’re technically dating, who has been nothing but good to you.

He walks over, planting a quick kiss on your cheek, his hand resting on the small of your back, mirroring where Ewan’s had been moments before.

“Smells good in here,” Matt says, his voice easy. “You two make a good team in the kitchen, huh?”

Ewan’s smile tightens, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Just trying to keep up, mate. You know how it is.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to those pancakes.” Matt winks at you, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in your mind, then heads toward the patio, leaving you and Ewan standing awkwardly in the kitchen.

Ewan clears his throat, glancing at you with a look you can’t quite decipher, but it gets your heart racing all the same. “We should—” he gestures toward the pancakes, his voice softer now. “We should take these out.”

You nod, meeting his eyes. “We should.”

He stands still, brows furrowing for a moment as he continues to gaze at you, before the muscles in his face release their tension. His eyes soften, and his lips pull into a gentle smile. “Hmm.” He hums to himself, like he has realised something.

“What is it?” Your curiosity gets the better of you.

“I always thought you look your best in the mornings, when your hair’s a bit mussed, and you’re fresh from sleep, and you’re just… you.”

“Oh.”

“But then again,” he says, as he takes the pancakes, balancing one full plate in each hand, “When are you not beautiful, darling?” He smiles sweetly, before turning on his heel and walking away.

A long moment passes before your heart starts working again.

The late afternoon sun casts a golden glow over the villa, and everyone is scattered on the property. You’re sitting with Liv, Bella, and Phoebe by the pool, sipping on fresh juice and exchanging stories.

Then, from the entrance, you hear the unmistakable sound of wheels crunching over gravel, followed by the final rev of a car engine. The rest of the guests have arrived.

It’s Luke who bounds out first, his arms thrown wide as he hollers, “The party’s here, baby!”

“Lad!” Phia calls out, running up to greet him with a warm hug, “You’re late, as usual.”

“Fashionably late,” he grins, patting her back and winking at you as he catches your eye.

Harry and Elliott follow close behind, totally at ease, pulling their suitcases and nodding toward the group. Behind them is Milly, who practically jumps out of the car. She’s all smiles, her bubbly personality lighting up the space in an instant. She hugs everyone in quick succession, her laughter ringing out as she quickly finds something to tease Fabien about.

But it’s the last arrival that makes your heart plummet.

Louise steps out of the SUV, dressed casually but effortlessly put together, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. Louise, Luke and Eliott’s cousin who was spotted with Ewan ages ago, just before you and him began dating. It was the usual paparazzi blunder, and Ewan profusely swore that nothing actually happened, with the twins quick to vouch for him.

But she glances around, her eyes scanning the villa before landing on Ewan, who stands just a few away, watching quietly. She makes a beeline for him, leaning in for a quick, friendly kiss on the cheek. “Hey, Ewan. Miss me?”

Your chest tightens.

Ewan’s smile is polite and restrained, but it doesn’t escape your notice how he subtly steps back, keeping a respectful distance between them. “Good to see you, Lou,” he greets evenly, though his gaze flickers toward you for the briefest of moments. It’s subtle—no one else would notice—but you do.

“Why is it so bloody hot out here?” Elliott exclaims, catching your attention.

As everyone catches up with each other, the space is filled with chatter and laughter. But despite the chaos, your attention keeps getting pulled back to Ewan and Louise. She’s standing close to him, not too close, but enough that it feels like a deliberate choice on her part. Her smile is bright, and her hand occasionally brushes his arm when she laughs.

Which she does too often. Ewan’s a witty guy and all, but what could there be to laugh wildly about every ten seconds?

You can’t help the pang of jealousy that twists in your gut. She looks like someone who would have Instagram, and judging by the way she ogles your boyfr—

By the way she ogles Ewan, she would be aware of his doings on that godforsaken app. She would have definitely seen—no, stalked—his profile back when it was still up, seeing his tributes to you.

Wasn’t this supposed to be a holiday? You tell yourself to relax your nerves, which are currently set on edge.

Matt appears at your side, wrapping an arm around your waist, as he plants a soft kiss on your temple. “You okay?” he asks, his voice enough to soothe you for a while.

“I’m good,” you nod, forcing a smile.

Ewan catches your gaze, before his eyes drop down to Matt’s arm around you. The smallest sense of victory washes over you as his jaw clenches in obvious irritation. But it’s fleeting, gone too soon, when he looks away and slips back into conversation with Louise.

The rest of the arrivals gather their bags and start making their way inside, talking about what to do for dinner, and where to go tonight.

The party has just begun.

The hour is late when the group gradually comes together in a circle, much like kids forming around a campfire. Fabien and Bella balance large plastic bowls of snacks in each arm. Meanwhile, Rhys and Tom stagger into the scene, with a full load of six-packs and wine bottles. The rest of the group follow suit, trickling in with a chorus of laughter and shared whispers.

The circle tightens, everyone jostling for a seat, with some sprawled on blankets, while others perch on low adirondack chairs. It’s chaotic, but it’s the kind of chaos Ewan doesn’t mind, with the cast being like family to him.

He feels your presence like a magnet, drawing him in despite everything going on. The moment you step into the circle, his heart stumbles. As it always does, without fail.

You’re wearing a long and flowy, green summer dress, with your hair delicately pulled away from your face. It’s simple, effortless, but Ewan thinks you’re the prettiest person in every room.

You hesitate, and Ewan’s hand moves on instinct—stretching out to the space next to him on the blanket, a silent offer. For a split second, he sees you acquiesce, taking a half-step toward him.

But just as you begin to shift in his direction, before you can make a move, Matt reaches out from his spot at the edge of the circle, snatching your wrist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His laugh is low and teasing as he effortlessly pulls you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace, like he owns you.

Ewan takes several deep breaths, trying to fight the surge of jealousy rising up a tidal wave. He tries to be patient, to play this right. But watching Matt hold you like that, hearing him call you my love in that careless, confident way—it’s almost enough to make Ewan snap, pull you aside, and beg for things to go back to the way they were.

When he had you, and you had him, in every sense of the word. Back in LA, when being in love was enough.

Instead, Ewan leans back, forcing himself to look relaxed. But his eyes remain locked on you. When Matt’s fingers trace along your arm, you steal another glance at Ewan, like you’re checking and wondering if he’ll say something, do something.

But he won’t. Not yet. Not until you decide.

Ewan has been patient because he has to be. Things have to go right, because he wants you for good, not just for now. So he lets it happen; he lets you keep pretending. But he makes sure that you know he’s there, watching you, waiting for you.

Rhys pops open another beer, tossing one to Tom, who nearly fumbles it. Laughter breaks out across the group, as everyone settles into their places.

For all the commotion, all Ewan sees is you.

Fabien sits to his left and hands him a beer. Suddenly, Louise drops into the empty spot beside him.

“Hey, stranger,” she says, her voice playful as she nudges Ewan’s arm. “I barely saw you all afternoon. You avoiding me or something?” She’s got that look in her eyes, and he knows exactly what she’s doing. Now, with Matt monopolising your attention, she’s moving in.

“Course not,” Ewan replies casually.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she continues, smiling sweetly.

“Just taking it all in,” he says, keeping his voice neutral. He feels the weight of your gaze from across the circle, but he stops himself from looking at you.

“Taking it all in, huh?” she laughs softly. “Well—handsome—if you don’t mind, could you pass me a beer?”

Her hand brushes his as he passes her a bottle, and he catches your reaction in his peripheral vision. Your body stiffens slightly, your smile faltering for a split second before you force it back into place. But Ewan knows you too well. You’re not okay with this.

And that gives him just the slightest bit of satisfaction.

The circle carries on drinking, throwing quips, and even pillows, with Elliott throwing the cushion by his arse to Freddie after a particularly passionate round of banter. Then it’s time to play a game, brought on by the kind of reckless energy that results when everyone has had a little too much to drink.

“Alright, you lot,” Phoebe says, dragging over two makeshift bowls of rolled-up pieces of paper—one for truths and one for dares—the girls’ project for the afternoon. She places it haphazardly in the centre of the circle. “Rules are simple: spin the bottle, pick a truth or dare from the bowl. No wimping out, no lame excuses.”

Matt chuckles, adjusting you slightly in his lap, his arm still casually draped over your thighs as you sit sideways on the chair, your feet propped on the armrest. You’ve been nursing the same glass of wine for a while now, but Ewan can tell by the glint in your eyes that it’s starting to hit you.

It’s hitting him too.

The bottle spins wildly, its glossy surface catching the firelight as it circles through the group.

Matt is up first. The bottle stops, pointing at him like it was meant to.

“Truth,” he says, his voice confident, his smirk ever-present as he reaches out to pull from the bowl. He reads aloud, “Who has the best hair?”

Tom is quick to warn, “And it can’t be the girl in your lap! No brownie points for trying to get lucky, mate.”

Matt doesn’t miss a beat. He leans forward, that cocky grin still in place. “Oh, I’m already lucky,” he says, earning oohs and ahhs from the group. You blush, but there’s a cautious edge to your smile, and Ewan can tell you’re wondering how he’s taking all this.

He pretends not to care.

“Oh, come on, Matty!” Bella shouts. “Pick someone.”

Matt surveys the group, dragging it out like he’s milking the moment. His eyes finally land on Olivia, who’s been watching him like a hawk, and he says, “Alright, Miss Cooke has the best hair. Hands down.”

“Damn right I do,” Olivia says, shaking her dark curls with a dramatic flourish, and the group erupts into more laughter.

The bottle spins again. This time it lands on Ewan.

“Dare,” he says, trying to avoid the inevitable where he plays it safe and picks truth, but then gets egged on the alternative. They would push the quiet, shy guy to let loose. It is his birthday getaway after all.

He fishes a slip from the dare bowl, and as he almost can’t believe the words scrawled on the paper. Oh fuck.

“Well, what does it say?” Emma asks.

Ewan swallows nervously. “Uhhh, well, it says kiss the person to your right.”

To his right is Louise.

Of course it’s bloody Louise. He should have picked truth. Why did he have to choose now as an exercise of confidence? Why?

He can’t help but glance at you on instinct, but your expression is unreadable.

Louise, for her part, is already leaning in, that smirk of hers so smug it makes Ewan’s teeth clench. Everyone’s watching. There’s no way out of this. He can feel Matt’s eyes drilling into the back of his skull, like he’s waiting for him to mess up.

Ewan leans in, pressing a light kiss to Louise’s lips—meant to be barely more than a brush, but she pushes forward, making it last longer than he would like. The heat of her lips lingers when he pulls back in a flash. His ears ring with enthusiastic catcalls from the group.

He clears his throat uncomfortably, and he can’t bear to look at you this time.

Before anyone can say anything, the bottle is spinning again.

It lands on you.

“Dare,” you say, your voice just a bit too steady. When you’ve chosen, you dramatically read aloud, “Kiss… the person on your left.”

And it’s Freddie.

The second you realise who it is, there is the tiniest flicker of hesitation in your expression.

Freddie raises his eyebrows, smirking like the cheeky bastard he is, leaning back on his elbows as if he’s some kind of prize. “Well, well, well…” he teases, making a big show of puckering his lips. “Happy birthday to me.”

Everyone’s laughing and spurring you on, the group feeding off the chaotic energy of the night. So you unperch yourself from Matt’s lap, lean over the side of the chair, and kiss Freddie.

It’s quick, almost as if you want it over before anyone can really react, but Freddie leans into it, his hand cupping the back of your neck. Ewan’s stomach twists as he watches, and he knows he shouldn’t care so much. It’s just a bloody game, it doesn’t mean anything.

But it hits him harder than he wants to admit.

Freddie—being the showman that he is—makes a big deal of it, making an exaggerated gesture as if you’d left him breathless. “I think I’m in love,” he jokes, throwing a wink in Matt’s direction.

Ewan downs the rest of his beer, the bitterness coating his throat, but it does nothing to quench the fire building in his chest. The jealousy gnaws at him, and he hopes to all that is holy that you don’t have to kiss anyone else for the game. Unless it’s him.

Then it won’t just be a friendly peck. It won’t just last two seconds. He will kiss you in front of everyone, claiming you, like his life depends on it.

And that won’t just be on the booze.

The game goes on, but he barely registers the next few rounds. Louise shifts closer to him, her hand casually resting on his knee. She leans in, her breath hot against his ear as she says, “I didn’t mind that kiss, you know.”

He doesn’t respond right away, too caught up in the sight of you laughing at something Matt says to Freddie. You look happy, but it’s all wrong. That laugh used to be Ewan’s.

“Still taking it all in?” Louise asks, her voice dripping with suggestion.

“Something like that,” Ewan sharply responds. Either she hasn’t yet gotten the hint that he’s not interested, or she has and simply doesn’t care, because she asks him another question, squeezing his knee.

And he lets her. Because what else can he do?

The night has a pulse of its own. It starts off slow, a lazy hum of conversations, but soon escalates into something wilder.

It’s hard not to feel electricity thrumming under your skin, not only from the alcohol, but from every look Ewan throws at you across the circle, watching as Matt’s arms stay anchored around you.

Ever since the news about Bruce came out, Matt has been noticeably more bold and doting. It's as if the shift in your relationship with Ewan has sparked something in him – his romantic gestures more frequent, his touch lingering just a bit longer. Where he once might have hung back, now he openly claims your attention, as though daring anyone to challenge his place in your world.

"Looks like you’re sitting here tonight, my love," Matt had whispered low in your ear, when he pulled you onto his lap, his breath warm and smelling of whiskey against your skin.

The night spirals even further when a game is proposed. Phia, Bella, and Phoebe had been the ones to come up with the prompts for truth or dare, so you couldn’t have predicted what follows.

When Matt is made to choose someone else for his question, the possessive way with which he murmurs, “Oh, I’m already lucky,” sends a flush to your cheeks. You notice that Ewan is under tension when you meet his gaze, judging by the stiffness of his shoulders and the subtle tick of his jaw.

Next, it’s Ewan’s turn. You’re mildly surprised when he chooses dare, with that brazen look on his face. You wait eagerly, to see what tricks he has up his sleeve, but your heart plummets when he reads his prompt.

He has to kiss the person on his right, which conveniently happens to be Louise. She is instantly giddy, grinning like she won the lottery. She’s been eyeing him all night, leaning in a little too close for your liking.

Ewan hesitates, just for a second, his eyes flickering over to you as if to ask permission. You don’t move a muscle, your breath caught in your throat when he finally leans in to give Louise a kiss.

Damn if it doesn’t feel like a punch to your gut. The group erupts into cheers, and you play along, even though jealousy rises like bile in your throat.

The bottle spins again, and time seems to slow. When it finally comes to rest, it’s pointing right at you.

You’re then prompted to kiss the person on your left—Freddie.

His flawless grin eases your nerves, and keeps you from worrying about how Ewan’s eyes flash with something territorial. The kiss is over as soon as it started, but everyone reacts as if they just witnessed a full-on makeout session.

The game moves on, more dares, more truths, the atmosphere becoming more unhinged with every spin of the bottle. Tom has to shotgun a beer in under ten seconds, which he does to wild applause. Emma serenades their closest friend in the circle, which just so happens to be Liv. Bella is asked who her celebrity crush is, and she gives her boyfriend Fabien as the answer, who is a celebrity after all.

Then the bottle lands on you again.

“Dare,” you say, the word slipping out before you can second-guess it. You pull out a slip from the bowl, reading, “Call up an admirer, someone famous who’s asked you out.”

The group hums among themselves, looking at you questioningly.

“Well,” you say after a few seconds, your heart racing. “I guess… there’s… Glen?”

There are some gasps, some woohoos, and you feel Matt shift beside you, clearing his throat to ask, “Glen Powell?” Ewan, meanwhile, sits a little straighter across the circle. He knows this already. This was in August of last year, when both of you were in LA. You got a referral to join the notorious Alo gym, where you linked up with Tate Mcrae, Jake Shane, and Glen, and they became your workout crew.

Glen easily caught your eye, of course, as he does with anyone. But you turned him down because of Ewan. You remained friends, and your little Alo crew still regularly catches up on a group chat, which is brilliantly called Jake’s Shakes.

“Oh, Glen Powell,” Bethany squeals. “You have to call him!”

You fumble for your phone, the glare of the screen hurting your eyes briefly. You feel a bit woozy, but maybe it’s just the pressure mounting as everyone’s eyes bore into you.

With shaky fingers, you scroll through your contacts, finding Glen’s number. There’s a second of hesitation, and then you hit call, turning on the speaker option.

You could practically hear a pin drop, as the group is silent for the first time throughout the night.

The phone rings just thrice before he answers.

“Hey there,” Glen’s voice is warm and playful on the other end of the line.

“Hi, Glen,” you say, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. “How are you doing?”

“Would you believe me if I said I’m just sitting here waiting for a call from you?”

The group erupts into hushed laughter, and you try to suppress a nervous giggle. “No actually,” you say, “I find that very hard to believe.”

“Well, believe it, gorgeous,” he replies smoothly, “When are we gonna see you back in LA?”

“I don’t know, but I might have work out there soon,” you say honestly, falling into the rhythm of conversation. “Are you still helping Jake through his mini earthquakes?”

“Oh, you bet. But I’m glad you’re coming here soon. Just say the word, and I’ll have our first date planned to perfection.”

The whole circle fails to stifle their laughter, shocked expressions abound as the call turns suggestive. Your heart skips a beat, and you decide that it’s best to break it to him then. “Glen, so, uh, I’m playing truth or dare with the cast, and I got dared to call up an admirer…”

“Oh?” Glen’s chuckle is confident, unfazed. “Well, I’m flattered. I gotta say you called the right person. Good call, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, everyone seems to agree,” you say, keeping the mood light, but Matt shifts behind you, leaning forward as if to intervene. Before you can say another word, he gently reaches over and takes the phone from your hand, his smile still intact but icy.

“Hey, Glen, it’s Matt here,” Matt says smoothly, “Thanks for humouring us, mate. We’ve just had a couple of drinks out here, you know how it is.”

“Hey, man,” Glen replies, unaware of your connection with the guy he’s speaking to. “Yeah, no problem. Hope you’re all having a great time.”

“Thanks, but you know, we’re plenty occupied so… no need to make too many plans just yet.”

Glen just laughs on the other end. “Well, when she’s ready, I’ll be more than happy to make sure she’s treated right.”

Matt, to his credit, sounds genuinely amused when he replies, “I’m sure… but I think we’ve got that covered here.”

You see Ewan’s calm exterior cracking as he silently watches the scene unfold.

“Oh, really? Well, sounds like I’m up against some tough competition,” Glen jokes, his sweet disposition unshakeable.

“So, mate,” Ewan says loudly, his teasing drawl heard across the group, “Do you always plan dates with people who are taken?”

The group bursts into surprised laughter, and Freddie even clutches your arm in his glee. There’s a brewing excitement as the game takes on a new life. It’s like watching a fuse slowly burn toward an explosion.

On the other end, Glen pauses for a moment, probably trying to figure out what the hell is happening. “Well, you know, man, I just like to be prepared. Wait, who am I talking to now? Is this Ewan… Mitchell?”

“Yeah,” Ewan confirms, relaxing a little. Fabien wraps an arm around his shoulders to get him to ease up.

Glen responds, still directed at Ewan, “She talked about you a lot, you know. I wouldn’t be worried if I were you, man.”

Tom hollers in satisfaction for Ewan, “There you go, Ewaaan! I bet that made his entire week.”

It’s then that Matt decides to end the call. “Thanks for the call, Glen. We’ll let you get back to your day, yeah?”

“Alright,” Glen says, addressing everyone this time. “Have a great night, you guys!”

The call drops.

“Wow,” Milly remarks, “girl, I wish I had Glen Powell on my speed dial.”

“Yeah, that was fun,” Phoebe agrees, her eyes flicking between Matt and Ewan, clearly enjoying the show.

The game rolls on, laughter growing impossibly louder, voice slurring with alcohol. Louise remains glued to Ewan’s side, leaning just enough that it’s impossible not to notice. Matt doesn’t let you go for a second, his hand always on you—either resting on your leg or wrapped snugly around your waist.

The group branches out when the game eventually winds down, scattering across the courtyard. Some head toward the pool, others to the bar on the patio, and the music keeps getting higher in volume. Drinks are passed around freely, conversations blur into one another, and the entire scene glows under soft lights.

At one point, you’re pulled aside by Phia, as she demands that you settle a debate between her and Milly. Matt becomes distracted, bickering with Fabien and Harry by the pool.

Then, out of nowhere, Ewan materialises by your side, his hand closing gently but firmly around your wrist. His touch sends a jolt through you, and in an instant, he’s pulling you away from the girls, who are way too drunk to even realise.

He leads to the side of the villa, and the music fades into the background as you find yourself in a more secluded spot.

Ewan doesn’t wait for you to speak, pressing you against the wall, and taking your lips in a wet, sloppy kiss.

And everything else falls away. The commotion nothing but a distant echo, the truths and dares something from a forgotten dream. It’s just you and him.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you’re both breathing heavily. He keeps his eyes closed for a moment, and there’s an innocence in the gesture. A sense of intimacy that pulls at your heartstrings and makes you fall in love with him all over again.

Then, his voice is a rough whisper. “I love you, baby,” he slurs slightly, the alcohol clearly affecting his speech.

“Ewan, you’re drunk,” you say softly, trying to gauge the sincerity behind his words.

“Yeah, maybe,” he admits, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. “But that doesn’t change how I feel. I love you, I always have. I mean, if that wasn’t fucking obvious already.”

Your hand reaches up to caress the side of his face, and he leans into your touch. His lips find the centre of your palm, pressing a warm, lingering kiss there. Time slows down just for the two of you.

“I’m serious,” he continues, his voice quieter, more vulnerable. “I’ve messed up before. I know that. But I want to do this right. I want you… for good.”

“Ewan…” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I’ll wait for you,” he promises. “Even if you have… him. Even if it drives me crazy… I’ll wait. I want you to choose me.”

Ewan lays it all bare, giving you the choice, letting you wield the power. All you can do is stand there, but he seems to understand your silence. He just smiles—a tired, bittersweet smile that holds everything left unsaid.

“I’m here,” he whispers. “And I love you.”

He turns, walking back in the direction of the courtyard, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed.

The next day, Matt enjoys the twilight hour on the patio, his hands curled around a warm cup of tea. Some of the group, including you and Ewan, ventured out into town for the day.

The thought of you out there with Ewan gnaws at him, but he does his best to keep calm.

Liv sits across from him, her own cup in hand. She’s been quietly listening for most of their conversation, but eventually, she turns solemn.

“You know,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve noticed the way things are with you three. It’s hard not to.”

Matt lets out a breath. Should he act oblivious or just face it head on? “What do you mean?”

Liv gives him a look, cutting past the pretence. "Don’t play dumb, Matthew. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Matt contemplates brushing it off, deflecting like he usually does. But there’s no point in pretending with Liv. She’s been his friend too long for that.

“It’s complicated, Liv,” he admits, his voice quieter than he intended. “I know there's something between them, there always has been. But I… I don’t want to lose her.”

Liv leans forward, her expression softening. “You won’t lose her, Matt. Not if you don’t want to.”

He laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “That’s easy to say. Ewan’s not exactly giving her much reason to stay away.”

“True,” Liv agrees, giving him a sympathetic smile, “but that doesn’t mean you’re out of the game. Look, I’ve known you for years, and I’ve known her for a while now too. She cares about you, Matt. And if you want to keep her, you’ve got to fight for her.”

“How? How do I compete? They have history, Liv. It’s not something I can wish away.”

“You’re not trying to compete, mate. You’re not Ewan, and you don’t need to be. But if you want to keep her, you need to remind her why. Woo her properly. Don’t wait around, hoping she’ll choose you by default. Give her a reason to.”

Matt considers her words carefully. “And how am I supposed to do that? Woo her properly with him in the mix?”

Liv’s eyes light up with a mischievous glint. “Leave that to me. I’ll help you.”

“You’re going to help me win her over?”

Liv shrugs, her smile widening. “Why not? You’re my friend, and you know, this could be fun.”

Matt wasn’t expecting Liv to offer her help. But now that she has, the idea of having someone in his corner, guiding him, feels like a lifeline.

As the sun sinks lower behind the hills, casting the patio in a dusky glow, he feels a glimmer of hope start to take root. For now, all he can do is wait.

But when the time comes, he’ll be ready.

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Some notes in the margins...

This chapter is late to the party, I know. But hey, at least the group ate with their shenanigans, alright? 😉

To the Ewan lovers, to the Matty enjoyers, to the Darling warriors—I think yous can see how things are falling into place now <3 Oh, and we'll see the outcome of Fabien's IG post in the next chapter.

Who will darling choose? Or is her choice already made? Chirp at me in the comments 💕

#chemical override #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell imagine #ewan mitchell x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #matt smith #matt smith x reader

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