“Look,” Hotch starts, and you hold back a sigh of your own. “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, but we can make it work. Let’s just get our stories straight; I’ll need to learn about your relationship. How did you and Marcus meet? What do they know about him?”

You look down at your lap, fiddling with your bracelet. “We met online, but I told them we met through friends. They don’t really know anything about him, though.”

One of Hotch’s eyebrows raises, making your stomach flip at the disbelieving look he’s giving you. “Do they know his job? His age? Where he lives? Anything about him?”

“He was… between things, okay? I covered his bills, and he said he would start looking for a job in January.” You don’t have to be a profiler to see Hotch’s jaw twitch. “They don’t know anything else, really. Honestly, you probably don’t even have to lie to them. You can just talk about your own life for the most part, they won’t know the difference and it’ll be easier to keep our story straight.”

That was entirely selfish of you to suggest, but Hotch doesn’t give any indication that he’s caught on to an ulterior motive. 

“So… you want me to say that my name is Marcus and that I don’t have a job. And otherwise, you think I should be myself. Is that correct?”

“Okay, well, you don’t need to say it like that, like I forced you to come with me,” you huff, peering at Hotch out of the corner of your eye. “But other than that stuff… yeah. Just be yourself.”

You could kick yourself for the way your voice softens; if he hasn’t noticed anything yet, that was almost certainly a glowing neon sign screaming ‘HEY, I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU’. But Hotch just nods in understanding and keeps his eyes on the road as you settle back into your seat.

“Alright. I will,” he promises, and you lapse into silence as he keeps driving. 

How the hell are you supposed to make it through this weekend?

—

A few hours later you’re finally starting to approach the house, with Hotch steering the car down the snowy driveway.

“Marcus,” he says like he’s reminding himself. “My name is Marcus, and I don’t have a job.”

“You’ve got it,” you assure him, taking a deep breath to calm your own racing heart as the car pulls to a slow stop. There’s no time to focus on how pathetic his summary of your ex makes you sound. “Ready?”

Hotch looks uncertain now, like he’s realized that he’s currently in the driveway of your childhood home, but he nods. “Of course.”

Before you can answer, or panic, he gets out of the car and approaches your side, opening the door for you. When you give him a surprised look, he holds out a hand to help you out of the car. “They’re probably watching already,” he murmurs, and you’re sure he’s right. Your family is probably pressed against the living room window right now, shoving one another aside to get a view of your boyfriend.

“Go inside,” he encourages, his voice still low and smooth as you stand up and he keeps holding your hand, “Go say hi to everybody. I’ll grab our bags and I’ll be right behind you.”

Your hand falls from his a moment later, and he lumbers to the trunk of the car to grab both suitcases while you start for the door of the house.

The door is hardly open when two arms are flung around you, and your sister greets you excitedly. “Hey! Come in, come here. Is he bringing your stuff in?”

You hug her back, stepping into the foyer. “Hey. Yeah, he is, he’s just…”

Glancing out through the open door is a mistake. Hotch is pulling his suitcase out, and already has yours tucked under one arm. He must feel your eyes on him, because he glances up and gives you a smile that feels so genuine that you almost believe it to be real.

Maybe this was a mistake. Your heart is aching, seeing him carry your luggage into the house. There’s nothing you want more than to be introducing him to your family for real, to be with him for real. To say ‘This is Aaron, my boyfriend.’

But you can’t do that, and a flutter of conversation breaks you out of your reverie. 

“Honey, where should I put these?” The sound of the word ‘honey’ coming from Aaron Hotchner’s lips should be downright illegal, and it makes you buffer while your sister swoops in.

“This is him?” She asks, inspecting him with a critical eye. You can’t blame her, not with your romantic track record, but you still don’t want to let her stare him down until he gets uncomfortable and wants to leave.

“Yeah, this is Aaron, my boyfriend.” Oops. “Can you give him some space, please?”

And holy shit, you’re bad at fieldwork. Aaron thinks so too, if the look he gives you is any indication, but he doesn’t say a thing about your Freudian slip.

“Aaron,” your sister parrots, but she steps back all the same. “Wasn’t your name Marcus?”

“It’s my middle name,” Aaron lies smoothly, setting down one bag to shake your sister’s hand as he jokes, “She only uses it when I’m in trouble. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too. Hey mom, they’re here!” She calls out, and your mom comes out of the kitchen wearing an apron and a cautious smile.

“Hi, sweetie… and hello, Marcus. It’s nice to meet you,” she says, but it’s a little too cordial to be genuine.

“Aaron, please ma’am, if you don’t mind. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you,” Aaron adds, holding out his hand again. There’s a hint of an accent in his voice, one he usually keeps from slipping out. But right now, it seems like he’s got his old southern charm turned all the way up and it’s oozing out of his voice too. “I can’t wait to try those Christmas cookies. She’s been raving about them for the last hour.”

And that southern charm just might be working; your mom is already looking more at ease while she shakes his hand, barely blinking at the abrupt name change.

“Oh, thank you, Aaron, you’ll love them. Do you need someone to help get the bags up the stairs? I can call for one of the men,” she offers, then glances at you when Aaron shakes his head. “The two of you can stay in your old room, I assume.”

And, oh, that is really not good. But there’s no way you could possibly argue now.

“Definitely. It’s on the second floor, babe, I’ll show you where.” You reach for a suitcase, but Aaron gives you a teasing smile and pulls it out of reach. “Hey, let me help!”

“I’ve got it, really,” he promises, brushing a kiss to your temple that sends a spark through your body. “You just lead the way, and I’ll bring the bags.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you start up the stairs and down the hall, with Aaron right behind you. “This is my room,” you say, pushing the door open and stepping in. The second the door is closed behind Aaron, the playful smile falls off your face.

His face doesn’t fall in quite the same way, but the twinkle in his eyes dulls a bit. “So I don’t have to remember the other guy’s name, at least,” he mumbles.

“Maybe this was a bad idea. We can tell them you’re not feeling well,” you suggest, turning to face Aaron as he sets down both suitcases. “I already screwed up, and we definitely can’t stay here.”

Aaron’s gaze flicks to the bed. It’s a twin bed with a canopy, and purple-blue sheets. “We can make it work,” he promises. “We’re already here. There’s no point in leaving now, especially when I’m just starting to meet them. I’ll win them over, you can relax, and we’ll be out of here in a couple of days.”

He starts towards the door like it’s a done decision, but you catch his arm. “Why are you doing this?”

He doesn’t look at you. In fact, he keeps his focus trained on the ground as he makes his confession. “I don’t want to go home. Jack wanted to spend Christmas with his mother, and I’m not invited in case I have to leave for work.”

And wow, that makes you hurt for him. It also makes your decision an easy one. “Of course we can stay. I’m sorry to hear about that. I'm sure Jack’s unhappy about not seeing you.”

“I told him we would celebrate, the next time he stays with me,” Aaron says, and a small smile tugs at his lips. “Put up a tree, watch movies, bake cookies and leave some out for Santa so he’ll come even after Christmas. We’ve done it almost every year since the divorce.”

The look on his face is soft, warm, and a little sad. “That sounds fun,” you offer, and his smile gets a little bigger. “Let’s get back downstairs. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about us being up here for too long.”

That earns you a snort, and Aaron glances at the twin bed. “They really think we’ve got room to fool around up here?” he jokes, letting you lead him out of your bedroom by the hand, and you just roll your eyes and laugh while you ignore the way his words make your heart race.

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What else is he supposed to do? Go home and be alone during the holidays? Jack is old enough to have some say in the custody agreement, and he made it clear that he wanted to spend the next few weeks with Haley.

It had hurt, especially when Jack refused to tell his dad why he made the choice. It was like a knife through the heart, but it didn’t compare to the feeling in Aaron’s chest when he spoke to Haley about it.

“He’s afraid you’ll have to work. He doesn’t want to be alone on Christmas,” she had told him, as warm and empathetic as she had ever been, but it didn’t stop Aaron from feeling the knife in his heart as it twisted around.

He didn’t want to think about that, so he worked. He stayed late, worked long hours and took on extra consults, doing whatever he could to avoid his empty apartment that didn’t even have a Christmas tree or any decorations up.

And apparently, he isn’t the only one staying late tonight.

“You’re a piece of shit, do you know that?”

The voice rings out again, and Hotch approaches his office window. His door is wide open, but he can’t see anyone in the bullpen below. When he steps out of his office, he starts following the voice as the tirade continues. Down the steps into the bullpen, towards a cluster of desks tucked out of view of his office.

“We were supposed to go tomorrow. Tomorrow, you asshole. What the hell am I supposed to tell my family? What should I say to my mother?” There’s a brief pause, followed by a scornful laugh. “You wish. Merry fucking Christmas.”

Just as Hotch turns the corner and sees you drop your phone on the desk, he hears a sob. A weak sound, like you aren’t sure you want to make the noise but have to let it out anyway.

Oh, great.

Hotch prided himself on the interpersonal relationships of the BAU, between the other agents and with himself. Maybe he wasn’t exactly friends with the agents on his team, but that was fine. There was still a mutual respect and trust, one that he relied on in the field and did his best to maintain.

Except with you.

He didn’t really know why, truth be told. You had been warm and receptive upon first starting at the BAU, and it had been a nice few weeks. But overnight, for a reason Hotch didn’t understand, a switch had flipped. You started brushing off his greetings, ignoring his offers of coffee when he made a fresh pot, and generally leaving him feeling disrespected.

The exception, and the reason he hadn’t filed any kind of complaint about your behaviour, was fieldwork. The two of you worked like a well-oiled machine, and you never disregarded his theories the way you brushed off his opinions on things as simple as the weather. 

In the field, you could read each other’s minds. But the second your bulletproof vest came off, Hotch felt like he transformed back into someone you couldn’t care less about. Like the unit existed in Cinderella, and he turned into a pumpkin at midnight.

Despite it all, Hotch still tried to respect you and even to get along in the office. He didn’t treat you any differently in or out of the field, but with time and your repeated rebuffs of his attempts at friendliness, the attempts faded away and were replaced with a quiet acceptance that you just didn’t like him. As long as you didn’t disrespect him in the field, he knew it would be fine.

So when he comes across you in the bullpen, tucked away and sobbing into your hands, he has no idea what to do. Should he try to comfort you? Sneak back to his office and pretend he never heard a thing?

The decision is made for him when he shifts slightly and his knee pops audibly, a result of sitting the way he has been for hours.

The sound gets your attention, and you barely turn your head. It isn’t the confrontation he was expecting from you finding him eavesdropping, but your reaction makes more sense when he hears your voice.

It’s ragged, and tired. You sound defeated. “How much did you hear?”

Hotch keeps his voice low, quiet, hoping that his tone can calm you a little. “Not much. Cursing aside, just that you have to go somewhere tomorrow and don’t know what to tell your mother.”

He must be right, because you heave out the sigh of the century. “She’s always right. Do you have any clue how annoying that is? She hates every guy I date, and we fight about it, and then he turns out to be an even bigger douchebag than the guy before him. I was an idiot for thinking she’d be wrong about Marcus.”

That’s one family annoyance Hotch has never had to worry about; his father wasn’t right about a single thing in his life. “Marcus… is that your boyfriend?”

“He was. And then he got arrested for having sex in public.” It takes a half-second for Hotch to put together the pieces, but you fill him in just to be safe. “And it was with someone else. Obviously. He just called me to bail him out, and I told him to go to hell.”

Aaron can’t hold back his wince. “I’m sorry. Are you going to be alright?”

The scornful laugh he heard earlier punches out of you again, and you shake your head. You’re still turned away, but it’s easy to see when you rub your eyes. “We were supposed to visit my family for the holidays. They always make such a big deal out of it, too. I didn’t bring someone two years in a row, and you would have thought the world was ending. They were so happy I was bringing Marcus. They’ve never met him, only heard stories, and they were excited to actually get to know him. Now I have to go there alone, tell my mother she was right about him, and get silently judged by my extended family for a week. I’m in hell.”

If there’s something Aaron can relate to, it’s family judgement. Later, when he thinks back on this moment, he might blame his next sentence on that. He might blame it on the late hour and his recent lack of sleep, or he might blame it on something more subconscious, like how he doesn’t need to be home for Jack this year. No, not that. He doesn’t want to think about that.

Well, it doesn’t matter what he’s going to blame it on, because he still says it. “You could bring someone else.”

“Right, totally. I’ll just finish up this report and head over to Boyfriends-R-Us.” The sarcasm is dripping off of you, a thin layer to shield the vulnerability and hurt in your voice.

Aaron definitely isn’t going to think about this moment later, when he starts playing the blame game with his past self. But if he were to think about it at all, he would recognize the way his stomach clenches when he hears your voice crack, exposing the raw hurt under it. The way he sympathizes with that hurt, and wants to make it go away.

“I could help you out.”

It’s the first time in all the conversation that he sees your entire face; you turn around in your desk chair, giving him an incredulous look. You look vulnerable, upset, and he thinks he can detect a flash of hope in your eyes before you blink.

“What?”

“I can come with you. I’ll pretend to be Marcus–you said no one has met him yet—and you don’t have to tell anybody what happened for a few months, if you like. It’s a win-win.”

If you’re curious about how it’s a win for Aaron too, you don’t question it just yet. Later, when you think back on this moment, you might blame it on that. On your own curiousity, wanting to know why he’s willing to be out of the state on Christmas and why he looks so vulnerable while he waits for you to answer.

It doesn’t really matter what you can blame it on, though; not when you stick out your hand to shake his, think ‘consequences be damned’, and say, “Deal.”

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carmy masterlist

you're curled up with carmy on christmas eve, your head tucked so neatly underneath his chin. with your back to his chest, his arms wrapped around you, holding you snuggly against his body, you murmur his name to get his attention.

"watcha thinkin' about, sweet girl?" carmy asks, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, the weight of your wedding ring in addition to your engagement ring is still a new feeling.

"i think... i'm ready," you drag out sleepily.

it's been on your mind for weeks, really -- ever since the new addition to the berzatto clan, baby michael, had entered this world. it wasn't until your last period that you really started to think about it, your mind full of fantasies: fantasies of a rounded belly, of little fingers wrapped around one of your own, clutching you closer for warmth, of twin pairs of blue eyes staring back at you as you look from your husband to your child.

"for what?"

"i...." you trail off, turning your head just enough to look back at carmy. "i think i'm maybe ready to start trying. you know. for... a baby."

he's quiet for a minute, a world of possibility swimming behind his eyes.

"really?" is all he asks when he finally speaks again.

you nod, "yeah, really."

the corners of his lips begin to turn up into a smile as carmy leans in, his lips now dangerously close to yours.

"like right now?"

of course he's thinking about getting laid right now.

you giggle.

"i mean, i'm not ovulating right now but... we could certainly practice."

he hums happily in response, before pressing his lips against yours:

masterlist

It begins with forgotten carrots, tops attached, of course – a necessary ingredient to the dish that you’ve been working on all afternoon together. Usually, you’d go for a rainbow bunch, but for the puree, aesthetically of course, the classic orange carrot is much better suited. You’d hadn’t put them on the grocery list the day before, certain that you had a bunch or two at home sitting in your vegetable drawer, only to find mid-recipe development that you did not, in fact, have carrots at home. It doesn’t take long for Carmy to suggest a quick trip to the store, insisting that you come with him because this is a date, after all. 

It’s something you and Carmy have decided to do, now that neither of you are needed at the restaurant 24/7: a cooking date at home which, despite the fact that this date night was an idea born out of both of your desires to introduce more fun into your lives, will inevitably become a dish that Carmy tries to put on the menu anyways.

Divide and conquer is the strategy: while you hit up the produce aisle, Carmy is sent on a mission to procure a bottle of orange wine for dinner later tonight. 

But what’s supposed to be a simple Saturday afternoon grocery store run takes a turn for the intriguing as you hear a laugh – a woman’s laugh – and the familiar sound of your boyfriend’s voice muttering something about the name of his restaurant.

As you approach, you spot your boyfriend and the woman he’s found himself in a conversation with. Carmy leans against the refrigerator doors, his chest square to the brunette, bathed in neon blues from the refrigerator lights. 

“Because you’re the bear. And I remember you,” you hear her say. You observe carefully, the look of surprise and the blush that runs across Carmy’s cheeks in response to her words are not lost on you. 

There’s a palpable energy between them as they converse, and it feels as if all the blood is rushing to your head as you cut the tension with a single: 

“Hey.” 

As the brunette turns to you, you’re only a little taken aback by how beautiful she is. With long, thick, dark hair, she has piercing blue eyes, similar to the ones you’ve found yourself lost in in your years spent loving Carmen Berzatto. You feel almost silly as you stand there, holding a bunch of carrots in your right hand, suddenly grateful that your have your favorite of Carmy’s denim jackets tied around your waist (for “just in case the store’s got the AC blasting,” Carmy had reminded you before you left the house earlier). 

“Hi,” is all she replies, an almost too-friendly smile plastered to her face, as she takes a few steps towards you. “I’m Claire. I’m…” She trails off before stealing a glance over at Carmy before continuing with, “...an old friend. Of Carmy’s.” As the woman called Claire extends a hand out to you, you take it, giving her hand a curt shake as you introduce yourself. 

It dawns on Carmy, who has slipped into a state of what can only be considered as shock, that he probably should’ve introduced the two of you sooner as he mutters an apology under his breath. 

“Shit, yeah, sorry. I probably should’ve-. I uh, um, Claire. Yeah. This is uh, this is my girlfriend,” Carmy manages to get out, his face growing increasingly deeper shades of red as the words tumble out of his mouth. 

“Your-? Wow, oh my god! It’s-it’s so nice to meet you,” Claire replies, trying her best to hide the surprise in her voice as it increases in pitch with every word. 

“So… what’re you two up to-?” she begins to ask, looking from you to Carmy with wide, quizzical eyes. “Carrots. We’re uh…,” is the first thing that comes to mind as the words fly from your lips. “... buying carrots.” 

You realize how stupid it sounds, completely caught off guard, as you scramble to find any word in the English language that doesn’t sound as ridiculous as what you’ve just said. 

You wonder if this is how Carmy felt when you ran into Nate at the James Beard Awards about a month ago. 

At this rate, something’s gotta be in retrograde, right? you think to yourself as you try to push down your feelings of embarrassment. 

“Right,” Carmy mutters, while Claire tries to get the conversation back on track. 

“Well, it’s really good to see you, Bear. Really. I’ll have to stop by the restaurant sometime,” she says, preparing to excuse herself. 

“Yeah,” Carmy nods, still avoiding as much direct eye contact as possible. 

Bear.

It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, and yet, you can’t help the feeling that wells inside of you as she says the name. 

The family name. 

His childhood name. 

It feels more intimate than it should, and maybe it is. 

You swallow, trying to shake the feeling. 

“Yes. Yeah, we’d uh… let us know. When you’re there,” you continue, exchanging a look with Carmy, who only nods along. 

“Oh, you’re a-, you work there too? At the restaurant,” Claire asks, eyeing the carefully drawn fruits and veggies that adorn the length of your arms, permanently inked there forever. 

“Yeah. Uh. Pastry chef,” you reply with a small laugh. 

She nods, almost as if she’s accepted an unspoken agreement – something you’re not sure you’ll ever know. 

“Well it was nice to meet you,” she says once more, shooting a soft smile in your direction, before excusing herself. “And it’s good to see you, Carmy.” 

As you watch Claire walk away, Carmy’s still frozen inside of what he thinks could be the most awkward experience of his month so far. 

“So… that was weird,” you say, as you turn towards your boyfriend. He mutters something in agreement because the only thing he can think of to say is, what the fuck just happened. 

And he’s barely figured that out. 

“Do… you want to talk about it?” you ask skeptically, dragging out the ‘o’ at the beginning of your question. 

“Not really,” he mumbles softly, shaking his head. 

“Great, me either,” you’re quick to reply, even though you both know that you’re going to have to talk about this eventually. 

—-------------------------------------

It seems to be a day of forgetfulness, as Carmy realizes that he’s left his notebook at the restaurant – something he’s been working out of for any and all new ideas, a habit you think he picked up from Syd. It’s not entirely out of the way, so the two of you decide to stop by on the way home. You enter through the back, hoping to skirt the tongue lashing you’ll both get for coming in – even just for a few minutes – on your day off. 

But a hall-pass just isn’t in the cards for either of you, as you’re instantly spotted, arm-in-arm, by Richie who’s just ended the pre-dinner shift all hands meeting. 

“It’s your day off! Get the fuck outta here,” Richie calls out to you with a shake of his head. “You two. I swear.” 

“I just forgot my notebook. We’re in, then we’re out. I swear!” Carmy defends himself, holding up his hands. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie dismisses him before issuing a warning with a wag of his finger. “You better not stay longer than five minutes, you got that?” 

“In and out. Scout’s honor,” you answer, before the abrupt interjection of Fak’s voice stops you from saying anything else. 

“Incomiiiiiiiing!” Fak cries, as he bursts through the doors. “Ahhhh man. Hey Carm! I heard you ran into Claire Bear.” 

Claire Bear?

You shoot Carmy a quizzical look that he’s more than eager to avoid. 

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” Richie snaps as Carmy simultaneously lets out as: “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. What do you-? How? Already?!” “Fuck it’s been two fuckin’ seconds,” Carmy grits his teeth, trying his best to answer Richie’s question. “But apparently news travels fast.” He shoots you an apologetic look as he explains, “She’s uh… close family friends with the Faks.” 

“Ahhh,” you let out. “She seem good? Bet she was glad to see ya,” Fak inquires, overenthusiastically winking in Carmy’s direction. 

“Yeah she’s uh… she’s gonna be a doctor in a few months huh?” Carmy replies, trying his best to avoid Fak’s continuous winks. 

“Who the fuck is Claire?” Sydney asks, as she enters the conversation. Syd quickly notices the confused look on your face, in contrast to the embarrassed one on Carmy’s, and a more than eager Fak, much to Richie’s dismay. 

It’s as if he can read the situation in one look as Richie cuts in this time with an explanation:

“Will you stop it, fucko? Jesus Christ.” Richie turns his attention to you this time as shakes his head, brushing off Fak’s earlier comment. “She’s just a kid from the neighborhood. That’s all.” 

“Just a kid from the neighborhood?! You, Richie, you are not nice!” Fak exclaims. 

But Richie is faster, quick to dismiss the man as he cuts him off with a few sharp words about fixing his bowtie before dinner service starts. As they bicker back and forth, trading barbs like brothers, Carmy has returned to his ‘I really don’t want to talk about this’ body language, his shoulders slumped and completely avoiding eye contact. 

“Okay. Um…. Raise your hand if you’re off the clock but you’re acting really fuckin’ weird right now,” Sydney says, looking from you to Carmy, and then back to you. 

“I…” you try your best to explain to no avail – mostly because you’re not sure what to explain yet. 

“We should go. Let’s get out of here, yeah?” you propose, directing your attention towards Carmy again. You’re more than happy to be met with a nod as Carmy excuses himself, darting into his office to retrieve the notebook he came here for in the first place. 

You can tell that he’s not ready to talk about it, and after the weirdness today, you’re beginning to wonder more and more about this Claire girl. Carmy had never mentioned an ex-girlfriend. You knew that there were short-lived flings here and there throughout his twenties, but by the time you met him, it was just you and him, trapped inside your little bubble of denial and unspoken feelings until you weren’t. 

Claire doesn’t quite seem like an ex, but you could feel that she wasn’t just a girl from the neighborhood that Carmy grew up with either. 

“You good?” Sydney asks, immediately noticing your discomfort. 

“Yes,” you answer, unconvincingly. “Sooooo….?” Sydney begins to ask. 

So what’s going on? So what was that all about? 

“Girl, I will let you know when I know,” you answer, shooting her a matching look. 

“Godspeed, my friend,” Sydney replies with a salute, eliciting a much needed laugh from you. “I’m gonna get back to work but uh… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you nod, trying your best to shake off this weird feeling. 

As you watch her go, you’re too caught up in the what-the-fuck-ness of it all that you barely notice as Richie approaches. 

“You know you got nothin’ to worry about, right, sweetheart?” Richie asks you, interrupting the thoughts swimming around in your head. 

“No yeah. I-, he’ll tell me when he’s ready,” you reply, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself. 

“You ready?” you hear Carmy ask. 

“Yeah,” you nod, before giving Richie a small smile because his reassurance means a lot. “Thanks, Richie.” 

As you wave goodbye, Carmy takes your hand before leading you out of the restaurant and en route towards home. There’s a thick tension between the two of you, filled with things left unsaid. It’s more of an awkward kind of tension as Richie’s words echo in your head: 

You know you got nothin’ to worry about, right, sweetheart? 

It means more to you than he knows – that Richie is in your corner. It’s not like the two of you are best friends, but you have a mutual understanding that you’ve been good for Carmen ever since you reentered his life. 

You’ve become a patient woman, knowing that, most of the time, Carmy has to come to you on his own time. You trust him wholeheartedly, and you trust that he’ll tell you when he’s ready. It just doesn’t help the anticipation that’s been building inside of you all afternoon. 

“You know. We’re gonna have to talk about this eventually,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence between you. 

“Yeah,” Carmy answers quietly, giving your hand a confident squeeze. And if it’s a promise, he adds, “Yeah, I know.”

—-------------------------------------

You’re barely paying attention to George Clooney’s portrayal of a former raider turned newspaper columnist of a fox, entirely distracted by your game of cat and mouse that you play with Carmy and his attention. You can feel his eyes on you as you take another sip from your wine glass, the funky and sour notes hitting your tongue as he watches you closely, your head hazy from getting towards the end of the second glass.  

Carmy sighs, shifting his body position, as if choosing the comfiest position will embolden him to tell you what’s been on his mind.

He lets out yet another sigh, this one much heavier than the last and you know he’s working up the nerve. 

You cradle your wine glass in your hands, giving the last of the orange elixir a swirl as you settle into the couch, your back pressed against the arm of it as you stretch your legs out in front of you. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” you finally ask him, and he lets out one last sigh of relief, almost as if he’s been waiting for you to ask. 

“Uh… yeah, actually,” Carmy admits, hesitantly.

You’ve been waiting for him to get here, taking in the vulnerable look on his face as he searches for the words he thinks will best convey what he wants to say. “So… there was like… someone… before me, yeah?” Carmy drags out, his face soft as he asks you a question that takes you by surprise. 

You let out what can only be described as a laugh and a sob as you reply with: 

“What do you mean?” you choke out, the laugh that escapes your body providing much needed relief. 

It’s not what you expected. That’s for sure. 

“You know…” he trails off, before taking another deep breath because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s really the only example he’s got. “Like… I know… about Nate.” “Nate?!” you exclaim with an even bigger laugh. “Bear, are you… are you asking me about my exes?” 

“Uh… yeah…” he admits on an exhale, almost embarrassed to be asking. “I guess uh-, I guess I am.” In his bashfulness, you giggle, reaching out to give his arm a squeeze as you begin to understand that he’s ready to talk about what happened in the grocery store. 

Carmy takes a breath, and you watch his posture soften.

“Well, Nate barely counts as an ex. I don’t… That was more of a… one-time mistake kind of thing,” you admit, knowing that it wasn’t all that long ago that Carmy found out about it in the first place. 

“Right,” Carmy nods, his gaze focused on his knees for a moment because even though he brought it up, he’d really like to stop talking about Nate right about now. 

“But!” you begin, trying your best to meet him where he’s asking you to. “The guy I dated… right before I met you, Alec was… definitely someone I consider an ex. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah um… we were together for two years… just before I started working at our old spot,” you begin, willing to give him as much information as he wants. “So why didn’t it work out?” Carmy asks curiously. 

“I don’t know, babe. I racked my brain trying to figure that one out a ton when we first broke up,” you sigh, uncertain of how to answer that question. You take your time choosing to be as honest as possible in your explanation. “I think… I don’t know. He was never as sure about me as I was of him.”

“We were great together, y’know? He was kind, and smart… he made me laugh… And we were really happy together for a long time. I mean, I think we were exactly what each other needed as the people we were in that time of our lives,” you explain, elaborating on what really worked in your relationship with Alec. 

“But eventually, none of that stuff really mattered because all I wanted was to be with someone who felt as crazy about me as I did about them, you know? And… he wasn’t… entirely sure.” 

Carmy lets out a deep breath as he takes your words in. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, as he feels the weight of your words. “I guess… well, I guess I didn’t know about all that.” 

“Well, I didn’t exactly tell you,” you shrug. 

Carmy thinks it over, wondering why he never asked you about your broken heart back then – not that he was ever really good about that kind of stuff  – the talking about feelings kind of stuff, and whatnot. 

But he wants to be good at it now. Or, at least he’d like to try. He wants to try to be good at it for you. 

“Guy’s a fuckin’ loser,” Carmy comments, a bitterness in his voice as he does. “I can’t imagine it.” 

“Hm?” 

“Not being crazy about you,” he answers, his tone confident as his eyes catch yours. 

Your heart flutters with the way he looks at you, and between his words and his certainty about you, you can’t regret the past – not even a little bit. 

“It’s okay, Bear,” you reassure him, and you mean it. “If Alec and I had stayed together… well, you and I never would’ve….” 

“Danced around each other for over two years?” Carmy points out letting out a dry laugh. “Right,” you chuckle in agreement, with a playful eye roll. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” 

“We’re here now. Isn’t that what’s important?” you ask with a shrug and a half smile. 

This time, his tone much more serious, Carmy answers with a, yeah, that feels heavier than the previous ones. 

You and Carmy both take a beat, letting the reality of your life with each other sink in. It’s as if all the ‘no’s of the past lead you here to this moment, and you’d have it no other way. 

“So. Who… is Claire?” you ask, earning a groan from Carmy as he swears under his breath with a shake of his head. You stretch out your leg, just enough to poke him with your big toe as he chuckles, wanting nothing more than to avoid this question. 

“It’s just… well you’ve never really told me about any of your exes!”

“Well she’s not really… my ex,” Carmy blushes, averting his gaze once again. 

“Well, she doesn’t really seem like just a friend,” you point out, and it suddenly feels like you’re showing your entire hand. Carmy agrees with you on an exhale, reminding himself that he wants to try the whole ‘better at talking about feelings’ thing with you. 

“Okay. Uh… well… we’ve known each other for like… forever, I guess,” Carmy begins to explain running a hand through his curls. “Her family is close with the Faks and I-, I-, uh… well, I sort of… had this massive crush on her… like all throughout school.” 

“What?” you ask, genuinely curious about his sudden coyness. 

“It’s embarrassing!” he defends himself, with a dry laugh. 

“Carmy, it’s not!” you insist, sitting up straight this time to reach for his hand. “Was it weird for you? Earlier today?” 

“Uh. Kinda, yeah,” he confesses, stealing a glance your way. 

“Yeah?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Like… a lot. Was that… not obvious?” he shoots back, this time with a shake of his head. “I just-. I don’t know. It was weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?” you ask again, patiently. “Just… weird, babe,” Carmy answers honestly with a shrug of his own. 

You nod in understanding, wanting to give him the space to share more if he’d like to. It’s not that you were worried about Claire… but it had been weird, earlier today – and even stranger when no one was giving you a proper explanation. “I-, I-, it’s like. I had such a big crush on her. And I could barely work up the nerve to talk to her like… I was sort of just this-, this total fuckin’ loser,” Carmy continues, his eyes narrowing as he talks about a younger version of himself. “And now here I am… with my super hot girlfriend and I just-. I don’t know. It sorta uh… reminded me of like… a different version of myself.” 

“Yeah, no, I-, I get that. It’s… it’s such a weird feeling,” you empathize, exchanging a look with your boyfriend this time. 

You nod in understanding, only to be met with a laugh and another shake of his head as Carmy lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re being like… waaaaay too cool about this,” he points out, his voice lighter this time. 

“Oh yeah?” you ask with a quirk of an eyebrow. “Uh. Fuck yeah,” Carmy confirms, as you exchange a laugh. He shrugs once again, only a little embarrassed as he adds, “You know… I just… I kinda lost my fuckin’ mind. You know. About Nate.” You shrug, “That’s different. I-.” A beat. “Do you want me to be jealous?” “No,” Carmy answers. A beat. “Maybe?” And another. “I-, I don’t know. This is all so new to me!” 

“Carm,” you sigh, as you lean over, placing your wine glass down on the coffee table before scooting closer to your boyfriend as you continue. “You and I have been through so much together and there were days that I thought we’d never speak again… but somehow we still ended up here.” 

He grabs your hands, pulling you in closer towards him as you meet him pound for pound–all heart on both sides. 

“I trust you,” you reassure him, your fingers sliding perfectly between his. “And I know I have your heart… ‘cos I know you got mine.” 

“Ffffffuck,” Carmy exhales, in complete disbelief that you really are being too cool about this. “Seriously?!” 

You laugh, incredulously this time, as you decide to give your boyfriend just a little of what he may be looking for. “No, but. It did-, it was weird for me… today. With Claire. And then later at the restaurant when Fak brought her up. I mean… you weren’t lying. News traveled fast,” you admit, much to Carmy’s relief. 

“Neighborhood’s small. That’s for sure,” he agrees, equally uncomfortable with how quickly that got around. 

“And… She is like… really pretty. And… what? About to be a doctor so I guess that means she’s really fuckin’ smart. I mean-,” you continue. 

It doesn’t take Carmy long to realize that you’re trying too, deciding it’s best to put you out of your misery sooner rather than later as he cuts you off with a playful, “Oh shut the fuck up.” 

It’s your turn to laugh this time as you lean in, pressing your lips to his. 

Carmy inhales, breathing you in as he tries to memorize the way you smell, the way you taste, the way your lips feel nestled so perfectly against his. He pulls away just for a moment, intent on telling you something.  “You do, by the way,” Carmy says, his declaration soft but sure. “Have my heart, I mean.”

“I know, babe,” you reply, with a smile. “I know.”

—-------------------------------------