Mika

you're one of carmen berzatto's friends which surprised him at first. the renowned chef matched his chaos with his brazen choice of friends that all shared familiar quirks. however you preferred to linger in the back. you didn't laugh too loudly or obnoxiously, you didn't spin jokes to grab attention even at the expense of others. what surprised him the most was that you hadn't cursed infront of him once- working in fast paced places with egos running the expo, it was normal to hear a violet stream of words but around you, everything was softer- gentler, as if the air and the world bent and moulded around your being.

he remembers the first time he saw you. carmen had asked if he could step in as a pastry chef to help the shortfall. when he walked into the kitchen of the bear expecting to find carmy he found you: staring up at him with an inquisitive tilt. there was no snarky sharpness, no edge sizing him up, just rounded curious eyes that stumped him for a moment. and for the first time in a long while, it was refreshing to be looked at nothing more than a human.

"and who are you?" you asked slowly, not because it was calculated or measured but because that was how the natural drawl of your words landed. he detected a hint of a northern accent that whispers a little too like home warming his blood. a smile tugged at his lips- one that he failed miserably to rein in in fear of coming on too strong but you just made it so easy for him to just exist.

"luca," another grin and a boyish blush at the fact that you did not know who he was or his entire culinary achievements and experience by heart. though for a second, he wished you did. maybe it would've impressed you somehow, given him a stepping stone into your good graces. but by the slow nod and dimpled smile flashed his way, god he would have never needed it. his brain photographed that very moment the earth bent to your will and hangs it portrait in his head in the areas where thoughts of you have stretched and taken up free residence.

he got to know you in the small moments. at four am to the sounds of a soft tune of billy joel hummed through the chill kitchen air that then drowned out to the boil of the kettle for your favourite peppermint tea. "for the morning breath" you once joked and it still brings a grin to his lips anytime he sees it.

at the sound of lindt wrappers crunching in their foil where you've cleaned out the entire box of white chocolate in days where you need the extra comfort. he now keeps a spare box for emergencies in the top cupboard for the tough times you'll need it.

at the disapproving sigh you sent his way at the remenants of flour spilled when luca had rushed to hit a timer, he learns that you hate mess more than you hate carmy's mother- who he learns in return also hates you back. its also why he spent an extra hour cleaning his station sparkling clean whilst prying into carmen about your past and friendship.

you told him little bits yourself anyways, you grew up with carmy and both left to pursue culinary education outside the prison walls of chicago- you trained in edinburgh, hopped from establishment to establishment within the UK, earning your first michelin at 25. and somehow, by the grace of carmen fucking berzatto you found yourself back in chicago- a place you swore you'd never return.

"i feel shitty, i brought her back here to this bag of ass," carmen once told him that night as luca scrubbed till his fingers bled with soap suds. "she's got a fuckin' star twice! the fuck she need this place for, i tried to fire her but the smartass brought up some employment law or somethin' i don't know," he chuckles. and at the brazen words spoken, the smile of fondness from carmy is hard to miss. its all luca needs to know that you're someone who holds such high value to carmen's life and for someone who's stayed that long, loyalty runs deep.

"why you askin?" carmy cuts him off and luca doesn't show his hesitation, he just continues cleaning his station. "matter of fact, why the fuck you still here? go home, chef. tomorrow starts in a two hours we need you."

tomorrow comes with a satisfied hum as your fingers run along the sparkling counter "you did such a good job" you smile. and luca's heart stutters violently, he wonders what those fingers would look like running through his hair, at his jaw and down his chest. what those words would feel like under him in the middle of the night in the embrace of your home.

"luca?" you break free his train of you, smile wobbling at the edges. "you okay?"

"yeah," he clears his throat, "yes, chef" he confirms, remembering the sanctity of the kitchen and his responsibility here, to you. and you nod, not entirely believing him but not exactly prying further. instead you place a hand on your heart to tell him i'm here if you need the time.

and you carry on. you both direct, you fire, you shout for hands multiple times and when you don't get the help you need, it's the first time he sees you lose control.

"christ," you mumble in agitation, "walking now," and you wipe your hands quickly, taking the dish out the door.

the entire back of house halts at your disappearing frame. it's absolute silence as they watch your back, the lingering looks from carmy and syd- the hostile exchange shared between stares and unspoken words until multiple beepers go off like sirens in the distance. the chaos of the kitchen returns and in the midst of shouts at the expo, luca still watches the door waiting for your return.

it takes a moment longer than needed but you present at the table, you walk the elder woman through her dish, laughing as she counteracts your storytelling with her own memories before bidding her a goodnight and heading back to your station. your heart races slightly as you enter the doors again with a violent push and the kitchen comes to a standstill once more.

"chef?" carmen is the first to break the silence. "need a moment?" he carefully treads and the familiarity in his stance gives luca the impression that this is not the first time you've left the kitchen at your own orders nor will it be the last time.

"no, chef" you level, "what i need is hands when i ask for them," you glance across all the staff and make your way back to your table. the hustle and bustle of culinary masterpieces continue but in the midst of the chaos, luca can hear the tiny exhale that escapes from your lips.

"chef?" he quietly asks, trying to find your gaze and when its painstakingly obvious you're avoiding eye contact with him, he pushes just a little further. "peppermint," he tries your nickname and you glance up, nothing in your expression. there's a delicate layer of softness still in your chocolate eyes that alleviates some worry from him and you nod.

"thanks, chef," you whisper and he nods, you both continue in silence, working in that familiar routine again finding your balance.

luca decides that no matter the storm or chaos, he'll always find you to bring you back to the surface.

the night ends with a silent success. they had overbooked but call it a champagne problem, guests were satisfied, the kitchen was highly complimented and everyone was exhausted. signs of a well oiled machine at work.

luca catches your frame just in time to see you leaving. your tote is arched onto your shoulder as a thick knitted scarf is knotted around your neck under the giant black puffer zipped up. he watches at you place a hand on carmy's shoulder in comfort before he places a kiss to your hair when he wraps you in a hug. its rare to see affection from carmen but luca calm his jealousy with a objective analysis instead; there's something about the two of you that he can't pinpoint as lovers- maybe long lost siblings is the furthest he'd go.

because if luca was your lover, he'd take the train (even if it stretched an extra half hour to his commute) with his hand firmly gripped on your waist not only for protection and to have you in sight but because there's nowhere on earth he'd want you to be unless glued at his side. he'd have your tote perched on his shoulder baring the weight of your world and free hand in yours, holding both your hearts close in every step. he'd walk you to the door, leaning into your embrace and kiss you right on the lips for the world to see. there would be nothing friendly in the fire he's willing to burn, he'd scoop you in his arms to take you inside.

he'd do it every single day of his life if you'd want him to, if you gave him any inclination that you'd want him too.

but instead he takes the train with you, sat with an inch gap of respectability and boundaries. he walks by your side, hands swinging itching under the cold to hold yours but keeps them at bay. he walks you to your door, shoulder bumps yours with a soft nudge goodbye and doesn't leave until he's seen you click the door shut and at the sound of the locks turning too.

he turns with a heavy heart and sigh as he makes his own way home, leaving his feelings in the chill of the chicago air where no one but him knows how he feels about you.

carmen berzatto absolutely knows how luca feels about you.

its in the way luca sat on his stool at your station, brows furrowed chasing the clock and then the door where he expects to see your frame. its in the glare where your name isn't clocked in and focuses its way onto carmen when he delivers the debrief for the morning.

"last night, we had an unexpected guest," carmen starts and the room stills. he throws a newspaper article down onto the table for all the see, pointing at their establishment printed on the crisp white paper. "she came in unrecognised, unattended, waited for a table and her food was almost delayed," the word almost is delivered with a slight twitch of his eye. "we were so focused on who might the critic delivering us a star might be that we almost missed one just equally as important," carmen stresses the words with pointed agitation.

"we need to be better chefs, every person who comes through that door gets royal treatment or nothing. do not make it nothing," his voice is so crisp and lethal that even richie himself cannot find a joke to lighten the air. "luckily, one of our chefs noticed something suspicious and had her meal out without delay, saving us from another embarassment. not that we have a shortage of those," he bitterly chuckles. sydney shoots him a pointed glare and cuts him off.

"chefs we work together," she softly reprimands. where carmen is burning fire, sydney is all about calming waters for the team, "this does not work unless we all do. let's listen, let's grow, let's make this thing happen. understood?"

a chorus of "yes chef" litters the air but luca can't find it in him to focus not when he has no idea where you are. he pulls his phone out of his pocket to check for the millionth time but still no sign of you; no return of his thousand voicemails.

carmen and sydney are already on their way to the office when he stops them abruptly.

"yes chef?" carmen asks, brows raised at lucas large frame blocking the door.

"she's not in, hasn't been in since last night, uh," he stumbles, "where is she?" sydney elbows carmen who fights back the lazy smirk working its way up on to his features.

"day off," he shrugs and makes his way into the office.

"day off?" his echo sounds outrageous, you've never taken a day off in the months he's worked here. its like clockwork, when you start, how you work, when you leave, when you work with him. its never been nothing but routine and luca cannot wrap his head around the missing puzzle piece.

"is there a problem?" carmen asks and syd shifts her gaze between the two of them, trying to detect any underlying feelings.

"no, chef." luca returns and makes his way back to his station. its cold, practised and rehearsed how he lives today, reminding him for the first time in a long time of how lonely working in a restaurant can feel. he hasn't felt this way before he moved to copanhagen to escape the stitled atmosphere of his former restaurant. he glances over and is met with your absence again, the clean slate of your station. eerily untouched, not like its been lived in before in your presence. it unsettles him, when he looks over youre not there as his equal; he's struggling alone and he's lonely.

he finishes up his shift with exhaustion heavily laced through his bones, his jokes falling flat with marcus and sydney and not bothering to wish carmen goodnight. he grabs his things swiftly and stares back at your station longingly as if he'd look hard enough, you'd somehow just appear and make it right for him again.

it's two am and he takes the long way home, the nerves and sheer dire need to see you keeping him awake whilst the city of chicago sleeps before him.

the knock that lands at your door is tentative. it almost doesn't land but it does and you pause the music playing through your apartment. the sweet sounds of "cherry wine" by hozier stopping gently in the breeze as you check the time.

it's late, you think. too late for anyone you know to be here. with a butter knife in your hand you reach for the door slowly and pull back just an inch. crystal blue eyes pierce your soul and you immediately pull back the door to its full length.

"peppermint," he breathes before the door is even properly open, the second he's gotten a glimpse. like he's sucking your being in, memorising the way you exist as if you've been lovers deserted by war.

you don't answer at once, instead you blink. you stand there for what feels like forever as he takes you in. your curly hair is throws up into a high bun at the top of your head, static frizz curling at the edges as a few tendrils escape the makeshift mess. sleep is etched into your features and he guesses that you've probably spent today napping and making up the sleep you've missed from the last decade of your life. you're dressed in a matching plaid set of pyjamas, the buttons opening with the wind working its way between you and he is hit with the flash of your skin peeking out.

he's never seen this version of you, so relaxed yet so poised, so perfectly you. like being out of the pressure of the restaurant has lifted a thousand kilos off your body. you're glowing, he marvels just when he thought you couldn't possibly get any more beautiful.

"luca," its not exactly a question or a greeting, you're unsure of what's going on entirely and-

"you didn't show today," he cuts off your train of thought and nods to himself, a small smile of relief playing on his lips knowing that you're okay and you're safe.

"i had the day off," you cross your arms and lean on the wooden door frame, staring back at him. in this light, his blonde hair looks a shade too brown, his skin casts shadows of the night under his ocean eyes. "did you want to come in?" you ask, small.

for a moment he thinks he should be smarter than this. it's late and he's never even been inside your apartment before and the feelings he feels that are too large and too big for his body do not need to explode right now when you look far too peaceful in your home. he's also got the early shift and needs to be back at the bear in the next few hours, only this time he hopes you'll be there with him. and yet, he finds himself waiting, lingering with a soft and gentle

"please" its like he's scared to let it sit there to long, and you nod with a smile, waiting to the side till he's standing in your small walkway and shut the door with a thud, locking it twice.

the smell of vanilla hits him instantly at first, a deep velvet layer entangled with the sweetness of strawberries. they dance along with notes of sugar and butter and it just feels so right, he thinks.

wordlessly you help him shrug out of his outer layers, hanging them on your rail as he stands there suddenly shy, aware of all your space he is currently taken up. you don't say anything just motion for him to follow you through the dimly lit apartment into your kitchen- all the lights are off save for a small lamp at your workstation. sometime between when he arrived and to now standing at your kitchen worktop, the gentle rush of music has started again. guitar chords strumming along to the beat of his heart as he stands by your side.

you go back to placing the strawberries so delicately on top of the shortcake pastry on a layer of fresh cream and luca salivates at the sight of it. its such a basic dish compared to what the two of you create in the kitchen of the bear that it softens something in him to see something so simple yet divine.

"strawberry shortcake?" he asks from behind you, he's so close in proximity that you can feel his warm breath pinched from his british accent tickle your neck. his hands come to hold the edges of the surface and they gently hold you in an embrace you can escape easily. he's there in your space but still waiting for your indication. you turn slightly to face him and upclose he can see the specks of flour that dust your cheekbones; a layer of snow over the natural rosy blush tinting your face.

you pick up a small piece that you weren't going to plate and reach it up to his lips, nodding in encouragement. he savours the taste of it, flavour and sweetness exploding on his tongue. he's messy with it and his tongue accidentally swipes alongside the finger you feed him with and you pull away slowly, acting as if the touch hasn't burned something new inside of you.

"i make it every year for my birthday," you whisper and recognition hits him fast. he pulls apart slowly in disbelief and a million curses flow through his mind.

"i didn't know it was your birthday," he admits bashfully, staring at his feet unsure. you smile at him softly.

"it's okay, lucky," the nickname slips out so easily and he melts, "no one really does, except carm of course. i'd rather spend today at the bear but he insists on taking the day off," you share, carefully shifting your focus back to your dessert.

"why would you spend it at the bear?" his brows wrinkle in confusion. i mean sure he loves the place and he loves carm but the bear? on your birthday?

"i don't really have anyone," you feel so small and shy right now but something about luca wants you to bare your whole soul out for him to see, "the bear is where all my family is," and you swallow the lump of vulnerability settling in the air.

luca inhales and takes a step closer to you, he picks up the knife from your grasp and plants it down on the desktop surface before holding your hands in his and god they feel so warm and so damn soft.

"i uh," he starts, meeting your gaze and continuing seeing your nods of encouragement. "i'd like to be there for you if you'd let me."

your smile widens and in the soft light of your kitchen you lean your head onto his chest. he holds you in his big arms, swaying the two of you back and forth as the hums of hozier fill the apartment air. it feels like heaven, such peace that luca's sure he hasn't felt this way about anyone before and it feels like a weighted blanket covering his soul.

"can i ask you something?"

"anything," you breathe and look up to him, its a strain on your neck but you manage.

"how did you know about the critic yesterday?"

"oh," you shove your head into his chest with a groan and he's confused, he chuckles at the force you've hit him with and places his fingers under your chin to bring you back to his planet. "she's an old mentor back from scotland, i thought i'd escape her but here she is haunting me all over," you mumble. "i couldn't possibly give her something else to lecture me about, god knows ive heard years of it." and luca laughs, he understands completely more than anyone what it means to do your best and still be knocked down. living on a scale that only gets larger and each movement doesn't feel as big as it does in your head.

"well angry old ladies aside, you really saved our ass, she was very nice about you," he whispers into your hair.

"really?" your voice is tiny and he softens, wrapping his fingers around some of your free tendrils, tugging on them slowly.

"yes really," he swears and you breathe a sigh of relief.

"i feel like i've been in this business long enough to stop looking for validation but sometimes oh god it gets me luca, it makes me lose control it makes me nasty like ive been lifted from the ground and god," you sputter with a shiver, "i hate being that way."

"i understand," he softly shares, "and sometimes i feel like i'll never outrun that young boy who was never enough in those big scary kitchens. its mainly why i came to help out carm, change of scenery, change of boss, change of everything."

"i thought the same but it wasn't carm or the bear or being around family again after so long," you lean up on your tip toes, lips inches away from each other. "it was you, who kept me grounded, kept me smiling, kept me from feeling like the world was spinning too far for me to keep up-"

he lets you finish barely before pressing his lips into yours and its soft, its slow, its deep, its filled with the months of longing stares and passion. its filled with the capacity of love he knows he can give and you will return tenfold. its filled with chaos in the kitchen and of these moments in the quiet of the night.

he can taste the strawberry on your tongue and groans against you before you break apart. there's a rosy dust coating your cheeks and tinting the tips of your ears.

"wow," you squeak and his chest rumbles in loud laughter, shaking you in the vibrations of his embrace. "stay the night?" you ask, leaning up to him again.

"always," he promises.