Jay

he can’t meet yours either, feels too vulnerable when caught. not entirely trapped, not entirely free. he hasn’t yet realised he’s welcomed to look; welcomed to stay within your iris, explore the architecture of color and the sweetness of the interior. welcomed to speak. it takes courage recognizing things like that, and despite all the anger and the fronting and the stance and the booming echo of his voice, carmen’s never been very brave.

it doesn’t matter. he’s making this a big deal and psyching himself out. in reality, the situation is simple: you live next door. sometimes, he runs into you and carries those stupid bags. you always thank him, always somehow surprised (don’t you expect it by now? he expects it every time he leaves his apartment), and share some of your plans for the day, or evening, or morning, or vacation, or whatever. he’s only half listening anyway, and it’s not because he isn’t interested but because his heart is pounding in his throat and he can’t really believe he accidentally touched your fingers. 

he knows your name and some bits about your job and family, what shows you like to watch, what restaurants you visit, the morsels of the drama happening between your friends. he can recognise your perfume if someone walks by wearing it and a song you would like if he happens to hear one but can’t recognise the fact that he doesn’t like the lines etched into your palms from paper bag handles or that he hates how someone, someday, will cradle your hands and kiss the knuckles. that someone already had.

he can't yet acknowledge that the opportunity is there. that you would prefer it, that the shock he would experience could be comforting (lifted. fluttering. safe).

these thoughts take time, and carmen never has enough of it. he moves faster than people, than feelings (he can outrun them, he can try), and how can impulse and caution exist simultaneously inside the livewire of his body? he can only leave an impression (a good neighbor, right, despite fire alarms blaring twice a week? still good, right?) and that should be enough but what a greedy thing he's become because he wants more than he can have. he wants more than he deserves.

(don't even think of telling him you do too.)

You weren't quite sure what to expect. Pete had come to your office late yesterday afternoon, asking if you could do him a favor. You had agreed, thinking it had to do something with the latest case you were working on or the new client that dropped by. What you didn't expect was for him to show you the mountains of manila folders with only one word etched on the front of them, Bear.

Ever since moving to Chicago, Pete had been a mentor of sorts. At first, it was firm assigned. He always had his door open when you had questions about the workings of the company or the complexities of a case. You found yourself sending him about 15 emails a day, and they were always followed up with a smiley face emoji and way too many exclamation points for a grown man to use.

But beyond that, he had welcomed you into his home and made an effort to really welcome you to Chicago. After mentioning to him one day during lunch that you still hadn't been able to cook something for yourself, despite being in the city for three weeks already, he had insisted that you join him and his wife for dinner that weekend.

You had shown up with a bottle of wine and were met with a round stomach. Nevertheless, Natalie had laughed and hugged you tightly as you apologized profusely for the bad gift choice.

"I wouldn't ask if I knew you couldn't handle it. It's just that Natalie's about to pop, and I need to devote my energy towards caring for her," he explained as you sifted through the miscellaneous documents.

So now, you stood outside the establishment, double-checking the address, then triple-checking, before opening the door.

"I swear to everything holy, Cousin! Hold the fucking table straight!"

"I am, jagoff! Fix your fucking eyes!"

"Dumbass, it's crooked! Look!"

"It's not! Your fucking head is crooked, screwed it on the wrong way this morning."

"Oh, fuck you!"

"Fuck you!"

Just as you were about to sneak back out the way you came, you saw Natalie's familiar face.

"Idiots! You're gonna scare her off."

Both men whip around to face you. You held out a hand and waved, sending them both a small smile.

The older man grins back at you, "Oh shit, sweetheart, didn't even hear you. Quiet as a mouse coming in."

The younger one just scoffs at the older man, but his eyes don't leave your form. You feel your tummy jump as his electric blue eyes drag over your body and land on your face. You think he might say something. But as Natalie comes to gather you in her arms, he doesn't say a word.

The older man's gaze flickers over to the younger one, and it seems like the smile on his face widens tenfold, from what you can't quite put your finger on yet.

"Richard Jerimovich, but everyone just calls me Richie," he tells you, sticking out a hand. His grip is surprisingly gentle and firm, all in the same breath. Still, you give him a small smile and offer your name.

Expectantly, you look towards the curly-haired brunette, but he just looks at you blankly.

As Richie barks out a laugh, again, at something you don't quite know, but Natalie cuts in swiftly.

"I gave everyone a brief introduction as to who you are and what you'll be helping with, so no need for niceties just yet. I want to show you the belly of the beast," she tells you as you just nod and let her guide you through the mess of a restaurant.

As she pushes open the swinging doors to the back of the building, you swear you catch the two men going at it again.

"Holy fuck!"

"Shut the fuck up, Cousin."

"Holy fuck! Are you a fucking teenage boy, Bear?"

"Shut up!"

"Got something staining on the front of your pants, y'know."

But a huff from Natalie brings you back into reality. With a creak, the door to a back office opens up, and you almost gasp at the condition of the place.

"I know, but everything has its place. Mikey had his system, and we all work around it," she says, almost sensing the anxious thoughts circling your head.

After hearing her reasoning, though, your heart pulls, and you hum. Pete had told you about his passing. It wasn't exactly office talk, but he said he needed to give you a crash course before today. Michael was the first thing he told you about.

Pulling out a chair, she beckons you to sit. Once you do, she plops a stack of papers in your lap.

"Petey is working on I.R.95 forms for The Bear now, and told me he's almost finished. But we need to have these," she says, finger coming down to point at the title of the paper, "I.R. 114 forms done by the end of next week."

You nod, he had told you most of this already, and you had made a color-coded list of what to tackle with corresponding due date, but you sat and let her explain it to you a second time.

"And the city keeps giving us the run around with these," Natalie continues, placing another stack of paper in your lap. The chair squeaks under the weight.

You thumb through the pages, mostly to confirm what you're looking at, but the action makes the woman across from you twitch.

"I know it's a lot," she says, almost like she's sorry for you, like you hadn't already agreed.

"No, it's okay, Natalie," you say, trying to ease some stress. Still, her shoulders almost reach her ears as you read along the pages of documents.

After giving you a few minutes, she moves. Getting up from her seat, Natalie's hand braces on the wall, stomach sticking out like a reminder. "I'll go get Carmen and Richie. They said they wanted to be here when we talked about hours."

With that, she leaves you in the office. It's quiet once she shuts the door, but you can feel the buzz of the building regardless. The kind of place with an energy that tells others it never sleeps.

Looking around, you see bits and pieces of the Berzatto's life. Mismatched pens in a glass cup. Thumb-tacked pictures hang from shelves. Colorful sticky notes cover one wall while the other is completely bare. It's scatterbrained, but still makes you smile.

Carmen must be the younger man from when you came in earlier. He looked a bit like Natalie, you think. Has the same rosy cheeks and pink lips. But just as soon as the thought of his soft-looking lips arrives, you push it away. The swing of the door aids this.

Sure enough, the young man and Richie come in tow with Natalie. Richie braces against the lip of the desk while Carmen leans up against the doorway so as not to crowd you in the small office. When you look at him, he's already watching you. Your eyes dart back towards your lap, pretending to read over the documents once more.

"We can't afford more than 3 hours a week. Pete told me your rate, but I just want to make sure that $500 an hour is still okay?" she asks you, handing you another document, this time with a pen for a signature.

"And we want to say thank you," Richie says, a genuine smile on his face.

You look between the family in front of you and then back at the loose contract, brows pitched in focus at the words.

"Did Pete not tell you?" you question, voice small, this time looking solely at Natalie.

"Did you up your rate? Oh, God. I guess we did have that conversation a few weeks ago. I shouldn't have assumed, I'm sorry," she apologizes, already grabbing the form out of your hand as you just look at her open-mouthed.

"No, no, Natalie. I told him I'd work pro bono. And I thought we could set a base of ten hours a week? I mean, sometimes I might get busier, but I can make up for it later. As long as that's okay for you guys?"

The office is silent for a minute. You worry that you overstepped, suggesting more hours than they came to you with.

"You're serious?" This time it's Carmy who speaks.

You just nod, not able to find the words as you look at him.

"You're an angel. Like an actual angel sent down from heaven," Natalie breathes out as you laugh a bit at her dramatics. "But, sweetheart, I can't take advantage of you like that."

"No, I want to. You and Pete have been so welcoming to me. Please let me do this for you guys," you tell her.

"You're sure?" she asks hesitantly, but you can see the small smile on her face at the thought.

You smile and hum, happy to take something off her and Pete's plate as they get ready for their daughter's birth.

"I fucking love this girl!" Richie whoops, hands clapping together as Natalie laughs at his antics.

"Thank you," Carmen follows. If you hadn't already been looking at him, you would've missed it. But instead, you just smile at him, your eyes unable to maintain contact for long.

જ⁀➴

Your Saturday mornings were now spent at The Bear. After settling the most urgent concerns and going over some brief paperwork questions you had, the four of you landed on Saturday mornings being the day you came into the office to work. It was only a few hours; the rest of your work would be done throughout the week, but still, it was nice to run things by the family before moving forward.

It was early, but Natalie assured you that Carmen was going to be here to help you get settled. Balancing your keys, phone, and drink carrier, you pushed open the back door of the restaurant.

Sure enough, the kitchen was quiet, no clanging of tools heard at this hour, only the typing of keys and thwacking of stacks of paper being shuffled around.

"Hi, Carmen," you say quietly while standing at the outskirts of the office. Immediately, he rises to his feet, chair kicking out behind him.

"Hey, hi. Good morning," he replies, going to help you with your bag and the drinks in your hand.

"Oh, thanks." You smile at him as he just nods.

As you sit, you slide a coffee his way. When he gives you an inquisitive look, you laugh a bit.

"Natalie says you never sleep, figured you might want one. It's from my favorite cafe in the city," you explain, fiddling with your fingers. When he just stares at you, like he did last week, you continue, "Honey Lavender, it's supposed to be relaxing."

"Honey lavender," he repeats, turning the cup in his hands like he's trying to figure out if you've handed him coffee or perfume.

"It tastes better than it sounds," you defend with a laugh. "Promise."

He peels back the lid carefully, steam curling up into his face. You can smell the mix of coffee and sweetness from across from him.

You watch him as he dips into the drink to take his first sip, eyes tracking his lips as they wrap around the white rim of the cup and then to his throat as he swallows.

"It's good," he affirms, but still sounds surprised by what he's saying.

Your shoulders immediately relax.

"It's…sweet."

"It is," you reply, laughing a bit at the observation.

"I don't usually drink sweet coffee."

"I know."

His eyebrows lift at this. "You know?"

"You look like someone who drinks coffee just for the caffeine."

He stares at you another second before rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

"You really are a lawyer, huh?"

You laugh loud enough that it echoes around the empty kitchen.

For a split second, he just watches you.

It's a nice laugh, he thinks. Easy and light. The kind that fills a room instead of demanding attention from it. Carmen realizes he's staring when you clear your throat.

"So…" you gesture toward the mountain of folders. "Forms?"

He exhales dramatically. "Forms."

Opening the first folder, you immediately organize the papers into neat little stacks. Within minutes, sticky notes begin appearing everywhere. He watches as you pull stack after stack from your bag, almost like a never-ending clown scarf.

"You color-code everything?" he asks, hands rubbing the waxy paper of the cup as he watches you.

"Hm?" You look up at him briefly, hands thumbing different documents at lightning speed.

"The sticky notes."

"Oh." You glance down like you hadn't even realized you were doing it.

"You remember what every color means?" he asks, eyes dancing around the desk as he takes everything in.

"Blue is city permits."

He nods. "Yellow?"

"Insurance."

"Green?" he tests, smile now creeping up on his face.

"Anything Pete forgot to tell me," you tell him, bringing up the thin stack of sticky notes, laughing. "He forgets a lot."

"He really does," Carmen chuckles as you smile at him once more.

You continue like this for a while more, silence falling over you both again. But it isn't awkward. If anything it's comfortable, different.

Carmen watches as you bend over a packet of licensing paperwork, lips moving ever so slightly while you read. The gloss is still there, but slightly smudged. He can see the remnants on your coffee cup, the plum color intrigues him more than it should.

He notices you tuck your hair behind your ear every few minutes. It keeps falling out of the pearly-looking claw clip that's holding your hair in its place. He thinks it's the same one you sported last week.

You chew the inside of your cheek whenever something doesn't make sense. The way your brows fold over on themselves and you huff a bit is one of the cutest things Carmen has ever seen.

You scribble tiny stars next to things you need to revisit. Along with green stick notes. Every time you place one down, he laughs a bit to himself.

He doesn't know why he notices any of it. He just does. It's like he can't tear his eyes away from you. Your fingers, your lips, your hair.

"You've got nice handwriting." The words leave his mouth before he can stop them.

You look up, almost like you don't believe him. "Thanks."

He immediately regrets speaking, Richie was right, he was acting like a teenager. "I just mean—"

"No," you smile, hands waving away his explanation. "I've just…never been complimented on my handwriting before."

"It's organized," he offers and you laugh again. Carmen wants to make you laugh over and over again.

"My professors used to call it aggressive."

"Aggressive handwriting?" he raises his brows and you nod.

"I press too hard."

When he glances down at the paper, sure enough, the words look as if they are bound to the page. Every letter looks deliberate. Like it belongs exactly where it is. It's nothing like the scribbles in his notebook or the reminders he leaves himself.

"Professors? From law school?"

You hum without looking up. "NYU. Good program, good professors, just a little judgy."

That gets his attention. New York. "You move here recently?"

You spit out your grad date and shrug absentmindedly.

He nods slowly. "I, uh, lived in New York, too. Around the same time actually."

At this, you stop working, hands pausing and furrow on your brow disappearing as you look at the man. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"What part?"

"Manhattan."

Your eyes widen. "No way."

"What?" he asks, smile on his face, like he can't wait to find out what you're going to say next.

"I lived in Midtown," you explain, hands now fully dropping the documents and coming to tuck your hair behind both of your ears again.

Carmen watches your movements, mirroring you as he places the now empty coffee cup down on the table. "I was living downtown."

You both sit there for a second, letting the information brew.

"So we probably crossed paths."

"Probably," he hums.

"Same city."

"Same months."

"And we both ended up in Chicago. How funny," you say, scrunching your nose a bit, a movement that Carmen files away immediately.

"That is kind of funny." That's all he says for the moment, but he can feel himself twitch as memories start coursing back.

The memories of New York always felt too loud. Too many people counting on him, too many waiting for him to fail. Not enough time to really perfect his craft, not enough time to settle into the way of the city. Never enough patience for those around him, patience wasn't something Carmen even knew for himself.

The feeling of Chicago, his home, was so unfamiliar and new in this light. The new challenges every week at The Bear keep him on his toes. Remnants of Mikey around every corner. New people in his life he never would've reached for.

But somehow that stream of conciousness pauses as you sit across from him. Something inside him calms as you go back to flicking through the forms, pressing your pen too hard against the paper, and sticky noting everything within sight.

He notices you've been working for almost three hours without touching anything besides coffee. Carmen wonders if it's a habit. Something built into you from long hours studying for law school or just a quirk you picked up recently.

Without saying a word, he disappears into the kitchen.

You barely notice he's left your side, too entrenched in the mountains of questions you now have for Pete and Carmen, until the smell reaches you.

Butter.

Pepper.

Something warm and familiar.

Carmen is carrying two plates as he enters your space again.

"What's this?" you ask, perking up to look at what he's prepared.

"Breakfast."

"Oh. Carmen, you didn't have to—"

He waves you off, placing the food in front of you. "You forgot to eat."

You blink. First looking at him and then the food.

"You've been here since seven."

You look down at your watch and sure enough it's almost ten. "Oh gosh, I didn't even notice."

"I know." He hands you a fork and gestures for you to dig in.

The omelet looks impossibly soft, folded around herbs and cheeses you're sure you can't pronounce. The smell is unlike anything you've been around in months, take-out and frozen meals that would surely earn you a scolding if the chef next to you knew.

Oh, and the taste. The taste.

When you go to take the first bite, you eyes shut. The flavors hit you almost instantaneously, some a bit subtle and some punching forward.

"Oh."

He studies your reaction, food on his plate untouched. "Good?"

You laugh quietly as you nod, chewing and swallowing so you can talk to Carmen. "I don't think I can ever eat my own cooking again."

Something in his chest loosens at this. You've settled into the seat now, spine not as rigidly straight and shoulder dropping. Carmen notices it all.

Good, he thinks. He wonders if you'd like a Croque Madame or Eggs Benedict next week.

જ⁀➴

Carmen is sitting in the office skimming over some notes you left. Mostly it's just arrows asking for his signature, the occasional exclamation point or question mark. But still, he finds himself rubbing a thumb over the lettering, lingering on pages a little too long.

"No, we submitted those," Natalie says from his side.

He perks up a bit at this, turning to face her with a puzzled look on his face as she just shrugs and listens to the voice on the other end of the call.

Quickly, she grabs a legal pad, one that you had left in the office "just in case". Hands scramble for a pen, and she begins writing furiously.

Now Carmen drops the forms he was looking at and focuses solely on her.

What the fuck? He mouths at his sister as she shoots him a glare.

"Can you tell me what section again?" Natalie asks as Carmen's anxiety begins to heighten.

She hums at another thing the voice says and immediately drops the pen. Her hand flies towards her forehead, smacking it before it makes its way down the side of her jaw.

Carmen stands now, bending down to look at his sister closer and try to catch what the man on the phone is saying.

"Okay. Yes, I understand," she finalizes, lowering the phone and dropping it back into the receiver.

"What? What was that?" Carmen twitches. When she gives him a pitiful look, his heart sinks.

"They're saying the occupancy amendment wasn't attached."

"The fuck does that mean?" he asks, a permanent scowl now on his face.

"I don't know, I don't know. But it's not good," she replies, hands coming to slam down on the desk as she pushes her chair back and away from the desk.

The ruckus gets the attention of Richie and Neil, both of them popping their heads into the small space.

"Whoa, what's going on?" Richie laughs out.

"Fucking occupancy amendment! Fuck!" Natalie groans as the three men share a worried look.

"What's that mean? Is it bad?" Neil questions innocently as Natalie just nods.

"The guy, he said it could affect the opening. Says that the paperwork we submitted last week is invalid. We'll have to get another inspection." Her head is now in her hands, fingers digging in the blonde locks.

"What? The inspection place schedules 2 months out," Carmen barks out, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

"Sugar is Bear being for real? 2 months?" Richie asks, amusement gone from his face now.

"At minimum. Maybe 4 months," she replies, head still dropped.

"4 months?" Carmen almost yells, voice booming in the small office.

"And he said it invalidates our liquor license," she drops on them, sending another wave of panic through the men.

"No fucking alcohol?" Again, Carmen urges as he looks at his sister.

"No alcohol," she repeats.

"No one's going to want to eat with no wine," Neil observes out loud as everyone deadpans at him.

"No shit. Holy fuck, we're screwed. Uncle's gonna fucking kill me." Carmen chokes out, hand coming to brace on his chest.

The four of them sit in silence for a minute. Then another. It feels like this is the end. The end of the dream. The end of this place. The end of whatever Mikey might've wanted or hoped for.

"Call her," Carmen finally speaks. He doesn't even say your name, but Natalie's already searching for your contact in her phone.

When you don't pick up the first time, Carmen sighs. The next time, he bites his lip hard. The fifth time, he almost cries.

"She's probably with a client," Natalie offers, but it does nothing to stop the energy they all seem to be sharing.

"It's only three," Richie says and it feels like a bomb goes off in the office.

"Try again," Carmen urges.

"What if she's in court?" Neil argues back.

"Fuck," Carmen yells out, pushing his hands into his eyes.

"It's two fucking hours. We can do two hours."

Around 30 minutes into their waiting game, people start to filter into The Bear for the weekly dinner.

It only takes Sydney asking why Neil looks like he's about to cry to push Natalie into an over-detailed and overly dramatic rant about the douche bag she talked to on the phone.

Around the 50-minute mark, Richie is hunched over the laptop in the office. Carmen at his side, reading over his shoulder.

"What the fuck is estoppel?"

Nobody answers.

He keeps reading, hoping that something will jump out and spark some recognition. "Pursuant?"

Again, the kitchen is silent.

"Who writes like this?" he huffs, hands coming out to flip off the laptop.

"Lawyers," Carmen responds dryly. "I hate lawyers."

Sydney laughs at this. "I don't."

Richie squints over at her. "You don't know any lawyers."

She just raises her brows, giving the men a knowing stare.

Carmen nods, not quite willing to give in to what she's implying just yet. Still, he grumbles, "I like one lawyer."

જ⁀➴

The sound of clicking gets Carmen's attention.

"Hi," you say, rounding the corner, meeting everyone as they all work on their latest creation.

Like Natalie said, you look like you were coming straight from the office. Something about it has Carmen taking a deep breath.

On Saturdays, you came into The Bear wearing beat-up sneakers, jeans, and old sweaters. It wasn't like you weren't putting effort into what you wore or how you looked, but Carmen could tell you opted to be in comfier attire when you worked here.

Now, you were standing in front of him, charcoal pencil skirt, white button-down blouse, and black heels. Your hair was pulled away from your face in a tight ponytail, something that was also different from Saturdays when you let it fall freely from your claw clip.

You looked like a lawyer.

"Sorry, we just finished up at court, or else I would've gotten here earlier," you apologize.

Natalie moves to hug you, and you let out an 'umph' as she does so. "Thank God."

"I got six missed calls," you laugh as she just squeezes you tighter. Your eyes meet Carmen's, and you share a look that would normally make him smile, but he can't right now. His eyes are still trained on you. The slightly worn look of your lipstick and the softness of your exposed legs making him freeze.

"Sorry," she says, finally letting you go.

"No, no, what's wrong?" you say, smiling still.

As Natalie starts explaining, occasionally looking to Carmen, he can't bring himself to move.

Richie notices and leans over. "You okay there, Cousin?"

The men share a look. Richie's is considerably lighter. Brows dancing and grin spreading across his face. Carmen is noticeably pissed. Eyes intense, and lips pursed.

"Did you forget how blinking works?"

Carmen glares harder, if it's even possible.

Richie grins wider, if it's even possible.

"Having a little wet—"

"Shut the fuck up." Carmen snaps, hand coming to slap Richie on the chest, but the action just makes the man laugh.

You and Natalie move to the office, both going back and forth about what the man said exactly to her earlier on the phone.

Carmen follows, hot on your heels.

Soon, though, you're settled in the office, and Natalie is dialing the number. Just as he thinks you're about to put it up to your ear, you press a button, a green light illuminating on the old phone, now on speakerphone.

Carmen's never heard you like this. Usually, your voice is dipped in honey, never sharp and tactful like it is now. Even when you introduce yourself, the words are like spitfire from your tongue.

He feels Richie's elbow nudge him and fights the urge to roll his eyes at the attention.

First, you talk with the man about the missing forms.

"It was submitted on September fourteenth," you say definitively.

"We have no record of that submission, ma'am," the man spits back, like it's a game. You smile at that.

"I have confirmation."

The line is silent for a bit before you continue.

"Would you like the confirmation number?" you ask, sickly sweet.

After the man confirms that he has the form, he continues, "This still complicates things with you alochol permit. We won't be able to issue you the permit until a month after asked date. It's a city ordinance."

"Could you point me toward the ordinance you're referring to?" you ask, like you already know the answer.

Clicking on the other line is heard, and you're scarily steady.

"Just takes a minute," the voice comes through.

"No, that's alright," you cut in immediately. "I'll wait."

By now, everyone has abandoned their stations and is camped outside the doorway. Carmen can't blame them.

"I actually can't seem to—"

"Oh, that's okay. I have it here," you speak. "It should be page thirty-seven, second paragraph."

The line is quiet again. It's a minute too long for anyone's liking but you just sit and smile.

Again, you speak into the receiver. "I can read it if that's easier."

Carmen's brows shoot up at this. His hand comes up to cover his mouth, a smile forming.

Carmen's heard you laugh. You've been at The Bear enough Saturdays now that he knows how to get you to smile and double over from just his words.

He's heard you ramble about permits. He remembers the day he set down a T.G. 15 form in front of you, and you practically vibrated with excitement, telling him it was your favorite due to how the subsections and clauses were organized.

He's heard you apologize when you interrupt someone. Too many times, he's told you to stop saying sorry, especially around him. "You got nothing to be sorry about, sweet girl." You barely spoke a word to him for five minutes after that, blush raging on your face.

But he's never heard this.

Every sentence lands exactly where you intend it to. No hesitation. No second-guessing. No nervous laugh. No fiddling with your rings. You don't rush to fill the silence. Instead, you wait. Patient and knowing.

It's incredible.

"I understand," you follow as the man on the line recalls the information. "But, respectfully, that's not what subsection C says."

Richie and Neil high-five at this. Carmen shakes his head, doesn't hide his small smile.

"Yeah, bitch. Subsection C," Richie whispers, mic-dropping, making Sydney and Marcus laugh quietly.

"Yes, I'm looking at the municipal code right now." Your voice is steady. It's the first time Carmen looks at you and really fears being on the receiving end of a lecture from you. He's sure your curt words would be much more effective than his temper tantrums.

"Get his ass," Richie speaks lowly again.

"Ma'am, I just don't think you understand how this applies in this situation." The man on the phone sounds utterly miserable, but still determined to make everyone's life a living hell.

Carmen sees you straighten up at this, your jaw ticks once, and he sucks in a breath at the sight.

"Could you hold while I read it aloud? Just so we both understand how it applies here."

Everyone around the office just stares.

Richie mouths, holy shit, and Carmen just huffs and laughs, like he can't believe you.

"Read him the whole book," the man says, just a bit too loud this time, though, earning a glare from Natalie.

"Richie," Sydney whispers.

He shrugs, "I'm supporting Counsel."

Carmen almost laughs at that.

"My mistake, I'll get that filed right away for you. There shouldn't be any delays."

"Oh."

You pause and smile.

"Wonderful. So we're all set?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Thank you so much! Have a great day." You place the phone back in the receiver.

Carmen watches as your shoulders drop, and you smile at everyone. Not the fake smile you were giving the city guy, but a Saturday smile. The one he knows.

And the office space explodes.

"I knew it! Those dicks didn't fucking file shit right. Fuck yeah!" Richie yells out.

Sugar practically weeps, eyes closing and back finally sinking into the chair.

Sydney high-fives Marcus, both of them starting to recall moments of the conversation like a live play-by-play.

Carmen just looks at you. His entire nervous system has finally unclenched. Your eyes meet his, and you smile; this time he smiles back. "Thank you," he says simply.

"So… can you yell at my landlord?" Marcus asks, a smile on his face as he crosses his fingers.

You laugh at this, "I can't yell at everybody."

"You should, sweetheart. Fuck that was great." Richie pumps his fists in the air, earning another laugh from you.

"I got three parking tickets."

"Neil," Sydney scoffs, a smile on her face as she looks at the man.

"What? I'm just saying."

You look at Carmen again and just smile brightly, like you can't hide how you're feeling.

You begin to grab your phone off the desk and pluck your bag off the floor.

"Where are you going?" Natalie asks, her hand coming to still your movements.

"…Home?" you say, whispering like it's the wrong answer.

"It's family," Richie tells you, like it's obvious.

You blink. "What?"

"Dinner. Family dinner. You gotta stay," the man explains as you nod. "Right, cousin?"

"Yeah," Carmen breathes, not taking another second to think about what he's saying. "Stay, please,"

As you all move into the dining room, something shifts. Richie already has a chair pulled out for you, the one on Carmen's right-hand side. Marcus sets down your plate, tilting it just the right way for presentation. Tina slides silverware in front of you, undoing the napkin herself and helping you drape it across your lap. Ebra grabs you a soda, cracking open the seal for you.

They make room.

And somehow that realization makes something in Carmen's chest settle.

જ⁀➴

You got the call early this morning about the first round of permits. Everything had been submitted perfectly, allowing you to move on to the next round of paperwork. It was a long time coming, with Pete being the one to start everything 3 months back.

Now you balanced a box of assorted pastries from Frost, a cafe Carmen had offhandedly mentioned last week, ready to share them and celebrate.

Gosh, Carmen was going to be so happy. He'd been so stressed recently. You saw it in the way his shoulders tensed while cutting miscellaneous vegetables or how he stared down at the workshopped menu, face twisting and setting in a grimace. You wonder if he'll send you a smile when you break the news or say something in that sweet, soft voice again. You hope that he relaxes a bit after this, lets go of this piece of the puzzle.

Pushing open the backdoor, you bite your lip in excitement. But quickly, your face drops.

"Come on, Marcus!"

You freeze at Carmen's voice. His hands are raised and you can see a vein straining on the back of his neck.

"You have to taste it!" Carmen yells. He slides the dish across the workstation. It would've slammed and shattered onto the floor if Marcus hadn't caught it.

"I did," the man insists.

Carmen groans at this. "No, taste it!"

"I did!" he fights back.

"Then what? You'd send that shit out?"

"Chef—"

"No. No excuses!"

Silence falls over the kitchen. It's not the usual response to Carmen's yelling. Usually, Sydney will step in and defend whoever's being chewed out. Tina will tell him to breathe, to take a step back. Richie might be yelling back.

But now, it's quiet. And no one is looking at him.

He tracks their eyes and sees them go over his figure, behind him.

Carmen doesn't let up at this, though. "Chef, answer me."

"Cousin..." Richie breathes out.

"What?" Carmen barks.

Now it's Sydney's turn to cringe. "Turn around."

He does.

And you're standing there, pink box cradled against your body and big eyes looking right at him.

But still, you smile at him. "Hi."

And Carmen feels sick. A wave of nausea and shame rolls through him at record time.

"I—I got the permits," you speak again.

The kitchen is still silent. Carmen swears he hears his heartbeat in his ears, the thumping making him want to clutch a hand to his chest.

"They got approved, just this morning," you continue like nothing. But Carmen sees the way your fingers strain against the box and the way you rock forward on your heels.

You saw him. The real him. The version of himself he tried so hard to keep away from you. Loud, impatient, temperamental. Fuck.

Sydney breaks the standstill energy in the room, dropping her knife and wiping her hands on her apron. She grabs your arm and leads you to the office.

Carmen hears you both as you go, the words distant even in the small kitchen.

"That's great," Sydney tells you.

"I know! Just this morning, too. Perfect news to start the day," your warm voice says. But Carmen just looks in the direction of where you had gone, not able to enjoy the news as much as you had hoped.

"She thinks I'm a psycho," he says as Richie comes up beside him, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.

"She didn't look scared," Richie tells him, but it only makes the ache in his chest grow wider.

"Cousin. I scared her."

"No. You just embarrassed yourself."

He looks at the older man, dread evident on his features. "Thanks," he deadpans as Richie just claps him on the back once more.

Natalie appears a few minutes after you settle into the office, Sydney still sitting with you as you talk about next steps.

"I can't believe they finally passed everything through," Natalie grins as she leans back in her chair, tummy sticking out.

You hum, but look out into the hallway, hoping that maybe Carmen will come to celebrate with you.

"He'll be okay," Sydney says, snapping you out of your trance.

"Carmen?" you question dumbly as the two women share a look.

Natalie nods. "He just gets... passionate."

Sydney laughs at that. "One way to describe it."

"Like a wet cat," Natalie adds.

The comparison of a cat clawing its way out of a tub to the image of Carmen in the kitchen earlier makes you all laugh.

You had grown accustomed to people yelling in your line of work. Partners, bosses, clients. You were beginning to understand what it was really like to work in a kitchen though.

While Saturdays were usually full of paperwork, breakfast served by Carmen, and honey lavender coffee, you were starting to see the other side of things as The Bear got closer and closer to opening.

No wonder Carmen was so stressed all the time.

You had caught yourself sneaking glances at him too often these past few weeks. The bags under his eyes and the way he rolled his neck every half-hour didn't go unnoticed. Still, he was here. Working hard for everyone around him. You admired that.

On the other side of the restaurant, Carmen's hands shake. He tries applying the glaze, but keeps getting the portioning wrong, silverware clinking on the porcelain alerting everyone.

He huffs, placing the utensils down and planting them flat on the station in front of him.

"Chef?" he says to the man in front of him, and Marcus immediately looks towards him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled."

Marcus blinks, then grins.

"Don't worry about it. Can't believe I forgot the peach glaze," he laughs.

Carmen sighs, but doesn't feel any lighter.

"Go," Marcus urges, voice quiet, like their teenagers talking in the back of the classroom.

"Nah," Carmen says, going to pick up the brush once more and trying to ignore the ache in his chest.

"Come on, man. She was so excited."

They share a look, and Carmen can't help but laugh at the goofy face Marcus is giving him.

"Yeah, okay."

Carmen makes his way back to the office, knuckle wrapping on the door frame as she looks up from the laptop.

"Hey," he tests, and you smile immediately, like nothing had even happened.

"Hi," you say again, lightness still in your voice, but you're a bit quieter now.

"Congrats," Carmen states simply.

You laugh at that, gesturing for him to come sit with you. "Thank you."

He does, but can't quite look at you.

"Are you okay, Carmy?" you ask, and Carmen almost loses it. He knew you heard Richie call him Bear and Natalie call him Carmy, but you had never tried anything other than Carmen. The sound of the nickname coming from you made his cheeks flush.

But it wasn't just that. The three words that came before also had his mind reeling. Are you okay. Fuck, it kills him. You caught him yelling, losing it on Marcus, and now you were asking if he was okay?

He clears his throat. "Yes, sorry."

You tilt your head at this, and Carmen has half the mind to take your cheeks in between his palms just to feel the softness, the sweetness that you exude.

"For what?"

"The yelling. My yelling." He feels his chest tighten all over again at the recollection.

"You're working," you say simply, and before Carmen can open his mouth, you continue. "You should see me during cross-examinations."

You giggle a bit at this, and Carmen looks at you like a dog that was just given a bone.

"Really?" he asks, a smile playing on his features now. He can't imagine you losing it on someone, but he'd paid to see you lay into someone like they do in those old-timey court drama movies.

"Oh yeah," you tell him, biting your lip as he laughs.

You look at each other for a minute. Carmen feels the weight in his chest leave when he sees the smile on your features. He can't believe this. Can't believe you.

He's about to apologize again, you can tell by the way his hands fidget.

Gently, you cut him off. "I just... I don't like seeing you stressed."

Carmen's eyes bore into you at this. He feels something crawl up his throat.

Before he can let it take control, he hums and sucks his teeth.

"Thank you again. And good work," he states, gathering himself from the office chair, getting ready to head out to the kitchen again.

Your heart skips a beat at the praise, and you just nod as he leaves.

You watch him disappear back into the kitchen before finally looking down at the permits again. The words blur for a second. You smile despite yourself.

જ⁀➴

You decide around lunchtime to stay late and work on organizing yourself for the next few weeks. With the permits submitted and accepted, you were moving on to stage two, acquiring all the contracts needed for the menu and daily operations.

You had sat with Carmen for a large chunk of time, going over potential vendors who could give you the best quality and best price. With the few names he gave, you made sure to draft a few key points for the upcoming contracts.

But when the lights in the kitchen cut in half, you look up from your laptop for the first time in what seems like hours.

Packing everything up into your bag and rubbing your eyes, you can feel the exhaustion setting in. By the time you step into the hallway, everyone's stations are clean, and the only sound that can be heard is drilling with the occasional 'fuck!' from Neil.

Carmen rounds the corner and takes you in. You're noticeably softer than you were this morning, makeup a little worn and smudged, and more strands of hair frame your face than usual. Still, he pauses and takes a breath when he sees you.

You look tired. And somehow, you look even prettier than you did this morning.

"You heading out?" he asks, and you nod immediately.

Still, you supply him with a small, "yeah." Carmen can see the sleep dipping into your features from the long day.

He gestures for you to follow him out the back, and you do. He can hear you padding behind him, and it brings a small smile to his face.

As soon as he pushes open the door, the winter wind of Chicago greets you. Carmen watches as you shiver, and before you can protest, he's shrugging off his jacket.

"Oh, Carmen—" you start, but he just drapes the thick material over your shoulders.

"Take it," he says simply, tugging the collar up to your neck to protect you from the breeze. His fingers graze your cheek, and Carmen can't help but think about how soft you feel.

And it's hard to say no. The jacket is warm, and it smells just like him. Smoke, generic laundry detergent, and surprisingly cardamom. The blend makes you relax as you inhale it.

Carmen watches as you settle into the fabric. It swallows you, and he can admit that the sight does something to his stomach.

He scratches the back of his neck before speaking, arms bare now, only the tight white T-shirt against his figure. "About today. I didn't… I didn't want you to see that. But thank you for what you said."

Softening at his words, you can see the lingering stress in his figure, the day having took it's toll on him. "I have tough days too," you tell him, completely honest.

He nods at this, but you see the way his fingers flex against his thighs.

"I don't think any less of you, Carmen," you continue, hands itching to reach out from the confines of the big pockets to take his in your grasp.

The man looks at you once more, but this time, it's like he's been destroyed by your words. Carmen's eyes are a bit glassy, and his hands are shaking now. But instead of sadness, you find relief in his expression. Like something had been settled within him.

A car hisses through wet streets, momentarily bringing you out of the moment. The dewy and cold air amplifies the noise in the otherwise silent moment.

But neither of you moves. Instead, you just watch the other.

Your nose is pink from the cold. Carmen sees the way it scrunches every few seconds, like you did in the office a few weeks ago. He had been waiting to see it again.

His jacket hangs off your shoulders. The piece of clothing looks good on you, looks like it belongs. He can't even fathom ever wearing it again.

And, God, the way you look at him with those impossibly soft eyes. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks. Carmen can see their fullness under the harsh lights of the parking lot lampposts.

He's leaning forward before he realizes he's decided to.

And you don't move away.

Your eyes flicker down to his lips. A bit chapped, but still a pretty pink. It's enough for him bend down, to meet you halfway.

You can feel his hot breath on your cheeks, and you let your eyes begin to flutter shut.

"Carmy!"

The back door flies open.

"Carmy!" Neil's voice practically echoes into the space between you as you jump apart.

Your heart races at the sudden intrusion, like you had been caught doing something you weren't supposed to do.

Besides you, Carmen sighs before answering. "…Yeah?" Carmen's voice cracks as he peels his eyes away from you and to interruption in front of the doorway.

Before Neil can answer, you're handing Carmen back his jacket and turning on your heels.

"Goodnight!" you call out, waving at the pair, not quite able to face Carmen as he sends you a devastating look.

"Night, Counsel!" Neil cheers back.

But Carmen can't get himself to say anything back. The jacket, even though only been in your possession for less than 10 minutes, smells like you.

Lavender.

The scent makes him reel. He closes his eyes for just a second.

"You coming?" Neil asks.

Carmen opens them again and nods, watching as you pull out of the lot, taillights disappearing down the street. "Yeah."

જ⁀➴

By now, arriving at The Bear had become routine. You'd push through the back door. Marcus would wave without looking up. Tina would already be sliding your coffee across the counter. Neil would yell hello from somewhere you couldn't see. Ebra would quietly ask if you had time for "one legal question."

And Carmen.

Carmen was almost always waiting with a plate.

"Try this."

Every Saturday. Without fail.

When you dug into the dish and tasted whatever he had given you, you'd always hum. Carmen seemed to enjoy this, a half smile on his face as you chewed.

So when he isn't there, you notice immediately. You glance around the kitchen, expecting him to appear from the walk-in. Venturing farther into the restaurant, you reach the front. Maybe he was here, helping with whatever furniture had arrived.

"Where's Carmen?" you ask Richie, who'd been rearranging chairs with all the grace of a forklift.

A grin spreads across his face as he pauses to face you. "Oh, sweetheart."

You blink. "What?" At this, he comes closer to you, like he's about to share a secret.

He laughs to himself, shaking his head. "Just…"

Another laugh comes out of the man. Less contained this time.

"He's fixing his hair."

You stare. "What?"

Richie's grin somehow grows at your expression.

"Been in and outta the bathroom for fifteen fuckin' minutes," he half-whispers.

"Carmen?" you ask with a furrowed brow.

"Mhm," he hums, as if he's proud to share this tidbit with you. "You called Sugar sayin' you were five minutes away."

You feel warmth creep into your cheeks at the recollection. "I did."

"And suddenly this asshole discovers mirrors."

"Richie."

"Oh, yeah." Richie leans closer like he's sharing classified information. "Been wetting it down."

You try, really try, not to smile. "He what?"

"Wetting it down. Shakin' it out. Lookin' at himself." Richie mimes fluffing curls in front of an imaginary mirror. "'Does this look okay?'" He switches into a surprisingly accurate Carmy impression.

Your jaw drops at this, unable to imagine this version of Carmen.

Another fake mirror check. "'Maybe if I—nah.'"

You bite your lip so hard it almost hurts. "Richie."

"I'm tellin' you." He throws both hands into the air. "Fifteen minutes."

"Cousin!" The shout echoes through the restaurant, and you find yourself bringing a hand to cover your grin.

Richie doesn't even flinch. "What?" he yells back.

"Shut the fuck up!"

"I ain't say nothin'!"

"You literally are!"

You laugh, facing away from Carmen enters the space. Richie joins you, laughing into his elbow, disguising it as a cough.

When you look up, you can't help but notice how Carmen's curls sit suspiciously well today.

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly as Richie keeps giggling to himself. You've opted to just smile at the man.

"You ready?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He turns in the direction of the office. As you walk next to him, your shoulder brushes his.

Quietly, you murmur, "I like your hair."

Carmen stops walking for half a second. His ears turn bright red.

Behind him, Richie catches your eye. He points triumphantly at Carmen, then at his own hair. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing again.

જ⁀➴

The text you sent Carmen last night, telling him you wouldn't be in until noon, had him a bit worried. Usually, whenever you texted, you left little emojis or smiley faces at the end of every sentence. But this text had come in at 1:48 AM and was unaccompanied by any yellow faces.

Maybe you went out last night, Carmen tries to reason. Although that thought doesn't send him much comfort. The idea of you drinking and swapping stories with someone at a bar until 1 in the morning didn't sit well with him, especially since he had never seen you like that.

You'd never mentioned a partner. And you had talked about your friends quite a bit. So maybe you were out with them, let time run away from you. But Carmen remembers you saying that most of them were still out in New York. His friend's theory came to a crumbling halt.

Maybe you were sick. Caught something at work earlier that week and just needed a bit of extra rest this morning. 7 AM was a brutal wake-up time even without a runny nose and pounding headache. Maybe you were curled up in your apartment, chills running through your body as you curled up in that patchwork hoodie you had sported a few weeks ago.

But this also makes him frown. The thought of you suffering alone in the snowy Chicago winter with a sore throat and no one to help you warm up with some blankets.

"Jeff, you good?" Tina asks from beside him, effectively snapping Carmen out of his trance.

"Yeah, sorry. Thanks, Chef," Carmen says with a small voice as he gets back to whisking the mixture in front of him.

Well, whether it was a cold or a hangover, Carmen would have something prepared for you as soon as you walked in the door. Maybe chicken noodle soup, although that seemed a little on the nose. Something like a wrap could be good, full of superfoods and veggies to help you recharge. But who wants kale when they feel like they're about to throw up?

"Chef, can you take over?" he asks Tina, abandoning his station and moving through the kitchen to collect items for your meal.

She just nods and sends Sydney a look, both women easily catching on to what was making Carmen so distracted today.

જ⁀➴

Trying to be quiet as you enter the building, you pad into the office, not bothering to make your rounds and say hello to everyone.

But as soon as you settle into the squeaky office chair, there's a knock on the door.

"Come in," you call, voice a little hoarse.

Just as you suspected, Carmen comes into the space. He holds a bowl in one hand, big palm underneath it, making the dish look minuscule. And in the other is a plate, fingers gently holding the porcelain.

"Hey," he says simply, placing the food down in front of you.

"Hey," you parrot, hoping to fall back into your easy routine.

You take a minute to look at it and sigh deeply. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. A childhood favorite you mentioned to the man offhandedly more than a month ago.

"Figure you might be under the weather. Just making sure you get something to eat," Carmen explains when you don't speak. His actions meant to comfort you, ease some part of your body.

But his words seem to have the opposite effect as he watches your eyes get teary. When the first tear slips down your cheek and the pout in your lips starts to tremble, Carmen freezes.

It takes him a few seconds to catch up and see what's happening.

"You okay?"

The question only makes the tears fall faster as your body starts to shake.

"Sorry," you manage to get out. "I'm sorry." Wiping furiously at your cheeks.

Wide eyed, Carmen sucks in a breath. He knows he should comfort you, be fucking normal. But he just stands there, not wanting to crowd you.

When your breathing becomes clipped, all the thoughts of awkwardness leave his brain.

Carmen wraps his arms around your shoulders, bringing you close to his body. He feels your hands grasp at his white T-shirt as they find their way around his waist. The position is a bit awkward, but Carmen wouldn't dare move from his spot until you let go.

He feels his neck begin to get wet as your body wracks against him. The sounds that slip through your lips, little whimpers and harsh sighs, nearly make him cry. At a particularly heartbreaking noise, his hand comes up to the back of your head, cradling it and stroking your hair lightly.

You stay like that for what must be 10 minutes. Carmen doesn't try talking again, just lets you hang off of him and bury yourself further into his chest. He feels your hands start to loosen their grip and your breathing return to normal, and it's only then that he pulls back a little bit to take a look at you.

Your eyes are red-rimmed, and your lips are still a little wobbly. He ticks his jaw at the sight of your wet cheeks, his thumb coming up to wipe them gently. It had been weeks since he felt their softness.

"What's going on, sweet girl?" he tries again.

When you sigh again, Carmen thinks he might've made the wrong choice by asking another question. But instead, you look at him for the first time that day, and Carmen's heart breaks all over again.

"I lost." Your voice is raw, and if he wasn't so close, nearly pressed up against you, he would've missed it.

"Your case? McDowell?" He recalls the name from a few weeks ago, but he almost wishes he didn't, as it sends another set of tears down your face. This time, his thumb is there to catch them before they drip down your cheek.

"Mhm," you tremble in his hold.

"I'm sorry," he says, eyes never leaving yours. "I know you worked really hard on that."

This makes you laugh, but Carmen can tell it's bitter.

"He yelled at me after. Told me I was incompetent. Not cut out for this."

Your words make Carmen's hands tighten their hold on you.

Your breath hitches as you continue, "I keep thinking he's right."

"No," he says immediately.

"Carmy," you start, but a squeeze to your shoulder, you quiet again.

"They're wrong," Carmen speaks definitively. "I've seen you work."

"That's easy stuff," you mumble, leaning into his touch more and more.

"You come in here every Saturday with, like…" He gestures vaguely toward the stacks of folders on your desk. "A million forms."

Now your head rests on his chest again, and you can hear his heart thump wildly as he talks.

"You know every deadline. Every permit. Every whatever the fuck those city codes are."

Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitches.

"You argue with people on the phone, and they apologize to you."

Another tiny laugh escapes you.

He chuckles at that. "Nothing about anything you do is easy. He's wrong."

You nod at his words, but a few tears still slip past.

"C'mere," he says softer. You melt into his hold as the last few tears soak his shirt, hands coming back around you.

As soon as the sobs subside, Carmen pulls your chair with one strong arm up to the desk again.

"Eat," he tells you. The bowl of tomato soup and grilled cheese is considerably colder now, but you can still smell the butter on the bread and the fresh pepper garnishing the soup.

Picking up the sandwich, you take a bite and smile for the first time today.

"You always feed me," you tell him, teasing lit in your voice that makes Carmen happy.

"You're always hungry," Carmen responds without thinking. When you send him an amused look, he immediately backtracks. "No, that's— that's not what I meant. You just, you're just always ready to eat."

"Wow," you smile as Carmen's face turns beet red.

"No, no," he waves his hands, laughing a bit. "That came out wrong."

"Yeah, thanks, Carmen," you laugh openly now.

"I just— Sugar told me, after the first few weeks, you can't cook," he offers, but you just send him another look.

"Now you're insulting my cooking," you deadpan, but Carmen can see a faint smile on your lips.

"That's not what I mean." Carmen can't help but laugh as you shake your head and take another bite. "I just want you to eat. Want you to take care of yourself."

"Are you keeping tabs on me?" you ask and Carmen just shrugs.

"No," he says too quickly. But it wasn't true.

The entire time Carmen had known you, he had been noticing. He notices how, after you drink coffee in the morning, you get a little jittery and can't stop tapping your feet for at least an hour. He notices when you're about to run out of sticky notes, finding himself browsing on Amazon for the particular kind you like, having them ready for the next time you come in. He notices how you always pause before eating whatever he sets in front of you. Your eyes bounce all over the plate, taking everything in before you take a bite.

It was only after the third week of honey lavender lattes that Carmen realized, you don't eat much.

"They're all like that," Natalie told him one night as they cleaned up the office. "Pete barely remembered to drink water when he was in the running for partner."

"Jesus," Carmen sighed. He didn't like the idea of you running on fumes alone.

"Yeah, but she's especially bad. Pete and I try to have her over every other week for dinner when she told him she only buys frozen meals."

"You're joking," Carmen cringes at the thought.

But his sister just shakes her head. "Nope. Just doesn't really have the time or energy to cook."

"Maybe," he tells you, scratching awkwardly at his neck.

"Thank you." Your voice is small, but Carmen nods at the words, staying at your side until you finish eating.

જ⁀➴

It's Sunday. After yesterday's late lunch at The Bear and crying into Carmen's chest, he had sent you home without a second thought. Today, though, you spent the day cleaning around your apartment, something that was always soothing and let you feel like you were in control again.

Toweling off from a much-deserved shower, you heard a knock at your door.

Barefoot and still wrapped in your worn but soft towel, you pad down the hallway to look out the peephole of your apartment. Maybe it was Mrs. Crawford needing to borrow some sugar, or maybe it was a delivery man.

What you didn't expect to see was Carmen standing in the hallway of your building, grocery bags at his side.

Carmen hears the clicking of a chain, and a few seconds later, your door opens.

"Hi," you say with a smile. But Carmen can only focus on the way your hair drips down your shoulder and your pretty bare face. It's the most skin he's ever seen from you, the towel not doing much to cover your dewy skin.

He sees the small scar across your left knee and is curious about how you got it. Then his eyes find the small freckles and beauty marks littered up from your arms to your shoulders and chest. He wants to count all of them. And your hair, it's always so put together, but now the ends are curled a bit from the water, and Carmen wonders how you wear it outside of work.

"Hey," he finally manages. "I was at the farmers market… bought too much."

You look at the six completely full grocery bags in his hands and just smile. "Right," you say, beckoning him inside your place.

As Carmen slips off his shoes, he takes in the simplicity yet warmth of the apartment. Little candles everywhere, too many lamps to count, fun patterned carpets. It's so you in the best way.

You try to reach for some of the bags, but Carmen dodges you and plants them on your kitchen island in one go. You try not to look at his muscles straining, but you can't help it. The navy blue tee around his figure is new for you, as you've only ever seen him in white.

"So, what'd you get me, Chef?" you tease.

Carmen blushes at the name, never having heard it from your mouth but liking it instantly.

"Some fruits and vegetables, sourdough bread, local honey and jam, and some pasta," he tells you as you sift through the canvas bags.

As you reach to grab the honey, your towel begins to slip down your frame. Quickly, your hand comes up to catch it.

"Oh—"

You look to Carmen, smiling at the moment, but immediately his eyes shoot straight to the ceiling.

"Sorry," he spits out.

"Why are you apologizing?"

His ears turn bright red. "I don't know."

He can hear you chuckle lightly, but it only increases the blush that's spreading across his face.

"I'm gonna go change, be right back." And with that, you're padding down the hallway as Carmen tries to regain some sense of properness.

He begins to unpack all of the goods, laying them out around the kitchen. As he sets down the fresh basil plant near the sink, he feels your touch on his arm. Turning, he faces you and drinks you in. You're in a pajama set now. A blue tank top and capri pants decorated with white flowers and strawberries. It's adorable. You're adorable.

"Carmen, this is..." You look around the kitchen at everything he's brought over.

Tomatoes. Garlic. Fresh basil. Pasta. Olive oil. Parmesan. Lemons. Eggs. Butter.

"Yeah?" he asks, reveling in your touch, at being so close to you.

"This isn't groceries. This is meal planning," you laugh out.

"Maybe," he says, just like he had yesterday. "But you said you eat frozen dinners."

His face twists as the words come out, like the thought of it personally offends him.

You laugh. A real Saturday laugh. Something that Carmen was missing yesterday.

"That doesn't mean I'm going to know what to do with all this."

"Well, what are you doing now? I could teach you a dish," he suggests and you find yourself nodding instantly.

"Yes, yeah. I just," you pause and close your eyes for a minute. "I'm really bad."

"I doubt it."

But Carmen is eating his words no less than 15 minutes into this endeavor. First, he tasks you with cutting up half an onion. When you begin dicing, the knife slips from your hand and lands on the floor, an inch away from his foot.

He moves you over to the pasta instead. Just stirring occasionally. But when he turns his back for two seconds, the water is boiling over and he's manhandling you out of the way to turn down the stove.

Carmen thinks you can handle the bread. All you have to do is watch the toaster. The bread gets a bit stuck, and just as he's about to jostle the machine, you reach to get it out with a fork. A metal fork. Carmen grasps your wrist firmly before you can even get the prongs near it.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes out.

"It would've been fine," you argue.

"No. No, you would've been electrocuted."

Finally, he sets you down in front of the sauce. Everything is already done, and the pot is just a low simmer, still he tells you to stir.

"You're so different here."

You look over at him as he begins to plate the now finished pasta. "What?"

"At work, you're so sure. You walk into a room, and everybody listens."

You shrug. "I know what I'm doing there. This," you gesture to the kitchen around you, "is terrifying."

Carmen laughs at that, and you share a smile with him.

"It's weird," you start, looking back down at the saucepan.

"What?" he hums, full attention on you.

"I don't really know how to stop," you admit. Suddenly, the music from your old radio and the open window ushering in the sounds of the city fall away. "I wake up thinking about work. I go to sleep thinking about work. Sometimes I don't even realize I've skipped dinner until I'm brushing my teeth."

You laugh at that last part, but Carmen just purses his lips.

"It's exhausting," you sigh. "But it's also the only thing I'm really good at."

The words feel too familiar for Carmen. He sees the way your shoulders roll, and your posture straightens as the words sink in. "Yeah."

He doesn't know what to say, how to tell you that he understands. He doesn't want to think about it too hard.

"Me too," is what he finally settles on after a few seconds of silence. "I don't really know who I am if I'm not cooking." The confession hangs in the air, and you're back to looking at him, even if it's for a brief second, recognition flashing across your face.

The sauce spits and you yelp.

Sauce lands on your shirt, your cheeks, your nose. And you can't help but start laughing. Even as it still bubbles up from beside you.

Carmen is quick to move across the kitchen and turn off the stove. You attempt to wipe away what's reached your face, but your hands are also compromised, only making the redness smear more across your features.

Carmen watches you for a second, just smiling. Really smiling.

Reaching for a towel, he wipes your hands firmly, but gently. Stepping closer, he focuses on your face now.

"Hold on."

You freeze at his voice; it's low and steady as he take you face into his grasp.

His thumb brushes your cheek first. Then the bridge of your nose. All the sauce is wiped off now. But Carmen doesn't let go of your face, fingers lingering on your features.

You watch his blue eyes become consumed by his dark pupils. And again, your eyes dart down to his lips.

The air around you is heavy, charged. But when his lips part to suck in a quick breath, you lean forward, closing the distance.

His lips are soft, just like you thought they would be. But you don't linger when you feel him still against you.

Pulling away, you laugh nervously.

Carmen looks at you, and you can't quite tell what he's thinking.

"I think..." he starts, hand coming up to cup your cheek, settling you a bit. "You taste like tomatoes."

You laugh, really laugh at this. Carmen laughs with you and you can't help but admire the way his eyes crinkle shut when he throws his head back a bit.

"Yeah?" you tease.

"Mhm," he smiles, thumb stroking your cheek gently. And you can't stop looking at him. The way his curls fall, the intensity of his stare, the faint blush on his cheeks. It draws you in.

Carmen almost moves to pinch himself. He can't believe he's standing in your kitchen, holding you so close. He's thought about what it would feel like to kiss you, but once you had moved to press your lips against his own, he froze.

Now he wants more.

"Come 'ere," he says softly.

For a second time, your lips lock, and this time he's pressing into you. It's longer. More certain. Like he's found something in you that he doesn't want to let go of.

When you finally pull apart, the pasta has gone cold, but neither of you seems to mind.

"Guess we're eating lukewarm pasta," you murmur, smiling a bit, still feeling the lingering heat of his kiss.