Jay

"You okay?"

You startle, rearing up on instinct, and ramming your head into the solid metal roof of the fridge, the thunk echoing around your head. You vaguely hear an oh, shit murmured behind you through the ringing, and feel hands pulling you out and up, leaving you blinking slowly at the head chef, who looks mildly panicked, and more than a little twitchy.

You exhale heavily, squeezing your eyes shut, and reach to the back of your head, groaning when a telltale wetness stains your fingertips. "Ow..." Your hand is pulled away, and you're gently turned around, your hair parted with careful fingers, and Carmen winces, hissing through his teeth. "Come on."

He leads the way to the kitchen, stopping by the office to grab a first aid kit, and heads to the walk-in fridge, encouraging you to sit as you start to sway. "Turn." You blink at him, a little taken aback by the order, the aggression in his voice, and his hands twitch again, fingers stretching and clenching together, arms goosebumped from the chill. "I- I'm sorry, fuck. Please could you turn." It's still more of a instruction than a question, but the ringing has drowned out any pushback you have in you, and once you're facing the heavy door, you feel tentative fingers dabbing at the cut, some Savlon smeared on.

You inhale when he presses too hard, and his touch retracts immediately, the hum of the fridge the only sound. He swallows, starting again, gentler this time, peeling off little strips of butterfly bandages that stripe across the wound. "It's only little." He murmurs, and you cough to clear your throat, unused to his way of speaking, the mystifying conciseness. "Hm?"

Carmen smooths over the bandages one more time, moving your hair back. "The cut. It's little. It seems to be a bleeder, but it's only little."

You go to face him, and his hand brushes your shoulder, reaching around you to grab a cold pack from the bottom shelf, hovering between passing it to you and holding it up to your head. "Do you want me to-" You nod, and he holds it up, leaving you face to face, cross legged. "Thanks. For fixing me up."

His eyebrows raise, then lower, blinking, the blue light of the fridge highlighting his stubble peeking through. "It's okay. I'm sorry for startling you." Your eyes fall to his dark hoodie covering his chef whites, then back up. "It's okay. Got me out of that fridge, so."

His head tilts. "Why were you in the fridge?"

"Stocktake."

He hums, nodding to himself. "Is that what you do when the rest of us are actually working? Counting milk?"

You can't help but bristle, already having felt sidelined by Richie with the job. "I'm sorry?" He stutters, and you pull back a little, taking the cold pack into your own hands, pressing it to the cut, staring holes into the sealed Cambro of sliced leeks to your left while he flusters. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Your voice is detached, and his fingers twist again, one hand squeezing the other, foot tapping. "I am. It- it was a joke. I'm not very good at them."

Your eyes flick up, the cold fridge light painting silver streaks in his hair. "You're not very good at jokes?"

He looks away then, the eye contact a little much for him. "No. Richie will tell you that. Actually, Richie'd just tell you that I am a joke, but that's a different story."

You watch him fidget, breathe through his nose, his eyes flicking to the door handle, and decide to let up. "Well, I don't know about the jokes, but you're not an awful nurse." He looks back, eyes quick. "No?" "No."

He nods to himself, fingers tapping against the chilled metal floor. "Well, you're not an awful waitress." Your brow quirks, head tilting- "When did we say I was an awful waitress-?" and he half-laughs, sheepish, a little exhale- "Okay, okay-"

You tilt your head, smiling. "You're lucky I'm even still here with your staff turnover, chef." His eyes widen, nodding, hand over his mouth as he laughs. "Ouch. Fuck, okay, wow."

Your tongue clicks. "Add workplace injury to that as well. You got a lawsuit on your hands." He sits back on his hands. "Shit. Guess I gotta find a lawyer."

"Isn't Sugar's husband a lawyer?"

His face scrunches at the mention of Pete, deflating. "Don't bring him up."

You smile, but startle again at loud banging on the fridge door, Richie hollering through. "Yo, cousin, are you stuck in there again or what? We got shit to do out here, man, come on, we don't got time for your fuckin' around-"

Carmen growls, stomping over, pulling the door open as you push yourself up. "Alright, alright, cousin, come on-! Stop fuckin' yelling like a prat-"

"Stop yelling like a prat- you stop yelling like a prat, cousin, I thought you were gonna have another fuckin' breakdown in there, shit-"

"Shut the fuck up, Richie-" You slide past the two of them, fingers jutting in each other's faces, and push the weighted kitchen doors to the main restaurant, the mini-fridge wide open, the foiled milk bottles glinting, ready and waiting for that stocktake. Fuck.

Back in college, you and Carmen never had enough cash to go out to eat. You usually couldn’t even pull a shitty dinner food. Waffle House was a treat. So on study nights, you figured out that gas station food wasn’t the worst thing ever. It was cheap enough too. Every single time you had to listen to Carmen complain about how it was disgraceful to food. But he still showed up. He still bought his own snacks. 

 You would pile into Carmen’s car. He’d drive you both to the gas station, with his music blasting. You would roll his windows down and wave your hand through the air. Then at the gas station you’d get your snacks, and force Carmen to carry them all. You would pour the slushies for the both of you. You liked to layer red, green, and blue together for yourself, bouncing between the three to make sure it was perfectly equal. And despite how hard you tried to make Carmen expand his tastes, he only liked the pina colada flavor. So you’d go to the counter with a rainbow slushie and a pale white one. Carmen would always make a sniff as he dumped his armful of snacks onto the counter. It would make you chuckle because his face was always burning so bright while you two would pull your cash together. 

 You’d carry your dinner out to the car. Instead of sitting in Carmen’s shitty car, with only one working air vent, you’d both settle on the curb. You’d watch all the cars go by, and eat your shitty dinner. When the sun was down, and the crickets were screaming at you both, that was when you both would properly talk to each other. It was easier to whisper secrets with a dyed tongue, according to you anyway. You enjoyed people watching with him. You’d pick out a person and decide to make up an entire backstory for them as they stepped into the gas station. When you started reaching the bottom of your slushie, you thought about telling Carmen about your feelings so many times. But you never did. Instead, you suck in a deep breath and stood up. You’d stick your hand out to help him up, and then you’d both go back to his dorm and study. 

 Carmen always took a picture of you on those nights. He didn’t always tell you; sometimes they were while you weren’t looking. Sometimes he’d flip the camera around and point it towards both your faces. He’d whisper a half-baked joke to you. It was never funny, but it made you both giggle. And he’d snap the picture then. Sometimes he’d take it while you were looking through the rack of chips, rubbing at your bottom lip in indecision. Sometimes it was when you were glaring over your shoulder at him as you poured his bland slushie. No matter what it was, he sent it to Mikey. 

 Carmen just thought he was showing him that he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t eating alone. He had someone to share dinner with, even though it was a shit dinner. Even though he had unrequited feelings squeezing at his heart. He just had to make sure Mikey knew he wasn’t suffering in college. Mikey always had a joke about it, mocking Carmen for not acting on his feelings sooner. Carmen absolutely never told his family that he had a crush on you. Though that word seemed juvenile for something so devastating. But the day you stopped him in his high school art class was the day your name started to slip past his mouth constantly. Every time you gave him any attention, he had to complain about it. You were just so irritating. 

 Mikey knew because despite Carmen’s hardest rejections, he didn’t stop talking about you. Clearly you were friends. Mikey could tell. You grinned too much in the photos. Even in your glares, you were grinning at him. But you weren’t looking at the camera; you were looking at Carmen. Mikey loved pissing Carmen off by telling him to man up and ask you out already. But after two years, Carmen stopped sending photos. Mikey thought it was because Carmen was pissed at him. When Carmen finally came around for another holiday, Mikey asked. And he felt his heart break for his baby brother when he said you transferred. Right person, wrong time. Mikey slapped Carmen on the shoulder and hummed. Which was a genuine sympathetic statement for both of them. 

 When you did transfer, you focused on your writing more. You didn’t have Carmen to talk to anymore. It made things difficult because you needed to write, but the one person whose breathing could press your pen to paper wasn’t around. So you started the tradition on your own. You’d get your own slushie, usually the pina colada one. You just wanted to pretend Carmen was with you for a little. You settled down on the steps of your university and you’d people-watch. You’d think of backstories for people who rushed past you for their dorms. And that was how you would brainstorm your stories. You thought of your novel’s plot on the stone steps. One night, a man who looked exactly like Carmen tried to walk past you. You stopped him. He paused on the steps, staring down at you. 

All you said was: “Can I get your number?” and in a few weeks you were dating Carmen’s lookalike. And his face made up for all the lacklusterness of his personality and skills.

So years later when the real Carmen asked you out, you couldn’t be happier to jump into his car. This one had working air vents; you appreciated that. Carmen was nervous, obscenely nervous. He kept huffing out air and rubbing his hands over the steering wheel. As he started to pull into the gas station parking lot, you startled up in your seat. 

“Carmen.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. Carmen shrugged with one shoulder as he pulled into an empty parking spot. 

“I couldn’t think of anything good as a first date, so I thought we could take a few pages from our own book,” Carmen said. The car settled as he pulled his keys out. You didn’t bother waiting for him to finish unbuckling before you jumped out of your seat. You skidded around the side of the car, chuckling at the sound of Carmen’s door squealing open. You peered over the edge of the trunk, watching him climb out. He was grinning at you as he shoved his keys into his pockets. You jogged across the road, jumping up to the gas station door. Carmen chased after you, looking both ways. You looked over your shoulder. Carmen caught up to you, standing a step behind the door. You smiled as you yanked the door open. 

It had been a while since you had gotten a rainbow slushie. In fact, your ex had the understanding that your favorite was coconut with pineapple. You never confessed that it was really because you wished you had taken a chance to learn the taste of your college crush’s mouth. You felt a younger version of yourself absolutely giddy at the feeling of bouncing between the stations. And your first sip made your heart stutter. Your shoulders dropped in relaxation. It was like you had stepped into a time machine and you didn’t hate it. Carmen’s arms were full with snacks. Not a free hand in sight. You grabbed a second cup for him. You pointed to the pina colada. 

“Still bland?” You asked. Carmen snorted. 

“I’m horrifically bland.” He answered. Carmen didn’t bother telling you that on some nights, he would get sick to his stomach thinking about what he should’ve told you. He especially didn’t tell you that on those nights, his cigarette butts would be soaked in the last drops of his red, green, and blue slushy. You filled his cup to the top and stabbed a straw through the top hole. 

Carmen used his card to pay for it at the register. As much as you hated having to calculate all your pocket change in front of the exhausted worker, you partially missed it. It at least gave you another chance to make Carmen giggle. You liked being close enough to him that you almost knocked heads. Carmen muttered a thanks as he pulled the bag from the counter. You took both your slushies, falling in step with him as you moved towards the door. Carmen stuck his hand out in front of you. You pressed his slushy to his hand. Carmen hummed in appreciation. He turned to the side, pushing open the door with his back. He held it open for you as he wrapped his lips around the straw. You chuckled as you skipped past him. You couldn’t be more excited to sit on the ground. 

You settled down with much less grace than you used to. Six years apparently does more to your joints than you realized. Carmen sat down next to you. He lost his balance, his hand flying back to catch him. His palm dug into the dried-out grass. You giggled, pointing a finger at him. Carmen knew if he was still 19, his face would be burning hot. But he laughed with you instead, straightening himself up. 

“Time is an evil bastard.” He muttered, handing you the bag of snacks. You nodded. 

“Oh, he’s the worst.” You replied. It was shockingly easier to fall back into the pace you had with him before. It was different now; the knowledge that everything was requited changed the sighs you both let out. You could stare and not flick your eyes away when he turned his head. He lifted a finger from the side of his cup. 

“Old guy in the orange sweater.” He mumbled. You looked across the road to find him. He was hunched over, slowly making it to the glass door. His sweat was far too large for him. It reached his mid-thighs, and the shoulder seams slipped off to the middle of his arm. You hummed. 

“Louis.” You decided, looking back to Carmen. He nodded. 

“That’s his wife's sweater,” Carmen added. You mulled it over in your head. 

“He’s on retirement now. The money is running out though, and his rent is rising.” Carmen hummed at you. He pulled another sip of his slushy into his mouth. He swallowed as ‘Louis’ finally made it to the door. 

“He’s trying to find a job that will give him a little extra cash. No one wants to hire him; he doesn’t move fast enough for him to be helpful on the team.” Carmen tried. You frowned. You weren’t paying any attention to ‘Louis’ anymore. He was out of sight, probably getting powdered donuts and a Coke. 

“What makes it worse is: his wife died two weeks ago. He has to find enough money to get her buried. Her family cut her off years ago; they didn’t like who she married. Now he feels guilty because the people who could actually help him afford her funeral won’t because she married him.'

'He’s got a picture of her in his wallet, not of when she was young. It’s her when she was old, in a hospital bed. Other people would say she looks tired and drained. But he made her laugh before he took it, and he loves how carefree and beautiful she looks.'

'When he goes to pay for his peanuts, Coke, and powdered donuts, he’s going to pause and stare at her. The guy behind him in the line will be annoyed he has to wait an extra two minutes. But all Louis can think about is how 53 years wasn’t enough.” You stared at the glass door as you imagined the little old man moving about the store. You could see Louis and his wife’s life together clearly. You could see them smiling and laughing at their first dance as a married couple. You could see her getting sicker with each day. You could see Louis trying to make her laugh every morning and night. You could see him breaking down at the cash register. You could see it all even though the only view in the glass door was the chip aisle. 

Carmen sucked in a hiss. You turned your eyes to him, finding him grimacing. He gave you a weird look. 

“You’re sick and twisted,” Carmen muttered. You gasped in faux offense. You reached over and smacked him on the shoulder. 

“You started it sad! It’s not my fault.” You grumbled. Carmen rocked from your hit, a small smile pulling at his lips. He took another sip, pointing to your next victim. He was definitely in college. He had white wired earbuds trailing into his jean pocket. He pressed an orange vape to his lips before slipping into the gas station. 

“Oh, easy. He’s in college, obviously.” You scoffed. This was the easiest one yet. Carmen rolled his eyes. 

“And?” 

“Mm.” You thought for a minute. You could taste your old self. 19-year-old you would say, he loves video games and Snow Peak peach-flavored Boones. You would’ve said that just to get away from your reality of Carmen next to you. But you weren’t going to let that version of yourself win. You had wallowed so much you had never taken the chance. And because of that, you ended up with knockoff Carmen. 

“He’s in love with his classmate from high school. Head over heels. He just doesn't have the balls to say it.” You finally said. Carmen’s brows shot up. You turned your head and met his eyes. Carmen’s face slowly shifted into recognition. For a moment, he didn’t know who he was talking to. But the look in your eye was the same knowing look you had when people would compliment your writing. You already know, you just want to hear it.  

“Yeah? What else?” Carmen egged. You tilted your head to the side, really thinking. 

“They’ll move away. He won’t know where they went or if they’ll be back. He’s a little sad he missed his shot for a month or two. Then he forgets about it for six years. Until he runs into them again at a gas station and he has to get the words out now or he’ll never say them.” You whispered. You pulled at your slushy straw, stabbing through the different colors. You were silent for a moment.

All Carmen did was stare at the side of your face and wish he had been sitting next to you for those years. He wished he had watched you shift into who you are now. He wished he had said he wanted you before Mikey died. He might’ve held it together just a little better. You would’ve grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved him into that church. But he didn’t. He held his tongue. Now he was staring at you, and somehow you were both a stranger and an old friend. He hoped you saw newer, better parts of him, not more broken bits. 

“No,” Carmen said. Your eyes jumped back to him. He had never declined one of your people-watching comments. Even when you started saying people were zombies or vampires. He always agreed with you and asked you more questions. Part of it was watching a stranger grow into someone he knew well because you both just kept adding on. Another part of it was watching your brain work and wishing he could hear what you thought of him.   “No?” You repeated. 

“No.” Carmen shook his head. “That’s not what happened.” He clarified. You didn’t respond. You only watched him.

“I’ve had a crush on you since high school. I thought once we graduated high school, I wouldn't see you again, and it would go away. College happened, and it got so much worse the more I knew you. You transferred, and I thought for sure it would slip away. I thought with time the punching and longing in my chest would finally go away. But for six years there were days where all I could think about was what I should’ve said and what we could’ve been.” Carmen lowered his voice, leaning closer into your space. 

“I didn’t forget about you.” He whispered. Your mouth twisted into a sad smile. Your eyes flickered away from him out of nerves. 19-year-old you would’ve grabbed his shoulder and shoved him away. You would’ve said ‘yeah, whatever.’ You let the moment hang. You let his words settle on your shoulder and slip past the skin of your chest. You looked back to him and nodded. 

“I didn’t forget you either.” You whispered back. Carmen smiled and nodded. 

“I hope not. You were dating my doppelganger. It’d be a real shame if you forgot the original.” He joked. You laughed and knew you couldn’t have a better first date. Especially when ‘Louis’ came back out and an old woman leaned her head out the window of her car. She asked him if he got her peanuts,  and cheered when he held them up. You turned your widened eyes to Carmen. 

“Zombie.” You muttered. 

Carmen was going to call you once he got off work tonight. He was thinking about how he needed to take you out again. Four times over the past two weeks was not enough. As a matter of fact, he was thinking about when it was appropriate to ask you to move in. He thought about which drawers he would need to clear out as he set plates, drizzling puree where he needed to. He was thinking about what color your pillowcase would be as he pinched a small sprig of mint onto a plate. He was thinking about the color of your toothbrush when Richie interrupted him. 

“Cousin! You won’t guess who’s out there.” Richie shouted. Carmen glanced up from the plate. Dear god. It could be his mother. Or his old teacher. Hell, it could be Mike’s fucking ghost. All of which were terrifying. Richie scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“Fine, I’ll tell you. It’s your old fling from college!” Richie cheered, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Carmen furrowed his brows. Fling? Carmen never told Richie about anyone in college. He especially didn’t have any flings. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Carmen asked. Natalie joined Richie’s side. 

“Oh, you know, the gas station kid. You guys had like three classes together.” Natalie tried, tilting her head to the side. Richie nodded. 

“You sent us pictures of them all the time.” Richie dragged. Carmen felt his stomach drop. Those were for Mikey. He didn’t consider that he had been showing them around. 

“What do you mean, who is us? I sent those to Mikey only.” Carmen snapped, pulling his attention from the plate. Richie rolled his eyes like Carmen was being a complete idiot. 

“And Mikey showed them to us.” Carmen threw his hands up. 

“And who is us!”   “Well, he showed them to me, and Sugar,” Ritchie stated, pointing at her next to him. Carmen swallowed at the thought of Mikey showing you to his mom. That on its own was terrifying. It felt like two worlds that weren’t supposed to touch exploding. 

“Did he show Mom?” Carmen sputtered. Natalie’s face twisted into disgust immediately. 

“Oh hell no,” Natalie said. Carmen sighed, smacking his hands onto the counter and dropping his head down. Thank the fucking stars. He let out a deep sigh, pretending he didn’t just feel his heart drop out of his ass. He pulled himself back up, peering over the moving heads out the glass window. At first all he saw were strangers, then a bald head moved, and there you were. You sat in the back corner with two women at your table. You were laughing lightly at something and pulling your glass to your mouth. Would your toothbrush be green? What about purple? If it was blue, he’d have to get a new one because his was already blue. 

“Well, what the hell are you doing? Go rekindle your lost love, quit being a pussy.” Richie complained from across the kitchen. The bald head moved in his way. Carmen snapped to look at Richie. 

“Why are you calling me a pussy? What is your fucking problem?” Carmen glared. Richie deadpanned at him. 

“Get out there; your pitiful love life is upsetting me.” Richie stepped around the counter, grabbing Carmen by his shoulders. He started shoving Carmen backwards to the door. Carmen pressed his hands to the front of Richie’s suit. 

“Don’t talk about my love life! I can’t leave the kitchen, Richie!” Carmen yelled, trying to shove Richie back. Richie shook his head, still powering forward. 

“You have to. It’s happening.” Richie stated. Carmen shook his head. The swinging door smacked his back, making him jump. That was closer than he remembered. Carmen’s arms flew out, clawing at the walls. Richie nodded. 

“I can’t go out there!” Carmen complained. Richie pressed both his hands to the center of Carmen’s chest and shoved, hard. Carmen stumbled back into the quiet chatter of the restaurant. He straightened up, yanking at the bottom of his buttoned shirt. Oh, he’s fucked. 

Eyes started to lift as he stood there for longer. He felt his body freeze. They were definitely jumping from their seats and starting to stab him with their forks. Richie slapped a hand on his shoulder. Carmen jumped. 

“Do I have to flirt with them for you too, or can you handle that on your own?” Richie grumbled under his breath. Carmen scoffed, smacking Richie’s hands off him. Carmen turned in the direction of your table, already hating that he was doing this. What if you didn’t want your friends to know about him yet? This had to be embarrassing for you. He had a smear of orange sauce on his sleeve. He was going to get mocked. Oh, you were going to give him that little knowing giggle that called him stupid, stupid little Carmy. He lifted his eyes from the floor, finding yours already on him. He felt his feet get caught in invisible tar. You grinned at him, tilting your head to the side. Carmen finally made it to the edge of the table. You looked up at him, raising a brow. 

He wanted to tell you something special. Something so gentle and witty it left you silent for a second. You pushed your head forward, getting impatient. He couldn’t pull his eyes from yours. He could remember the first day you pointed them directly at him and actually looked. He would have December 14th tattooed into the back of his eyelids forever. 

A quiet cough from the right pulled his attention from you. He looked between the two unfamiliar faces staring at him in confusion. He wasn’t just at your table; he was staring at your friends too. 

“Hey.” He breathed out, awkwardness dragging down the casualness. He felt his insides cringe. He hoped an airplane came crashing right through the ceiling and killed him. 

“Hello.” The two women chimed in. You cleared your throat. 

“Uh, Carmen, this is my publisher and my editor.” You explained, pointing to each one. Your publisher gave him a half grin. Your editor raised a hand, greeting him. You looked back to him. 

“I just finished all the paperwork to get my book published. It will be on shelves in about four months. So they wanted to treat me to dinner; they picked out the spot. I tried to tell our waiter we didn’t need to meet the chef, but he was adamant.” You said. You were giving him a guilty look like you tracked mud into his home. 

“Yeah, Richie. He’s a pusher. It’s good but-” He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Richie. He was watching Carmen from the window, a grin pulling across his mouth. Richie held a hand up, pointing a thumbs up at him. Carmen looked back at you. 

“Pushy.” He finished. You chuckled. 

“Well, yeah. But uh, he knew my name. Have you been telling people about me?” You asked, a small grin pulling at your lips. Carmen hung his head, feeling anxious about- well, everything. 

“No, uh. I used to send pictures of us to Mikey. Just as a- a- whatever. Apparently Mikey has- had shown them all to my family. I didn’t know that.” Camren mumbled. He swears every word he’s ever known slipped away from him. He can’t remember a single thing he learned in college. He briefly thinks that he should’ve learned to kiss you in college. The English language would’ve been nice too because he was making a fool of himself right now. 

“Oh.” You whispered. Carmen felt like he had just face-planted right in front of you. He brought up the least flirty thing ever, his dead brother. For fucks sake, could he kill the mood.

“You sent pictures of us to Mikey?” You asked, drawing his attention from the floor. Carmen nodded. 

“Yeah, he would tell me to-uh-” He glanced to your publisher and editor watching him in fascination. This was some juicy drama. 

“He’d tell me to just-you know- be a zombie,” Carmen mumbled, feeling a deep sigh pull at his chest. Jesus, he was fumbling. You snorted. 

“Like your Uncle Louis.” You added. Carmen felt a wide grin spread across his face. He nodded. You were so smart. He really just wanted to know how every cog in your brain worked. 

“That’s sweet, Carmen.” You smiled, pulling your glass to your lips again. Carmen didn’t think it was sweet. It was probably more creepy. Or he thought so; maybe you were crazy. 

“Food is good too.” You added. You were sane. Definitely sane. At least your taste buds were. He had plenty of people tell him his food was good, but this made his face burn. He snorted, nodding at the floor. 

“Thank you.” He replied quietly. He should’ve cooked for you in college. You’d never end up with knock-off Carmen. 

“Oh, it's delicious.” Your publisher added. He was reminded they were there. 

“I loved the purple thing.” Your editor muttered. Carmen smiled politely at both of them. He turned back to you. 

“I have to go.” He whispered. You grinned. 

“Go.” You approved. Carmen didn’t waste time standing there, turning back towards the kitchen. He got two steps away before your publisher spoke to you. 

“You know him?” She whispered, trying to keep the conversation away from his ears. 

“Oh yeah. We go way back.” You answered. Carmen turned his head back, glancing at you one last time. You didn’t catch it, your eyes on your glass, but he still felt a surge of pride.

When he reached the kitchen again, Richie smacked his hands on his shoulders. Richie rocked him back and forth. 

“When’s the date?” Richie asked. Carmen smacked him away. 

“There is no date. I just said Hi. Mind your own business.” Carmen muttered, moving back to his station. Richie scoffed. 

“That was not Hi. That was way longer than Hi,” Richie countered. Carmen shook his head. 

“We-uh-” Carmen paused, thinking back to the way you grinned at him. He wanted to go back out there and press his lips to yours. Even after four dates, you hadn’t given him that. But he didn’t blame you. He waited years and years for it; a few more weeks would be okay. And he thought about how you handled Mikey. People usually said sorry, which made his eye twitch. Then he had to say no, no, don’t apologize. He thought of how you knew the words he wasn’t saying. He thought of how you didn’t force him into the awkward back and forth of goodbye. You just told him to leave. 

“We talked about zombies.” Carmen finished. Richie paused, glancing around at the curious eyes staring at him. 

“Zombies?” Tina repeated. Carmen nodded. He could hear the gas station lights buzzing over his head. He could feel your hand brushing against his arm as you piled another chip bag into his hands. He could smell the slushy on your breath. 

“Do we not have jobs? Fucking hell!” Carmen declared, turning his focus back onto his work. He called you after his shift to congratulate you on your publishing.

A week later, he was too busy to squeeze another date in. He called you before bed every day that entire week. But today was killing him. Everything was ruined. Everyone was pissed. The whole fucking thing was falling to bits. And despite how awful it was, your message made him huff a pathetic laugh. He sent a short response about how awful it was in the restaurant and made a promise to call you tomorrow. He was going to crash right into his bed tonight and not move until the morning. When every dish was sitting in the sink, and his apron was stained to hell and back, he finally let out a sigh. He needed a smoke. 

He was pulling a cigarette from its box by the time he pushed the back door open. Carmen dipped his head down, pressing the paper between his lips. The flame of his lighter burned the end. Carmen shoved the box back into his pocket and finally lifted his eyes from the ground. 

You were sitting on the end of one of the picnic tables, kicking your feet back and forth. You had a slushy in one of your hands, sipping on the straw. Next to you was another one. Carmen felt his chest seize. You raised a hand, giving him a small wave. Carmen turned, putting his cigarette out on the brick wall. He dropped the unsmoked thing to the ground, making quick work to get to you. You held up the other slushy, wiggling it at him. 

“What are you doing here?” Carmen breathed. You wiggled the slushy harder. Carmen took it from you. 

“You said you had a shit day. I wanted to make it better.” You said. Carmen pulled the straw to his mouth, grinning at the coconut and pineapple. You set your drink down. You kicked a leg out past his side. You curved it behind his knee, tugging him closer by your heel. Carmen glared at you as he stepped forward, his hips hitting your knees. 

“With shitty gas station slushies?” He mocked, raising a brow at you. You sat up straight. You looked at him with offense. 

“Uh no. I also brought you this.” You snarked. You raised your arm, slipping your hand behind his head. Carmen’s grin fell. He pulled his slushy closer to his chest. He made sure you had a clear path to him. You leaned forward. Your nose bumped against his cheek before you brushed your lips against his. He could hear his heart hammering in his ears. You started to pull back, your breath leaving his face. Carmen peeled his eyes open. He felt lightheaded. You leaned away from him, your hand dropping from his neck. Carmen sighed. 

For fucks sake. He wanted it so long. He thought about all the ways you could share your kiss, and it was earth-shattering. He thought of how you would taste, and sound, and smell. He thought it was unattainable, and then you actually went out with him. And that’s the kiss you give him? A whisper of your skin against his? 

Carmen set his drink next to yours, freeing his hands. His tongue darted out between his lips like he was worried he still had the taste of smoke on his mouth. 

“No,” Carmen said. Your shoulders dropped, your cheesy grin falling away. Carmen reached out, gently holding onto the back of your neck. 

“Try again.” He whispered. Your face twisted into a much softer look. Carmen tipped forward. He pulled you into him, firmly pressing your lips to his. You slotted them together this time, finally giving the kiss he wanted for years. You pulled your arms up, crossing them over his shoulders. Carmen hummed into your mouth. You moved in sync, your dreams pulling you in the direction you needed. You pressed your forehead to his and tore apart your kiss. You panted against his mouth, keeping your eyes closed in bliss. Carmen’s hands found your knees, pulling them apart. He stepped closer to you, digging his hands into your back. He pressed your hammering heart to his chest. Carmen tilted his head, brushing against your lips. More, please. 

You dropped your mouth back to his, licking at his bottom lip. Carmen groaned, parting his mouth. You pressed your tongue to his. Carmen licked into your mouth, tasting the colors on your tongue he had been dreaming about forever. You dug your fingers into his hair. A bursting feeling of joy bubbled in your chest. You liked the taste of slushy much more when it was coming from his mouth. 

“Hey! Cousin?” A loud voice yelled from behind Carmen. You pulled apart, making Carmen groan. His hands moved to cup your face, shielding you from the onlooker. You giggled in the darkness, rubbing your lips together to memorize the feeling of his spit. 

“What!” Carmen shouted. 

“Who is that? Who are you macking on?” Richie yelled. Carmen scoffed at him, glancing back at you to make sure your face was still covered. 

“Macking? What are you, 98 years old?” Carmen hissed. Richie smacked his lips. 

“Are you a dickhead?” 

“Don’t you have a job, Richie?” Carmen snapped back. Richie let out a loud, annoyed groan and leaned backwards, screaming to the sky. Richie stood back up, flipping Carmen off before stepping back into the restaurant. Carmen turned back to you, slipping his hands away from your face. 

“What were we talking about?” Carmen whispered. You pulled at the bottom hem of his shirt, playing with the material. 

“I used to get your flavor when I missed you. I would sit on the steps of my university, and people watch. That’s how I got my ideas for my writing, especially after you were gone. The first few weeks I couldn’t write anything, and I was worried I never would. Like if you weren’t there, I wouldn’t have anyone to inspire me.” You confessed, pulling your eyes from his shirt. Carmen cradled the side of your head with his hand. He would forever be fascinated by how you could take strangers and write a full story from them. 

“I used to get yours,” Carmen muttered. You gasped loudly, your hands jumping to his sides. 

“You expanded your tastes?” You squealed. Carmen chuckled. 

“Yes, It’s awful. That thing is disgusting,” Carmen lied. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“You liked it.” You muttered. Carmen frowned and shook his head. 

“Yes, you did.” You pressed him closer by his sides. 

“Awful,” Carmen complained. 

“Come on. Fess up.” You demanded, your hand slipping under the edge of his t-shirt. You pressed your palms against his bare skin, splaying over his stomach. 

“It was alright,” Carmen mumbled. You cheered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips again. 

You were finally introduced to Carmen’s family at Tiffany’s wedding. Which Carmen said was the best option because the attention would be elsewhere so your relationship could slip in easily. You were months in by then, and you were getting ready to move in together. You could tell because Carmen’s clothes were disappearing from half of his dresser drawers. He wasn’t as sneaky as he thought he was. Tiffany said it was fine for him to bring a plus one. 

Richie was the most excited. He started forcing people to cough up cash. He knew it was coming for a while, apparently. He got fifty dollars altogether, and he wouldn’t stop waving the money in Carmen’s face. Natalie gave you a hug that made you feel like you had been a part of the family for years. The Faks tried to get you to send them money for a 'very smart' crypto company. But you spent a good portion of the night swaying with Carmen on the dance floor. Richie pulled Carmen away from you at the beverage table, throwing his arm over his shoulders. 

You didn’t catch a word of it. When you tried to step closer, Richie waved you back. Carmen finally rejoined your side. 

“He said Mikey would be proud that I finally did something about it,” Carmen whispered as he brought his drink to his mouth. Your eyes widened. 

“You think so?” Carmen nodded. 

“He would’ve liked you. He liked what I told him. Which was everything.” Carmen answered. You pulled a cheese cube into your mouth. 

“I’m glad.” Carmen sighed through his nose. You were easy to breathe around. 

“What picture of me are you putting in your wallet?” You asked, handing him a strawberry. Carmen sank his teeth into the red flesh, chewing before answering. 

“Probably one of you in a hospital bed.” He replied. You grinned at him. Carmen took another bite as he fought down a smile. 

You moved into his apartment a few weeks after. You slipped into a routine very easily. You had finally let Carmen into your journal. He was reading every stupid line you wrote about him. You pressed the start button on the dishwasher, heading back into your shared bedroom. Carmen had a leg stretched out across his bed, the other bent up close to his chest. He had your worn journal pressed to his thigh, swirling the ribbon around his fingers. His eyes glanced up over the edge when you walked in. He looked back down at the page. 

“Your fingers slip past my teeth, stilling my tongue like a statue.” Carmen drawled out. He dramatized his voice, shaking his head around. You groaned, climbing onto the bed next to him. You rested your head against his shoulder, staring at your scrawling handwriting. 

“You don’t need to read it out loud.” You complained. Carmen scoffed. 

“Why would I not read out Shakespeare’s competition? Listen to this: Drip your spit into my mouth, up there, oh god, you look so Lordly. That’s just a fantasy I have of me and you.” He pulled his eyes from the journal, pressing a hand to his chest. 

“It’s just so touching. You were obsessed.” Carmen whispered, turning the page. You groaned, yanking the journal from his hands. You slammed it shut, hiding it behind your back. 

“Hey! I’m reading that.” Carmen scolded, trying to reach around you. 

“No more reading, focus on me.” You said, pressing your lips to his. Carmen shook his head, still pawing for the journal. 

“Uh, uh.” You murmured, pulling him into a kiss. Carmen lost his desire for your journal as your tongue prodded past his lips. He pressed his hands into your back, pulling you closer. You flung your arms over his neck. Carmen twisted to press you into the mattress, climbing over you. You pulled your arm back, flinging your journal across the room. Carmen pulled from your kiss, yanking at the hem of his shirt.   You woke up to the moon swirling through the curtains. Carmen’s arm was tossed over your waist, his breath puffing against the back of your neck. You turned under the blankets, tugging them back over your shoulder. You threw your arm over Carmen’s shoulder, hooking your elbow on his side. Carmen huffed in his sleep, digging his fingers into your back. You scooted closer to him, pressing your chest to his. Journal be damned, he made fantasies feel better than you could’ve imagined. The original Carmen was so much better than the knockoff. 

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.)