Jay

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.)

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.