WAIT. Visi saying she thought Flambae lost his fingers working in a Deli (do we call them by name now? I am NOT calling Flambae Chad) made me think.
I think it'd be so cool if he actually DID work in food service, at some point. Trained chef, even.
What if his niece loved the deserts and that's how he got the nickname? SOB.
LIKE. Okay.
Maybe it's a small but spunky family business. Everyone works there at some point. Waiter, busboy, dishwasher, hostess, — you name it, they did it.
Robert’s been going there for YEARS.
The owner’s name is Maryam, six feet of loving fire, a gorgeous river of curly gray hair, and probably the sole reason his body hasn't shed all muscle mass after the coma.
It's the one place he knows he’ll eat a whole meal. Even when he had no money. Especially when he had no money.
“You know, one day, you're gonna have to accept my 4 dollars.”
she always ruffles his hair. Her hands and his dads have the same calluses. “Start by not coming in here all beat up. We’ll work from there.”
Sometimes, he just goes to listen to her and her husband argue. It's the kinda place that reminds you being human is worth it.
So imagine his absolute shock when Flambae, the human safety hazard of Robert’s life.
Hair tied back with a barbie pink scrunchie, dressed in beat up jeans, an oil stained white shirt, shielded only by a red apron, smelling like thyme and smoked paprika.
He leans down just slightly so Maryam’s husband, angriest and kindest man alive, can pull at his ear. “What did I tell you about giving her sweets before lunch, huh?!”
“She asked, baba. She's very good at asking, okay?! Aren't you, my love?”
He coos. At the little baby girl in his arms, giggling and putting glitter in his hair.
NOW IMAGINE BEING FLAMBAE.
“Bob-Bob?!”
“Chad?”
“Chad?!” Robert can only assume the one who scoffed is Flambae’s sister, because she's absolutely gorgeous.
“That’s what he's been telling people? His name’s Ami. Little Ami- womy- mommy’s boy—”
“It’s Amir!” Flambae yelled, not too loud, because, and holy shit, he's rocking an actual baby with actual care. “And don't tell him that!”
“Whatever. Can you actually take his order? I just remembered, — I'm needed at a five top. Yeah, super busy for the next 2 hours. Or for however long Robb is here.”
Suddenly EVERYONE has something to do, scattering away with barely disguised laughing. Robert would be laughing, too, if he wasn't struck by the peach flush on Flambae’s cheeks.
“Do you recommend the lamb Kabab? I could REALLY use the opinion of such a distinguished—”
“SIT STILL SO I CAN THROW THIS OIL AT YOU!”
Rebloging this so I don’t have to go through my liked posts to find it again
