mak 🍂

young carmen berzatto :) or at least my adaptation of him lolol

pairing: carmen x fem!reader

cw: language, fluff and angst

pasture child - dominic fike

summary: carmen finds solace in his classmate, dialing her number every night to escape reality. but as the weight of reality hits the reader, things don’t fall into place as carmen wishes.

a/n: guysssss reader is highkey bad in this 😭 i sorry. also this was originally supposed to be really sweet and heartwarming but like idk things shifted while i was writing. i need to start taking my lexapro again. this is my first time ever publishing my writing so like SCARED but idk if it doesn’t make sense then thats that, but please please pleaseeee give me feedback. this probably won’t reach a single person but like it’s still funn. i lub u guys 🤭 also i think i might do a second part where it’s a timeskip bc that’s how the song goes. idk. LEMME KNOW IF I SHOULD.

carmen hesitated before dialing your number. calling you was a routine for him, but it felt like every time he had to talk himself up.

the brunette hugged his knees up closer to the solid slab of his torso, socked feet gently pressing into a wrinkled duvet.

high school for carmen feels a big blur. sure he has friends and hobbies, but everything seemed frayed at the edges and fleeting. like the world was a rug being pulled right from under his feet, leaving him to float headfirst into an abyss of nothingness.

but you.

you were the quiet type. your wardrobe a concoction of frills and long skirts, the fabric never brushing higher than your ankle. something that should deter carmy’s teenage, brain-fogged hormones, but it doesn’t. instead, it makes him sit next to you in culinary club.

it makes him remember that you hate sweets but cant resist brownies. or that you love fettuccini, but can’t stand cheese.

his fingers tighten around his phone as it rings.

your parents were strict, he knew that.

you’d leaned over to him in ap statistics, a folded sheet of paper sandwiched between your pointer and middle fingers. “only call this number after nine,” you demanded with a sweet smile, the scent of your strawberry lipgloss wafting into his nose. “that’s when my parents go downstairs to sleep,”

he remembers nodding, running his thumb over your curly handwriting.

his blue eyes trail over to the digital alarm clock on his night stand that read 9:01. that familiar flow of adrenaline sat under his skin. reverent. carmen knew he looked desperate calling you first every night, but every care in the word melted away as the line clicked and your soft breath was audible.

“hi,” you were quiet. well, you were always quiet, but now it felt closer. intimate even. you’d been curled on on the floor, head pressed against a childhood teddy bear that was tattered at the ears but filled with love.

this is how it always started. carmen would listen to each puff of breath that left your lips and close his eyes, clutching a pillow to his chest. his fingers would trace each fold of cotton, imagining your pajamas bunched in his fingers. he even asked you what perfume you liked just so he could spray it on his bed when you’d call, pretending that you were humming in his arms.

it was so pathetic.

so, so pathetic.

but he needed it.

after muttering quietly about your days, you paused on the other line. carmen huffs. “hello?” he whispered, head rolling back against drywall.

“why are you friends with me?” your words were concise as always, but a tinge of uncertainty wove itself into each curve and hum.

carmen shifted, his hand stilling on the pillow. “what do you mean?”

“like,” you paused. “i’m weird. i live on a farm. we can’t hang out. i can’t even talk to you outside of school—“

“we’re talking right now,”

“we’re whispering right now,” you retort.

carmen blinks to himself, lips parted slightly. “i just like you,”

he wants to stop himself from talking, but that’s just not what his brain allows.

“you don’t tell me to shut up for one. you don’t ask for anything more from me,” a dry laugh comes from his side of the line and you close your eyes, clutching the phone tighter in your hand.

“you’re so…special. you’re way smarter than a you give yourself credit for, and just hearing you talk is so refreshing because your brain isn’t fucking rotted,” carmen smiles, then turns onto his side. “and you’re not weird. at least not in a bad way,”

you smile, heat rising up the back of your neck. “thank you,”

carmen scoffs, running a hand through his floppy curls. “no, thank you,” through the phone’s ever present static you sense a weary rasp in carmen’s tone, a sign he’s getting sleepy. with a new flush on your skin, you disappeared into bed, splaying your fingers onto your freshly washed sheets.

“carmen,”

“what?”

“i like you too,”

on the other end carmy silently kicks his feet excitedly, phone pressed into his chest to muffle the rustling before he places it back next to his ear. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you parrot.

“why?”

there’s a pause, then a long breath.

“well,”

a beat.

“i like to think of life as a beach. stay with me. i think… i think of you, carmen, as a boat. one super, super far from the coastline. like way out there. almost as tiny as an ant. and, i’d like to think of myself as a dock. one off the coast, probably belonging to some snobby millionaire’s beach house,” your voice is a soft lullaby to him, his breath slowing down.

carmy slips under sheets himself, placing his phone on speaker as the curve of his nose brushes against linen.

“i feel stagnant. like, i’m not going anywhere at all. just…a landmark almost. not a big one that anyone cares about or anything. just kinda there,” you breathe. “carmen. you’re just full of potential and you’re steady moving along. you’re enjoying your life and actually focused on making a name for yourself,” you try not to sniffle as hot tears brim your eyes.

carmen on the other hand furrows his eyebrows, eyes fluttering open to stare at your contact across the screen.

“but for some reason that i can’t put my finger on, you steer away from the big, blue ocean. you…stop at the dock. you sit at it, lay out a blanket and have a picnic. you tan on it. you find meaning in something so meaningless,” a hot tear sears down your cheek. “and you make me feel like i’m more than just a girl,”

carmen falls silent on the other line, biting the inside of his cheek as he hears you quietly cry. pain aches and gnaws at his chest, spreading through his lungs and stopping at his throat. tightening. “don’t do that—“

“no, carmy, it’s true,” you croak.

“stop that. you’re not fucking meaningless. you’re not this little dingy dock,” he breathes, clutching the pillow—you—tighter against his chest.

there’s a few moments of quiet where words linger in the air, but too far fetched to grasp.

until.

“i cant sit here and listen to you rag on yourself when you are literally the air i breathe,” carmen says quietly. it’s stupidly telling. he knows it’s too much, but his lips part again and they whisper, “i love you,”

on the other end, your heart blooms, thrumming against your ribcage in a pattern too fast to comprehend. it’s dizzying.

it feels like floating.

but it’s impossible.

you…you’re not fit to match him. you’re a slow moving river and he’s a rapid. you’re heat and he’s fire. you’re a bicycle and he’s lightning-freaking-mcqueen.

“no,” you whisper, to yourself more than anything.

then the line clicks dead.

a scorching hot phone and damp cheeks. that’s all carmen had that night, and the next, and the next.

he’d gotten a haircut, a new phone, and a diploma.

well, barely a diploma.

it was nice, sure. school was fine. life was fine.

but every night he fell asleep to the smell of vanilla and strawberries, his fingers curled into a pillow.

in his head, he loved you and your smile.