peachy-carmy

[peachy-carmy]

It is another exhausting day at The Bear, you don’t know why but the hours seem to be getting longer and longer. You no longer feel the excitement that once was there, the pull towards the kitchen. It is February now, so you come in and it’s dark, you go home and it’s dark. Yet it doesn’t seem to be affecting other staff as well. Richie is still an ass, not any more, not any less. And God bless Syd, she is your sunshine through it all. The sugar in pastries and the challenge of the menu no longer enough to pull you through the day. And for God’s sake, how can you feel burned out at 25 when there is Carmy next to you, an anxious mess, but filled with so much passion, he has so much to teach you and you just want to crawl in your bed and never ever as much as turn on the oven ever again. 

But here you are, back in the kitchen, peeling apples for the deconstructed apple pie or however the fuck it’s called on the menu, you don’t have enough precious energy to remember. Your eyelids are heavy, once iced, now just very diluted, americano, in the cup next to you. It’s quiet, just the hum of broken light accompanying you. Nobody else is unstable enough, or quite frankly needed yet. So when the doors open you startle, the knife falling out of your hand. “Morning Chef” you hear Carmy and answer quietly. You can hear him moving around, throwing his jacket in the office, you eye him as he ties his apron and gets to work. Knowing him he is tweaking the menu, possibly causing more trouble for you then you would like. But there again, working under him is a privilege, you remind yourself, you want to be here on any day that is not today. 

It’s almost as if he can hear your thoughts, giving you a pensive look and then turning around to his station. “ You good?” he questions but doesn’t turn around, benefit of doubt or an opportunity to lie, if you wanted to skip the truth. “Good chef, just tired, you know how it goes.” You choose to lie, it’s easier and explaining yourself would be too much work, you feel heavy enough as it is. You continue the work, peeling and cutting and boiling. Already sweaty, your arms want to give out as you lift a heavy pot to take it off the stove, but there are helpful hands materializing seemingly from thin air. “Easy chef”, you just pay him with a grateful smile. “Smoke break?”, he knows your vices well. 

You sit arm to arm, exhale, inhale. The warmth of him is burning and yet these quiet moments. You lean your head back on the wall, closing eyes and exhaling smoke. His hand is on your forearm, stable and comforting. Maybe the winter will pass after all.

[peachy-carmy]

This is a rebrand, no longer will this blog be an aesthetic one, now it's a fanfiction one. Because let's be honest, I have been only reading fanfiction here for a long fucking while. Carmy Berzatto x Reader mostly so feel free to send requests

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danielle @ louis vuitton fw17

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Have a nice day with these beautiful flowers…

Follow @twinkledeals for more fashion inspirations

@simpleetchic

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