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playg0d · 2 days ago

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this is too kind lol you're so sweet for saying all that 💖 reading all the love about you has received since i posted it makes my heart so full...

i haven't been really clear BUT there is a part 2 in the works! it's been hell to write lmao but we persist!

about you | a carmen berzatto x reader songfic

summary: you’re the one carmen can never let go of, no matter how hard he tries. based on the 1975 song.

wc: 8k

warnings and tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, swearing, claire mentions, some spoilers for s4

a/n: hello everyone! this is my first work in a long long time so i took it as a pen exercise, trying to write for the biggest tv crush i've had in a while to one of my favorite songs. i got so carried away with it beware 💀 i had to get my feelings out after watching s4 y'all!!

i know a place. it's somewhere i go when i need to remember your face.

he opens his eyes in the middle of his dark room. just like that. no reason, no sound. just awake.

it’s been happening a lot lately. so often that he doesn’t even get annoyed anymore. waking up before the alarm, his body already heavy with the weight of the day ahead. tired in a way that no sleep seems to fix. his muscles ache from another late night at the restaurant, a few hours of rest never enough to undo the strain. and he hasn’t even moved yet.

carmen blinks hard, trying to shake the sleep from his eyes, gaze settling on the window. it’s still dark out. only the orange streetlights casting vague shapes across his room, giving the shadows some kind of meaning.

his brain starts doing that thing again. jumping ahead, building the day's list before he can stop it. the stress creeps in before he even leaves the bed. he’s already forgotten something, he knows it. already late for something, even if the clock says otherwise. he can hear sugar’s voice in his head like it never left: did you check the budget i sent last week? how are we supposed to keep paying all these people if you won’t even sit down and read it? did you know jimmy’s supposed to come this week to talk about—

his alarm cuts in.

too loud. too sharp. especially in all this quiet.

he grabs the phone from the nightstand, silences it before it can ring more than a few seconds.

once the room goes still again, a bit of clarity returns. not peace, exactly, but something close. he exhales slowly through his nose, thumb still resting on the phone, and unlocks it. his fingers move without thinking. open messages, scroll down. the screen lights up, casting a cold glow across his face. it’s your thread.

this. this is another thing he’s been doing too much lately. and he doesn’t really know how to stop. at this point, he’s pretty sure it’s veering into something unhinged. obsessive. like he’s clinging to something that’s not there anymore and pretending it is.

you: the future looks bright chef!

that was the last message. weeks ago.

he frowns, but scrolls anyway. because this small, digital space, this ghost of a connection, is all he has right now. and somehow, it brings him a weird kind of comfort. not the real thing. not even close. it’ll never be the same as seeing you walk into the restaurant every day, laughing at something richie said, your perfume hanging in the air like a memory he doesn’t know how to let go of. but it’s something. and he’ll take something.

he stops on a selfie you sent from that birthday party. friend-of-a-friend. he remembers you whining about it the day before, pouting in that way that always made something in his chest loosen. you’d told him you didn’t want to go, that your friend had begged you to come so she wouldn’t be alone.

trying to hang on to any kind of connection outside of work, he’d boldly and very stupidly, asked you to send a selfie. for proof, he’d texted. he cringes now just thinking about it. what the hell was he doing? trying to be smooth? that wasn’t him. it never would be. he’d freaked out for a full half hour, especially when the word read sat quietly under his message, taunting him.

until your reply came in. a photo of your face. cheeks flushed, a mischievous smile aimed straight at him, eyes shining.

you looked so pretty. all dolled up for your night out with your friends. and he wanted to say just that. god, he almost did.

but he didn’t.

too much of a coward. too afraid of saying the wrong thing, of being rejected. of crossing a line. because at the end of the day, you were still one of his employees.

so instead, he reacted with a thumbs-up emoji and went to bed, heart racing, already half dreaming of you.

he keeps beating himself up in the shower, replaying everything he could’ve done differently. wishing he’d kept the conversation going. asked you what the hell you meant, talking about the future like you weren’t planning to be in it. it follows him through the morning. into the chill of the city streets, the L train, the walk to work. chicago isn’t fully awake yet and neither is he. just noise in his head and cold in his lungs.

he tries not to think too hard about the fact that you’re still on his mind.

but you are.

we get married in our heads. something to do while we try to recall how he met.

if richie knew, he probably would’ve laughed and called you a dumbass. after having a heart attack.

you knew richie loved carmen. despite all the shit he talked, all the complaints about his insane work ethic and the new way he ran the restaurant. you knew it. but you also remembered the way he used to go off about how carmen needed to get a fucking grip if he ever wanted to let someone close. because no way in hell that was gonna end well. not with how he was. that person would probably end up running for the hills.

so yeah, you did start to feel a little worried when you noticed how your palms got sweaty anytime carmen leaned in to talk to you about something completely mundane at work. how the tiny hairs on your neck would stand up when he passed behind you, muttering “behind,” and placed a light hand on your back.

you’d always felt so far removed from all the mushy romantic shit, so it was kind of shocking how your body kept reacting to this guy. it made you feel ridiculous, like some schoolgirl with a silly crush.

until time passed. and you started noticing how carmen watched you just as much as you watched him. how his voice would soften when he talked to you, how he’d leave his bad attitude at the door whenever he had to face you. how that hand on your back? it started lingering a little longer each time.

it didn't take long before you started to realize just how much carmy was your type. you hadn’t even known you had a type. but there he was. hard-working. completely focused on his craft. someone who actually cared about people. you saw it in the way he kept pushing syd, little by little, to be her best. in the way marcus lit up just listening to his stories about the insane dishes he’d worked on in those spectacular restaurants before he came here. how he was trying to turn that run-down sandwich shop into something meaningful for the sake of everyone who showed up every day to keep it alive.

and, yeah, it didn’t hurt that he was hot as all hell: wild curls, strong arms, that whole constantly-stressed-out genius thing. and those eyes.

falling in love with carmy had been so easy. you hadn’t meant to. richie’s voice echoed in your head from time to time, but honestly, you didn’t really care to listen. not once the two of you started to talk. really talk.

he opened up about his brother. someone you only knew in pieces, through the fragments richie had shared. his own memories.

but one night, carm gave you his memories. he told you how much he looked up to mikey. how much he missed him.

to this day, you’re still not sure why he told you what he did, but he said it anyway. that he did go to mikey’s funeral. something richie never lets go. he’s always throwing it in carmen's face: you weren’t there, you fucking baby, you didn’t show up when it counted.

but carmen had shown up.

and you never told anyone.

he was intense, sure, but he could be so sweet. charming in that unintentional way that made it even worse. like how he thought you didn’t notice when he started changing up his schedule. taking breaks when you did. hanging around just long enough to keep the conversation going from the day before.

or maybe just to be there. to have those rare, quiet moments where it was only the two of you. no yelling, no tickets, no chaos. just silence and the way it wrapped around you both like it knew something neither of you had said out loud.

he made you feel too much.

and what made it even harder was how he kept responding to you. bar for bar. matching every glance, every shift, every subtle move. like he was just as caught up in it as you were.

you didn’t realize it until you were in too deep.

a night you still carry with you, when it was just you and carmy, the restaurant quiet after everyone had gone home. you were so drained from the long day, you couldn’t help flopping down on the bench in front of the lockers. carmy came out of the office and found you there, eyes closed, still sitting.

you thought he would grab his things and call it a night. but he didn’t move. maybe he didn’t want to disturb your peace.

when you opened your eyes, he froze.

you felt him watching you. of course you did. but you didn’t want him to stop. you wanted his eyes on you. always. you wanted him.

so when it was just the two of you, sitting in that quiet, feeling the tension like it was something alive between you, you reached out and took his hands.

his hands. god, how often had you thought about them? in passing, in silence, in the lonely hush of nights you didn’t want to spend alone. you ran your thumbs gently across his tattoos, the ink marking him with stories you hadn’t heard yet. you wanted to ask. you wanted to know all of it. but not now. not if it meant breaking the spell of this moment.

carmen looked down, confused at first. then he shifted, taking your hands this time, his fingers curling around yours.

but he didn’t say anything. just looked at you. his eyes held something you couldn’t read, like he was trying to tell you what he didn’t know how to express with words.

your heart was pounding so loud you swore he could hear it.

and when he reached up, touched your face with the hand inked with the chef’s knife through the palm, you forgot how to breathe.

you didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

you shouldn’t have let it get this far. shouldn’t have let it consume you like this.

you should’ve listened to richie.

you and i (don’t let go) we’re alive (don’t let go). with nothing to do, i could lay and just look in your eyes.

it started as a little comment here and there. a name you’d never heard before slipping out of fak’s mouth.

then came a conversation you overheard while working alongside richie, with fak buzzing around the place like always. they were talking about an old family friend. a girl. how she turned out amazing (“a doctor, can you believe it, man?”). how fak saw her again recently. how he wished things could go back to the way they were. back when all of them had the best times. the bestest times. with claire.

claire.

you had no idea who she was. you’d never seen her around the restaurant, and sugar had never mentioned her. neither had carmy.

if you hadn’t been so intrigued, you probably would’ve felt annoyed. all this talk, putting her on a pedestal. it couldn’t be that deep, right? still, you couldn’t deny the jealousy creeping in as you listened to richie go on about claire as well. how she’d helped him through… something. honestly, you’d tuned out halfway through. something from back before he and tiff split.

you didn’t want to care. you really didn’t. but eventually, curiosity got the better of you. you even asked sydney if she knew who this claire person was.

she didn’t. she was just as lost as you.

meanwhile, carmy was in peak stress, trying to transform his family's restaurant into a high-dining establishment. you could see how much it was weighing on him, so you did what you could to be there, even in that weird, undefined place where you both were. trying to see through the fuzzy lines of your relationship. you didn’t know what it was and how to call it. but you remained supportive, in the form of listening to him rant or go to the nearest home depot when the paint ran out.

he still gave you butterflies, even with everything he had on his plate. the pressure, the stress, the weight of trying to rebuild something from the ground up. it never kept him from making you feel seen. important. like you mattered.

you could still feel his eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking and that alone was enough to set your heart racing.

and your conversations, they didn’t just continue, they evolved. they became deeper, more intimate. he wanted to know you, really know you. not just the surface-level stuff, but your dreams, your fears, the things you’d kept tucked away for years, unsure if anyone would ever really want to hear them.

so you let him in. slowly, carefully. and with every shared secret, every charged late-night exchange, you started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something real growing between you. something worth holding on to.

it happened on a random day. nothing special about it. syd walked in with that look on her face, the one you’d come to recognize: frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, begging for a place to land. she didn’t even say hi before diving in, words spilling fast like they’d been waiting to escape her all morning.

“i finally figured out who claire is,” she said, tossing her tote bag onto a stool. “turns out she’s carmy’s sort-of childhood friend slash first love, which, by the way, i don’t even know what the hell's going on with that and it's already getting on my nerves. because now he’s distracted and i need him focused on this right here.” she waved her arms around the empty space to drive her point home.

you blinked, trying to process her words, but it felt like they hit you all at once.

you just stood there, frozen in the middle of the gutted kitchen, stripped bare for renovations.

your heart dropped.

you hadn’t seen that one coming.

wait (don’t let go) and pretend (don’t let go). hold on and hope that we’ll find our way back in the end.

he curses himself for telling fak he ran into claire at the grocery store. like fak was ever going to keep that to himself. now everyone knows. and everyone’s being weird. asking him a million questions about her, like he’s supposed to have some kind of plan. but he doesn’t. he hasn’t seen her in years. people expect him to pick up where they left off, but he doesn’t even know what that was, let alone what it’s supposed to be now.

carmy was painfully shy back then. when claire was around, always orbiting, always close but just out of reach. he never acted on how he felt. he just… pined, like a stupid kid. kept it all to himself. mikey used to tease him when he found those sketches in his notebooks. half-finished portraits of claire he never meant anyone to see. sugar would roll her eyes and tell him to man up, tell claire how he felt.

but he never did. and now, all these years later, people are acting like nothing’s changed. like he's supposed to feel the same. be the same. like some nice story about rekindled young love, which sounds great in theory, but in his case? those memories are laced with chaos. with the noise and mess of his old life. his life, period. it doesn't feel like something worth revisiting. he's not sure.

seeing claire again was nice. she was happy to see him, she remembered things he hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten. that part felt good. he won’t deny it. but this whole thing? it’s just one more thing added to the pile.

the renovations are behind schedule. jimmy’s breathing down his neck about the money. he can’t seem to get on the same page with syd. sugar’s riding his ass about everything from schedules to invoices.

and then there’s you. drifting further away from him every single day.

and that is what really stings. more than any of the rest of it.

he feels it all the time. in the little things. the small gaps where you used to be. the way your breaks never seem to line up with his anymore. how he used to find you already outside when he stepped into the alley, and now he just runs into you at the door, your break already over. he tries to catch your eyes in those moments, but you look down and walk past him like it’s nothing. like he’s nothing.

he watches you throughout the day, desperate for a sliver of connection. trying to catch you in conversation, even if it’s just something small. but you’re always busy. always somewhere else. always anywhere but with him.

and it’s killing him. he wonders if you’ve already figured it out, how fucked up he is. if you’ve seen too much and decided to back off before it’s too late. or maybe he overwhelmed you with the way he felt. crowded you, hovered over every little moment the two of you had. like he was one of those gross dudes who only came in to try and chat you up, get a peek at your ass and pretend it was about the food.

yeah. if you ever saw what was inside his head, you’d probably run.

because he craves you. constantly. and he’s done lying to himself about it. he likes you. likes being around you, likes how your mind works, the way you talk about things that matter. he loves that you don’t take yourself too seriously, but always seem to have the right words when someone’s in need. how you show up for your people without hesitation, no questions asked.

he loves your voice. your laugh. the way you look at him when you’re teasing, or when you’re serious. your silky hair, your pretty eyes, those pouty lips, and yeah, your body. that incredible body.

fuck. he’s lost count of how many times he’s imagined you underneath him, imagined how you’d sound, how you’d move, what it would be like to make you feel everything he’s been feeling.

he wants to give you that. all of it.

carmen hasn’t felt this way, this deep, this insane about anyone since… claire, maybe.

and he knows you felt it too. the something between you. it wasn’t just him. even if it was unspoken, it was there.

if he’s this wrapped up in you, then why did he catch tina and his sister talking like it’s obvious? like it’s real?

“have you seen him? he follows her around like a lost puppy,” he remembers sugar laughing, sounding embarrassed.

“she’s not far behind,” tina has said, not missing a beat.

so why were you pulling away?

the answer became even harder to grasp the afternoon you walked into the office, clearly expecting to find just natalie. you startled slightly when you saw him sitting there too, then quickly masked it with a polite smile and a too-casual tone. said you had something to tell them both.

you were quitting.

a new opportunity had come up. sudden, unexpected, but too good to pass on. you said it aligned better with your professional goals, that it made more sense for where you were heading. your voice was soft, almost apologetic, sweet in that way that made it sting more. like you were trying to spare them, spare him, but still walking out the door.

his mind stopped registering your words after that. his body went still. mind blank. he kept his eyes down, too afraid to look up and see whatever expression was on your face. he just stared at the floor while you and sugar kept talking like everything wasn’t shifting underneath him. everything in him had gone still, cold.

he wanted to speak. to ask why. to understand. but the words sat heavy in his throat, unmoving. and as your voice trailed off and you turned to leave, his face flushed hot, his hands began to tremble. those early signs of panic tightening around his chest.

he should’ve followed you. should’ve asked what changed, what went wrong. why it suddenly wasn’t enough.

but he didn’t.

instead, he ended up in the back of the restaurant, alone, heart racing and breath caught in his lungs, trying to keep it together. hoping, praying, you’d show up like you always did. like you always had.

but this time, you didn’t.

and there was something about you that now i can’t remember. it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender.

you couldn’t forget the restaurant even if you tried.

richie had been on your case for days after you quit. texting, calling, refusing to believe it. it blindsided everyone, but it hit him harder than most. because it was you. you had each other’s backs in there. if something had been off, why hadn’t you said anything?

you did your best to ease his worry. said there was nothing wrong, nothing dramatic. gave him the same explanation you’d given sugar. and carmy, though you weren’t sure how much of it he’d heard.

you were moving on.

the restaurant had been good to you. more than good, sometimes. you met people who felt like family, and for a while, it really felt like you belonged. but you had to think about yourself too. your goals, your growth. and the new job? it was a step forward. a better fit for the direction you wanted to go. you kept reminding yourself of that.

still, you couldn’t ignore the way things had shifted in those final days. how often claire’s name came up. how often you saw carmy tense at the mention of it, even if he tried to hide it.

fak, richie, even people you’d never seen in the restaurant before were suddenly showing up, nudging him toward her. pushing him to give it another shot. telling him she was good for him, that he’d be crazy to let her go, that this was his chance.

and every time you heard it, something in you sank.

because no matter what you and carmen had shared in the quiet, in the glances, in the almosts... you didn’t have a history like that with him. not old memories tied up in childhood and old neighborhoods. maybe that’s what it came down to.

syd and marcus were still your friends, even outside of the restaurant, and you thanked the heavens for that. you’d found something real with them: true friendship. if the restaurant left you with anything, it was that.

they kept you updated, told you everything with bright eyes and proud smiles. how the new place was coming together. how different it all felt from where you started. not just the food, but the energy. the ambition. the chaos.

you loved hearing their stories. the quirky guests, the impossible nights, the small wins that made it all worth it. you could tell how much they loved it, even when it was hard. and you were happy for them.

they told you about richie too. how much he’d changed. you told them you’d seen it too, because you still saw richie. he was too special a person to let go of.

then they’d mention carmy. how his meltdowns were getting more frequent. how things had shifted. you didn’t know much about him after you left. you hadn’t asked. they told you how he was seeing claire more seriously now. how marcus had casually dropped the word girlfriend when talking about her.

it stung. more than you let on. but you didn’t flinch. you nodded and smiled. you told yourself you’d moved on. you’d removed yourself from that world.

still, every time they talked about the bear, its struggles, its wins, the people inside it, it felt like hearing about a life you no longer lived.

and it was particularly hard because the bear wasn’t just a restaurant.

it was carmy, and after all this time everything still felt like him.

you might’ve felt completely defeated by that thought if it weren’t for syd.

over coffee one afternoon, she said it like it was nothing.

“he asked about you,” she uttered, her words cutting deep. “wanted to know if you were okay, if you’d ever come by.”

and i’ll miss you on a train. i’ll miss you in the mornin’. i never know what to think about.

carmen still wakes up before the alarm, long before the world stirs. the sky outside is dark, the streets quiet. that part hasn’t changed.

but he’s not alone in his bed anymore.

claire has started staying over sometimes, says it’s easier after her shifts, more convenient. he tells himself he doesn’t mind.

he slips out of bed carefully, trying not to wake her as he begins the ritual of getting ready. his movements automatic.

lately, the days have felt heavier. long, restless weeks stacking on top of each other. he’s been going through the motions, but the certainty that once drove him, the feeling that he was building something meaningful, has started to fade.

he used to believe that cooking was his purpose. that the kitchen was where he belonged. but now he isn’t so sure. maybe it was never really about the food. maybe it was just his way of holding onto mikey, of staying close to the memory of someone who once made him feel like there was something worth chasing.

and now that he’s here, with everything he thought he wanted, it still feels like something’s missing.

he’d had a really tough conversation with syd about it. one of those that left him feeling raw, exposed. richie had walked in halfway through and joined in, adding his own thoughts, his own frustration. by the end of it, carmy felt like he was letting everyone down, yet again. stepping back from the restaurant felt like the right call, perhaps the only way the bear could truly thrive free from his constant micromanaging and inevitable screw-ups. maybe, just maybe, he could rediscover the spark he'd lost, the part of him that used to love this.

he takes the train like he does every morning. the platform’s nearly empty, and when the car doors slide open, he steps into a quiet space with only a few scattered passengers. it's a small relief. no eyes on him, no one who knows his name or expects anything from him. just a few minutes of anonymity. a little room to breathe. maybe even think. maybe relax, though that's a stretch.

he had hoped that being with claire would help. that now, finally with her by his side, he’d start to feel more like himself again. like the younger version of him. that the shy, quiet kid who once thought having her would fix everything—was finally getting what he’d dreamed about for so long. but it doesn’t feel like that. not really.

and carm hates himself for it. because claire is wonderful. kind and patient. she jokes about the heavy things, tries to lighten the weight he carries, even if just for a second. she’s trying to help him heal, to pull him out of the worst parts of himself. and he knows that. but still, something feels off.

and that’s when he wonders… does that last message in the thread need a reply from him? should he beg richie for his phone again, like some desperate teenager, just to sneak another look at your instagram profile? should he face sydney, after everything he’s put her through, and ask once more if she’s heard from you? i think about you.

sometimes he lets himself imagine it. running into you. what he’d do. if he could get past the initial punch of seeing you again. really seeing you, after all this time. would he shrink back like he always used to, hide behind silence so he can keep pretending your absence hasn’t hollowed him out? or would he finally say something? ask for the truth. demand it, maybe. not to make you feel bad, but just to know. to confirm that it wasn’t all in his head. that everything you shared, everything he felt, wasn’t just one-sided. that thinking about you this much still means something.

as if that could ever actually happen. still…

he’s been secretly holding out hope all this time. clinging to the stupid fantasy of a chance encounter with you. on the L. on the street. some accidental moment that would change everything. he’s even taken the long way home more than once, just because he knew it passed near where you used to live. just for the slim chance of seeing you. but it never happened.

and as much as he tries to keep moving, your absence still lingers in the spaces he exists in.

tina still sighs about not having her dance partner during breaks and how no one laughs at her neighborhood gossip like you did. natalie wishes you were around so she could finally introduce you to sophie, her voice going soft every time she says your name. and richie? richie never shuts up about you, still clinging to the version of life where you and he had each other’s backs in the thick of it. he holds onto that chapter fiercely, and part of him is just waiting for you to walk back in and see how far he’s come and be proud.

but for carmy it’s different.

he didn’t just miss you.

he fell in love with you.

(don't let go)

he never said it, but it’s the truth.

it’s in how he still checks the door without realizing, expecting you to walk in. in how your voice still echoes in his head during the quietest parts of the day. in how nothing has felt right since you’ve been gone.

you didn’t just leave the restaurant. you took something with you when you walked out. and no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to get that part of him back.

do you think i have forgotten about you?

carmen’s no stranger to guilt. it’s been living inside him for years, settled deep in his bones. he remembers the feeling in new york, thinking of sugar and mikey, how he left them to deal with their mom and all her turmoil and unpredictability. remembers the guilt curling in his gut when he got that phone call, sugar barely able to get the words out between sobs: mikey's dead. guilt again, heavy and paralyzing, when he couldn’t get out of the car at his own brother's funeral.

and now it’s back. except it’s different. not the same restaurant stress that eats at his stomach on the regular. it’s outside of that. beyond it.

it’s every time he looks at claire.

it shows up in moments that are supposed to be soft. like when claire’s curled into him, warm and willing, tracing her fingers over his chest. saying something sweet, being provocative. trying to love him. telling him how good he is, and all he can think about is how much of a lie that is. how he doesn’t deserve this version of her.

because his mind drifts, like it always does.

to you.

he’s not proud of it. he hates himself for it.

she’s here, she’s trying. she’s giving him something real. and you’re still in his head. still there when he closes his eyes, still the one he wishes he could see when he opens them.

he’s tried to snap out of it. thrown himself into his new role in the kitchen, started mending his relationship with his mom, tried being the kind of boyfriend claire deserves: one who listens, who shows up, who holds her when she falls asleep.

but none of it’s working.

and it’s not fair to claire. she doesn’t deserve to be the one holding the weight of something that was never hers to carry. so he did something he’s never really done before. not like this.

trying, really trying, to follow through on this whole doing things differently thing, carmen sat richie down and told him the truth. about how things with claire had started to fall apart. how it wasn’t her fault. how he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

richie, being the closest person he had left, felt like the right one to tell, to get it out. and carmen took responsibility, fully. said it straight: he was the one messing things up. he’s the reason it’s falling apart.

but richie wouldn’t hear it.

“what the fuck are you talkin’ about?” richie’s already pacing, eyes wide, hands flailing. “you’re done with claire? now? jesus christ, cousin.”

“i didn’t say i was done, i just–i don’t know. it’s not working,” carmen shifts, trying to stay calm.

“not working?” richie snaps. “what the fuck does that even mean? you finally got her and now you’re just what–bored?”

“it’s not about that,” carmy mutters, jaw tight.

“bullshit,” richie throws back. “you know how many guys would kill to be where you are right now?”

“i-i’m tellin’ you, it’s me. it’s not her,” carmen tries again, voice low.

richie scoffs, shaking his head.

“you already pulled this shit once, carmen. you already broke her heart. and now you’re doin’ it again?!”

carmen looks away, but richie doesn’t let up.

“you serious right now? after everything she’s done for you? you’re the problem? oh wow, man, what a revelation.”

“i am the problem, richie. that’s what i’m saying!” carmen’s voice rises a little, frustrated.

“then fix it!” richie shouts. “don’t throw her away just ‘cause you’re all fucked up inside.”

richie was pissed, and not in the loud, joking way he usually was. no, this was different. this was a disappointment he felt deeply. he looked at carmy like he couldn’t believe he was watching him do this all over again, backing out the moment something good got too real.

he started pacing again, running his mouth about claire, about how she didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. “she’s claire bear, man,” he muttered under his breath, like that should mean something holy. and it kinda did, to richie. she’d been around since carmy was a little kid. familiar, kind, safe.

but carmen just sat there, bent over at the edge of the table, elbows digging into his thighs, hands locked at the back of his neck. guilt was burning through his stomach like acid. and not just for claire. for richie, too. for not being able to live up to the version of himself everyone kept hoping he’d finally become after getting with claire.

he didn’t fight richie on it, didn’t throw words back, because he knew richie was only half wrong.

the older man, never one to back down when carmy got quiet, leaned in with a little bite in his voice.

“you know i even told her once, right? about this?” he said, almost casual, throwing your name in there. “funny thing is claire wasn’t even in the picture yet and i already knew you were gonna pull this kind of shit.”

carmen froze. his lips thinned into a hard line and something dark settled behind his eyes.

he looked at richie, really looked at him, like he was trying to figure out if he was serious or just pushing buttons like he always did. but richie held firm.

a bitter wave of heat rose in his chest.

“did you–” carmy’s voice cracked, low and strained. “did you fucking say something to her?”

his words came sharp, like they’d been caught in his throat too long.

“richie, what the fuck did you say to her?”

richie visibly flinched. his mouth opened and closed again. then he let out a laugh, humorless, almost stunned.

“you gotta be kidding.”

something in carmy’s face had changed, the shift in his voice when your name came up stopped him cold. he stared at him for a long second, piecing it together.

and it hit him like a ton of bricks.

“you motherfucker,” richie’s voice grew louder, half disbelief, half something else. anger, probably. or disappointment.

“you were into her and you didn’t say shit?” he pointed at carmy like he was trying to trace the outline of this massive mistake. “you let her walk outta here when you–”

he stopped himself. dragged a hand down his face, pacing, fuming.

“you know what? don’t even answer that,” he snapped, his anger visibly flaring again. “wanna know what i told her, jagoff? i didn’t tell her anything that she couldn’t tell by sharing space with you, you little fuckin' narcissist bitch.”

carmy finally looked up at him, teeth gritted, throat working like he was swallowing glass. richie’s eyes were hard now. protective and furious.

“she’s not just some second act of claire, cousin. she didn’t come around to fix you, that's not what she’s about!”

it came after a beat of silence, after richie had already seen through every layer of bullshit and nailed him to the wall.

“i know–i know that,” carmy finally said, voice low, almost strangled.

it sounded awful, even to his own ears. pathetic, but it was the truth.

and even though richie looked at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, like carmen had just handed him the messiest, most out-of-pocket confession, he felt something shift in his chest. relief, even if just a little.

finally someone else knew. someone understood the depth of what he was carrying. how much it wrecked him. how deep it went.

no more burying it behind routine or the bear or claire.

and now richie knew.

god, now richie knew.

so much for doing things differently.

he hadn’t really talked to richie much after that. things still felt off and he didn’t have the energy to untangle it just yet. instead, he tried focusing on getting back on the right foot with syd.

she’d asked for help with a new dish she was developing for the menu: something deeply personal, something that reflected the people she held closest to her heart. her family and her friends.

she told him she was stuck, unsure about the final flavor profile, and though he didn’t want to meddle too much (this was her creation, not his), she kept nudging him for input. said she trusted his instincts.

so he thought about you of peaches.

he said it lightly, almost offhand, but it stuck.

he didn’t know if syd would connect the dots, maybe she wouldn’t even ask. but if she did, if she ever wanted to know why, he’d say something about the brightness of the flavor, the way it lingered, felt right.

peaches were your favorite.

he can’t help being taken back to that night again, when it was just you two alone, the restaurant emptied out, you sitting on that bench looking up at him with those beautiful eyes that haunt him still.

he’d been completely transfixed by you, by everything you were. by all the things you made him feel without even trying. your beauty, somehow untouched by the long day behind you, still shining through in the artificial light.

and when you reached for him, your fingers brushing his with a touch so gentle it felt deliberate, he swore he died right there. your touch… delicate, intentional, reverent, hit him harder than anything else had in years.

your hands were so soft, so careful, like you were learning him by touch alone, tracing every part of him without rushing. he remembers how it made his skin come alive, how each stroke of your digits lit him up. how much he wanted more.

he wanted to pull you in, let you keep exploring all the parts of him no one else ever got to touch. he wanted to kiss you, slow and deep, to finally know if your lips tasted like peaches, just like he imagined.

carmen wanted to give himself to you completely in that moment. mind, body and whatever was left of his soul. and he’s never really stopped wanting that since.

that’s why he did it, why he reached out and cupped your face, unable to stop himself. it wasn’t instinct or ease. it was pure need. there were too many feelings rushing through him, building up after everything you had shared, everything left unsaid.

he wanted you. not just in that moment, but for longer than he could admit to anyone, maybe even to himself. and still, even now, after all the time that’s passed and after everything that’s changed, he hasn’t stopped wanting you.

he hasn’t stopped thinking about that night or stopped regretting the way he pulled back, how he let the moment slip through his fingers because he was too afraid of ruining it, of being too much and scare you off.

but now, looking back, all he can think about is how real it was. too real to pretend otherwise. undeniable. and how foolish he was to walk away from something so honest, so rare.

he wonders if you recall that night as often as he still does.

it’s a thought that’s lingered for what feels like forever now, something quiet and constant at the back of his mind.

but tonight, it’s louder than ever.

especially after hearing the buzz of surprise and excitement ripple through the kitchen when richie, halfway through reading the night’s guest list, said your name.

carm tried to play it cool, to keep scrubbing down his station like his lungs weren’t suddenly constricting.

tonight was a new friends and family night. syd’s idea. a soft reset, she called it. a chance to breathe a little, reconnect with the people who mattered and quietly debut a few changes to the menu.

he could feel richie’s eyes on him all day: watchful, heavy, like he was waiting for something to go wrong. richie wasn’t subtle when it came to the people he cared about and carmy knew that look: apprehension. concern. maybe even a little warning.

and carmy got it. richie had watched him fall short more times than he could count, he’d seen carmy spiral, shut down, push people away, so of course he’d be on edge. especially tonight. especially with you.

pepto bismol had become his closest companion through the day, sipped like water in between prep and the minutes before doors, just to keep himself upright.

as the the guests began to arrive, he stationed himself near the window overlooking the dining area. just waiting.

eyes scanning every new arrival.

heart pounding harder with each one.

waiting for the moment you’d walk through the door.

he’d spent the whole day bracing for this, imagining it over and over, but when you finally appeared, all that careful anticipation crumbled in an instant.

because nothing, nothing, could’ve prepared him for the reality of you.

a familiar, dizzying lurch hit him in the gut.

how could you still look like that? like everything he’d been missing without even fully realizing it. like a punch straight to the ribs and a lifeline all at once. like something too good to be real.

you looked beautiful. god, you looked so beautiful.

and it wasn’t just the way you were so exquisitely dressed for the occasion or how your hair caught the light. it was the way you looked happy to be there, genuinely. like no time had passed. it knocked the breath right out of him.

the smile on your face when you greeted sugar and pete made his own mouth twitch up, he caught himself mirroring it, dumbly, before he could stop it. then came richie, arms out, wrapping you into a hug, whispering something in your ear. he guided you toward your seat, and carmy quietly sent a thank you into the universe when he realized your seat was directly in his line of sight.

you sat facing the kitchen.

richie turned around just before disappearing back to the floor, and their eyes met. that usual don’t fuck this up look was still there but now something else flickered underneath. something softer. protective. understanding. a silent: i see you.

and carmy, even in his nerves and with his stomach a knot of regret and adrenaline, gave him a small nod. a quiet thanks.

you being here, sitting where you’re seating tonight, was richie’s move.

he told himself to stay focused on service, especially tonight. he owed that to sydney. she had put her trust in him, asked him to show up and get it right. and he was trying, really trying, to keep his head down and stay sharp. but the longer the night went on, the harder it got.

you still hadn’t looked at him. not once. and it was slowly unraveling him.

you knew he’d be here, right?

you knew this place. you knew the setup, knew exactly where he’d be standing. was it on purpose? he couldn’t tell, but watching you laugh so easily, catching up with syd’s dad and chester, it made him feel disoriented, like he was watching a version of you he didn’t have access to anymore.

every second that passed without your eyes meeting his made his chest feel tighter, heavier. he was falling apart in real time, trying to keep it together behind the pass.

and then came the dish.

fak had announced it a little too loudly, of course, but it landed.

“new to the menu,” he said, “from chef sydney and chef carmy.”

carmen stood there, watching you the whole time, heart hammering, barely breathing.

you leaned in, tilted your head, examined the plate like it was something that really mattered, eyes soft and focused. you took in the smell first, then a bite.

and then, like gravity itself shifted in the room, you looked up.

right at him.

peaches.

and he knew, in that split second, you remembered too.

do you think i have forgotten about you?

the tension of all the conversations that veered too close to something real. the breaks you shared, shoulder to shoulder, breathing in the quiet between the chaos. you remembered the glances, the ones that lasted a second too long, the ones that said more than either of you ever dared to say aloud. you remembered that night when it was just the two of you.

you remembered what it felt like.

he could see it on your face. the recognition, the weight of it all. the way you held his gaze, steady and certain, made something in him shift. and he took it as a sign.

no more hiding behind glances, no more waiting for the right moment that never came. carmen was done being the guy who only looked when you weren’t looking, the one who kept everything to himself out of fear.

because the truth was, he felt so much for you. still. all of it. untouched by time.

still in love.

and now he was ready to say it, to show you, to fight for you.

he finally understood everything had always been about you.

and as service wound down and the restaurant quieted, all he could think about was finding you before the night ended–

to tell you that.

₊˚⊹♡

thank you for reading. please reblog or comment. or both ☻

#reblog 2 comment #about you has a special place in my heart #it's my first work in this blog #it's my first carmy fic 😩#so seeing all the love it gets #makes me soo happy #thank you thank you!!

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