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messiahzzz · 1 month

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Hello! I love your meta-analysis of BG3 and share many of the same opinions concerning our boy, Gale. I have an interesting question for you concerning the orbs "volatility" in relation to intimacy (both physical and non-physical). I used to believe it was cannon that Gale couldn't engage in physical intimacy because the Orb may detonate, but when I played as Gale I was able to sleep with Astarion. This is in contrast to when I played as Karlach and couldn't touch anyone.

So, all of this is to ask whether Gale's dialogue at the tiefling party was him protecting himself emotionally or if he truly thought that any excitement would trigger the Orb (ironic given they are fighting for their lives daily)? Additionally is this why the Weave scene only features an imagined kiss rather than a physical one?

thank you so much for the questions!! i’m very glad you enjoy reading my posts 💕

gale: with my condition being as volatile as it is, i fear any undue, er, excitement, may tip it over the edge. so to speak.

i do believe that gale was being honest in regards to avoiding physical/emotional excitement concerning the orb. his first and foremost priority is to make sure to avoid as many potential triggers as possible, being fully aware of the catastrophe that will occur if he doesn’t keep an eye on his condition at all times. fighting is inevitable given the situation the group found themselves in. on top of that, every single day for the past year alone has quite literally been a life or death situation for him, wondering how much longer he can hold on until the orb inevitably takes over. i also think that he has experienced his fair share of horrors and tough fights in his past, considering his status as an archmage, as well as him being mystra’s chosen. even with his now diminished powers & the tadpole in his head he still remains in his element. magic is his life, it comes as easy to him as breathing.

gale: i'm what one might call a wizard prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the weave, but compose it, much like a musician or a poet.

more importantly, the devnotes also proof that the orb is indeed the reason for his deflection during the tiefling party:

gale: i see. then perhaps we see each other in the same light after all. a resplendent one, flush with warmth and anticipation, but one which i must shy away from, for now. node context: still flustered, but pleased to learn you like him romantically. then getting to the point - he can't do anything until the orb is dealt with.

if tav directly tells him to cease the perceived flirting, he will reveal that he considered their relationship to be a "budding romance" at this stage.

player: if this is an attempt at flirting, you should stop. i'm not interested. gale: right. understood. you shall hear no more on the subject from me. gale: consider this budding romance thoroughly nipped. though i hope our friendship need not come to such an abrupt end.

yet at the same time, he is also completely flustered if tav is the one who initiates the flirting:

player: do you like having your belly rubbed? gale: the pleasures i experienced in mystra's embrace go far beyond the pleasures of having one's tummy tickled. i remember once, she took the smallest piece of the weave and made it into- gale: wait. are you saying... nodecontext: taking the question seriously, missing the flirtatious side of it. nodecontext: realizing that the player was flirting, getting flustered

regardless of which flirt option tav chooses to pick, the outcome remains the same:

gale: you know what, i think i've clearly had far too much wine. and you've had nowhere near enough. i think this is a conversation best held back on - for now. nodecontext: flustered, hesitating to explicitly say what he thinks you were offering, then backtracking altogether

while battle naturally is always accompanied by the unpredictable, (as well as the dread of facing a yet unknown enemy) i don’t think he experiences quite the same amount of trepidation as where matters of the heart are concerned. or perhaps it would be more accurate to say it’s an altogether different kind.

the budding relationship with tav is once again unfamiliar territory for him after all those years he went without mortal intimacy, years that have been spent with mystra instead. it’s understandable that he exercises caution at all times, knowing what’s at stake if he lets go for but merely a moment. i also believe gale to be a character who generally goes “all out” once he chooses to be intimate with someone. we know that he doesn’t do casual trysts, friends-with-benefits arrangements, or anything of the sort. instead he wants to build a deep connection first. gale is a romantic through and through, he only feels comfortable being intimate once it has been explicitly established that the emotions he feels for tav are indeed wholly reciprocated. gale puts his whole heart into everything he does, he would’ve felt that it was a disservice to tav if he was only able to give them (according to him) even less than the remaining fragments of a broken man he has to offer — once he decides to give himself, he gives himself fully.

another added factor, however, is that the tiefling party simply wasn’t the right time for him yet, even if he already felt some attraction to them. part of him perhaps would’ve liked to go a bit further, be more direct about his growing fondness for them. spending a night together, just enjoying each other's company, talking until the sun rises, perhaps even sharing their first kiss if he felt that the timing was right — but i don’t think he would’ve considered this to be the appropriate stage in their relationship to sleep with tav either way. orb or no.

gale also tells us this much during the Last Night Alive scene, as well as during the conversation after you just met tara. in an ideal situation he would’ve taken his time, courted tav properly, said it all better.

gale: if things were different, if we were home, i'd have taken the time to do things properly. to say it all better. but time is short.

gale: i always imagined what it would be like when you finally got to meet her. this wasn't quite what i had pictured. gale: i thought we'd be in waterdeep. you, curled up before a crackling hearth while i prepared us a ridiculously extravagant meal, served with a batch of my homemade hundur sauce.

time is short.

i always headcanoned gale to be on the demi spectrum. that he needs to build a close bond before sexual intimacy is something that even remotely occurs to him. tav is an anomaly in this regard — he knows he deeply cares for them, emotions that developed even in the short, few months they've known each other, and that he doesn’t have the luxury of time to let their relationship unfold in all the many ways he dreamed of. all he knows is that he loves tav, wholly and truly. and that, by the gods, he has to make the most out of the few extra heartbeats he’s been given. even if his death is inevitable, he will at least be able to show them the depths of his affection. leave them with shared memories of pure tenderness, a knowledge of a love so profound that it might perhaps even prevail way beyond his passing.

player: what about all we shared together? are you just going to give up? gale: this isn't giving up it's securing victory, at a price i am willing to pay. and everything we shared can live on - with you.

i wouldn’t necessarily say that gale was trying to “protect himself emotionally” during the tiefling party, but rather acted accordingly to the horrifying circumstances the tadpole gang (and especially he himself) find themselves in. i don’t think gale ever really considers a romanced!tav as someone he needs to be guarded around. evident in the way he immediately throws all doors open without any sign of hesitation once he has their assurance that their love is indeed mutual. gale pours his heart out to them regardless, not knowing whether his feelings are truly returned. he is not a character who shies away from being vulnerable by any means. he is an open book, that tav is free to peruse in as they see fit. a slither of trust is all he needs.

during the weave scene the connection abruptly fades once tav either imagines passionately kissing him or holding his hand during a romantic walk. a scene that again shows that he is genuinely stunned by what he’s being shown. after all, it doesn't happen often that gale of waterdeep is at a loss for words.

gale: i... i didn't think... narrator: *you perceive quick-fire gusts of embarrassment, trepidation, and finally... elation.* gale: sorry, i wasn't expecting... but it is a pleasant image to be sure! gale: most pleasant, in fact. most welcome. nodecontext: warm, with real affection

i do believe the weave scene in particular to be a turning point for him. sort of an epiphany. the first moment in which he realizes that he actually might like the idea of eventually being with tav as perhaps more than a friend. that he is filled with fondness whenever they’re near and that he is excited to see where their joined travels lead them next.

player: when i said we could be more than friends, you answered 'perhaps'. what does that really mean? gale: if i recall correctly, the waterdhavian dictionary of the common tongue of faerun defines it as an adverb that conveys the meaning of 'it may be that', or 'possibly'. gale: you see, i'm not a big believer in fate, but i do believe in serendipity. gale: life is a tempest of events that sometimes we brace against and sometimes embrace. gale: you're one such event that, one day soon perhaps, i'd like to embrace.

given my personal hc of gale being demisexual, i genuinely don’t believe that he entertained the thought before that. he was way too preoccupied with other more pressing concerns. his overall condition, the tadpole, mourning the loss of his powers, still dealing with a lingering sense of loneliness and melancholy. a yearning for better times, as well as disillusionment of being cast out and left behind, even if he has already worked through his romantic feelings for mystra and their unilaterally ended relationship by then.

gale: i'm hardly pining. it's been a year or more since mystra cast me aside.

tav’s advances genuinely catch him off guard, which is, according to my interpretation, also the reason why their shared connection abruptly faded. a general loss of focus. gale immediately bidding tav goodnight to reflect on the situation and sort through his thoughts again shows that this wasn’t how he expected this moment of teaching to unfold. it seems rather uncharacteristic of him to initiate a kiss in this specific scenario. tav was testing the waters, whether it happened intentionally or not, and gale found himself pleasantly surprised by the turn of events.

i also believe that we generally shouldn’t use origin playthroughs as a cross-reference for the actual canon. larian approached each story with more or less detail and there are already so many inconsistencies present that have been pointed out by other players. instead we should see origin pts as an oc kind of scenario — larian handing us the reigns of each origin character, a way for us to have fun and figure out all the atrocities we could possibly come up with. sort of like playing with our own set of barbies. (“go nuts, show nuts” as tunglr staff put it back in the day) for example, playing as w*ll doesn’t lock you out of raiding the grove and spending a steamy night with m*nth*ra right after either. which is something that contradicts everything he stands for/something he wouldn't naturally do. even if you try to play an origin character as close to their canon portrayal as possible, you will still encounter several contradictions and discrepancies during the duration of your game. larian sadly also has a chronic pattern of overlooking gale in terms of content, fixes, and overall responsiveness. so it’s easy to conclude that his origin story simply hasn’t been fleshed out to the same extent & treated with the same amount of care and consideration that certain other characters received. (which is awfully ironic considering he’s been proven to be the most popular origin character, but i digress)

basically, this has been my very long-winded way of saying: the reason why gale refuses to be intimate with tav pre-orb stabilization is indeed because he is afraid of the orb accidentally detonating during a moment of carelessness and/or indulgence, as well as because of gale’s own preferences when sex & romance are concerned.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 meta #long post #asks #gale's romance is the most delicious kind of slow-burn #or well. it would be if larian had actually bothered to put the same care and resources into his story #instead of merely cutting content and deciding to do a 180 #it speaks #please don't check for grammar i wrote this in a rush

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carmyboobear · 2 months

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ALEXITHYMIA CH 3: nightmares, pepto, and fire

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 1 ch 2 ch 4

Chapter Rating: M (7.9k)

Chapter Summary: Carmy can't run from how he feels anymore. His dreams, his conversations with his coworkers and friends, everything is forcing him to face reality. Upon being pushed to his limits, he will finally have to start to speak the truth.

content tags: wet dreams, repressed carmy (as per usual), self deprecation, mental illness

A/N: Carmy gets a wet dream AND a nightmare this chapter! I'm putting him through the ringer babes… I had a lot of fun with the drama, interactions, and imagery this time. Also fun fact, this is the end of what I refer to as "Act 1" in my notes! Act 1 consists of repressed Carmy to the max, barely even acknowledging his feelings… but that's gonna change after this chapter :) enjoy!

After a torturous day at work, one that makes his limbs feel like lead, Carmy is more than relieved to see the door to his apartment.

Surprisingly, though, it swings open without him even touching it. He's too tired to think twice about it. He steps inside, and the first thing he sees is his roommate. They're dressed exclusively in a black apron, just like they were that other night.

“Hi, Carmy,” they say quietly, and their makeup is messy and dark just like that night they were trashed. He remembers how he felt the first time he saw them like that, because he feels it now. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” he hears himself saying.

They walk up to him, and suddenly, they're on top of him. Their hands press gently against his tense shoulders. His back hits his bed, pillows under his neck.

“You snooped through my stuff, didn't you?” Their hands move behind them to drop their apron, revealing skin, skin, and more skin. It goes on forever.

“Sorry,” he mumbles half-heartedly, distracted by their nakedness.

“Hm. I don't think you're all that sorry, but…that's okay.” They drag their hand down the center of his chest, slowly, teasingly, lovingly. “I wanted you to see.”

A bottle of lube materializes in their hand.

“You did?”

“I did,” they whisper. They uncap the lube with a low pop, and suddenly, their skin is shiny with it. Carmy runs his hand down their chest, squeezing, and it's slippery to the touch. “You wanna see what I like to do with this?”

“Please,” he whispers back, breathless, desperate for it. They smile, and it doesn't quite look like them. Heat circles in his gut nonetheless.

“You're so sweet,” they say quietly. “I love that about you.”

He can't respond, not with the way they're touching him. Not that he can come up with a response to that. The pleasure is like fire under his skin, hot, alive, and painful.

“Don't say that,” he pleads, and it feels so good.

“Why not? It's how I really feel about you.”

Their mouth is on his neck now. He can barely breathe. A part of him worries that there's gonna be lipstick marks he'll have to get off again, but he honestly couldn't care less. He'll go to work covered in lipstick marks if he has to.

“Shut up,” he tries again, but it's even weaker this time.

I'm gonna end up hurting you, he wants to say, but he can't.

“Don't you like how good I can make you feel?” They lean up to seal their lips against his, and smoke fills his mouth. He takes it in like water. The high hits him immediately, along with the spike in pleasure.

“I'm close,” he whispers, bucking against their hand.

“Me too.” They straddle his waist then, a playful look in their eye. “I know just the thing…”

Just as they go to unbutton his jeans, an alarm screams into his ear, and his eyes fly open to see his bedroom ceiling.

Stunned, he slams his hand down to shut up his alarm. He lays there in the silence, slowly processing everything. From the moment he woke up, his heart's been racing.

He moves to sit up, get a sip of water, and that's when he feels how sticky his boxers feel.

“Motherfucker,” he mutters under his breath. He doesn't even have any water on his nightstand, and he just came in his sleep for the first time since highschool. “Shit.”

The shame is too much. He has to sit there for several more minutes in silence before getting himself clean.

There are no words to express the emotion he feels as he changes his boxers and wipes himself down. It's a strange mixture of guilt, shock, and lingering arousal. He needs to make sure he doesn't think about it at work unless he wants to walk around with an obvious bulge in his pants.

You need to head into work so you can stop thinking about it, he tells himself, to which he agrees.

He does his best not to think about it on his way to work, which only garners minimal success. In other words, it's a spectacular failure. It's a miracle he doesn't clock in with a poorly concealed boner, but there are other factors.

For one, his nausea. It crept up on him soon after waking up, and it looks like it's here to stay. It's fine, though, because he's used to his stomach being fucked. His brain is on fire and so is the rest of his body—just as usual. He'll just take some pepto when he gets to work.

Except that when he reaches for it on the bathroom shelf, there is no pepto bottle. That's when he remembers the way he chugged the rest of it the week before. So the nausea remains.

When he arrives, the comments about the lipstick mark being gone is unavoidable. His irritation is also naturally unavoidable. His sour mood does him no favors. However, in a twisted sort of luck, he realizes they're behind on far too many things, and he hones in, focuses on nothing else. Everyone else is too swamped with work to keep up the teasing.

The lunch rush is expectedly awful, especially with the swelling tensions in the kitchen. Everyone gets through it with minimal screaming.

Staying busy is supposed to help. Keeping himself occupied is supposed to help, but the moment the lunch rush ends, the nausea hits him at full blast.

“You look like shit,” Richie kindly tells him. A ‘fuck off’ sits on the tip of Carmy's tongue, but so does the feeling of bile, rising in his throat. “Wow, you really are sick, aren't you?” He remarks at Carmy's lack of response.

In as little words as possible, Carmy relays to everyone he'll be in his office.

He keeps the lights off and the door cracked as he falls back onto his chair. The world around him seems to settle like sand. It's been a while since he's dealt with nausea this bad. He counts that as a blessing in itself.

The darkness and the quiet is nice. It relaxes his body. On the flipside, though, there's no noise to overpower the thoughts he's running from.

He closes his eyes, and he sees imprints of his dream. He feels their mouth on his neck, their voice in his ear, their hand on his—

Carmy slaps a hand on his forehead. Then, he sighs, dragging it slowly down his face. His stomach twists inward into itself.

He thinks about seeing his reflection in the mirror last night. His skin was free from the lipstick mark that everyone was relentlessly teasing him about. And yet, he was struck with a profound sense of disappointment.

You liked seeing it there, a voice somewhere hidden in him whispers.

Carmy really feels like throwing up now.

He settles in the darkness for a while longer until a notification lights up his screen, briefly illuminating the room with a low white light.

His first instinct is to groan and flip his phone face down, which he follows about halfway through until he sees the contact name.

The text message is from the person haunting his dreams and his waking life.

- hey thinking abt cooking chicken and rice tonite or something. u want some??

Just when he was able to get a break from thinking about them. Just like that, they're orbiting his brain again.

Visions of them jacking him off aside, he's unsure what to say. He doubts he's gonna be able to get anything down today. This isn't the first time something like this has happened on his end.

> maybe tmrw, stomach is fucked today. ill take leftovers if u make some

- oh no :( feel better man. u got medicine?

> no but its ok, ill take some after work

- but thats so far away!

He can't help but smile, even if looking at the screen isn’t making his nausea any better.

> ill be ok. ill make it

He’ll make it because he has to. No one else is gonna run the place for him. That’s a part of what makes him stand up, take in a breath, and return to the kitchen. The other part is the familiar distant sound of arguing. He slips his phone in his back pocket, stands up, and gets back to work. No matter how begrudgingly it may be.

A number of problems quickly make themselves clear to him. First, the toilet’s busted again. Two, the plumber won’t be here for another three days. Three, the cash register isn’t working. Four, the meat order got delayed. Carmy doesn’t even wanna start worrying about that last one yet with how awful it’s gonna be.

“When is Fak gonna get here?” Carmy asks Richie. They’re stationed at the front, taking the lack of customers while they can.

“He said he'd be here soon.” Richie's fucking with the aforementioned cash register. Carmy’s leaning against the counter, watching him aggressively jam receipt paper into the machine out of the corner of his eye. It's refusing to print receipts again. “He said to tell you to not get your hopes up. He's not a plumber.”

“I know, but he's got the best chance of fixing the thing.”

“I'm telling ya, if you just let me fuck around with it—”

“You don't know how to fix a toilet by watching youtube tutorials,” Carmy mutters.

“So you wanna have to keep going across the street to take a piss?”

“Cousin—this is my restaurant, not your goddamn apartment—”

“Alright, then be my fuckin’ guest—”

He's so in the middle of arguing that he doesn't even hear the bell on the door ring when it opens.

“Look, Fak's gonna be here in a couple minutes,” Carmy says, pinching his eyebrows together, “and then you can fight it out like alphas or whatever the fuck you were saying. Okay? God—”

When he straightens up, pushing himself off the counter and turning back towards the front, the last person he expected to see stands right in front of him.

They've got this bashful smile on their face, and their cheeks are flushed from the cold. Their hair sticks out from their beanie in a way that Carmy insists is not cute at all. Not one bit, not even the way it's messy when they yank it off.

He also insists to himself that the color on their cheeks doesn't remind him of his dream. Not at all. Not even a little bit. No way. No matter how much the visuals are rampaging in his brain.

“I was sorta worried I wasn't in the right place,” they admit.

“What're you doing here?” Carmy blurts out, even though he immediately recognizes it for how rude it is.

“Uh—” Nerves flash across their face. They hold up a little paper bag. “Sorry for just showing up, I just wanted to bring you some things.”

“No—don't apologize, I shouldn't have just…” He trails off, unable to find the words. He studies the bag in their hand. “Sorry. What did you bring?” He asks, softer this time.

“I know this might be a bit much,” they clarify nervously. They walk up the counter and set the bag down before him. “It's just, you were saying that you weren't feeling well, and I was in the area doing some shopping…”

Carmy reaches inside and pulls out several things. The items reveal themselves to be a small, green bottle of papaya pills, a little bag of ginger candies, and most importantly, a bottle of bubblegum pink pepto bismol.

As he stares at the items, a tiny flower blossoms in his chest.

“You really didn't have to get all this,” he says softly after a beat of silence. He stares at the items for a moment longer before looking up at them. There's an odd feeling in his chest.

“I wanted to. Seriously.” They still look oddly bashful, and it's captivating. “I mean, you helped me out a ton the other night, so…”

“You didn't owe me anything.”

“Then consider it a gift.” Their smile so effortlessly dazzles him. “Unless I can't give you gifts?”

“Yeah—I mean, no, you—” Carmy fails to stifle a quiet laugh at how ridiculous he sounds. They so easily fluster him. “Thank you,” he says finally, remembering himself. “This is…really nice.”

“I hope it helps,” they reply, and he tells himself the color on their cheeks is still from the cold. He tells himself that they're the one that looked into his eyes first, so it's okay for him to look back. “If you end up not liking it or needing it, though, it’s fine. Do whatever you want with it.”

“No, I appreciate it. Thank you,” he says again.

They're beautiful, he thinks all of a sudden, and the thought is so potent he can't hide from it for a single second. His anxiety tells him that they're gonna hear his thoughts if he keeps thinking so loudly. The bliss of tracing his eyes over their features is worth it. He's not sure if he feels any less nauseous, staring at their darling face like this, but he can't deny he likes the way this feels. His chest aches.

Then, the obnoxious noise of someone clearing their throat reminds him that they're not alone.

“Cousin.” Carmy's head whips around. How could he forget that Richie was right there? It's incredible how silent Richie could be when he wants to. “You gonna introduce us?”

“Shit, right, uh—” Carmy fumbles, making a hand motion with no words to match. “This is my cousin Richie. And Richie, this is, uh, my roommate.”

Oh, how he's dreaded saying those words for reasons he will see in just a matter of seconds.

“So you're the roommate!” Richie makes a big show of it, eyebrows raised in dramatic shock.

“Yeah, that's me.” They shrug. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Can't believe you're roomin’ with this guy,” Richie says, slapping a hand on Carmy's shoulder. It is promptly shoved off. “Carmen's not an easy guy to be around, I know.”

“Oh, not at all! He's a great roommate.” Carmy feels the tips of his ears growing warm.

“Really?” Richie gives him a skeptical look. “Who would've guessed.”

“Fuck off,” Carmy snaps, but the way he mumbles makes it lack any intensity.

They don’t stay for long. Something about needing to run some more errands. A part of Carmy wants to keep them there somehow, although there’s no logical reason for that. If anything, the faster they’re out, the better. It gives Richie less time to say something scathing that ruins their perception of Carmy.

Not that you need any help fucking yourself over, Carmy thinks to himself distantly.

“Well, I hope the stuff helps.” They readjust their beanie on their head, pulling it over their ears. “I’ll see you at home?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” he replies. “Thanks again.”

“No problem. Bye!”

They wave to him and Richie as they leave. As soon as the bell above the door rings and they’re out of sight, Carmy feels Richie’s eyes on him.

Actually, he feels a number of eyes on him.

He turns around to see his fellow chefs peeking over the deli counter, standing in a row like a line of matryoshka dolls. They freeze when they see him, but they don’t make any move to run away. Absolutely remorseless.

“Back to your stations, chefs,” Carmy scolds them, but his meak words are quickly overtaken by noise.

“If the two of you aren’t dating, then what the fuck is this?” Richie picks up the paper bag full of medicine. “That was some sappy shit the two of you were pulling!”

“The two of you? What the fuck did I do?” Carmy spits back.

“What the fuck did I do,” Richie imitates, rolling his eyes. “Fuckin’ goo-goo eyes over here wants to know what the fuck he was doing.” Carmy snatches the bag out of his hand.

“You were makin’ goo-goo eyes at them,” Marcus agrees. His elbows are propped up on the glass counter.

“And if they’re bringing you medicine, it’s serious,” Tina adds with a sly grin.

“There’s nothing to be serious about,” Carmy insists. He feels like a broken record. “We’re just friends.”

“Friends that kiss each other,” Sydney comments. “Right. Of course.”

“We don’t—I’ve never—” He’s a tea kettle, and the lid on him is starting to rattle. “Chefs—”

“Cousin, loosen up already. Why you always gotta make shit so serious?” Richie throws an arm around his shoulder, but Carmy shoves it off.

“Because this shit is none of your fuckin’ business. That goes for all of you!” Carmy whips around, gesturing accusingly with his hand at the line of chefs. “Get back to work! Now!”

A sad chorus of “Yes, chef” resounds, and everyone despondently trickles back to their stations. All except for Richie, who is not a chef.

“They’re obviously into you,” Richie tries, and Carmy’s glare could burn two perfect circles into his face.

“Drop it,” he hisses.

“Why’re you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like a little bitch? You’re a pussy, Carmen. That’s what you are. A pussy—”

“You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“No. Y’know what? I actually do have a clue, because I know you, Berzatto. You act like all that shit’s above you, but it’s not. And I’m tryin’ to do you a favor—”

“A favor? What fucking favor?”

“I’m trying to help you get a fucking clue! That’s what! Because you’re too dense to see what’s right in front of you!”

“Richie, I happen to be doing just fine without your help. I don’t need whatever the fuck you think helping me is!”

“Then explain this to me. Explain this little thing to me, Carmen fucking Berzatto. You and Claire—”

“Richie. Don’t.”

“That could’ve been a good thing. A great thing. The two of you—”

“I told you—”

“You were obviously into each other, and yet—”

“Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit!”

There’s a rage threatening to spew out of him, lava coursing under his skin and in his head. Richie’s looking at him like he knows he’s right, but he’s not. He’s not right about Carmy. He’s not right about anything. Not about any of this.

“Fak is on the scene! What is up, guys?”

With comedic (or arguably tragic) timing, Fak bursts through the front door with his heavy tool bag on one hand. Carmy and Richie’s heads both snap to him when he arrives. Fak freezes in his steps.

“Fak,” Carmy says.

“Finally,” Richie mutters. “Slow ass.”

“Uh…I’m getting the impression I shouldn’t be here right now. Should I be here right now?” Fak takes a step back towards the door.

“Yes, I really need you to look at the toilet,” Carmy says. Richie is uncharacteristically quiet, but Carmy can’t stand to look at him.

“If you say so.” Fak shrugs. “What’s the damage?”

“Mild to severe, depending on how you look at it,” is Carmy’s dry response.

The rest of the day, Carmy operates on autopilot. When he finally remembers to open the bottle of pepto, nausea surges in him at the sight of it. He manages to force it down. Miraculously, the toilet gets fixed, and even more miraculously, no one mentions the roommate again. Not even Richie. Although Carmy does sense how badly he wants to bring it up again.

His stomach continues its incessant rampage throughout the rest of the day. Despite improving since the pepto, it’s still generally upset. This nausea leads him back to his care package again and again throughout the rest of the day.

The ginger candies have a sharp flavor, maybe even a bit too much, but the sharpness grounds him. It also does admittedly dim the nausea. He wonders why he’s never bothered to keep him on his person.

“Chef?” Carmy’s cleaning his station when he hears Syd next to him. It could only be her, anyway—the sun has set, and everyone else has gone home for the day. He perks his head up to see her concerned expression.

“Chef,” he acknowledges back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Nothing wrong with me, I mean. I was actually wondering if, uh, you were okay?”

“Me?” The question surprises him. “Uh, yeah. I’m okay. Stomach’s better, so…”

“Oh, good.” She nods. “Stuff your roommate gave you working?”

“Yeah. It is.” He rolls the candy around on his tongue. “Hand me my knife?”

“Yeah.” She slides it over to him. “And, uh, I just wanted to say—I don’t mean to be nosy. I really don’t. Earlier, everyone was just gathered over the counter, and—”

“It’s fine.”

“I just wanted to see what the commotion was about—”

“Really, it’s fine,” he repeats, firmly. “They’re just like that, anyway.”

“I—Okay. Okay.” She exhales. “It’s just—y’know. I don’t wanna be an ass. I just…”

“You weren’t. You’re not.”

“I’m just…wondering about one thing.”

“...Yeah?”

“Why have you never invited them to family?”

“Family?” This question surprises him even more than the last. “Well, family’s for…family. Just the workers.”

“I mean, yeah. But, like, sometimes it’s not, right? Like, you let Marcus’ roommate come last week.”

“Marcus was on family anyway.”

“Sure. Right. You let me bring my friend recently, though.”

“You wanted to show her where you worked, didn’t you?”

“And Fak has family with us almost, like, all the time.”

“Fak is Fak,” Carmy reasons, and Sydney can’t argue with that.

“I don’t mean to be an ass,” she repeats. “I’m just curious.”

Right, he thinks. She asked a question. Why have I never brought them to family?

He’s never even considered it before. Bringing them to family. It’s not a habit to bring outsiders in, for lack of better wording, but it’s not necessarily off-limits, either. He doesn’t actually mind when others bring people in. He trusts them not to bring in anyone stupid. Mostly. As for himself…

He’s never had anyone in his life to bring before. Ever.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I guess I just never thought about it.”

“Huh.”

“Wouldn’t it be…weird?”

“Why would it be weird?”

“I don’t know,” he says again, “I just…I just thought…” He sighs. “I didn’t wanna deal with Richie, but…”

“Little too late for that,” Sydney notes in amusement.

“Little too late,” he echoes.

“Well. I was just curious. Sorry if that was weird.”

“Why would it be weird?” He jokes, imitating her from earlier.

“Shut up,” she shoots back with a grin. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s fine. It’s not weird.” He pauses for a moment, thinking about Richie. “Everyone else is an ass about it. Not you, though.”

“I try.” She grins. “I…I think everyone just gets excited because…it’s different. Seeing you with someone else like that.”

“Mm.” Carmy nods, and then pauses again. Lets it sink in. “Do I…” I shouldn’t ask this, he thinks, but he’s already started. It’s too late. “...Do I act differently?”

“Around them? Yeah. A little.”

“...” Carmy straightens up, taking a step back from his station. This is starting to feel weird. Really weird. “I do?”

“Kinda. You just seem…calmer, I think.” Sydney’s expression seems uncomfortable. “I dunno.”

“No, it’s fine. It was a dumb thing to ask.” Carmy’s making the executive decision to stop talking about this. “I gotta stay and sort through some stuff in the office, but you should head out for the night.”

“What, can’t afford to pay me overtime?” Sydney teases. Carmy rolls his eyes.

“Partially,” he jokes back, although it’s not much of a joke.

Nevertheless, it is almost 10 pm, so Sydney does indeed head out for the night. The whole place is eerily silent without anyone else there. There’s the sound of the rattling AC unit, noisy plumbing, and passing cars, but there’s a distinct lack of sizzling pans, knives against cutting boards, and shouting. It just feels strange, is all.

Carmy barely remembers to replace the bottle of pepto in the bathroom before heading out. He puts the new bottle there on the shelf, and as he stares at it standing there, he considers putting other gifts there too.

He returns to his office where the small bag of ginger candies and bottle of papaya pills sits. They’re seated on the corner of his desk. He goes to grab them, but for some reason, he doesn’t. They look like they belong there.

Then consider it a gift, he remembers them saying earlier. Unless I can’t give you gifts? If you end up not liking it or needing it, though, it’s fine. Do whatever you want with it, he hears them saying again.

A certain possessiveness grips him then.

It was a gift, he tells himself. For me. No one else.

He decides to leave the candies and pills on his desk. Those will be just for him.

When he finally gets home, it’s almost 12 am. He does his best to open the door carefully, but it’s as squeaky as ever.

He’s greeted with a surprising, although not unusual sight. His roommate is curled up into a sleep ball on the couch, snuggled into the pillows and blankets. The tv is playing some youtube video essay about lost media from the early 2000s. All the lights in the apartment are off, leaving the only source of illumination to be the tv screen.

Carmy carefully moves to turn the tv off. After he does, he turns to see if he’s woken them up. He hasn’t. They’re still in deep sleep. Very deep sleep, rather, with how they’re lightly snoring.

That familiar ache he gets in his chest when he sees them makes itself known. It’s the ache that pulls him in, forcing him to sit on the floor next to the couch. It’s something beyond his will that makes him gaze at their peacefully sleeping face.

His eyes trace their features like he was earlier when they stopped by The Beef, except this time, much more unabashedly. He takes note of the faint blemishes on their cheeks, the loose strands of hair in their face. The squish of their cheek against the pillows.

Cute, he thinks to himself, not for the first time, and he’s too tired to push the feeling away.

You’re different around them, he hears Sydney saying. Calmer.

I don’t know about that, he thinks. He absentmindedly brings a hand to brush their loose hairs out of their face. I don’t know how I feel when I’m around you.

A part of him wonders if he should wake them up. The part of him that wins is the part that doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful look on their face. He wouldn’t want to upset them.

He trudges into his bed instead, flopping wearily onto his mattress. It’s been a taxing day, right down to the moment he woke up this morning. His mind and body were both in shambles, and now, he’s exhausted.

As he falls asleep, he distantly hopes for a dreamless night.

. . . . .

“Where’s the olive oil? The pan’s heated. I need to start cooking the beef.”

Carmy stands before a pristine stainless steel pan. Next to him on the counter sits stuffed beef carefully wrapped in twine—beef braciole.

“Guys,” he repeats, annoyed. “Guys, have you seen the olive oil?”

He turns to see Michael and his roommate sitting at a kitchen island. They’re both opening cans of San Marzano tomatoes, although it’s definitely not a two person job.

“We haven’t seen it, Carmen,” Michael says. “Anyway, like I was saying—you should’ve seen his face. Really! When I told him I couldn’t work at the restaurant, it’s like I told him our dog died or something.”

“What I wouldn’t give to see that,” his roommate remarks, snickering and shaking their head. “Such a baby.”

Next to them, Carmy spots the bottle of olive oil. With a scowl, he snatches it.

“Hurry up on those tomatoes, guys, I’m gonna need it real soon,” he reminds them, irritation growing.

With the bottom of the pan coated in olive oil, he carefully places the beef into the pan. The sizzle is strangely whistle-like and high pitched. He inhales, searching for the smell of cooking meat and garlic, but he can’t seem to smell anything at all.

“Did he cry?” They ask.

“No, but he looked like he was going to,” Michael sneers, and the two of them are laughing again.

“You wouldn’t wanna work with a guy like Carmy, anyway.”

“Exactly. Exactly. He doesn’t really get it, y’know. How much of a colossal fuck-up he is. I can see it in him, though. I didn’t have the heart to tell him then.”

“That’s okay. I don’t blame you. He probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

“He has no idea! And he thinks he’s fooling everyone so well, but the thing is—”

“He’s not.”

“He’s not! He’s really not.”

“Chefs, I need the tomato puree. Hand it over,” Carmy interrupts abruptly. When there’s no response, he turns around. They haven’t even opened one can of tomatoes yet. “Are you two fucking serious?”

They look at him, eyes wide, and then they’re laughing so hard they’re crying. They’re doubled over the counter, cackling and kicking their feet.

“You’re too easy to fuck with, Carmen,” Michael gets out between chuckles. “You’ve always been like that.”

Carmy ignores him and reaches for a can of tomatoes.

“Give me the fucking can opener,” Carmy snaps.

“Oh, you won’t need it,” his roommate answers.

As soon as Carmy grabs a can, it explodes in his face.

Puréed San Marzano tomatoes fill his hand and drip from his hair into his eyes. He steps back, staggered from the red explosion. Somehow it got all over him and not on anything else.

“Fucking shit!” He wipes his eyes, and that’s when he remembers the beef. He rushes back to the pan. It needs tomato purée now. He lets the splattered tomato drip from his hands into the pan, filling it with sauce. It sizzles and smells like smoke.

“I could always see you for who you really were, y’know. I always knew,” Michael goes on. “I could always see it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Carmy snaps. The growing anxiety in his stomach is tightening his body and ejecting the words out. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

“He’s saying that you’re just not a good person. That’s all,” his roommate reasons. Carmy tries to keep his eyes focused on the beef, hastily spooning tomato over it. The pan’s still filling with puree. It’s overflowing. “You’re just the sort of person who will never change. Once broken, always broken, y’know what I mean?”

“If you’re not going to help, then fucking leave!” Carmy snaps, finally. He whirls around and wipes all the cans onto the floor. They explode in glorious unison, staining the floors red. “Just get out and stop getting in my fucking way!”

“But you don’t want me to leave, do you?”

“I don’t care what you do, I just need to finish this—“

“No, you care. You care if I like or hate you. You care if I stay or leave. You care about me, Carmy. You really care about me.”

“I don’t fucking care about you. I never have, and I never will.”

The beef’s burning on the pan. It’s all burning.

“Oh, Carmy…” Their arms are wrapped around his torso, squeezing him in a gentle hug. “It’s too late for you to say that sort of thing. Not anymore.”

All of a sudden, there’s a gush of wetness that soaks through his shirt. He pulls back, and their mouth is oozing tomato puree. In an instant, Carmy knows they’re dying.

“Fuck,” Carmy curses. “Fuck!”

“This is what happens,” they say, gargling through mouthfuls of puree.

“Why?” He asks.

“Because it’s you,” they answer, and Carmy wakes up.

He wakes up stumbling back from the stove by someone pulling on his shirt. The stove has pots and pans filled with flaming frozen food. He can feel the blazing heat against his skin. The orange flames are flicking off the steel pans and arch towards the ceiling, reaching. As Carmy stumbles back, he falls to the floor, barely managing to steady himself with the palms of his hands.

There’s the familiar sound of the fire extinguisher, spraying out into the base of the fire. Propped up on his elbows, Carmy watches the fire shrink with a thumping heart. His heartbeat marches in time with the tune of the fire alarm, piercing and high-pitched throughout the apartment.

Carmy finally takes notes of his roommate, looking about as distressed as someone who just woke up to a fire in their own home. Their hair sticks up in several different directions as if they just woke up, which they…probably did. With a displeased grunt, they march over to the window to slam it open. The cloudy smoke compacted near the ceiling begins to trickle out.

“Fucking hell,” they mutter under their breath, coughing from the smoke. They turn around to look at Carmy, expression twisted with stress. “Dude. What was that?”

“I,” Carmy starts, but the words just won’t come. He tries to move to get up, but his legs aren’t moving.

“Carmy. Hey.” They lean down next to him, staring him in the eyes. He still doesn’t respond. “Carmen!” They snap, and he jolts.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he gets out. They help him up, wrapping his hand in theirs and yanking him upwards.

“We should step outside while the smoke clears.” They cough as they move to grab their coat.

“It’ll be fine, it’ll be gone in a couple minutes,” Carmy hears himself saying. He’s met with a blank stare.

“So this has happened to you before?” They open their mouth, as if they’re about to say something else, but they shake their head. “No, we’re not staying in here. We may smoke everyday, but this isn’t good for us. C’mon.”

He doesn’t quite feel his body moving as he grabs his wool jacket. He doesn’t feel it as he walks down the stairs, not even when he steps outside and the chilled night air whips at his face. He feels far, far away.

After leaving the awful song of the fire alarm, the quiet of the night is uncharacteristically loud. If he listens closely, though, he can pick out the sound of their fire alarm, distantly ringing. Or maybe that’s just his tinnitus.

The clicking sound of a lighter is what recenters him. He looks to his side to see them shakily holding a lighter up to their cigarette. After a couple more sparks, the flame lights.

They take a slow pull of it before wordlessly handing it to him. An olive branch of sorts. He takes it. They let the pool of smoke sit in their mouth, and then they exhale with a heavy, heavy sigh.

“What happened back there, man?” They ask quietly. “That was…” They sigh again. “That scared the shit out of me,” they whisper, and that’s what makes it all finally settle in.

Fuck, Carmy realizes with a pang. The realization starts in the pit of his stomach and drops lower and lower. Feeling returns to his body, and he feels cold inside and out. I really fucked up.

He can just imagine it—him, dead on his feet, sleepwalking into the kitchen. Grabbing the frozen food out of the freezer and turning the stove on high. Cooking nonsensically with plastic-wrapped chicken breasts and frozen peas. Too fucking asleep to stop the fire from starting, to stop the fire alarm that woke up his sleeping roommate on the couch.

“I used to sleepwalk, sometimes. When I was at culinary school,” he clarifies nervously. Shame douses him, coating him evenly like oil on a pan. “Or, sleepcook, I guess.”

He passes the cigarette back to them. They take it.

“Shit,” they mutter. “Never heard of anyone doin’ that before.”

“...Yeah. Me neither.”

The two of them are silent for a while before they speak again.

“Carmy—why didn’t you tell me? That you—” They laugh dryly, full of irritation. He doesn’t like seeing anger on their face, hearing it in their voice. He doesn’t know if he’s ever heard them sound like this before. “That you’re prone to cooking in your sleep? Don’t you think that’s something I should know? As your roommate?”

“I—I didn’t mean to hide it,” he protests, even though he did.

“We could’ve really gotten hurt, y’know.”

“You’re right, I know, it’s just—it hadn’t happened in so long, so I just thought that I had, that I was…”

I thought I was getting better, he wants to say, but it’s stuck in his throat. It won’t come out. As per usual, he can’t get the words out.

It always stays the same.

“...” Strangely enough, their face softens. “Must’ve been scary the first time.”

“What?” He wasn’t expecting their anger to dissipate so easily.

“The first time you caught yourself cooking your sleep. Were they all like this? With the fire and stuff?”

“Yeah. All the fire and stuff,” he confirms bitterly. A beat of silence. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. You shouldn’t have had to…put out a fire I made.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay you almost burned our place down, but…” The end of the cigarette sizzles, bright and orange as they inhale. “It’s not like you did it on purpose, did you?”

“Of course not,” he rushes to say, “I would never—”

“I’m just kidding with you,” they laugh. They exchange the cigarette again. “I know you didn’t.”

Impossible, Carmy thinks all of a sudden. The nicotine usually calms him, except not today. Not right now. This is impossible.

“I thought you were mad at me,” Carmy blurts out. He can’t compute seeing a smile on their face right now.

“I am,” they say calmly.

“Then why? Why are you—” There’s static in his head, fuzz filling his mouth. “Why aren’t you—you should be—fucking, I don’t know—why aren’t you yelling?”

“Do you want me to be shouting at you?”

“No! I don’t want that, I just—I just don’t understand.” There’s blood rushing in his ears. “I fucked up, so just—just get it over with already!”

“I—get what over with?”

“Just tell me that I’m a worthless piece of shit and that you were wrong for ever seeing anything good in me,” he spits out. His eyes feel hot. He doesn’t know where all these words are coming from. “I know you want to say it, so just get it over with. Please.”

A moment of silence, broken by the drive by of a car.

“...Is that really how you think I see you?”

“How could you not?” He laughs bitterly, shakes his head. Images of Michael flash in his head. “I’ve just somehow managed to convince you that I’m worth your time. I don’t know how, but…” Frustration surges inside of him. “But now you know,” he says, finally.

So this is how it ends, he thinks to himself. I knew it couldn’t last. Nothing ever lasts.

We’ll call it The Bear, he hears himself saying. Michael and him at Christmas. The drawing he made of the restaurant.

Michael’s dead, he hears Sugar sobbing over the phone. Her voice is crackly and broken through the speakers. Please come home. Please.

You didn’t even show up for your brother fuckin’ funeral, he hears Richie screaming. Your own fucking brother, Carmen! What the ever living fuck is wrong with you?

This is great, Carmy, Michael says softly to him, the gifted drawing of their restaurant in his hands. The house is on fire. There's so much fire. Thank you.

They don’t say anything for a while, opting to instead smoke their cigarette and stare distantly across the street. When they finally turn to look at him, their gaze pierces him. It’s that look that strips him bare, lays his soul out open for them to pick apart.

“You’re allowed to mess up on onions,” they say.

“...What?” Is all he can think to reply.

“When I was drunk, you told me about how you dropped some onions.”

“No, I remember, I just—why are you saying that now?”

“Because this fire is the same.” They tap the ash off their cigarette, the gray dust shattering in the wind. “People make mistakes, Carmy. It’s okay.”

“This is a lot worse than spilling some onions,” he reasons weakly. They just shrug.

“Objectively speaking, sure. I can’t deny that. But that’s not really what I’m trying to say…” They hesitate. “Can I speak plainly?”

“Please,” Carmy begs.

Two cars whiz by before they speak again.

“I can’t change how you see yourself,” they start. “I’m the same way. I think almost everyone is. I know I can’t make you less hard on yourself. If anything, that’s part of what made you into such an incredible chef.” They exhale shakily. “But this…with me…I don’t want it to push me away.”

“...I don’t want you to get hurt,” he confesses, messily. This isn’t like him, but he can’t seem to stop talking. I care about you too much, he thinks painfully.

“It’s impossible to go through life without hurting others. Look—I consider you a friend, Carmy. A good friend. And I thought you felt the same, but…”

“I do,” he interrupts urgently. “You’re one of the closest friends I have,” he confesses, and their smile is beautiful.

…I didn’t mean to say all that, he thinks, startled by himself. That was supposed to be, “I think of you as a friend, too.”

“Then fuck up some onions. You don’t have to be a perfect person. No one can be, and I don’t want you to be. Besides—I’m not stupid. You’re not tricking me about anything. I’m pretty good at making sound judgments of people.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were stupid,” he says quietly.

“I know you didn’t.” They keep being gentle, so gentle.

“I…I’m not used to this,” he admits, finally. He needs to be honest with them, regardless if saying the truth is like coughing up glass. “You're a good person. Really good. More than I'm used to, to be honest. I think…I think a part of me doesn't wanna believe it.”

“Oh.” Their pink cheeks could very well be from the cold, or from something else. “I—well. Thank you. That's nice to hear. But, ah, do you think I have some dark alter ego or something?”

“No, not like that. It’s just—there’s always another shoe, isn’t there?”

“Another shoe…” They hum. “Yeah. Unless there isn’t.”

“That’d be a first,” he says, and they laugh.

“True enough.” The distant sound of the train. “I'm not a perfect person, Carmy.”

“I know. I don't expect that.”

“Then stop expecting it from yourself.”

“...” He blinks, staggered by their bluntness. A million arguments begin and die on the tip of his tongue, but all of them feel as cheap as the last. He knows they're right, and there's not much room for argument there. “I'll try,” he says finally with a nod. It's all he can say.

“I say it like it's an easy thing to do. I know it's not.” Their smile is knowing, rueful. “I certainly haven't gotten over it myself.”

“You also…?” The implication lays silent in the air. They nod. “I’m sorry for starting a fire,” he apologizes again, because he feels like he has to. “And for…freaking out.”

“You are forgiven. But you don’t need to apologize for, like, having emotions. That’s fucked up.” They let out an abrupt bark of a laugh, and it makes him laugh, too. “Is it, like, a stress thing? The sleepcooking?”

You’re worthless, he suddenly hears a familiar voice saying. The head chef. You’d be better off dead. You don't deserve any of this.

“Usually,” he says simply. “I can’t really…predict when it’s gonna happen, though.”

“Unfortunate. I guess it’d be too easy if you could see it coming.” They put out their cigarette on the back of their lighter, flicking off the ash. “How are you doing now?”

“I’m fine,” he responds instantly, all on instinct. “I’m…better,” he amends, and they look happy with that. “I should be asking you that. Are you alright?”

“Not gonna lie, it was pretty scary, but I’m okay. I can look back at it as a bonding experience.”

“A bonding experience,” Carmy mutters, half out of amusement and half out of disbelief. “I guess you’re not totally wrong.”

“Nobody got hurt, right? And next time, I'll be ready.”

“There shouldn't be a next time.”

“No, I suppose not. But there might be, and that's okay.”

“But—“ He stops. “I'm sorry.”

“I know.” They pat his back.

“Do you wanna come to family tomorrow?” He blurts out.

“Huh?” They say, which is a pretty reasonable response. “I mean, probably. What is it?”

“Right, sorry. It's, uh, a thing we do everyday at work. One of the chefs cooks dinner for everyone, and we eat together. It's a way to, ah…have everyone get along, I guess.”

“Oh, cool!”

“And I'll be the one cooking tomorrow,” he adds hastily. God, why is this so embarrassing? “So. Yeah. If you wanna come, then…”

“You mean I get to have your cooking? Of course I wanna come,” they reply, their expression brightening. Carmy's stomach twists inward, giddy. “Oh my god, yeah. As long as it's not weird that I'm there?”

“Not weird,” he promises. “We bring people all the time. Not too many, of course.”

Except for me, he thinks. I barely even eat family enough as it is, let alone ever bringing everyone. You're the only one.

“Okay. Okay!” They make a pleased noise, stepping excitedly in place. “Then I accept. What time should I come?”

“We eat before opening, so come in around 2. The door should be open.”

“Sounds good.” They stop then, fixing him with a puzzled, amused look. “You're not just doing this because of what just happened, are you? Although I guess it'd be cool if you were—”

“I'm not, I'm not. I just…wanted to.” He's not being very convincing. To be fair, it's only half of a lie. “But I will. Make this up to you, I mean.”

“I'm just teasing. You don’t have to, but I won’t stop you. And…thanks for inviting me, I'm looking forward to it.” They yawn suddenly, eyes scrunching shut. “Think we're good to head back in now?”

“Probably, yeah.” He checks his phone. It's 1 AM. “Sorry for keeping you up.”

“It's fine, really. Besides, I did this to you the other night. And, uh—Carmy?”

“...Yeah?”

“I'm really glad you think of me as a friend,” they say, and it sounds like a confession. “I feel super lucky to have a roommate that I can call my friend, too. I…just wanted to say that.

There are countless unspoken sentiments that Carmy wishes he had the courage, the faith to say. I didn't know how important you were going to become to me, for instance. I don't know if I can go without your company anymore. I’m not sure if I've ever liked someone so much, and that terrifies me. I never wanted to admit how much I like you.

It's too much, far too much to say aloud, but at least, finally, he can admit it to himself.

It does not always have to stay the same.

“I feel really lucky, too,” Carmy says instead, and the words come easy, easier than they ever have before.

@zorrasucia

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erabu-san · 14 days

Note

I just start a new account, doing the archon quest again, And I FINALLY See it.

Xiao x Traveler?

Yes.

I SAW THE WAY XIAO LOOK AT THE TRAVELER.

I'M ON THE BOAT NOW, I'M ON THE TRAVELER X XIAO SHIP!

YES !!!! 😭😭😭 there are so wholesome i love them sm

#reply #xiaotraveler #i kind of enjoy the trope when Traveler is just being themself during the whole game and doesn't live any romance #and there is some character like Xiao who discover the feeling of “romantic love” but it is one sided and he is okay w that #the game is not abt romance after all but that's why I do not mind seeing traveler ship !! i enjoy them a lot #and xiao interaction are the SWEETEST.....#it is definitively a slow burn #we can see how he was just “intriguate by traveler” at first and now traveler becomes his sweet dreams #and every events when he appears !!! bro is always here for traveler OMG.#his love language in the end of one of lantern rite “plz talk me abt your journey I'll gladly listen”#dUDE ?!?!? 😔😔😔😔 U R SO SWEET #when introvert w social akward life and no skill in social thing SAY : “plz talk i want to hear you”

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winternet-s · 6 months

Text

𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐔𝐌𝐁 - g.satoru

summary : in which [name] is the cupid of her after helping tons of students with their relationships or crushes, satoru included - but who could fool cupid in terms of romance ?

genre : fluff - comedy.

wc : 1.97k

notes :fem!reader - not proofread - inspired by that cupid girlie from monster high - more comedic than fluff but still have cute moments.

───── Waking up at last for the day that awaited her with open arms, [name] sat staring into space for another two minutes before getting up and heading for the bathroom. There was little energy in her body, but what little energy she did have was for the advice she would be giving today.

The [skin color] was known for her advice when it came to romance - all of which had worked for those who asked. This led her to create a club at her high school to help anyone in need. Fixing her hair and primping, the teenager immediately put on her uniform before setting off for the station, headset on, walking with confidence.

Her ears didn't capture the sounds of her surroundings, her body certainly did. A hand came to rest on his shoulder, and with a start [name] turned around, mouth and eyes wide open. Shoko, a short-haired brunette who certainly looked tired, but was nonetheless pretty, had a mocking smile on her face. “There’s a reason why I’m wearing my headphones.” grumbled the [hair texture] while glaring down at the brunette.

“Sure, but I’m your best friend.” Shoko replied, reaching into her pockets and pulling out a cigarette and lighter as her friend looked on in disgust. [name] always thought of bringing her a pack of chewing gum because of her unbearable breath when she smoked.

“I will never understand how you can put that thing in your mouth so early in the morning and not this,” exclaimed the exasperated teenager as she pulled out a packet of cake from her handbag and shared it with her friend, who gladly accepted. "Maybe your breath will be warmer!" she laughed under her friend's pout. Who teasingly nudged her.

“Smoke on the side, spill me the drama.” Shoko asked curiously, so the two of them walked in step with each other in the direction of the station, [name] telling her about the anonymous people who had sent her messages.

"Are you serious? What's going on in guys' heads?"

“And it’s not finished, now her sister is pregnant.”

A little later, they finally arrived at their high school, continuing their journey together as they chatted. A little further on, two young men approached them - Getou Suguru. The black-haired man had long hair that had taken the time to be tied up in a low bun, with a lock on the right side of his face that kissed his face perfectly. His uncluttered face showed off his intimidating cat-like eyes, then his unstuck ears decorated with earrings. He was walking alongside his best friend Satoru.

A very tall young man with a slim build, his pale complexion and the white hair crowning his head made his eyes stand out. They were such an intense blue that they sometimes terrified the young girl, but she eventually got used to them.

“So, how do you plan to ask her out?” The black-haired man asked his friend while waving to the girls.

Once reunited, the group began chatting together as they walked to their first class, which happened to be gym sports education. Walking alongside Satoru on her right, the teenager could feel his gaze on her form causing her to turn. Her eyes now connected with his, she frowned in confusion.

"Do you need anything?" she began softly under the young man's doubtful gaze - "Because your eyes are a bit scary- I mean intimidating!" She corrected herself when she received a nudge from Shoko.

Rubbing her ribs, she couldn't see the half-amused and half-saddened look on his face. The [skin color] was known for her great help in terms of romance, but also for her great frankness. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind, and this scene didn't escape Suguru's notice, who snickered while shaking his head.

"You find my eyes frightening [name]?! I think me, Gojo Satoru has finally unlocked an insecurity. ." And lo and behold, his boyish personality reappeared in the blink of an eye.

"To be honest, yes doesn't stop them from being beautiful. Just scary."

"I really like the end of your sentence minus the first part!"

"Seen like that, [name] is right." Shoko declared, much to the delight of her tall friend, who wrapped her arm around the brunette's arm. Arm in arm. The foursome headed for the gymnasium with a beautiful atmosphere surrounding them.

End of class, [name] emerged without her friend, who happened to be in a different class to her, and walked slowly, mirror in hand, rearranging her make-up. Eyes riveted on her mirror, a figure she knew only too well stood behind her.

“Oh ! Sato-”

Cut off in his sentence by the latter's dramatic act of grabbing him by the shoulders. "I need your Cupid skills," he declared.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Murmur from the students, all grouped in a duo ready to get a good mark for this practical physics assignment - [name] and Satoru together. Concentrating both on their work and on the white-haired girl's heart problems, the young woman wasn't quite sure where she stood.

"Pass me that, and so a spontaneous girl with confidence eh..."

Instrument in hand, she picked up the white powder and placed it on a watch glass, concentrating on the scale - her duo noting the number on their sheet of paper, eager to know what advice they would receive from her.

"I see, well, you might as well start by getting to know her a little better than that. Ask her out on a few rather simple dates..." Dragging on her words, the young girl analyzed the sheet on which the calculations were made.

"If you're as attentive in class as you are with her it would be miraculous, look at that it's all wrong." Giving a sulky pout in an attempt to soften the threatening look his classmate was giving him, the youngster looked away with a puffed cheek. "Anyway, thanks for your advice [name]!"

He stood up suddenly, taking her in his hands and rubbing his cheek against the top of her head, but received a pinch in the ribs. "If there's one thing I hate, it's having my hair undone, write that down in your skull!" cried the [hair color] but in a low voice, amused the teenager could only chuckle.

"Noted!"

Satoru waved to [name] as she left the classroom, and found Shoko waiting for him against a wall in the corridor, playing with her cigarette box. She rushed over to her friend and took her by the arm, telling her everything from A to Z. It had already been a while since Shoko and the head [hair texture] had noticed the attraction he had for her.

“How do you plan to deal with him ? We’re talking about Gojo Satoru.”

“Well he’s not that annoying when he wants to actually, he was, well, a tiny bit helpful today with the assignment. Plus, does my hair look okay ?”

Cupid asked in a panic while stroking the top of his head - his friend, showed him a thumbs up - "Top as usual, anything left to eat?" The brunette asked under [name]'s exasperated gaze.

"Here, I've got either chocolate muffins, paprika potato chips or chicken and raw vegetable wraps left."

"Muffins it is."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The next day arrived, and the teenager found herself in the middle of a discussion with a friend of hers, barely aware of the presence of the young man, who seemed to be nervous. Most of Satoru's evening was spent catching up with her brunette friend. The young man was not very good in the kitchen, but he did try to do a few things for her.

"Right now she's got this weird obsession with hello kitty dim sum." He recalled the messages, took a deep breath before striding towards the head [hair texture]. Sensing a presence behind her, as well as the embarrassed expression their comrade wore, she guessed.

"Gojo Satoru, to what do we owe your presence that put an end to our discussion?"She asked without curiosity, gesturing between herself and the girl.

The atmosphere surrounding the two was highly comical in the eyes of the girl, who observed the scene with a small smile on her lips. She stood up, not forgetting to greet [name] and Satoru.

"You made her leave... . Her case was important too."

Sighing as she crossed her arms, [name] glared at him as he sat down beside her. Being himself, the young man brought his head close to hers with a smile before exclaiming - full of joy - "Tadam!" - Blinking like an owl, she now faced him with a plate of Hello Kitty dim sum.

"I made them myself! And I bought us slices of strawberry tartlet!"

". . . I've been wanting to eat them for a while," Satoru then passed her a pair of chopsticks which she accepted, first bite and she couldn't lie, "it's really good Satoru, surprisingly."

"You're so mean [name]!"

"Shut up and eat it before it gets cold." She took a piece from the dish and held it out in front of her mouth, taken aback Satoru stopped in his act and felt his face burn. His embarrassment showed, but [name] said nothing, admiring the smile on her face, his cheeks puffing out like a squirrel, as he ate with pleasure at being in her company.

"Wait, but that's an indirect kiss." He suddenly stopped chewing, looking at the girl with wide eyes.

"I mean, if you want something concrete between us, you shouldn't get excited about this kind of thing." The girl pinched his plump cheek. At her words, he looked at her even more astonished than he had been after the meal, he wanted to ask her out to the movies. Somehow he felt reassured, reassured to know it was mutual.

"I knew you'd fall under my spell."

"If you keep looking at me with your eyes I'll end up leaving too."

A moment of silence passed before he opened his mouth again - "How long have you known and how did you know it was you?" He swiveled his head to the side watching his crush eat his dessert - "I'm the high school cupid my dear, there are signs that don't deceive and then the dim sum proved my point. Only Shoko knew."

“I see, so um. . Are you free this Saturday? There's this movie out from Fibli Studio !”

Nervousness set in, but that didn't stop the girl from accepting. A breath of relief escaped her mouth, then a laugh irritated her ears, which turned red, and Suguru and Shoko were present in their classroom, all smiles. The black-haired boy couldn't help teasing the white-haired.

"Who'd have thought you'd be nervous about this sort of thing."

"Coming from the guy who makes girls run and not after him."

"Look at those two," the brunette rolled her eyes at the interaction of the two best friends, who began to argue to the accustomed eyes of some of the students-" Otherwise you, frankly do you think you could get away with it?" She asked again to reassure herself that Satoru wasn't necessarily the best boyfriend material, but in [name]'s eyes he'd proved his worth.

"If he can keep me away from your smoking breath I'm sure." She immediately had her cheeks pinched by the brunette, energy. Her cheeks stretched the [skin color] tried to speak with the best of her ability - “I have gubs in my bug.” She added before being free from her friend’s friend thanks to Gojo.

“Two more points, Satoru, you can come by 4:45 pm tomorrow.”

She said, rubbing her cheeks under the gloomy gaze of Shoko who held out her hand, she immediately handed him a chewing gum - "I note, see you Saturday!"-She waved her hand while leaving behind a happy teenager ready to tell his best friend about the joy he felt.

ᝰ.ᐟ winnie's note : oh hii everybody first of all thank you for reading this - it took me three days to finish it because of how busy i'm but i'm so glad it is finished ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ plus i loved the bond between shoko and reader so much hahahaha it was the funniest part (hopefully nobody was offended it was not my intention !) but yeah please like & re-blog it would help me plus i would love to read your comments too ! see ya ૮ • ﻌ - ა.

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