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I. His Hands
The first time Sydney tries Carmy’s food, she’s 19 years old.
It wasn’t like she didn’t know who he was or his talent but it happened completely by accident, really. A random trip to Brooklyn sponsored by her school and she went into a restaurant, a proud poster hanging on the wall that read ‘Carmen Berzatto cooks here! Come and try his food!’ And she rolls her eyes, thinking to herself there’s no way he’s actually here.
Sure enough, he fucking was. And he was just as incredible as advertised.
Sydney hated Shepard pie. She hated all the crust and meat and it didn’t make sense to her taste buds so she often left it alone. But Carmy’s? She bites her fork from eating too fast. Every atom in this fucking pie has her near a orgasm, it’s so fucking good. She eats everything with the Carmy stamp of approval on the menu but the pie sticks out the most. She scribbles in her notebook every flavor she tastes and what process she thinks he could’ve gone through. Sydney calls her waiter over, asking probably the million dollar question, “Can I meet the chef?”
And of course, he says no. But it’s not surprising— she knew his reputation just as well as his food. Carmen Berzatto was not a people person. Multiple interviews of how standoffish he was, how he never spoke, never once leaving the back of house but you could hear him yelling at his crew from the door. She sighs and tips him, leaving out with her tail in between her legs. It’s not a big deal. She knows what he looks like and he’s what? 22 right now? He’s not gonna be interested in her anyways. Not that she wants him to be. She just wants to cook with him. And maybe she’s hallucinating, maybe he’s just outside having a smoke break, but she does actually see him, not even three minutes later waiting on her Uber. She blinks, and doesn’t say anything as she watches his hands light the cigarette, moving the lighter in between his fingers and she watches his arms flex around his uniform and she’s silent. He takes out his phone and calls whoever and looks up, Sydney quickly turns away, face hot and her jacket now heating up her entire body. Her Uber arrives and she gets in silently and quickly, squeezing her thighs together to avoid any obvious signs of arousal.
She goes back to her temporary dorm and luckily her roommate isn’t there, so of course she masturbates. Maybe for the first time in two years.
When they meet for the first time in person, she’s in awe watching him work.
Sydney is cool, calm, and collected when they meet, every ounce of fangirling she wanted to engage in had been squashed when she took thirty minutes sitting outside, practicing what she was gonna say. Carmy guides her through the kitchen and she watches him in awe, following his hands and facial expressions.
She tries his food again, while he’s present and there and he knows it, when she’s 23, four years later. It’s just as fucking good as she remembers and she wants to tell him this isn’t her first rodeo with his craft but she holds off. Carmy offers, “I can show you how I make it, if you want?” And it’s a simple Italian beef sandwich with peppers and cheese but she takes up the opportunity to watch him work. They work at the Beef for a long time together, up until she quit and she came back, and Carmy was fiddling with his hands and apologizing.
She watches his hands when they first start dating.
Carmy starts to get more and more handsy after the time she spent with him in his apartment. Moving her over with one hand on her back, holding her shoulders as she walks, brushing past her and shoulders touching, small, but noticeable, changes in his demeanor that make her head spin.
Her feelings for him started abruptly — stupidly. She first wanted to convince herself it was just 19 year old Sydney coming back to haunt her, giving her wet dreams of fucking him in the kitchen, but the feelings persisted and suddenly she dreamt of his hands undoing her hair with her, his hands holding hers while they make love, his hands keeping her still and steadying her heart and mind. She watches his hands when she asks him out for the first time, lighting a cigarette and standing stupidly and stiffly when he finally realizes what she’s saying. On their date, he’s shy but when she holds his hand, warm and heavy and shaking, he relaxes and holds hers back.
Sydney loves Carmy’s hands when he holds her.
Carmy keeps her close, his warm hands holding her waist while they kiss. He’ll hold her thigh when they sit next to each other, sometimes he holds his hand right atop her ass when they’re out and about (never really squeezing but once he did and Sydney had to stop herself from cumming in the middle of the Farmers Market). It served as a subtle nod to his obsession with her and his jealousy that people can see her just as much as he can. Carmy keeps his hands on top of hers if she needs help kneading, cutting, slicing, plating, or doing anything. He holds her face and kisses her deeply whenever she needs it, sometimes whenever he needs it. She never complains.
She also loves Carmy’s hands when they’re inside of her.
She loves when Carmy fingers her. She loves how he uses both of his hands to bring her over and it drives her crazy everytime. She loves when she’s in his lap, legs open and head on his shoulders as he fingers her open and fondles her breast with his ridiculously talented hands. The circling motion of his thumb on her clit paired with the consistent pressure on her g-spot via his fingers was mind numbing . Her head was fucking spinning. She squirms, one hand grounding herself on his thigh and the other squeezing his wrist. She moans, mouth wet against the coolness of his apartment, and some pasta making show is drowned in the background through her noises.
And, like always, Carmy is encouraging her, “Cum on my fingers, baby, I got you, Syd, I promise,” kissing her neck and squeezing her breast and she whines, high pitched and unashamed, “Fuck, fuck, Carmy !” And it's loud, Sydney can feel herself squirting but she’s overcome with pleasure to really give a fuck. His fingers work in her softer to make room for her orgasm and he kisses her neck, as she gasps and collects herself, breathing hard and deep in his neck, hiding away. He slips his fingers out and she can tell he’s looking at them because he always does after he’s made her cum.
She likes his hands when they’re covered in her cum, too.
Sydney likes when he holds her waist, her ass, her legs when they make love, while he’s thrusting inside her and making her whole body tremble. She loves when he holds her hand while she’s cumming. She loves when he sticks his fingers in her mouth, a new addition to their sexual intimacy, and she loves the groans he makes when she sucks on his fingers. She loves the way her tongue feels against his palm and fingers, the way she’s memorized all of the cuts he has on his hands, the way she licks them and tastes the friction there. She loves the way he looks at her when she does. She loves his hands when they wash her back when they’re in the shower together and she loves them when they undo her hair and he’s very gentle as to not pull too hard.
She loves when he’s holding her hand and he asks, “Too much?” Because he’s internalized the idea that he’s always doing too much. She always shakes her head, “No. It’s fine,” she promises, staring at his fingers, because it really is.
II. His Eyes
Carmy’s eyes should be locked up and imprisoned. They’re so big and so fucking blue that it pisses her off. He’s always staring at Sydney unashamed, unaware of his fucking affect on her and it drives her crazy. His eyes are a deep, stabbing blue, stringing her the same way it feels when a wave you’re not expecting crashes on top of you. He looks at her when she’s doing literally anything. Once she was brushing her teeth and he looked at her like she was the fucking Mona Lisa.
When she confronted him about it one night at dinner, he shys up, face red, “I just — you’re really pretty, Syd,” and of course the sincerity of his compliment makes her melt and she smiles, face hot and eyes looking everywhere else but him.
When she sees Carmy cry for the first time, she tries not to break.
She can’t remember what it’s about. He just calls her, asking her if she can come over because he feels like he’s dying, that he can’t see, and of course she rushes over, worried he’s having the worst panic attack he’s ever had. And he is. Carmy’s shaking when she gets there, whole body trembling and even though he hides away in her shirt, his eyes are blue and leaking and she can’t help but worry herself. She hates when he has panic attacks, but she knows what can calm him down.
She rubs his hair, listing her favorite recipes. She talks about the first time she had them, what she’d change if she had it again, what she’d serve it with, what time of the year and what she’d name it on their menu. He breathes and breathes and listens. Once he’s calm enough, it’ll spark a conversation, “You’d serve perch in the fall?” He asks, voice still wet from crying and face still red and she’d nod, trying not to cry herself when she sees his eyes, puffy and tired, “Uhm, yes? Think — when do people go out for bass and salmon? Throw in some perch, bribe the seller, and boom, three fish for the price of one, c'mon Carmy, can’t beat that,” and he’ll laugh, and nod, “No I guess you can’t,” and he’ll lean up and kiss her.
She loves Carmy’s eyes because they make her feel seen.
The first time he tries her food, it’s before they’re dating. He looks at her like he wants to marry her though, and she smiles, bright and big, proud of herself for making her hero love her food. She cooks for him again and again and again and his eyes sparkle every time. He gives her notes though, “Braise slower next time,” “Your grits were too sticky, less stirring, let them sit to separate,” “Make sure your coriander is chopped more finely,” and she nods and takes them. But, her heart will speak before she hears his notes, He sees you. He sees your skill. He gets it. When they start dating the compliments don’t stop, neither do the notes. Now, they just come with a quick kiss.
He sees her a lot she’s found. Next to his unabashed staring, he’s also been noting on her just like she has him.
Carmy knows things about her that she’s not sure she’s even said aloud , let alone told him. But it’s because he’s always fucking looking at her. When they eat gelato, he knows she doesn’t like the peach flavor because her nose scrunches up when she’s near it. She likes dogs but not Husky’s because they scare her. Her favorite scarf is her silk, black one. She likes shirts with loud logos and wearing flannels and long pants. He knows the hair oil she buys. He knows what pair of New Balances she wears the most. He knows a lot. He’s just always… looking.
Sydney doesn’t mind it though. She likes having his attention.
He makes an unbelievable amount of eye contact when they have sex, too. Unsurprisingly, he admits to having a thing for watching her reactions, so he often begs her to look at him, that breathy voice and those deep eyes, whining for her, “C’mon, Syd, lemme see you, baby, can you look at me?” And she always, always , gives in. It’s hard not to when he asks like that, like she’s his dying wish and he may live for another 800 years if she just looks at him. She looks at him and sees those eyes piercing her soul and she tries to keep herself from floating away from feeling so lightheaded. “There you are,” he’ll always praise, whispering it against her skin and kissing wherever he can. She always wants to look away but she can’t.
She loves staring into his eyes when he’s inside her. Carmy’s eyes make her feel like her body is on fire. He scans over her like she’s a marvel and when he locks his eyes with hers, she feels her orgasm pulse through her. She’s embarrassed when it first happens, their third or fourth time having sex, his eyes make her cum quickly and she hides her face in her hands, begging the gods above to deliver her body away, but Carmy moves her hands away, holds her wrists together with one hand, kisses her and fucks her harder. She, of course, cums again.
Sydney asks him one day, laid out on the couch with her legs atop his while he plays with her ankles, “How long are you gonna stare at me?” And she’s mostly joking because currently he is , stupidly staring at her like he’s never seen her before (or like they didn’t just have sex) while she’s writing something down and he chuckles shyly, “Maybe forever, if you let me,” and she meets his eyes. She tries to fight the smile that rises to her face and he comes forward and captures her mouth, hands holding her face. She smiles into the kiss.
III. His Voice
Carmy doesn’t yell as much since opening The Bear. He hasn't shouted since she left and came back. And, maybe even better, since going to therapy.
He likes it, he admitted to her one night. He talks so little about it, but one night he opens wide and honest to Sydney and she listens to him. “I didn’t realize that I could — could get better, I guess? I kept waiting for something awful to happen, something that would just stop me from getting help so I never got any and my therapist told me that just comes from the fact that I’m afraid, if I get better people will leave, that I’m afraid of not being the person everyone needs,” and his hands are shaking and he looks at her with those stupid, pleading baby blue eyes and she nods, listening along and making him feel safe. “I won’t leave,” she whispers and he nods, eyes wet. He keeps talking after that. He talks about Sugar and his relationship with Mikey seldomly, but whenever it comes up she’s listening. He talks about what his favorite dish is, how he feels about lamb, if he’s funny, whether or not he wants kids (he doesn’t but in like four years, he says he might change his mind. Sydney agrees with him). And she’ll listen and listen and listen.
Sydney likes it when he talks to her. Their conversations aren’t usually long but when they are, it’s like they can read each other's minds. Working together and being together definitely has something to do with it. They finish each other’s sentences and guess what the other is thinking based on micro expressions alone. When she asks Carmy if she's doing too much in their relationship, if she’s over-scheduling him or if she’s not changing the way he is, if she’s not growing like she should be with him and he does that stupid thing with his voice, all airy and delicate like he wants to melt the words on her face, that he couldn’t ask for anything more. “You’re my constant and I need that,” he says to her, like it’s the most simple thing in the world and his eyes are boring into hers and his words pierce her skull. It echoes in her mind for days to come, during service, in her sleep, when he’s next to her, when Richie is yelling at Fak and she has a headache, she hears Carmy’s voice, a calming sound, ‘You’re my constant,’ and everything is okay again.
In their check ins, he talks to her like that too, deep and steady and hushed like he knows what his voice does to her. Carmy’s always fucking whispering to her, even just platonic things, even in the fucking kitchen, it’s just so fucking much .
“Syd, baby, you wanna go out tonight?” He says to her softly, middle of the day as they prep and she’s separating whole chickens. He’s kneading dough for the house bread so he doesn’t see when she slips, and tries to collect herself. Six months in and the fucking nicknames still get to her, “Uh, yeah, yeah. Where were you thinking?”
He sighs, looking up and thinking, adam's apple bobbing and she stares at him like he does her, she wants to jump in his skin. “Uhm.. I wanna try that uh, Italian place up 74th, I think? Sound good?” And he looks at her and she smiles, “Wanna see if it’s authentic, huh?” she jokes and he laughs too, “Definitely,” he smiles back and she nods. Her heart still beats faster when they go on dates, for some reason. She likes to think it’s because she still has a crush on him and she can’t help but feel her own face heat up, because jeez, he’s altered her entire chemistry it feels like.
Richie comes in before Carmy keeps talking, “God, you two’s love makes the kitchen smell weird,” and Sydney rolls her eyes as they both say hello, “That weird smell might just be the fucking taco you left sitting out all night, Rich,” she sneers back and he adjusts his suit, walking towards her, “I’ll have you know, sweetheart, that was Neil’s taco that we happened to have been splitting, not to be the G word, but it wasn’t mine specifically, thank you,” and she rolls her eyes again but continues with her chickens.
Their date that night is cut short because of Carmy.
Carmy keeps whispering to her all night. Right against her ear while his hands are damn near up her skirt, and lips on her neck. Sydney thanks the restaurant for having lights so low because they’d definitely be kicked out for public indecency. “Carmy,” she tries to warn, eyes sliding closed and she’s delirious because he smells good and he’s so close and his hands are so warm and his mouth feels really good on her neck. She attempts to move away from him, looking at the menu to distract herself but he keeps drawing her attention back to him. “We should go home,” he says, kissing her ear and she giggles, “We didn’t even eat,” Sydney says and moves away to look at him and he stares right back. She sees his eyes, clearly distracted and full of need and want for her and she feels her body shiver. She nods, now just as eager, “Yeah, we should go home,” and he agrees.
Sydney made him a playlist a while ago that she plays when they have sex.
It’s super mushy and cute and sensual and Carmy loves every song, but he particularly loves He Loves Me by Jill Scott. It’s so intense when it comes on because that’s when Carmy talks the most. Sydney’s drunk on his dick, gasping and moaning in the air, when she admits that song reminds her of him the most.
“Yeah?” He asks, mid thrusts, and Sydney’s on her side, his hands on her hips with one of her legs lifted in the air as she bucks back into him to meet him halfway, and he leans down, kissing her ear, “Yea, yes, it’s — fuck , Carmy,” she mumbles, leaning deep into the pillow and he smiles against her skin, doing the worst thing ever and pulling out. She whines and gasps, “What—” looking up at him with wet eyes, and he cuts her off, whispering again with that stupid deep and sultry voice and holding her face with his very warm hands, “Can you ride me, baby? Wanna see you,” he sighs out and it’s a simple request, nothing he hasn’t asked for before, but her brain short circuits and Sydney has count to ten before she nods, sitting up and she straddles his waist, trying not to think too deeply on what she must look like right now.
Sydney settles on Carmy quickly, and they both groan as she lowers herself on his dick, Carmy leaning up and holding her waist and kissing her chest. She wraps her arms around him and she sighs, air flowing out of her nose faster than she can inhale it. Carmy thrusts a bit and she gasps, short nails digging into his shoulders and he speaks, “Cmon, Syd, can you move for me?” He whispers and she nods, his voice and hands and skin and dick making her go mute. She lifts slowly and lowers back down even slower, sighing and moving her thighs to get a better angle and when she finds it, Carmy thrusts up to help her.
He continues talking, because of course he does, “You feel so fucking good, Sydney,” he whines out (Carmy is so goddamn loud during sex) and she gasps with him, pulling at his curls and moving her hips more aggressively, her clit is right against his stomach, rubbing the bundle of nerves just right and it makes her eyes roll back and her mouth hang open, and Carmy feels it too, grabbing at her butt to keep her steady and he leans them both back to thrusts deeper. The angle change makes her make a disheveled sound, like all the air is kicked out of lungs and the only thing keeping her afloat was Carmy. He nods into her neck, “Right there?” He asks but he already knows the answer. “Right — fuck, yeah right there ,” she sobs, and her thighs shake, orgasm impending and the song is almost over. She knows what’ll get her there.
Sydney swallows and collects herself, licking her lips and whispering, “Talk — talk to me, please, please Carmy,” she begs and Carmy moans, nodding, “Cmon Syd, cum for me okay? Wanna see you, wanna make you feel good, baby, I got you, promise,” and it’s so consistent with what he always says but it always lights her body on fire. His words and his voice and his sounds and his thrusts and his dick and his hands are all the collective for a guaranteed orgasm from Sydney. It pushes through her, a high pitched, “ Cumming— ” is all that leaves her mouth for warning and Carmy sighs and keeps moving, letting her cum all over him like she always does, nails dug in his scalp and mouth hung open. Carmy’s not too far behind her, he always is, cumming into her as well, hands gripping at her ass and keeping her close as he groans in her chest. They breathe and breathe. She’s rested on his shoulder, eyes still closed and body still falling back into itself. He hides in her chest, kissing her lightly as he sighs, rubbing the warm skin of her back. Sydney pulls away first, kissing Carmy on his wet lips and he gladly returns, holding her like she might fall and she feels like she might. The song ends.
When they clean up and head to the kitchen so Carmy can make them sandwiches, Sydney decides to be honest, “I like your voice, Carmy,” she whispers as he closes the fridges and he looks at her, face red, and eyebrows up, “Yeah?”
She can’t believe he’s surprised. “Yeah.”
IV. His Patience
Carmy takes care of Sydney. In a lot of ways, she didn’t know she needed to be taken care of.
He tells her one day, after she tells him she made his very pregnant sister an omelet, “You like taking care of people, yeah?” And she nods, smile-frowning like she always does when someone makes an observation about her she didn’t know was obvious and he nods back, “Make sure someone takes care of you though, okay?” And it’s a weird thing to say, most especially because it’s the day before she planned she’d admit her feelings for him and that she wants him to be that person. She licks her lips and nods again, “I will. Uhm, I think — I have someone in mind, I think,” she says honestly and she can see a flash of jealousy scan across his face as he’s nodding. He doesn't say anything else.
When she asks him out the next day and they finally have the time to actually go on one, she takes him to her favorite taco stands. He’s really quiet and listens to her, she talks about all the food she had while she was at school and the one time she went to Brooklyn and she finally brings up the first time she tried his food.
Carmy’s on his second fish taco and he looks up, surprised and embarrassed, “Oh yeah? You liked it?” And she scoffs, rolling her eyes, “Carmy, I quite literally begged my waiter to try to get you to come out so I could grovel at your feet, of course I fucking liked it!” He laughs and nods at her honesty and she does too, and she feels his hand come up to her face, warm hands cupping her skin, maybe to get something off her, she can’t really tell because he’s warm and soft and when she looks up he looks — honest . He looks vulnerable and scared but excited just like she is and she smiles, a soft one that only grazes her top lip and she leans into his touch, closing her eyes and sighing. Carmy strokes her cheek and she tries to memorize every line in his thumb.
When the date is over, he walks her back to her apartment, never letting go of her hand. She didn’t know she liked hand holding until she did it with Carmy. She didn’t know she liked half the shit she does until she meets Carmy. The warmth he encapsulates was addictive and she wants to tell him to never let her go ever again, she wants to say that she needs him and she can’t go into the new restaurant without him and his full focus, she wants to tackle him and kiss and keep him locked to her bed like she knows he probably wants, but instead, she settles on a cheek kiss and she thanks him for the night out and closes the door, face heated and body on fire.
She texts him after three hours of squealing into her bedroom and attempting to calm her body down, Not to sound too cliche, but that was really fun. 9:17 pm
His reply is nearing instant, It was. Next weekend, again? 9:17 pm
She bites the inside of her cheek, squeezing her phone and trying to lower her body temperature. Yeah, cool. What were you thinking? (Not to put it all on you, though, because I have some ideas.) 9:18 pm
Bubbles appear. She can smell her dish in the oven and she grabs some gloves to check it, but of course it looks fine. Her phone dings, I wanna take you out this time. It’ll be a surprise though, so I’ll just pick you up Friday? 9:19 pm.
Sydney has to bite her lip to keep the giggle from arising in her throat. Sounds good :) 9:20 pm. She briefly wonders if the smile face is too much but she’s already sent it so, it’s whatever. She rubs her face and nods to herself, deciding to masterbate.
Carmy is patient with Sydney in ways she isn’t herself. When she first makes her braised short ribs and risotto, he tells her she’s impatient and that her dish can’t go out and needs more acid. Of course it leads to her quitting maybe twenty minutes later, and when she goes home and remakes the dish, adds more acid, and fucking Carmy . Unfortunately, he was right. Of course he’s fucking right. Had she been more patient, she would’ve tasted it right away. Fucking Carmy.
When he fully apologizes and they go into the Bear together, he’s different. Speaking more softly to her and letting her mess up, and she does the same for him. He gives her chance and chance again and it’s … different. She doesn’t hate it.
She talks about it with her cousin Makayla when she’s in town, “Like… I don’t know, he lets me fuck up and I don’t feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, y’know? Like, we fuck together and then we make up for it, almost? And I don’t feel like I’m gonna die, it’s — It’s like — the opposite in fact, it’s … weird,” They’re drinking wine and sitting on her dad’s couch, their leftover short rib sat on the table. Makayla shrugs, “Why is it weird? You like him, he doesn’t stress you out, I think it’s good,”
Sydney moves her lips, “Yeah, I’m not saying it’s — it’s not good I just—” and her cousin shakes her head, “You’re self sabotaging. You deserve a good thing, okay, girl? That white boy likes you and lets you be you. I say take it,” she tries to nod and while she does so, her phone dings, it can only be Carmy.
Got a new perch recipe for the fall, wanna come over tmr? 12:52 am
She bites her lip and smiles to herself, Makayla’s “Oooohhh, get it girl!” goes unheard.
One, you should not be awake rn, and two, ofc I do. 12:53 am
Of course his reply is instant, Heard. I’ll get some rest just for u. Pick u tmr around 2? 12:53 am
See u then <3 12:55 am It takes her two minutes to send a heart. Carmy sends one right back. She throws her phone and groans in her hands, face hot as Makayla repeats, “Sydney’s in love! Ooooh, Sydney got a white boyyyy!”
When she comes over the next day, the recipe goes terribly. Carmy is again, patiently helping her, she’s already gone through 2 filets and fucked them both but everytime he says, stupid gentle voice, “Hey, it’s alright, you’ll get it okay?” But she doesn’t. After her third one falls apart and crumbles before she can even sear it, she huffs and walks away from the kitchen, hands on her head and pacing. She feels stupid, like she’s back at the fucking CIA, one of the three black girls in her class with eyes of every stupid asshole in the room on her. Carmy waits, letting her cool down and he comes to her side, holding her waist, “Break?” He asks and she bites her lip. She wants to say no. She wants to say, ‘I can do it, I can get it right, let me try again, please don’t pity me,’ but she doesn’t. She nods, and Carmy pours them some wine and they sit on the couch, her legs placed over his.
She speaks after a couple of minutes of silence, her brain moving, “When I seared it first, it kept falling apart. You think letting it rest in flour will give it the glue it needs? No, maybe not that’s — ugh! Fuck,” and she rambles and rambles and Carmy reaches forward, “Hey, hey, Syd, it’s alright. It’s a trial for a reason, okay, baby?” And he rubs her back and she groans and stands, “Yeah, and I’m fucking up the fucking trial Carmy! Why the fuck can’t I just —! Fuck!” She yells it again, moving and pacing and rubbing her face.
Sydney knows what’s happening. She knows by definition she’s having a melt down, and she hasn’t had one this bad since she quit. She hates melting like this in front of Carmy, she hates when she’s so deep in her own head that she can’t breathe that everything is fucked and she can’t fix it, she fucking hates it, fucking stupid, why can’t she just get this right—
Carmy holds the sides of her arms to ground her. He holds her still, not too tight so that she can still breathe but tight enough to get her back to earth. He whispers, holding her eyes with his, “I got you, breathe…. Breathe, baby, I’m here,” and she hates the way his voice calms her, the way her body isn’t as hot once he speaks. She only hates it more and more because she’s becoming more dependent on him, more wanting of him. She blinks and shuts her eyes before the tears come out. She wants this to stop so she sighs, breathing in and out like Carmy said. He pulls her into a hug when she’s calmed down long enough and she engulfs him, hiding deep in his neck and letting her tears fall silently on his shirt.
After a few seconds of silence, “What do you need?” He whispers and she shakes her head. She really doesn’t know. Her therapist and Makayla say she has melt downs like this because she’s always so hard on herself, but if not her, who then? She needs to push herself, be better and be more—
Her brain speaks, Be better and more than who? She blinks. Stills.
Quietly, she says, “I don’t know… this,” she admits sadly, and Carmy nods, holding her close. Sydney feels her brains melt in his arms. She tries to breathe, deep, in and out, like her therapist told her too, but it’s hard. Every inhale feels like spikes on her lungs but Carmy encourages her and whispers praises to her anyways. She keeps trying. It starts to get better, his warm hands coaxing her through it.
She’s back on the couch in moments she can’t remember. Carmy pulls back after a few moments, cupping her face and looking at her like she means the world to him. Her heart swells thinking she might. “I got you,” he quietly says, honest and she nods, believing him. “I — I know,” and her voice sound younger than she is and so stupidly broken. Carmy sighs, “You sure? Because you still haven’t told me what’s stressing you out,” and he thankfully doesn’t sound mad, but he sounds worried. She thinks back to the time she saw him during his worst panic attack and how all she wanted to do was help.
She blinks and bites her lip. “I — I will. I am… I’m — I’m sorry. I just… I wanna do this right , I wanna make our restaurant perfect. And I know it can be, I know we can do it but. But I’m — I’m pushing myself like this — like, like I’m …” she sighs, “Like, I’m alone again.” She finally admits, her truest, deepest fear. She’s always been alone, she thinks. Her dad was just barely enough support till she left and in college, she was mostly working, having two partners for the entirety of her college career. Her catering business she went in alone, no support from her dad and her college peers laughed in her face when she admitted that was her true dream. She doesn’t get along with anyone and when she finally did met someone who got her so well, when she met Carmy and he was everything she wanted him to be and more , she wanted to keep up with him, to be the chef she knew she could be for him— with him, even; and when she actually did , when Carmy listened to her and made her feel like she wasn’t alone, like he wanted her just as much as she did him, it scared her so bad she threw up thinking about it. She didn’t want to be alone in all honesty. She remembers days where she’d wake up in the middle of night, crying and she had no one to ask for help, not even while she was miles away from her dad. But she had grown to appreciate the solitude of it. All her mistakes were her own and the only person she was accounting for was herself. She counted on herself and herself alone, no worry anyone would leave her. She was okay with being alone.
But now… now that she actually had Carmy, he could — he could go. Carmy could leave, he could fire her, he could cut her out of The Bear and forget she ever existed. He could do this without her and it terrified her that she was one mistake away from never being with him ever again.
Carmy exhales, cupping her face to look at her again. His eyes are wet, like he’s crying for her and like he gets it. She feels like he does. “I’m right here. I won’t leave. ” he swears to her again, and she can hear what he’s actually saying, ‘You’re not alone. I’m with you.’ Her eyes swell and she nods, face in his hands, “Partners?” She asks, mouth quivering and her heart feels like it’ll fall out at any moment.
Carmy nods, and of course he says, “Partners.”
She stays the night, Carmy holding her tight and grounded like she’ll float away and she feels like she might. He’s not asleep and neither is she, so she whispers in the dark, “I— I think I know what I need,” to answer his question from earlier, and Carmy nods, “Yeah?”
She nods, swallowing, feeling like her tongue will roll back into her throat if she admits this but she does so anyway, “I need your.. your support,” she whispers, and Carmy hums, thinking, so she continues. “You… you once told me I was your constant, that through all the shit you’ve been through, I reminded you that you were present in the moment and that having a spreadsheet of a girlfriend is the best thing ever, right?” And Carmy chuckles, seeing her veiled attempt at humor and he nods, “I feel like I said it differently, but yes, I remember,”
Sydney smiles, “I— I need that too, but differently, y’know? Everyone I’ve worked with, they’ve always been so — so eager to leave . They'd work with me like cooking in the kitchen because of an assignment or because our stations were close, and even though I tried to give them support, they never gave me any in return. And once the assignment was over, it was like — we never even knew each other again. The CIA kinda fucked me up, I think. I just — I internalized this idea that needing someone else was — was weakness. And… fuck, Carmy, I really fucking need you.” She lets out a shaking breath, “And it’s scary because, I — I really don’t want you to leave.”
Carmy exhales, sitting up and leaning over her, holding her face sweetly and he kisses her, in the middle of the night in the darkness of his room, his lips find hers like waves crashing back into the ocean from a tsunami. She sighs, a few stray tears leaving her eyes and she wraps her arms around him, grateful the world didn’t come crashing in on her after her admission of need. She’s so used to being self-sufficient, being by herself, it’s so weird needing . But Carmy accepts her, he understands her and he isn’t leaving. His lips feel like heaven. She might marry him. When he pulls away, he speaks, “You have me. I swear to God, Syd, I’m not going anywhere . We’re in this together and I’m going to support the fuck outta you,” she chuckles at his vulgarity, her brown eyes meeting his blue ones in the night.
He kisses her forehead, soft and sweet, and mumbles against the skin, “We’re partners, okay?”
Sydney’s heart swells. She nods again, breathless and warm.
V. His Body
Carmy is warm. Warm like an oven that just finished baking cookies.
His hard exterior and unapproachable demeanor is put to shame the minute she's near him. His whole body flushes when she stands too close, his face heats up and he gets red, and his hands move on their own accord, mouth mumbling and words losing train if thought, and she loves it. He warms her in the middle of the night when she wakes up, freezing, and he smells like mahogany teakwood and cigarettes and chocolate and her hair oil. He smells like The Bear. He smells like the Freshwater cologne she bought him.
He’s so fucking soft, too. Physically. And mentally and emotionally. Hands harder from knife cuts and the work of his many years as a chef and tattoos over his buff arms give him a hard look, but him? Carmy? Carmen fucking Berzatto? A big fucking teddy bear. His hair is soft and so are his hands and his arms and his face and his entire being. She asks Nat while they’re walking around Chicago, and she tries to slow her pace for the pregnant best friend she’s come to love, “Is Carmy’s nickname actually Bear or, is it like a family thing?” Nat shrugs, taking some of Sydney’s fries and Sydney laughs, “It’s our whole family really, but like, it’s more his nickname than anything.” And she nods, taking the note. She adds, “You think he’d like it if I called him Bear?” Sugar laughs, “Oh you’d be a fucking Berzatto if you called him Bear, Syd. He’d lose his mind,” she laughs and they make it back to Nat’s car.
“What’re you doing for the rest of your birthday?” Sugar asks, driving as Cleo Soul plays in the background. She smiles, loving her influence over her and Carmy both. “Uhm, Carmy’s throwing me a very obvious surprise party, then we’re gonna chill and get high at his place, and the crew made me a cake. Well, Marcus made the cake but they did the frosting and stuff,” she smiles when the memory comes to her, one random morning, days before her actual birthday, her whole family is at The Bear, all there three hours early, all clamoring around Marcus, saying different things like, “Don't do the blue, hijo , it looks tacky!” “Dude, she likes blue! She’s said it before. Right Carm?” “Bear, you don’t know?” “Jefferson, you need to be more informed about yo’ girl, she like blue or not?” and Carmy’s voice is over everyone else’s, “Okay, well fuck, yes, I know she likes blue so— She has this blue scarf she really loves so yeah, she likes blue, yeah, go head and— put the fucking yellow down! Yes, I’m fucking sure, Richie, shut the fuck up! Shit, don’t fuck up the writing, please,” and she laughs, putting her bag down as Carmy and Tina rush to the front and stop her from walking further. They talk over each other, “ Mija , hey good morning, you look beautiful, don’t worry about what’s behind us—” “Chef, good morning, uhm, could you — start prep, you're on family and checks today, so uhm—”
And Sydney nods and smiles, walking away to the office yelling, “And, yes, I do like blue!” And she can all hear them sigh in relief and the clamoring starts again, Carmy proudly boosting that of course he knew that. She peeks over from the office and catches him. She likes the look on his face, cheeks red and eyes bluer than blue, smiling around his family, and he looks warm.
Nat drops her off at Carmy’s place and Sydney thanks her for the ride, grabbing her overnight bag and as she’s walking up, Sugar yells, “Please don’t get pregnant! One of us is enough!” And Sydney flips her off as she laughs. She grabs her spare key, Carmy’s 3 month anniversary gift to her (and so she can just come over when she wants) and opens the door. She knows Carmy isn’t there, he said by the time Sugar and her are finished with their ‘girl day’ he’d be getting all the party supplies and ‘special goods’ (his own words) for the party tonight. There’s a note on his — their — bed, ‘I’ll be right back, text me if you need anything. -C’ and she laughs to herself thinking about Carmy writing his own initial like she couldn’t have know who wrote the note.
She sighs as she flops on their bed. 24 , she thinks. 24 and she has a restaurant and a boyfriend and a best friend and a family . Last year, she barely imagined getting out of the house. Now she’s everywhere she wants to be. She thinks it’s weird how much her life has changed since coming back home and seeing that sous ad for The Beef. She smiles recounting her first meeting him just as the door opens, “Syd?” And she gets up, “Yep, need help?” She says walking out and she sees Carmy, all soft and winded, hair messy and hands full and he nods, “I got — I got most of it up, you don’t have to y’know —” she waves her hand, walking up to him and giving him a kiss, taking the bags from his hand, “It’s fine, Carmy,” and he nods, still letting her kisses take his breath away.
When all the supplies are inside and put away, Carmy kisses her. She shouldn’t be surprised as it is her birthday but he always tends to shock her with the way he pulls her towards him and takes her mouth. He kissed her this morning, he fucked her this morning, but Sydney still feels that warmth and excitement his body pulls out of her own when they’re close, like she’s never felt it before. She wraps all her limbs around him, sighing against his lips and opening her mouth for his tongue. Carmy’s arms are strong and gentle when they wrap around her body and he keeps her close, breathing only when they take a pause. He huffs out, “I’m guessing, more birthday sex then?” He jokes and she smiles, “Oh my god, how did you know , you’re so smart, Carmy,” she replies back and he laughs, kissing her back into the bedroom, touching everywhere he could and stripping her of her clothes.
Sydney often wonders how a body so warm and full of light could’ve come from the harsh, coldness and abuse of his family in Chicago. Carmy’s soft and gentle with Sydney, in every way possible, but especially during sex. She’s known for a while how particular her sexual interests are, but Carmy appeases all of them and then some. He kisses her everywhere he can and undresses her slowly, murmuring little ‘Happy Birthday’s in his kisses. She giggles, tangling her hands in his hair as he reaches her underwear and slides them away. She sighs, and tilts her head back, moaning out softly when he finally kisses her sex, licking away at all of the pressure and the slick there.
She never believed Carmy when he first came forward about his lack of sexual experience. One wine glass and three dates in, he admitted to only sleeping with two people in his entire 26 years of living. And of course she wasn’t judging, Carmy actually had her beat by one person, but when they finally had sex, when he just put his hands down her pants, she was positive he was a big fat fucking liar. Even now, his tongue working expertly on her clit and his fingers stretching her out, her legs are shaking and her back is arched, tugging at his soft brown locks as he holds her open with one hand. She huffs, softly, “Cum— cumming ,” and it’s all she can really say. Carmy nods, moaning against her clit, something new he started to do as of this morning, and she whines, shaking and fucking her hips against his fingers and mouth. She shakes against him, moaning loud into the air and Carmy takes everything she can give. When she’s done, she taps his shoulder and whines, muted from the orgasm alone, and Carmy pulls off, lips glossy and breathing hard.
He lays next to her, kissing her other lips and she wraps around him, sighing. He pulls away quickly though, “Shit, wait one second,” and he gets up, the warmth she so deeply loved from him leaving her. She nods and sighs, eyes closing and collecting her body as it comes back to earth. Carmy’s in the kitchen, putting something in the fridge and she can only assume it’s the cake she isn’t supposed to know about. She smiles to herself, eyes still closed, “Is that my blue cake?” She calls and Carmy laughs, “No, it’s actually red!” And she chuckles, grabbing her shirt and phone, seeing the time.
She gets up to the kitchen, pantless and dripping and legs a bit wobbly, but it’s her birthday so she can’t bring herself to care. “Carm, we still going to the Farmer’s Market?” She calls as his back is to her and he makes a sound of approval, “Yeah, I just need to shower, you wanna join?” And he turns and sees her still naked, legs wet and he swallows. She sees his face get red, like he wasn’t the cause of why she was dripping in the first place and it makes her giggle. “Yeah, I’ll join you,” she says softly and she walks away, knowing he’s staring at her ass.
Carmy, of course, fucks her in the shower.
At the Farmer’s Market, Syd often feels like a kid in a candy store. She recalls times when her grandmother would visit, taking her to the biggest markets she’s ever seen, but looking back, she wonders if they were only big because she was so small.
Carmy sticks to her side the entire trip, holding her hand and waist and butt, just because he can. They come here a lot, so some vendors have gotten familiar with them. They ask how the restaurant is doing, if she’s pregnant, how their relationship is going. It’s the same answer every time, “The Bear is good, no, of course I’m not, and we’re doing great,” and it feels good to be recognized and known, something that warms her heart. Carmy moves against her shoulder, “Having a good birthday?” He asks as she packs a basket of peaches, and she nods, a big smile on her face and she feels young. She rambles “Carmy, I’m gonna fuck up these peaches. I’m thinking— uhm, maybe a desert? I’m gonna make a tart with these white peaches, then maybe get some apricots too— Oh, oh uhm, hi there, excuse me, so is the passion fruit sale including the apricots? Yes, okay great, oh my god, thank you,” and Carmy just watches, smiling. She continues, “Then the apricot drizzle? Ugh, it’s gonna be amazing,” and Carmy takes her hand and nods, listening to every word.
And she knows this must be lame. Sydney knows that to other couples, they would’ve gone to another state, fuck, maybe even another country, doing some adventurous excursion, challenging their relationship and growing their trust for one another, but in a way, Sydney sees this as just as adventurous and trust building as anything else. Trips to the market were private, just for her dad when they had the money and they would talk about everything and nothing, or when grandma would finally come over from Louisiana. Taking Carmy with her, it means a lot. It means he’s a part of her family now. She smiles softly, leaning against him, and taking his hand. He smiles, body heating up hers and he kisses her cheek.
The party went well.
The cake, of course, is blue, but it’s red velvet flavored, something she had always loved. “Marcus, literally, fuck you,” she says, mouth full and he smiles, gap tooth and all and it makes her smile in return. They’re all in Carmy’s apartment, eating snacks Carmy prepared and talking. She feels warm, she feels loved. Her dad was there at the beginning of the night, left around 10 but didn’t hesitate to threaten Carmy’s life before he did. Carmy nods, looking at Sydney for help but she only eats her cake and smiles as she watches her father scold him.
Richie and Ebrah are doing karaoke and it’s just as bad as she’d expect. Sugar gets them off the stage after one too many songs, Richie clearly drunk and Ebrah just having a good time. He and Tina leave next, she kisses her cheek, “Happy birthday, mamá , te amo mucho, mija .” she whispers and Sydney feels her heart swell. She blinks away some tears before her mommy issues make her cry on her birthday.
Fak, Sweeps, and Marcus leave around 11, Sugar offering to give them a ride home, which in turn becomes her leave as well. Richie goes home last, gifting Sydney an original 2012 The Beefland of Chicago shirt. She blinks, smiling at him and he sighs and gets bashful, “Uhm, Mikey had one printed and it was too small for me and he told me to give it to some special lady in my life. And I didn’t have one until now, so, y’know, happy birthday lil cousin,” she smiles, pulling him for a hug, whispering, “Thank you. I won’t stab you again, okay?” And he nods and chuckles, patting her back and leaving, eyes a little wet and smiling at Carmy. She can hear him say softly, “Don’t you fuck up our girl, alright?” And Carmy nods.
They’re left alone and they sit on the couch together. It’s 11: 14. She taps his thigh, “Shit, Carm, go get the edibles before my birthday ends!” She says and Carmy leaps, “Oh, fuck, shit,” walking to the pantry and grabbing the box, and taking out three brownies. He eats one and she the other, and they split the third. She sighs, leaning against his shoulder, his body warming hers and his skin making her melt, “Thank you,” she says quietly and he nods, “Of course, Syd,”
They don’t feel it until forty minutes pass. They’re playing Mario Kart and Syd starts to look at her hands like she’s never seen them before. Spirals move around her fingers, all different colors and she blinks but they won’t go away. “Oh shit, Carm. Carmy, pause it, I’m high. Fuck, yeah, yep, I’m really high, right now,” Carmy pauses the game, and looks over at her, eyes red and she nods and laughs, “I think you’re high, too, oh shit. Is the room moving?” And Carmy laughs, a fresh, bubbly sound and he pulls her close, “No, it’s not moving. Oh fuck, uhm maybe it is. Let’s sit for a second.” She nods, leaning back against him, “Okay, birthday girl, we’re high. Anything you wanna do?”
She thinks. Her memory is hazy and everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. “Uhm.. have you ever had sex high? Is that fun?” Carmy shrugs honestly and she nods, “Right yeah. I don’t wanna do that, I don’t think… I wanna.. wanna cook, make the — the peach tart, that’s what I wanna do! Yeah, let’s… let’s go make desserts,” and Carmy nods, closing the game and she whines, “Carmy! I meant after the game, I was winning,” and he smiles, giggling, and it makes her laugh in return. Yeah, they’re definitely high.
Surprisingly, they cook together just fine. They’re more giggly and more kissy and touchy than usual, but the tart looks beautiful, Carmy’s hand crafted crust patterns makes her moan, “Why can’t you teach me that?” She slurs out and he nods, kissing her, “I can. I will, just remind me. Fuck, Syd, you’re so sweet,” and he kisses her again and she mixes the syrup and peaches. She smiles against his lips because of his honesty. And she knows it’s the weed and Carmy but she feels full of love and light when he’s against her, body perfectly folding into his. She smiles once they sit on the couch, “I love you,” she murmurs on his lips and he cups her face, nodding, “I love you too, baby,”
The night ends with the perfect tart they’ve ever created together. They both eat one side at the same time, and they both smile and moan. Of course it’s amazing. Carmy nods, “Summer menu?” As she rids her face of crumbs, thinking, “Maybe winter. Because, Carm, think warm fruity fruit in the summer would throw someone off, yeah? Gotta give it when people — peoples are cold, y’know.” He nods. “Yeah, winter, I like that. You’re so smart, Syd, shit. And oooh, we could do a vanilla ice cream with it as an option, you think? Caramel too?” She sits up, body moving faster than she thought it could, “You have some?” And he scoffs, “Sydney. I’m the Amrica’s best CDC. Of course I have vanilla ice cream and caramel.” She giggles as they walk to the freezer, kissing all the way there, Carmy’s body holding hers up. One scoop of ice cream and another bite later, they both agree. Carmy’s warm body pulls them both to bed forty minutes later. She sleeps with his shirt on and he sleeps in his boxers and it feels like heaven. She loves the way he wraps everything around her and keeps her close. He smells good and it makes her heart ache in the best way possible. She sleeps hard and long, just like she’s always needed. Carmy makes her breakfast the next day and wishes her another happy birthday.
VI. Him
Sydney Adamu has never been in love.
She always wanted to be, though. The way her dad was in love, is in love. Ever since she was young, the way her father talked about her mother had her wanting to achieve that kind of love, save for the death, of course. She wanted someone to talk about her and all the mundane things she did being the world to them. She wanted to be the light of someone’s life. She wanted her skills to be appreciated and made better by her partner. She wanted to be loved for all her flaws and weaknesses.
Of course, as she got older, these dreams changed. Got more realistic, really.
She went to school and found not a lot of people liked her. Didn’t like her intensity, her passion. And not that it bothered her, she liked working alone anyways, she liked that she was her own boss and someone wasn’t screaming in her ear that she was wrong, a mistake, a screw up, a loser— she didn’t want that. And all of her peers at the CIA seem to leave her alone anyways so she accepted that. She didn’t like anyone romantically save for two people and even then, it wasn’t love. They weren’t passionate about cooking and trying something new and making different decisions, like she was. She felt like she was out of place everywhere she went and that made her decide to be alone. Because she grew from it. She perfected her craft and worked around the US with some of the best chefs and cooks she had ever known.
Sydney didn’t care if it left her feeling hollow.
But.
Then she met Carmen Berzatto.
She had known of him, of course she did. ‘The Most Excellent CDC In America’, that title isn’t given to just anyone. And when she meets him, even though it’s unbeknownst to him, she is inspired in a way she hasn’t been in so long. When she goes back to the CIA after her trip to Brooklyn, she’s in the labs and borrowing food more than she had been. She perfects her pasta skills during this time, thinking back to the cavatelli she tried in Brooklyn and the red sauce that she had paired with the mafaldine she ate on some cloudy day. She makes dough over and over and over again. She braised and cured pork and beef and chicken, she made stew three to four times a day, just to get her broth right. She goes through bags and buckets of onions and peppers. She burns herself, cuts some fingers, and gets seasonings in her eyes. But, everytime, she’s back again and again. She is in the kitchen maybe three days back to back every week without classes, pulling all-nighters with other students, who are usually there to make dinner, not do something new.
She knows she looks a bit manic , to say the least. She hasn’t done her hair and her bandanas and scarves are starting to show it. Her body is full of Monster and RedBull, and some weed here and there. She’s upped her dosage on her anxiety medication. Her therapist is only seeing her two times a month, instead of the usual four. Everyone is worried for her. But Sydney feels alive . Her mind is itching, raving to create, it’s on fire because of Carmy . He started a spark in her just because she accidentally tried his food. She can’t imagine what it’d be like to actually work with him.
When she graduates and fails in the real culinary world and sees that ad, her fire is back. She works with Carmy for a long enough time, before the heat gets too much for her and she quits but even when she does, she’s still at home, cooking, and trying to prepare something for him that Carmy’ll try then beg for her to come back. The light in her is suppressed but lit, regardless. Her sea bass is excellent. Her chicken marmalade stuffed paccheri has her dad in a food coma. Makayla tries her short braised ribs and nearly begs her to fly out to Louisiana and cook for her bridal shower. She sometimes offers salesmen samples of her food at grocery stores. She poaches to other vendors and cooks while they’re on break, and everytime they love it. Everyone praises her. But none of them are worthy of Carmy. She doesn’t think so, at least.
She’s cooking when he comes over to grovel at her feet and apologize. The night before, she had a dream about him, kissing her neck and telling her she was the best thing that ever happened to him and that he couldn’t live without her. That day he says, “You were everything I needed and I took you for granted,” and it makes her heart soar. It’s enough. She forgives him. They cook together in his apartment three days later.
She makes him her sea bass. Carmy marvels at her, “Syd. That’s fucking incredible,” and she feels that fire expand and glow again.
When they start dating, Sydney asks her therapist what to do if she feels she’s not enough for Carmy. “Why wouldn’t you be enough?” She asks and Sydney cracks her knuckles, pacing. “It’s just — I feel it, like he could do something better, y’know?”
“Sydney,” Dr. Williams says simply, “You are better . Better for him. He told you so. Why can’t you believe him?” She sighs, closing her eyes and shaking her head, body on fire. “I think,” her therapist starts, “You’re always waiting for someone to leave you alone, right? Like what we talked about last week?” Sydney nods, both listening and agreeing. She continues, “But Carmen has said he wouldn’t leave you. That this restaurant and this relationship is everything he wants and then some. That he won’t leave you. That he loves you. And you love him back, yes?”
She shakes her leg once she sits, nodding. She did. Fuck, she really did. He pushed her to be better and supported her when she failed and helped her get back up again and loved — loves — her and he’s her partner. She nods more, “I do.. I really fucking do and it’s, it’s so — scary .. like really fucking scary. Because it feels like, like — like I’m… in love with him. Like it’s always happening. Like it’s constant,” she uses his own words and her heart feels like it might burst. Dr. Williams writes, then says “The last time you saw someone you truly thought was in love was your father and mother right?”
Fuck . Her heart sinks and she hears 9 year old Sydney crying in her heart and she nods. “So you were very young. That little girl — the one who believes in true love of support and compassion and kindness and joy — she’s still inside you. And she loves Carmy, too. But you’re holding her back, and so your fears take over. You know you’re in love with him. So let yourself feel it, Sydney. Take the risk of being known and loved and supported and held and know it’ll be okay in the end.”
Sydney feels tears spike her eyes as she nods. She cries for the rest of the session, but she feels better.
When she comes over that night, Carmy cooks for her and speaks as they finish eating, “So uhm, during today's service. Did you see those guys who ordered your lamb chops and cavatelli?” She nods, and smiles, “Critics? I fucking knew it!” He nods, smiling, “Uhm, not just any critics, they were actually a part of a campaign, wandering around Chicago to nominate restaurants, anonymously… and they nominated you.” Her heart crashes as Carmy pulls out the newspaper, and the headline reads, Chicago’s Own ‘The Bear’ In Running for This Year’s Michelin Star for New Dish, An Italian Lamb Chop Inspired Dish Has Critics Raving!
She blinks, not breathing. She’s completely quiet and the apartment is still. Carmy smiles. “Yeah, exactly,” he jokes, a callback to when she asks him what it was like. Sydney grabs the paper, reading it over and over. Her heart is going to fall out of her chest. “I — I’m … I'm gonna get — I’m gonna get us a star?” And she asks, like she can’t believe it, her voice quiet and small and Carmy nods, holding her shaking hands.
She weeps. She doesn’t even know she’s crying until Carmy’s warm hands stroke her cheeks and wipe away her tears. He kisses her hands, “Congratulations, Sydney,” he whispers sincerely and she looks at him.
She actually looks at him.
Sydney Adamu stares at her boyfriend, her partner, her best friend, her Bear, Carmen Berzatto, and cries.
She feels it. She feels her whole body open up and all of the stress, the nightmares, the yelling, the fear, the loneliness, it’s gone. She feels like a weight on her body is finally gone, like the fire alarm is finally off in her head, like she can breathe . She blinks and pulls him into a hug, crying on his shoulder and he holds her, rubbing her back and keeping her close.
Sydney cries for what feels like hours. She feels everything she went through leave her body with ease. She feels the nine year old girl she has held in heart cry too. And she feels love . The love she always wanted to feel. Carmy’s hands and body and presence, and his support , stills her. She feels like the lake inside of her is still, finally, finally.
When she pulls back to look at him, she’s still crying. “ I really fucking love you, ” she says, voice cracking and body trembling in his hands. Carmy smiles, “I love you too,” and she feels it, she hears it, she accepts it. She sighs and pulls him to kiss her, and he does so happily, kissing everywhere on her wet face and keeping Sydney close. He kisses her everywhere, taking her to bed to physicalize everything she’s feeling. She feels like they make love for hours, but it’s maybe 25 minutes in real life. Carmy takes his time with her like he always does, patient and kind and supportive and loving and she cums over and over and over. Carmy holds her close when they’re done, sweaty and tired and she whispers it again, “I love you,” at the same time he does. Sydney giggles, high on the way she feels and Carmy kisses her again.
She sighs against him, smiling. Yeah. She’s in love.