Chapter Text
You were not popular in high school. You hardly talked to many people. You had a set number of people you grew close to. You were praised for your writing. Frequently. It was something Carmen noticed.
He noticed a lot about you. He sat behind you in your Senior English class. He sat at the table behind yours in Sophomore Chemistry. His back was towards yours in that class, but he memorized your laugh. You both shared an art class in Senior year, too. Carmen knew who you were long before you knew who he was. You greeted him as if you had never seen him before in your art class. He had to remind you that he had been sharing classes with you for years.
Carmen started the year hating you. You were too cocky. You giggled when people insulted your art. Its tone was screaming, ‘No, you’re just too stupid to understand it.’ You shrugged when your shared English teacher bowed their head down to your desk. You had this knowing grin before they even talked, like you knew they were going to say your writing was stunning. Your essay was outstanding. You thought about the offered passage in a way the rest of their students didn’t. All that was pushed away with your grin.
When you stood up for presentations, people laughed when you spoke. You’d chuckle with them. Then your eyes would shift around the room like you were looking for why they laughed. You were so funny, you didn’t even know it. You always had the perfect clothes. He could tell every morning you woke up and put effort in, enough to make yourself look complete.
Then, on the 14th of December, you stopped him on his way into art. You said you were mad at him because he didn’t wave back. How dare he? You greeted him. Carmen laughed it off and was astonished that you were even talking to him.
Damn you. Damn you for giving him that small morsel of attention and sparking his foul consuming desire for you. You were all he could think about for months. All he wanted was to catch your eyes again. To grab your attention. For you to just look at him and think he was the only one in the room.
His crush on you ebbed and flowed. It was like once you were out of his sight, he didn’t feel anything for you. Over Winter and Spring Break, he lost it. You slipped from his mind as the days passed. You’d only coat his mind once or twice a day by the end of the break. Then by the time he was back in class, any glance at you and it came right back. It washed completely over him, eating up every other part of his brain. It was astonishing how quickly you could become everything again when he really didn’t like you before you stopped him in art.
He thought for sure you’d be going to a prestigious school he had never heard of. Somewhere you’d go, and all those little giggles and chuckles of your self-assuredness would pay off. Some professors would teach you every word you needed to know, and you’d fall in love with the English language all over again. You’d write something so magnificent your professor would cry in your arms. You’d go to Magic-Land, and he’d stay right here in your shared hometown.
Your desk had been spun around to face his by the teacher. Group projects and all that. The desks were pushed together into groups of four. You didn’t really talk to him, just whispering with your friend next to you. Until the classmate next to him brought up college. You asked him before you said where you were going. He was certain you’d say a name so astonishing he wouldn’t even recognize it. He whispered the name of the local community college because he knew he wanted something bigger. He wanted to say the name and impress you. You lifted your eyes from the page in front of you. You smiled and nodded.
“Yeah, me too.” And he knew his life was over.
If you were going to the same college as him, he would never escape you. You would have this power over him until the day he dies. In fifty years, he’d bump into you, and he’d be consumed by you all over again. There was a line of hope, though, maybe your paths wouldn’t cross. You could have totally different classes from him.
He walked into his first class and saw you. You were sitting in the third row from the front, halfway down a page in your book. Then you showed up in another class of his, and he knew he was officially fucked.
You found him on the way out of class, and suddenly you were talking to him. You sat together and ate lunch after your classes. You laid in his dorm and tossed your legs over his. You tapped his arm when he made you laugh. You giggled in the way you did when people insulted your art when he asked you questions about the reading assignment. Like you were saying, ‘Carmen, you stupid, stupid little boy.’ It made his stomach swirl with something in between hatred and desire. Like he hated you so much it twisted back around into a severe urge to reach out and grab the back of your neck. You chuckled when he said he liked your essay. You knew he would, you just wanted to hear him say it. He knew that's what you wanted, but he still gave it to you. You both were so weird. Those years he spent around you, he never asked anyone out and rejected anyone who asked him. It was like he wanted to stay loyal to you even though he wasn’t anything to you. He knew that. He wasn’t anything. That was okay. He could be whatever you wanted. If he was a friend today, that’s fine. How many friends do you wink at like that? Whatever you want. Whatever you want.
You finished your basics and transferred. You never gave him your number. You never told him what school you were going to. All he knew was that you wanted to write. There wasn’t a breakup because you weren’t together ever. You just told him goodbye one day after you sat next to him for hours in the library, and it was the last time he saw you.
Until right now. Six years later, in a god damn gas station. He just wanted ramen. When he went down that aisle, he saw you walking past the end of it, straight to the drinks. Carmen froze, his heart dropping straight to the floor. There was no way he was getting to the seeing ghosts part of his age. It just can’t be happening. He had to have mistaken it. Carmen slowly made it down the aisle. He might lose his mind if he turns this corner and you’re not there. He thinks he’ll also lose it if you are.
There you were, pulling down a tea and turning away from the refrigerated section. You paused when you saw him, a grin pulling at your lips. He felt like you were about to laugh at him and say he hadn't changed a day over 19. You would be the person to make all that effort trying to change the harmful parts of his behavior seem pointless. You'd pull him right back into that obsession, and he'd be hopeless all over again.
“Carmen.” You sighed, with a high tilt like you were ecstatic to see him. Carmen tilted his head down to stare at the floor. He tried to wipe the grin off his face, but he couldn't. The Hate-Desire came rushing back.
You sat across from him in the under-cleaned vinyl booth. The gas station had a chain pizza restaurant attached for tired travelers to get a lunch that wasn't just chips. You seemed different. Not enough to make him not want you, but enough for him to wonder if you regretted him. You couldn't stop grinning. It was tiny, but it was all he could think about.
You had a book on the way to publishing. You wrote news articles for an online magazine now. It had nothing to do with food, and he was thankful to talk about something else. You had lived four states over for a while, but you missed home. You had an apartment now next to a rinky-dink restaurant he'd never heard of before. The dial for your hot water in your shower didn't work unless you hit it first, but you loved the place. You had a plant. Her name is Lee. And you still giggled the same as you did all those years ago.
He told you about himself. Carmen gave you a moderately realistic representation. Dead brother. Anger problems. Smoking habit. Restaurant. He got a haircut last week. That was all he could think of. Then the conversation went quiet, and all the questions he had thought of before going to bed for the past six years finally had a place to come out.
“Did you hang out with me because you pitied me? Back in college?” Carmen muttered. The clearly exhausted teen behind the pizza counter finally put her phone down. She might've decided that this conversation was much more interesting. Carmen had a feeling that his personal conversation would be rehashed to an Instagram group chat later tonight. You lifted your eyes from the table and furrowed your brows.
“No. I liked you, Carmen. You were funny and talented, and I didn't have to think when we talked. Being with you was easy.” You answered, your voice fragile like you were going to crack if he said something mean about himself again. Carmen nodded.
“I mean, yeah. I never dated when we were friends. I felt so weird about it, like I was cheating. Even though I know we weren't anything.” Carmen chuckled at his own words. It was so preposterous to even say out loud. There wasn't a single universe where you and him would be something. Especially not college. Your mouth parted, and you stared at him like he had reached across the table and smacked you. Your eyes darted away from him, staring at the stained table.
“You were something to me.” Your voice was so quiet he wondered if you had even meant to say it at all. Your head was pointed down, hiding your face from the shitty fluorescents. Carmen felt ice run through his body. Oh God, what had he said? Had he meant that, or did he just say it? It was like his mouth always ran away from him. He can't catch up to it and sit it down. Carmen shot forward in his seat.
“No. I didn't mean, I felt like- No, I really liked you, but I thought you didn't like me- when I said we weren't anything, Oh, I don't know.” Carmen deflated, flopping back against the booth. You lifted your head, and he felt like he could breathe again. You weren't crying, which was a good sign. Your lips had tilted up again.
“I understand. I never told you because I thought you wouldn't like me. I guess we probably should've just said something.” You mumbled, a laugh tickling the back of your words. Carmen hummed in agreement. Silence passed over you again. The only sound was the constant buzzing of the gas station and the heat lamps for the pizza. The teen cashier sniffed once like she was impatient for your conversation to start again.
“To speak or to die,” Carmen muttered.
“Yeah.” Eloquently put.
Carmen waited for you to speak as he stared at you. He wanted you to say that you had actually been in love with him since second grade. The whole time, his feelings were reciprocated. Even if it were true, the look in your eye told him you'd pick death.
“Did you ever write about me?” Carmen whispered. You tucked your lips into your mouth. Your eyelashes fluttered, and your chin jutted down just barely. You didn't nod because that would be too overwhelming. You'd have to confess to something you held as a secret for so long. Carmen pulled some kind of power over you because you couldn't stomach not giving him an answer. He wanted to know how much you wrote and what you said. How did you describe him? How did you think about him? Or fantasize? Carmen pressed his knuckles to his mouth and stared out the window.
“More than I should’ve.” You grinned, leaning closer to him across the table. Carmen raised a brow in question.
“Yeah?” You hummed a yes.
“My hands got cramps from all the time I spent typing. I actually ran through an entire pen’s worth of ink from all the poems I wrote in my journal. I spent so much time thinking about you, all my writing ended up being about you. Even the little parts. Every love interest knew how to cook and had tattoos. And, when I finally transferred, every man needed to be you. I needed them to be stoic and mysterious.” You whipped your head back and forth, dragging out your last S. Carmen snickered, looking down at his lap to hide the fact that his face was starting to burn. You chuckled as you sat back in your booth.
“Anyone who wasn’t Sexy Carmen Berzatto disappointed me. I was extremely picky there for a minute. I only ended up dating one guy, but he was lame.” You said, shaking your head in disgust. Carmen tilted his chin up.
“What made him lame?” Carmen asked. He hoped you said something he knew he had in the bag. He couldn’t make you an omelet. He didn’t know your favorite color. He didn’t know what your high school best friend was like. He didn’t understand your writing. All of those he won easily. He could emotionally regulate? Oh, Carmen’s at a net negative. You tucked your lips into your mouth and held your hand up. You pointed one finger down to your lap. Carmen widened his eyebrows, pinching his two fingers into a small space. You shook your head.
“No. He had plenty of size, but he couldn’t use it.” You sighed. Carmen squinted at you.
“So you never-”
“Not once.” You stated. Carmen leaned closer, raising a brow.
“How long-”
“Seven inches.” You didn’t blink as you spit it out. Carmen paused, parting his mouth.
“…were you together?” He finished. You started up, nodding.
“Oh! Um…” You squinted your eyes, staring at the ceiling. Carmen waited patiently as you did your math. Now, was that seven inches flaccid or hard? It would change his opinion on the man quite a bit, actually.
“Eight months,” You finished. Well, no, you hadn’t. At least not during those months.
“Not once? For eight months?” Carmen asked, staring at you with wide eyes.
“I did, it was just usually once he left the room.” You clarified. Carmen sighed, staring out the window again.
“He must’ve been really funny,” Carmen muttered. You followed his eyes, watching the parking lot.
“He wasn’t.” You were quiet, like you knew you were going to regret saying it. Carmen pinched his brows.
“Was he rich?” You shook your head.
“Kind?” You gave him a half-shoulder shrug.
“Not particularly.”
“What made you stay?” Carmen asked. You paused, your eyes still glued to the cars outside. You pressed your lips into a line. You didn’t meet his eyes as you opened your mouth.
“He looked like you.” You answered. Carmen could feel his resolve falling apart. You were everything he fantasized about for years since high school. Someone so far out of his reach he would never ever ever get a chance with you.
And now you’re sitting across from him, telling him you wanted him so bad you stayed with some lame ass boyfriend for eight months because he looked like Carmen. You wrote about him. You thought he was sexy. You thought he was Sexy.
Carmen sighed, lifting his hips to readjust. He shook his head, staring at the table. He felt like he needed a smoke. He couldn’t meet your eyes right now. If he did, he’d be climbing across the table. He had to hold himself together for the overworked teen. He’d make sure to tip well before he left. So that she might be just a little kinder when rehashing how pathetic Carmen was to her group chat.
“Carmen?” You asked, trying to pull his attention back to you. Carmen shook his head, clawing at his face with his hands.
“Oh, I’m really struggling right now,” Carmen whispered. You shuffled, but he couldn’t look at you. He kept his eyes squeezed shut.
“With what? You know, I get it if you don’t like me anymore. Things change. You can tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable. I know I can get a little…” You trailed off before kissing your teeth.
“Much.” You finished. Carmen dropped his hands, peeling his eyes open. He met your look, shaking his head.
“You’re not too much. I’m just trying really hard not to lunge over this table.” Carmen whispered, hoping you were the only person who heard him. You tilted your head to the side, a grin breaking out across your face.
“Yeah?” Carmen nodded. You smiled so wide he was sure you were going to burst. Carmen scooted closer to the table, leaning closer to you. He could feel your exhale from your nose on his cheek.
“I can be better than him,” Carmen murmured. You turned your head to the side, staring at him from the corner of your eye.
“You think so?” You asked, wanting to chuckle at Carmen’s brazenness. He wasn’t like this in high school or even college.
“I know.” You raised your brows at Carmen, glancing down at the table.
“He couldn’t feed you like I can. He couldn’t make you laugh like I can. He couldn’t put you at ease like I can. He couldn’t inspire you like I can.” You turned your head, hiding your eyes from him. Carmen tilted his head, following your eyes. You couldn’t run away from his eye contact. You sighed through your nose, making his face warm.
“Like I have. He couldn’t give you what you wanted like I can. He couldn’t make you finish like I can. He couldn’t. I can.” Carmen ranted, keeping his voice low. You poked your tongue out between your lips, wetting them. You stared at him in silence. You wanted to tell him he changed. You wanted to tell him he was psycho. You wanted to reach forward and shove his shoulders. You wanted to grab hold of his arm and drag him back to your apartment. You wanted him to take you to his apartment and make you dinner. You wanted him to sit down with you and your journal. You wanted him to read every poem you wrote about him and tell you what made him flush. You wanted to reach across the table and kiss him for the first time.
“I’m free Saturday.” You said, instead of the insults you wanted. Carmen nodded. He kept his eyes on you.
“I’ll make Saturday happen,” Carmen stated. His tone was so steady you didn’t question him at all. You had a date on Saturday. You couldn’t be happier that he ran into you. Carmen ran his finger over his bottom lip.
“I need a smoke.” He whispered. It pulled you both from your movement. You sucked in a breath as you sat back in your seat. You patted your hands on the table top. Carmen sat back, digging into his coat pocket.
“I need to get home, I have an article I need to finish,” you mumbled. Carmen held his phone out to you. You smiled at him before typing in your number. You handed him his phone back. You slid out of the booth, waltzing off to your car. He watched you as you pulled out of the parking lot. When your car was down the road, he finally bought his noodle cup and slipped the cashier 20 bucks.