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drarrily-we-row-along · 1 year

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Love Langauge

There was something about the way that Harry always knelt down to greet Scorpius with a hug that Draco couldn't take. It was too much, too precious, it made him feel like his whole world was narrowed down to just two people, heart too full.

“Daddy told Auntie Pansy that people getting shit done is his love language.” Scorpius informed Harry primly and Draco promptly wished that he could just sink through the floor as Harry’s eyes, twinkling with mischief, found his over his son’s shoulder. He knew he shouldn't have had that floo call with Pansy about work while Scorpius was in the house.

“Did he?” Harry asked, before turning his attention back to Scorpius. “Sounds like acts of service is it for your dad.”

He shook his head, "Scorpius, it's your bedtime."

His 4-year-old turned and pouted at him, "But Harry just got here."

"I know," he said, understanding completely the desire to simply exist in the other man's orbit. "But it's past your bedtime already."

"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asked Harry, turning his pout on the other man, whom, Draco knew from experience, had no defenses against a pouting Malfoy.

"I would like that very much," Harry said sincerely, looking up at Draco, "if it's alright with your dad."

They didn't do this. Harry didn't stay overnight, he wasn't there in the morning when Scorpius woke up, as far as Scorpius was concerned, they were just friends. He'd been too afraid of his son getting attached, and how it would affect him when (if) Harry left. "Maybe Harry would like to meet us for ice cream at Fortescue's," he replied.

Scorpius spun around to look at him, literally jumping for joy, but Draco didn't miss the way that Harry's face fell before he caught himself.

"That sounds great," he said, smiling at both of them.

"Do you want to give Harry a hug good night?" Draco asked.

Scorpius nodded and Harry knelt down again, wrapping his arms around Scorpius. "Night, buddy," Harry said.

"Night, night, Harry," he replied. "I love you."

"Love you too, bud," he responded easily, and Draco's heart shattered in his chest.

He cleared his throat, "Come on, Scorp," he said softly, "bedtime."

His son's arms wrapped around Harry's shoulders tighter for a moment, then he was off, dashing toward the stairs. "I'm gonna beat you!" he called to Draco over his shoulder.

"Be right there, teeth first," Draco called back. He turned to Harry who was standing from the floor once more, "Hey," he exhaled.

"Hi," Harry replied, smiling at him and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"I'll be back soon. Sorry that nothing went quite according to plan tonight and he's not down yet."

"It's fine," Harry said, shaking his head, "You don't have to apologize. If you'd wanted an extra set of hands, you could have owled and asked me to come earlier."

"That's not your job," he protested. "Harry, the lines-"

"Daddy!" Scorpius called, mouth sounding full of what Draco suspected was toothpaste.

"Coming!"

"Go," Harry said, nudging him toward the stairs. "I'll be here when you're done."

Draco nodded and turned, leaving everything with Harry until after bedtime. Bedtime was his favorite time of day, stories and singing, quiet reflection, cuddles in the rocker, before tucking his child in for the night and stroking his hair until his was fast asleep.

He lingered for a few extra moments in Scorpius' doorway, watching his son sleeping. He planned the whole speech in his head: Scorpius was the most important person in his life, his world revolved around his child, he wanted Harry but he couldn't put Scorpius' heart in danger. Bad enough to be putting his own heart in such a precarious position, he thought as he closed the door and headed downstairs again.

When he reached the living room, Harry was nowhere to be seen, so he wandered through to the kitchen imagining that Harry might be uncorking the bottle of wine that Draco had seen tucked in his coat pocket.

What he found instead, was Harry standing at the sink, up to his elbows in water as he washed the veritable mountain of dishes that Draco hadn't had the time or energy to take care of. That seemed to be the case with more and more things lately, he just didn't have the capacity to work and be a single parent.

"You don't have to do that," he said, embarrassment flooding his whole body.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and smiled at him, "I don't mind." Before Draco could protest, he continued, "I'm almost done anyway. Do you want to pour us some wine? I picked up that Merlot that you were fond of at that Italian place we ate at last month."

"I can't do this," Draco breathed, feeling like the air had been punched out of him. He stumbled back to lean against the doorway.

"Draco?" Harry said softly, voice full of concern, and Draco looked up to see him drying his hands on the towel as he looked at him.

And Draco wanted to cry. The image of Harry standing there, sleeves rolled up from washing the dishes for him, brows drawn in concern, was burned into his brain. Because this was it. It had to be. "I can't," he managed, shaking his head.

"Can't what?" Harry asked gently, moving a few steps closer but leaving space in between them.

Space that Draco wished he would close, wished that Harry would crowd him into the wall and make him forget everything else.

"Sweetheart," Harry murmured, "tell me?"

"I can't do it," he said and a tear slid down his cheek. "I'm so fucking tired," he added. "I can't be a good dad and run a business when no one is doing what they're supposed to be," he shook his head, "I'm a complete shit boyfriend-"

"You're not-" Harry started to protest.

"I am!" he exploded, throwing his arms in the air. "You're here and you're cleaning my house for me, and you brought me wine that you remembered that I enjoyed a month ago! And what have I-"

"Draco," Harry said, voice very calm as he closed the distance between them and cupped Draco's face in his palms. "Take a breath, love."

He shook his head, hot tears spilling down his cheeks.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, pressing kisses to Draco's forehead, his nose, his cheeks.

"I don't have anything to give you," he said, closing his eyes so he didn't have to watch the realization of that truth dawn on Harry's face.

"You are not what you do," Harry said softly. "Your value as a person isn't defined by what you give."

"But I can't give you anything."

"That isn't even true," Harry argued, pulling Draco into his arms. "Choosing to spend your free time with me when you could be doing a thousand other things is a gift. You give me your affection. You make me laugh, and you tease me, and you listen to me rant about my day. You open your home to me, your bed to me," he added softly, voice wrapping around Draco's fragile, bleeding heart. "You give me yourself, you let me see you, let me touch you, and hold you. You accept me in return. Circe, Draco, what more could I even ask for?"

"Harry," he whispered, wanting so badly to believe him.

"Your love language may be acts of service," he said, laughing a little and Draco huffed and rolled his eyes, "but mine isn't. Mine's quality time," he added. "And your secondary love language might be gifts, but my second is physical touch. We aren't the same," he said. "And that's a good thing," he added.

He gave in and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, dropping his head to his boyfriend's shoulder. "I'm afraid," he whispered.

"Of what?" Harry asked, letting his hands slide up and down his back.

"Of getting in too deep," he said. "That I'm going to fall for you completely and I won't be able to recover when you leave."

Harry hummed and kissed his temple, "Who says I'm going to leave?"

"It's hard to imagine that you want to stay when I'm such a mess, when I'm too afraid of you leaving to let you spend the night, when-"

"Draco," he tried to interrupt, squeezing him.

"-when I am constantly pushing you away," he finished.

Harry was quiet for a minute, then he said, "you aren't really pushing, you know." He let his fingers tangle in Draco's hair, "I hear what you're saying, but I'm not going anywhere, Draco. You can push and I won't leave."

He laughed, short and bitter, "You say that now but you haven't seen me at my worst."

Harry laughed at that, "I think we both know that's not true." He pulled back, "Sorry, but pretty much nothing you can do now will compare to the time you smashed my nose with the heel of your boot and left me under my invisibility cloak. And," he added, "there's not really much that I can do that would be worse than literally cutting you apart with my magic-"

"Because I was trying to crucio you," he inserted.

He shook his head, and pressed their foreheads together, "If you want me to leave, now or ever, you will have to say the actual words. I won't read those words in your actions or in your other words. You pushing right now actually just feels like you're trying to love me, so," he shrugged. "I'm pretty stubborn." He nudged Draco's nose with his, "I'm here for good."

"Do you promise?" Draco breathed before he could stop himself.

Harry pulled back, just far enough that he could look Draco in the eyes. He reached up and tucked Draco's hair behind his ear, "I love you," he said softly. "We've been together for over a year," he said, "but Draco, I've loved you for so much longer. I fell in love with you over pub nights, and consults for work, and watching you with your child," he shook his head. "You're amazing and I don't want to go anywhere." He cupped Draco's face in his palm, stroking his thumb over Draco's cheek, "I promise, love. I'm in this."

He exhaled, closed his eyes, and tried to let himself believe that, believe that he got to keep this.

"Draco," he said softly, "I," he swallowed, "I want to give you stability, whatever I can to show you that I mean it. I've wanted to ask you if you wanted to move in together," he said, sounding nervous. "But it seems presumptuous since me moving in with you makes the most sense logistically. And I've wanted to ask if you wanted to get married, but I know you've said-"

"You want to marry me?" he interrupted, eyes flying open to search Harry's face.

He nodded, earnest and dear, "Of course I do. I just," he shrugged, "you said marriage was the worst thing that ever happened to you and that Scorp was the only good thing-"

"Stop," he said, kissing Harry because he couldn't quite help himself. "Harry, I meant political marriages," he kissed him again because this felt like a proposal, like a huge declaration. "My marriage to Astoria where she just fucked off after she got her inheritance that had been contingent on having an heir, that marriage was shit. And I wouldn't trade Scorp, but I wanted a partner-" he broke off.

"Draco, I-" he broke off, shaking his head, "I want to be your partner, I would do anything for him, I would be anything-"

"Harry," he breathed because this couldn't be real, this couldn’t be happening.

Harry shook his head, "I know that I can't just jump in and be his dad, but Draco I love him so much, I would do anything."

He stared at Harry for a long moment before he leaned in and kissed him.

The other man kissed him back, pressing him back against the wall and caging him in with his body.

"I love you," Draco managed against Harry's mouth. "Salazar. Yes, Harry," he gasped. "Yes to any of it, to all of it. Whatever you'll have of me."

"I'll have all of you," he murmured, "Any bit that you'll give me." He pulled back and Draco almost tipped over. Harry steadied him with his hands around his waist, "Stay right here," he murmured, giddy and breathless, dimpled-smile so bright that Draco was nearly overcome. "Don't move," he repeated before leaving the kitchen.

Draco heard the closet in the entry way opening, then Harry was skidding back into the kitchen. He fell to his knees in front of Draco, opening a ring box and displaying a simple silver band.

"Marry me?" Harry whispered, eyes wet and smile bright.

Draco nodded and Harry's trembling fingers held out the band to him, slipping it over Draco's ring finger. Once it was in place, Draco fell to his knees in front of Harry and cupped his face in his palms.

"Thank you," he whispered and Draco found himself wiping the tears spilling from his eyes.

"I think I'm really getting the better end of the bargain here," he whispered back with a little laugh.

Harry shook his head and more tears spilled out, Draco's heart felt like it was bursting in his chest. "This is everything I've ever wanted," he replied.

Draco wrapped him up in his arms and hoped that he'd be worthy of that love, worthy of that claim. "Stay," he whispered.

Harry nodded back, "Always."

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written for the @hdcandyheartsfest prompt 'love language'

Read more of my 2023 hdcandyhearts ficlets here.

#This one really got away from me #this was supposed to be short but alas #proposal #is this the first proposal ficlet that i've written for candyhearts this year?#no one is more shocked than I #drarry #love #soft #fluff #hdcandyheartsfest #gentle #single dad draco #draco is a good dad #Harry is a good boyfriend #established relationship

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drabbles-mc · 3 months

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Behind

Carmen Berzatto & Pete

Written for @ashlingnarcos for Candy Hearts Exchange 2024 💝

Warnings: 18+, language, canon-typical chaos and angst, injury

Word Count: 6.7k

A/N: i'm so normal about them i promise me when i lie

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @withmyteeth @hausofmamadas @narcolini @darqchilddaydreamz @justreblogginfics @fromirkwood (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

ONE.) With each minute that ticked by and he still found himself sitting in the row alone, Pete found the weight of disappointment lingering on his chest getting heavier and heavier. He wasn’t surprised, per se, but that didn’t wipe away the disappointment that he felt on Natalie’s behalf. While there were still some things about her family that he was figuring out, he assumed that they would at least show up for this. She didn’t ask them to show up for much, after all.

He looked around, wondering just how long he would be able to hold the three seats next to him for. He had his jacket draped over one, and was just politely telling people that the seats were reserved. It was looking more and more like a lie the longer that none of them showed up, though, and the room was quickly filling.

Just as he was about to reach across and grab his jacket, Carmy came flying in. Pete could feel the breeze come off of him from how quickly he’d been walking. He stood there at the end of the row of chairs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. He looked back and forth between Pete and the empty seats beside him. Internally, Carmy groaned, but luckily, he managed to keep the sound contained to his head.

Shrugging, he asked in a hushed tone, “Where the fu—is it just you?”

Pete smiled, knowing that there was nothing else that he could really do to respond. “Uh, yeah, right now. But you’re here!” he added on cheerfully.

“Fuck me,” Carmy muttered under his breath.

“You heard, you know, from Mikey or your mom at all?”

Carmy shook his head, and while Pete didn’t hear the exact words that he said in the wake of that, he had a decent idea. He moved to slide into the row, so Pete pulled his legs in, trying to make himself as small as possible as Carmy slipped by him so that he could sit in one of the chairs that Pete had reserved for them all.

First, he looked at the jacket draped over one of the chairs, and then he looked back over at Pete. “Yours?”

“Yeah, just thought it’d be easier to save all the seats. If you want—”

He stopped himself when Carmy picked up the jacket and handed it back to him, sitting in the chair that it had just been covering. While it felt grossly apparent that they were going to be the only two in attendance, Carmy still left the two seats between them. To an outsider it looked like he was just holding the line, helping keep the seats empty. But he knew better. So did Pete, even though he didn’t say anything about it.

Pete saw the way that Carmy was fidgeting, fingers twitching and drumming against his leg. Trying to be helpful, Pete handed over the piece of cardstock that he had been holding onto. “Look,” he let Carmy take it from him, “they got Nat’s name on there and everything.”

Carmy’s brows met, equal parts focus and confusion. “What…what’s this all—” He stopped when he answered his own question, reading the printed words in front of him. Order of events, awards and recipients. And, just like Pete said, there was Natalie’s name spelled out in black and white. He didn’t think that they really did awards in Natalie’s line of work. But I guess even when it’s interest loans, dollars and cents, someone always has to be the best at it or close to it. Maybe he should’ve asked her more about it when she mentioned it the first time.

“Big week for you guys, huh?” Pete said, excitement in his tone.

Carmy’s eyes snapped up to him. “What?”

“Oh, you know,” Pete gestured to the slip of paper in Carmy’s hand as he leaned in an attempt to close the distance Carmy had left between them, “Nat and her award. You and culinary school.” He paused, waiting to see if Carmy was going to say anything. When he braced one hand on the seat of the chair beside him. “That’s pretty dope, dude. Nat was telling me about it and she’s—we’re both really stoked for you. Congrats.”

His face pinched, unsure of how he wanted to respond to that. “Yeah, yeah. Um. Thanks.”

“Where you going for that, anyway? Here or—”

Carmy made a dismissive motion, shushing him as the lighting in the room shifted, signaling the start of the ceremony. He was looking up at the front of the room, fingers twiddling still with the paper in his hands. He had been perfectly ready to not pay Pete any mind for the next, well, however long it was going to take to get through all of this. But then Pete was shuffling over and sitting in the chair right beside Carmy, no barrier or gap between them. Carmy felt his jaw clench involuntarily, but there was nothing to do about it now as Pete was balling up his jacket in his lap.

“She’s gonna be so happy you’re here,” Pete said, voice somewhere between a whisper and his regular talking voice. “She wanted to congratulate you in-person anyway.” He saw the confusion on Carmy’s face and Pete still smiled but there was a little bit of sadness in it. “Culinary school.”

Carmy’s voice came out soft, and not because he was trying to be courteous of what was going on around them. “Oh.”

“Hope you don’t mind I said it first,” he tried to joke, knowing as the words were coming out of his mouth that it was going to fall flat.

Shockingly enough, it got a flicker of a smile out of Carmy. “It’s fine.”

TWO.) There was so much noise in the house that he hardly heard any of it. It was deafening and yet none of it was really reaching his eardrums. Voices and music and times and dishes being thrown about. So many layers that it was impossible to piece through them all. Carmy was fairly certain that he had gotten good at tuning it all out. Or maybe he’d finally just cracked under the weight of it all, knocked just enough screws loose to end up like the rest of his family.

It was impossible not to hear Donna. Laughing. Crying. Screaming. No matter what mood she was currently fluctuating through, she made sure that anyone and everyone around her heard her. No matter how many years went by or how hard he tried, Carmy wasn’t ever able to deafen himself to that. He listened to her fire off directions at him, ones that didn’t make any sort of sense but he’d still have to follow them exactly as she said them because it just wasn’t worth it to try and not to.

Carmy grit his teeth and got through it as best he could, the same way he did every year. Mikey was nowhere to be found, of course—probably deep in the house somewhere getting into an argument with Lee or getting dragged across the neighborhood by Richie. He and Natalie orbited around each other, occasionally crossing paths but never really letting one hand wash the other. The best they could do was suffer through it near each other.

He was elbow deep in the oven, switching around pans in the precise way that Donna had instructed him a few minutes before. He was staring directly into the oven, wishing for a brief moment that it would turn into a window that he could crawl out of so that he could get out of this fucking house.

The shrill sound of yet another timer going off snapped him out of his wishful thinking and he stood back upright, letting the oven door snap shut as he did.

He was grabbing a towel to wipe his hands with when he heard someone else besides his own mother. It was different. He wasn’t noticing it because the person was yelling, per se, which had him wondering how he heard anyone in that house on Christmas if they weren’t screaming at the top of their lungs. His brows drew together, ears burning when he realized that he heard it because someone was talking about him.

And of fucking course it was Pete.

Carmy didn’t have it in him to go and throw himself into the middle of whatever it was. He didn’t give enough of a damn about what Pete thought of him to really make that much of a fight about it. If Pete wanted to finally join in on the fun everyone else had at Carmy’s expense, then he could go and do just fucking that.

“No, you guys, seriously,” Pete said in a voice that was loud for him, but barely registered above a whisper on the Berzatto scale, “Food and Wine named him best new—”

“Fuck Food and Wine,” Richie interrupted with a laugh. “What, they say that Mr. New York Bigshot was the best new jagoff? Hate to break it to you, but,” he clapped Pete on the shoulder, “that ain’t new.”

Pete forged onward, not letting himself get derailed by Richie even though the man was a master of the art. “They named him Best New Chef,” he said earnestly.

Richie rolled his eyes. “Best new chef but he still can’t make the fuckin’ spaghetti.”

Pete ignored the laughs that Richie got with his comment. His voice was a little quieter now, but he still didn’t stop. “It’s a big deal.”

Carmy felt bad for his initial assumption. He should’ve known that Pete wouldn’t do that—he wasn’t wired like the rest of them. Pete probably wasn’t even the first one to bring Carmy up. It was probably Richie or Cicero. Pete was probably just coming to Carmy’s defense the only way he could think of, not that it did either of them any good. Carmy knew that he should say something to Pete. Maybe thank you? But that wasn’t how they were, wasn’t how Carmy was.

He looked out the kitchen doorway to find Pete already looking at him. He didn’t look defeated, really. No matter what anyone ever said to Pete it never seemed to deflate him or keep him down for long. Carmy lifted his eyebrows slightly, the only acknowledgment he could think up in the moment as another timer went off.

THREE.) Pete was sitting at the table, laptop open with countless emails left to open and respond to, and yet he wasn’t paying any of them any mind. They were left ignored in another tab, number ticking upwards slowly the longer he avoided it. Instead, he found himself reading, and then rereading, the latest article that had been published about the restaurant that Carmy was currently working at. He’d been corrected before, ruthlessly, by Mikey and Richie whenever he referred to it as Carmy’s Restaurant, but like many things it never really was enough to deter him.

It felt like there was always another article or another announcement coming out about Carmy, about his restaurant. And, sure, maybe he wasn’t completely tapped into the restaurant scene like Carmy was, maybe he wasn’t up to that caliber. But he still tried to keep an eye out, and it seemed like every time he went looking there was always something to find.

He was in the house alone, but it didn’t stop him from letting out an impressed chuckle as he read through yet another article on how one of the youngest new chefs on the scene managed to raise the caliber of an already-stellar restaurant in New York City. Praise like that would mean a lot no matter where Carmy was working, but being able to stand out against all of the static and noise, the sheer number of restaurants that were in the city, it just drove the point home even further of how great of a chef Carmy really was. All the sacrifice seemed to be paying itself off, at least from what Pete could see.

Scrolling back up to the top of the page, Pete left it so that the article headline was in the center of his laptop screen. Picking his phone up off the table, he swiped and opened the camera. Paying no mind to the fact that it was nearly impossible to get a good and clear picture of a computer screen with a phone camera, Pete snapped a picture of the article open on his laptop screen. The smile stayed on his face the entire time as he opened up the text conversation that he had with Carmy. He didn’t pay any mind to how long it’d been since the last time one of them texted the other, or that all of their previous conversations were never initiated by Carmy.

He sent the picture attached to a message of, “Feel like I should set a Google alert for you or something man. Congratulations! Proud of you”. There was a faint whoosh sound of it being sent, and Pete gave a satisfied nod before setting his phone back down on the table again. He looked at the headline taking up his web browser one more time, smiling before clicking out of the tab. He left it lingering there while he went and finally started to pluck away at the emails waiting his attention.

It was about an hour later when Pete’s phone chimed. He angled it off the table just enough to see what the notification was, excited when he saw Carmy’s name on the screen. Expanding the notification, his smile dimmed but only slightly when he read the message in full, “Carmy liked “Feel like I should set a…””

Unlocking his phone, Pete brought himself right to the text message thread. He looked at the little thumbs-up that now appeared in the corner of the message he’d sent. Tapping on the message bar, he went to start typing again only to be met with the three little grey bubbles. He stopped, backspacing what little he’d just typed out, only for the bubbles to go away again. He waited, contemplating starting up another message. They did the same dance one more time before Pete locked and set his phone down, giving Carmy the opportunity to type out whatever it was that he wanted to say, even if he wasn’t ever going to hit send.

FOUR.) “I’m just sayin’,” Mikey started, trying to make it all sound like a joke even though there were layers of real frustration underneath, “of fuckin’ course Pete is the one who gets to see you at your big fancy fuckin’ restaurant.”

Carmy stopped what he was doing, confusion flooding over his face. Looking up from the braciole he was trying to help Mikey prep, he tried to figure out what the fuck his brother was talking about. “Wh-what the fuck are you talking about?”

Mikey laughed, snatching the meat that was laid out in front of Carmy so he could finish prepping it himself. He was willing to compromise and get together at Natalie’s place, but he wasn’t going to sacrifice all of his prep, too. “Fuck you, what am I talkin’ about. Talking about fuckin’ New York!”

Carmy didn’t know if he was more confused or angry at this point. Angry because he was confused. “Pete was never in fucking New—”

“Yeah,” Natalie finally spoke up, her tone showing just how much she hadn’t wanted this to come up, “he was.”

Carmy threw out a vague gesture with his hand. “When the fuck was he in New York?”

Natalie was taking a deep breath, getting ready to try and get a word in edge-wise about any of it. Carmy was going to have all these questions and he wasn’t going to wait for the answers to any of them. She hated it despite knowing it was something that they all had in common. She was leaning back against the kitchen counter, just about to spit out the first word of it, when the front door opened and a new voice came onto the scene.

“Happy Sunday, everybody!” Pete called out cheerfully as he made his way through the house.

He arrived at the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the look on Carmy’s face. He would get around to paying Carmy and Mikey some attention in a moment, but his first-stop-shop was always Natalie. A hug and a kiss. She didn’t say anything because she knew that she didn’t have to. Her brother would take care of that for her.

Pete finally turned to Carmy and Mikey. “Hey, guys, what’s—”

“When the fuck were you in New York?” Carmy jumped right down his throat.

Pete’s eyes popped open wider. “What?”

Carmy nodded towards his sister. “Sugar said you were in New York? Came, came to my fuckin’ restaurant? What the fuck?”

“Oh, uh, I didn’t, um, hm.” Pete knew that he hadn’t really done anything wrong, but he also knew that it wasn’t a simple situation. It was why he hadn’t said anything to Carmy about it before or after the fact.

Mikey was getting a kick out of all of it. “C’mon, Petey, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“It just—”

Carmy didn’t let the third word make it out. “I don’t get—you didn’t say anything? How, how long ago was that? How many times have I seen you since then?”

Pete blew out a puff of air, still trying to formulate his answer to one question at a time. “I was in New York for work,” he said, a little surprised he was able to get a whole sentence out without an interruption. “They wanted to do dinner after a meeting so—”

Two sentences in a row would’ve been too much, apparently. Carmy was a reactive dog pulling angrily at the end of his leash. “When the fuck was that?”

The gears in Pete’s brain jammed up for a moment, unable to recall the answer to such a straight-forward question. “Um, I—”

Natalie was the one interrupting this time, coming to Pete’s defense. “Maybe if you called and asked what any of us were up to, Bear, you’d fucking know when he was there.”

Carmy’s face scrunched as he flinched, like Natalie had tried to swat at him. “What? What the—” He motioned aggressively at Pete. “He comes to my fuckin’ restaurant and he couldn’t call? Or you?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t say that like you would’ve picked up.”

Pete’s eyes were darting back and forth, watching each verbal volley as it flew back and forth across the court between his wife and his brother-in-law. This time it felt like a bit more of an even match, maybe that was just because Pete was the guaranteed underdog. He couldn’t help but to look over at Mikey, who was apparently perfectly content to split his attention between prep and listening to his siblings bicker back and forth. He was shaking his head at the both of them, chuckling quietly as it went in one ear and out the other.

Pete’s eyes snapped back to Carmy at the harsh sound of his voice. “Well?”

He figured there was no use trying to repeat himself. If he was only going to get one sentence out at a time, he figured he should try to make it count rather than retracing what he’d already said. He tried not to think too much about the pinch of Carmy’s brows, a harshness that didn’t quite line up with the confusion that was all over the rest of his face.

“They were looking for a place to eat—we’d just closed a big deal. I knew your place would be good so…” he trailed off, not expecting to be able to actually finish his next sentence. “I just suggested it. I said that the chef was Food and Wine’s—”

Carmy’s head dropped back so that he was looking up at the ceiling. “God fucking dammit.”

“I didn’t say I knew you,” Pete offered up, wondering if that would do anything to come to his own defense. “They didn’t ask so I didn’t…If they knew they would’ve made you come out. So I didn’t.”

The anger on his face lessened but only slightly. His confusion was winning out for the moment. “Wh-why?”

The quiet laugh that slipped out of him was completely involuntary. The question itself wasn’t funny, necessarily, but he found himself letting out the laugh at how obvious the answer was. Carmy was so smart, Pete just thought they’d all instantly be on the same page about it despite the fact that he and Carmy hadn’t been on the same page about anything in the entire time they’d known each other.

He made a small gesture to all three siblings. “You guys hate it when people interrupt you in the kitchen. You get, you know,” he a narrowing motion with his hands, “in the zone.”

Carmy didn’t have an instant rebuttal for that. He stood there, annoyance on his face even though Pete had extended a kindness to him back then, and in a lot of ways continued to extend it every time that he didn’t bring it up. It wasn’t as though he was the one that Carmy wanted to talk to about those kinds of things. He wasn’t the one that Carmy wanted there, not really, but he was the one who had made it regardless.

There was a soft, knowing smile on Natalie’s face as she looked at Pete. The two of them had talked about it beforehand, they’d talked about it after. She knew exactly why Pete did what he’d done. Even if Carmy never wanted to take the time to be grateful for any of it, she was grateful on his behalf.

After a few tense seconds of silence, Pete spoke up again, speaking honestly because that was the only way he knew how. “It was really good, Carm. Like,” he chuckled softly, “really, really good.”

Carmy was stunned but was still trying to figure out a way to respond to what Pete had just said. He opened his mouth, unsure about whatever was going to come out when he finally got himself to make a sound. Everything in his internal hardwiring had him gearing up for a snippy comeback, something sarcastic and largely undeserved. For the first time in a long time, possibly ever, he found himself fighting against the instinct. He was trying to conjure up something that was positive, but he’d settle for something neutral.

He was taking a breath in, about to just force something out and hope for the best, when Mikey decided it was time for him to chime in again. “You’re right, Pete,” he started, pausing longer than needed knowing exactly what it was going to cause to race through Carmy’s mind, pausing just long enough for him to get his hopes up before continuing on with, “we all fuckin’ hate it when people interrupt us in the kitchen.” He looked over at Pete, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reflect in his eyes. “So let us get back to work here, will ya?”

“Yeah, yeah sure.” He made sure to give Natalie a kiss before making his way back out of the kitchen. “Do your thing,” he said, not a drop of malice in his voice as he went off to keep himself busy elsewhere.

FIVE.) It was just supposed to be dinner. Carmy was back in Chicago and in the midst of everything else, they were just going to try and have dinner. In the back of her head, Natalie knew that it probably wasn’t going to just be dinner. There was no just anything in their family. But she had to try—who would she be if she didn’t? It was nothing short of a miracle that Carmy agreed to show up in the first place, so there was no backing out of it at that point even if the endeavor was ill-fated from the start.

Someone should’ve had a stopwatch on-hand to see just how little time elapsed before things descended into arguing. Pete watched from the outskirts, not offering up his two cents since no one had asked for it. Natalie and Carmy were going at it as they both took care of things on the stove, which was stressful in and of itself. Sharp remarks and sharper knives.

“You all wanted me to fuckin’ come home,” Carmy said, exasperated. “And, and here I am. Still not fuckin’ good enough.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to! You didn’t have to fuckin’ say it. You’re pissed about the funeral, pissed about the restaurant,” he gestured to the pan that was sitting on top of the stove, “pissed I’m trying to help you fuckin—”

She held up her hand. “You’re not trying to help, okay? You’re just doing the same thing the two of you always do. You’re—”

“Who?”

“You and Mikey!”

Once she put the words out there, the air in the kitchen became twenty times heavier. Carmy stood there, stunned into silence. For a moment he couldn’t even try to stammer out a reply, too thrown by the reference to Mikey in the present, like he was there and about to walk into the kitchen to hijack her cooking plans. Like he was there, and that Carmy was like him.

Sugar raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to speak up, to fire back and keep it all going. When he didn’t utilize the couple extra seconds that she gave him, she scoffed. She tossed the fork in her hand onto the counter, the clatter of it the only other sound aside from the sizzling pan on the stove.

“You know what? Fine. You can cook it. You can cook it and you can go fuck yourself, Carm.” She shook her head and turned on her heel to exit the kitchen. She saw Pete in her peripheral as she made her way out. She wouldn’t have had to see him at all to know that he was going to try and say something to make things better, smooth them over like there was any possibility of that at this point. She waved him off before he could even think of the right words to say. “And fuck you too.”

He watched after her as she walked away, but he didn’t follow. He knew that she needed some time and space to be pissed off. Then, once she spit bullets for a little while, they would come back together and they would talk about it. At least, that’s how it worked when it was just the two of them. Carmy being there changed the playing field and Pete wasn’t sure how just yet.

Pete went from watching Natalie to watching Carmy, who at first was also staring at the space where Natalie had just been. He only lingered on it for a moment before the increasing volume from the stovetop rediverted his attention. He turned back, grabbing the fork that Natalie had discarded just moments before. He shook his head as he went back to cooking. He was in no mood to let the evening and the food both go to shit.

There was about twenty seconds between Carmy turning back to the stove and Pete walking over so that he was beside Carmy, leaning against the counter that was kitty corner to it. Twenty seconds didn’t sound like a long time until it was spent in silence staring at the back of Carmy’s head as he continued to cook. It almost would’ve seemed like he was trying to get things back to normal if he hadn’t been shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. Pete couldn’t quite make out what he was saying as he walked over, not that it would’ve really made much of a difference either way.

Pete let his fingers curl around the edge of the counter as he leaned back against it. He saw it when Carmy caught him out of the corner of his eye and made a point not to say anything. Instead, he stayed busy keeping his eyes locked on the pan in front of him, keeping the sauteed garlic and onions inside it moving just enough so that they wouldn’t burn.

Knowing that Carmy could stand there in silence much longer than he could, Pete decided to break the stalemate. “It’s just been—”

“Don’t,” Carmy tried to stop him before he really got started. “You, you don’t gotta try and fuckin’, explain or apologize for her or whatever. Sugar…she can do it herself.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Pete said simply, not aggressive or defensive. Even if he wanted to be, he knew that it wasn’t going to get him anywhere with the man standing in front of him. He saw the disbelieving look on Carmy’s face even with the honesty. “I’m not. I’m just saying…it’s been a lot. And she’s been alone. Like, she has me but—”

“Yeah, she has you. She’s not fuckin’ alone.”

Pete didn’t let the bite in Carmy’s tone break the skin. “She’s felt really alone because of all of it. But I’m sure, you know, I’m sure you’ve felt alone too.”

Carmy clenched his jaw, anger dangerously close to boiling over. “Pete, I’m telling you, just, just shut the fuck up. I’m not talking about this with you.”

“I’m just saying,” Pete repeated, eyes fixed on Carmy’s profile. “You both lost him. And it wasn’t easy, and I know that’s probably why you didn’t come to—”

“Stop!” Carmy snapped, throwing the fork not unlike Natalie had a couple minutes before. “It’s, it’s not your fuckin’ problem, Pete, alright? You, you don’t know fuckin’ shit about—”

“I’m not saying I do, but Carm—”

There was something about the heartfelt nature behind Pete’s words that felt almost saccharine, like they left a sugary residue across Carmy’s teeth. Genuine concern was so rare to come by in their family, expressed so blatantly at least, that it felt like just a different type of trap. It didn’t matter that Pete had no history of laying traps, of pulling the rug out from underneath anyone. The warmth in the way Pete said his name felt scalding.

Carmy was white-knuckling the handle of the frying pan in his hand. “I’m not doing this with you right now, with, with either of you.” He saw the way Pete drew in a breath, prepping to try and say something else understanding and comforting and he didn’t want that, didn’t know how to handle that. All the feelings and thoughts finally bubbled over. “He wasn’t your fuckin’ brother, so it’s not your fuckin’ problem!”

Without thinking, Carmy thrust the pan out of his hand, sending it clattering against the stove and slightly onto the counter from the force. The contents and oil splattered everywhere—around the burners, across the countertops, and, unfortunately, onto Pete’s arm. He hissed, cursing under his breath from the pain, but all Carmy could do was stand there and watch, frozen all over again as Pete threw the faucet on and ran cold water over his arm.

The loud clatter was what drew Natalie back to the kitchen, anger still clear on her face. “What the fuck—oh my god!” It took her no time at all to put together what had happened in her absence. She looked at her husband, taking a brief look at his arm, “Pete, I—” Her anger won out over her worry as she whipped back around to Carmy. “Get the fuck out.” She didn’t yell, but her voice was harsh, filled to the brim with anger like she was a pressure cooker on the brink of exploding. “Now. Get the fuck out of my house right now.”

Carmy was in no mood or headspace to argue. He also didn’t realize that he was even making his way towards the door, his body moving independently from his mind. Mentally he was still staring at the mess across Natalie’s counter and stove, mentally he was still back in New York getting a phone call saying that his brother died, mentally he was trapped in Donna’s house on Christmas with a dozen relatives breathing down his neck about why he didn’t come home more often. Then suddenly he was standing outside on Natalie’s doorstep getting slammed by a cold gust of wind.

Inside, Natalie pulled Pete’s arm out from underneath the stream of water so that she could get a better look at it. “That little fucking…” she trailed off, shaking her head like she couldn’t decide just what name she felt like calling him in that moment when so many applied.

“It’s fine,” Pete said, the wince in his expression instantly negating the statement.

“It’s not fine.”

“It was just a lot for everyone, that’s all. I’ll just,” he shrugged as Natalie pushed his arm back under the water, “go to Urgentcare. They’ll take care of it for me and it’ll be alright. They’ll probably just give me—”

“This wasn’t okay,” she said, eyes glued to Pete’s arm. “None…none of this is okay.”

Pete frowned as Natalie leaned against him. Letting out a breath, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his arm, he let his head drop so that he could place a kiss against the top of her head.

ONE.) Pete stood outside the door to The Bear, manilla folders gripped tightly in his hand. It was the one thing that Natalie said he could actually do for her in that moment to make her life easier. He’d do anything if she asked, and this seemed on the surface to be a simple errand. And yet he was still hesitating out on the sidewalk.

Tucking the folders under his arm, he reached and pulled the restaurant door open. The eating area was empty so early in the day, and Pete knew that it would be but it still felt strange to see it that way. He couldn’t remember if he had ever been inside there outside business hours. They never really needed him to be.

He could see through the thin strip of window that there were people already prepping in the kitchen. He didn’t see Carmy among them, and he knew that he was most likely going to have to walk through the kitchen to get to him at the office. He’d never set foot in the back of the house, not when it was The Beef, and not since it had become The Bear either. It seemed silly to harp on but it mattered. He knew it mattered.

Nervous or not he had to go in and drop off paperwork for Natalie. She’d taken care of everything, and all Carmy had to do was put a signature on them and hand them off to the guy when he showed up. And all Pete had to do was hand them off to Carmy since Natalie was too pregnant and too exhausted to think about getting out of bed and putting real shoes on her very achy and swollen feet. After another round of trying to keep her breakfast down and not being able to, Pete asked what he could do, and she said that if he could play mailman for the day that would be super fucking helpful, actually. So, there he was.

He let himself into the kitchen, almost tip-toeing even though that didn’t really make much of a difference about anything. He didn’t recognize some of the chefs that were there. If they said their names, he would probably know them based off stories that Natalie told him, but other than that they were just strangers to him.

He couldn’t hide the relief when he saw Tina. He walked over closer to her, stopping so that he wasn’t so close that he would throw her off what she was doing. “T—hey, Tina.”

Turning, her confusion morphed into a smile when she looked at him. “Hey, Pete. What are you doing here? Natalie okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah she’s good. Just,” he chuckled with a smile, “pregnant. Like, super pregnant.”

Tina laughed. “I remember that.”

Clearing his throat, Pete asked, “Is, uh, is Carmy around? I got,” he held up the folders, “these for him.”

She nodded in the direction of the office. “He’s back there.”

“Thank you. Keep, uh, keep up the good work,” he offered with a smile.

Tina chuckled, shaking her head affectionately at him as he walked away. “We will.”

The door to the office was open, but Pete still knocked against it anyway. Carmy looked up from the papers that he was staring at, already saying, “Yeah?” before he saw who it was in the doorway. When he saw it was Pete, his exhaustion shifted, turning to equal parts tiredness and confusion. “Pete?”

“Hey,” he said, almost stepping into the office before he stopped himself. “Can I?”

Carmy nodded, motioning for him to come in as he turned in the chair so that he was facing Pete head-on. “What’s up?”

“Nat said that you needed these?” He held the folders out for him to take, only continuing once he did so. “Said that the guy was supposed to be coming by today.”

Carmy flipped them open, nodding in recognition as he read the forms. “Right, right. Fuck. Thank, thank you.” He looked back up at Pete. “Sugar alright?”

Pete shrugged with a nod that was as noncommittal as he could manage. “Yeah, I mean, you know, she’s—”

“Super pregnant and fuckin’ hormonal and angry?”

Pete smiled and shook his head. “Very pregnant. Very uncomfortable.”

“Kicked you out of the house for the day?”

“I offered.”

“To leave?” Carmy asked in jest.

Pete cracked a small grin but he still corrected Carmy. “To help.”

Carmy drummed his fingers on the folders. “Very helpful, yes. Thank you.”

Pete motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. “First time seeing the kitchen. You guys are, like, the real deal back here.”

Carmy chuckled, a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue that he managed to bite back. “Working on it.” He paused, staring at the black and white print of the forms but not really reading any of it. “How’s it compare to New York?” he asked.

“What?”

“You’re the only one who’s been to both of my restaurants, so,” he looked up at Pete, “how’s it compare to New York?”

It was the first time that Carmy ever brought up the fact that Pete went to his spot in the city. Pete didn’t think that he was ever going to bring it up again, let alone bring it up so casually. It caught him off-guard and it almost felt like a trick. This was a question that definitely had a wrong and a right answer.

Pete chose his words carefully. “You worked at your spot in New York and it was great. But this,” he gestured to the office and the space beyond it, “this is yours, you know? It’s your spot. And you can…you can tell.”

Carmy allowed himself to smile, allowed himself to take the compliment. He forced himself not to twist Pete’s words in his head. “Glad you can tell.”

A beat passed before Pete spoke up again. “Need me to tell Natalie anything or…?”

Carmy shook his head. “No, no. No, I think we’re, uh, I think we’re all good. Thank you.”

“Sure thing.” Pete nodded as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his vest. “I’ll just, uh, let myself—”

He spoke up when he saw Pete take a step backwards towards the doorway. “Hey, Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks…thanks for this. For this and um, you know, always, always taking care of Sugar.” He paused as he nodded, like he was trying to come up with kind words to say to him, a foreign act. “We’re all, uh, she’s really lucky to have you, you know?”

Pete heard it all, what he did and didn’t say. His smile stretched wider. “Thanks, Carm.”

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