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inkedroplets · 1 year

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You Owe me a New Desk

“I know I sprang this on you—” “Because you knew if you didn’t I would say no,” Kara said hotly, wondering if she had also purposefully chosen to tell her at the DEO to stop her from making too big a scene. She glared at Alex, hoping to see a hint of guilt on her implacable face, annoyed when she found none.

“It's dinner, Kara. you act like I’m trying to marry you off,” Alex said, arms already crossed over her chest, having expected resistance and prepared accordingly.

“Not yet, anyway,” Kara replied, shaking her head again, her hands still on her hips, fingers digging in to stop her from mimicking Alex’s pose, knowing she would cut a far more intimidating figure. “But at the rate, you’re going …” “It is one date,” Alex said. She snaked her right arm free and held up her index finger, although Kara suspected she would have much rather held up the middle one. “You don’t even need to think of it as a date. Think of it as a night out.” “A night out,” Kara repeated. “Yeah. Do you remember those?” “I missed a few game nights,” Kara said, her already fraying patience dissolving to nothing as they slipped back into the same quagmire they had been stuck in for months now. It seemed no matter what topic, whether it be something as banal as the weather or a metahuman attacking downtown like all roads lead to Rome. Every conversation with Alex always led back to Lena and how (in Alex's words) she needed to move on. As if it could ever be that simple. Although to everyone else it certainly seemed that way. Life for everyone else had simply seemed to have gone on. As if Lena's sudden absence was something that had happened a long time ago.

There had been a few desultory outings where the conversation often lagged and some of the takeout that normally disappeared so quickly remained untouched. She remembered a game night that had fizzled out after a brief game of Exploding Kittens and turned into an impromptu movie night that had been something Kara had needed to get through rather than enjoy.

But the group (minus Kara) had found their footing soon after that. Karaoke where lyrics were belted out (oftentimes offkey) and at the appropriate eardrum-shattering decibel. Game nights filled with laughter interspersed with the occasional howl of indignation when someone invariably pulled too far ahead in points or when a house rule had been broken whether on accident or on purpose.

Kara had watched it happen in a state of incredulity, bearing witness to the speed at which things had returned to normal for everyone else, at how fast their fractured circle had closed in reaction to Lena's absence. Life had simply gone on for them. But not for her. And seeing her friends joke and laugh, and have spirited debates over who out of the group would have the best chance of surviving a zombie apocalypse and what were the superior pizza toppings, turned her incredulity to white-hot anger. Anger that had all the forethought of a bull in a china shop. It rampaged around in her chest, seeing red everywhere, looking for something to smash, to gore. It was why she had eventually stopped going to game night, (even if all she had done since Lena’s absence had been to act as a scorekeeper).

“You’ve missed six,” Alex countered “Six then.” “And every time someone tries to make plans with you, you always find an excuse not to—” “Me being busy is not an excuse,” Kara fired back and gave her cape a hasty flutter, drawing attention to it the same way a magician might before attempting some sleight of hand. In truth, it was an excuse, but with how busy she had kept herself, it would have been hard to accuse her of lying. She had practically begged Andrea for more work, happily snapping up whatever puff piece or blogpost that she threw her way. Andrea had been far too happy that her Pulitzer-winning reporter had suddenly come around on soft news after being so vehemently against it to question why she was now more than happy to pen an article about ‘What your favorite kind of tea says about you’. She had also redoubled her efforts as Supergirl, spending more of her time patrolling the city. Anything to keep busy, to keep herself distracted. Not that it was ever enough. “You can take one night off, Kara…” Alex let out a sigh that sounded like it had been kept under pressure for a very long time, almost a hiss as her gaze that had been so steely just moments ago softened. “I know this has been hard…” No, you don’t.

“I know you miss her.” “I don’t miss her!” Kara shouted. The ensuing silence and the feeling of suddenly being watched as everyone in the room turned to look in her direction made her cheeks burn. Doing her best to ignore the fact that to the others in the room, she and Alex had become the only two players on the stage of a sold-out show she stalked forward so that she could lean close enough to whisper to her. “Kara…” “I do not miss her,” Kara murmured. She pressed a hand flat against her forehead and let it slip over her eyes briefly like a shroud. In the transient darkness, she saw herself. Not a perfect reflection but her as she had looked trapped in the Fortress’ defenses that Lena had reprogrammed on the fly. Defenses that had been put in place originally as a Luthor failsafe… “Okay,” Alex said placatingly. “You don’t miss her. After what she did to you—” And what did we do to her? Kara thought, the image of herself fading from her mind’s eye as she let her hand fall back to her side. “Can we not, Alex? Please?”

“Why don’t you head home for the night?” Alex suggested as if she wasn’t the reason that Kara had stopped by the DEO in the first place instead of heading straight home after her patrol. “Just think about it, okay? The date… or not date.” “Yeah,” Kara said, already beating a hasty retreat towards the door. She could hear the indistinct whispers of some of the agents in the room as clearly as if they were whispering into her ear instead of someone else’s, ignoring the looks of concern on many of the faces she passed.

I’m fine, she told herself. She repeated that to herself with each step like a prayer. And when she had put the DEO behind her, had flown up high enough so that the city below had become a bed of glittering jewels, she repeated it aloud with the same quiet desperation one might have when earnestly wishing on a star. “I’m fine.”

Kara wasn’t fine. How could she be when there didn’t seem to be a single potsticker in all of National City? She had tried all of her usual places and been turned away for one reason or another at all of them. Catching them as they were closing for the night, being swamped with orders, and just being plain out of food (although Kara could have sworn she smelled something cooking in the back).

She had however been offered an apology each time she had been turned away. Five apologies of varying sincerity did little to blunt her disappointment at being denied one of the few things that might bring her a tiny bit of comfort. It wasn’t until she had returned home defeated that she realized how strange it had been that every place had known her by name. Not that she didn’t frequent any of them enough for them to know her name, but she knew for a fact that none of them did. She had been a regular customer by virtue only, always having to give her name (sometimes several times) whenever she picked up an order. Not that she minded. But it had been odd to suddenly become a known entity at all five restaurants. Even stranger that a few of them had done a very noticeable double-take when she had walked in as if they had been expecting her.

The words: Could this day get any worse? trembled on her lips when she collapsed onto her couch, still in her Supergirl suit. She didn’t dare speak them aloud, though. She knew better than to tempt fate. Knew from experience that life could turn on a dime and be unimaginably cruel. Krypton’s destruction. Having to watch her home be destroyed before her eyes and at that moment (and for a long time after) a selfish part of her had wished she had been destroyed along with it.

Compared to that, how could a squabble with Alex and being denied her favorite food ever measure up? Only, she knew it wasn’t just that. It was being faced with the fact that her passion for journalism, something that had fulfilled her in a way that Supergirl never could, had seemingly vanished and her attempts (that had become more and more desperate) to recapture it had only made her more sure that it might be gone for good. It was the distance growing between her and all her loved ones and how little she seemed to care as she watched it happen. It was the unimaginable bitterness that ate away at her like acid from how she had hurt Lena and how Lena had hurt her. It was how at times there seemed to be no bottom to her pain. It was the recurring nightmare she had frequently of being back in the Fortress. Watching Lena disappear into the portal with Myriad. Trapped once more in that glittering cage. Even the most vivid of nightmares couldn’t replicate the pain of kryptonite, but what it could do was convince her sleeping mind that she was trapped there. Trapped with no way of escape. And when she woke up drenched in a cold sweat, she wasn’t sure whether she was in her bed, in the Fortress, or back in the Phantom Zone…

“It’s the potstickers,” she muttered. Her stomach gave a very loud rumble a few moments later, making it that much easier to pretend that’s all it was. She had plenty to work with in her fridge. At a quick glance with her X-Ray vision, she saw leftover pizza, Thai food, and half of a burrito that looked about the same size and general shape as a small anaconda. But no potstickers. “Maybe if Alex didn’t invite me to the DEO under false pretenses to set me up on a blind date,” she muttered, finding it easy to imagine a scenario where if she had arrived only ten minutes earlier her favorite place wouldn’t have run out of food. That very likely outcome annoyed her almost more than Alex trying to dictate her love life. Lena would understand. The thought was like a bolt from the blue, too quick for her to stop herself from thinking it and too ingrained in her to be surprised that she had. Lena had been the one she had always gone to when she wanted to vent, especially if it was about Alex. She had always seemed to know when Kara simply wanted her to listen to her vent and when she wanted advice. Something that Alex still hadn’t mastered. While she meant well, Kara thought she approached helping her with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball at times. Her hamfisted attempt at getting her out of her funk by setting her up with a stranger was evidence of that.

Alex is being so annoying today! You wouldn’t believe what she did. She actually tried to set me up on a date!! Sometimes she just needs to mind her own business!! And every Chinese place in the city is out of potstickers. And when I say ‘every’ Chinese place I mean every single place. I checked them all.Writing the text was cathartic, the modern-day version of writing a letter that you had no intention of sending. The relief would be fleeting, of course, although Kara had no idea just how fleeting.

She had tossed her phone aside and begun taking mental stock of what she had in her cupboards and fridge, trying to figure out what to do for dinner when her phone chirped weakly from underneath one of her throw pillows.

She swiped her finger lazily over the screen and felt her stomach enter freefall.

“Oh, no no no no…” Kara squeezed her phone hard enough to produce an ominous cracking noise that made her drop it directly onto her face. Flinching, she let it slide down into the crook of her neck before scooping it up, careful not to crush it (regardless of how tempting that sounded at the moment).

She dragged her index finger over the screen and stared open-mouthed at the message she had never meant to send, but had done so anyway. She let her eyes unfocus and slowly zero in again as if that might make the message disappear.

When her vision sharpened again and she saw the message was still there, Kara let out a low moan, wishing she could have willed it out of existence through sheer desperation, certain that if such a thing were possible she would have no trouble at all pulling it off.

But it was the message just below it that made her do a double-take.

I couldn't care less about the potstickers, but please, do go on about how awful Alex is…

The message was so unabashedly Lena that Kara had no trouble imagining her speaking the words aloud, the imagery so vivid that she could have sworn she heard Lena's voice echoing in her head.

She stared at it a moment longer before she typed out a very hasty, I'm sorry, not sure what else she could say. Her thumb hovered over the send button, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. That wouldn't get a response. She was certain of that. Not when the other apologies she had sent had never once elicited a response from Lena. The apologies she had agonized over sending in the first place and regretted on the days when her anger at Lena outweighed the pain of missing her, of hurting her.

#most definitely a work in progress #I don't know how to share private posts so everybody gets to bear witness #supercorp #can something be angsty and smutty at the same time?

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tijeraslapiz · 2 months

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#fat belly #gaining weight on purpose #weight goals #gay gainer #weight gain progress #transformation #fatboy #fatty #bear chub

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mrwavellswaps · 9 months

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The Parental Solution

“Could you at least put on some shorts or pants if you’re just gonna lie around the house like that?” I asked my dad after walking in on him sprawled across the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of white briefs that did little to hide his large assets. Especially when he had his thick thighs spread like that

“Come on kiddo. It isn’t anything you haven’t seen before. Can’t a guy just lounge around on his day off.” He replied with that same subtle smirk he always had as he rested his head against his hand. I cursed myself internally for not being able to help glancing at his armpit for a moment. “Besides, I’m the man of this house and so if I wanna lie around in my underwear then I’ll do just that.” He added sternly before reaching down to give his fat bulge a rub.

I rolled my eyes a little before quickly exiting the room and letting him get back to watching sports on TV. After all, I didn't want to give him a chance to see the growing erection in my pants. I just can’t help it when he shows off his body like that. He knows exactly what he’s doing too. You see that man lying on the couch and showing off his manly form isn’t actually my dad. Not in spirit anyway. It’s actually my best friend Jason inside my dad’s body!

It all started when we were kids. Both me and Jason had pretty shit parents and it was part of the reason we bonded so much. We became each others support whenever we needed it. For me I lived most of my life with my dad after my mom walked out on us when I was very little. Ever since then my dad had been distant and bitter. He wasn’t abusive towards me or anything but he was certainly neglectful to say the least. Jason on the other had definitely got the worse end of the stick with parents that were borderline manipulative and even abusive towards him growing up. I remember telling him all through high school that the moment he turned 18 that he should just get the hell out of there. That day came over a year ago now. Jason turned 18 not long after me but even with the job he had, he still couldn’t afford to move out. Especially with his parents practically stealing half his wage. Before long the two of us were 19 going on 20 soon and Jason still couldn’t see a way of escaping his parents for years to come. That’s when I decided something had to be done.

For weeks the two of us had been brainstorming ideas to get Jason out of his parents house. We considered putting our wages together and renting a place to share but with how much prices had been going up recently, that didn’t seem like a sustainable option right now. Neither of us had other family members we could stay with either. We even considered going to a homeless shelter together but decided that’d probably do more harm than good in the end. After all my home life wasn’t nearly as bad as Jason’s but I wouldn’t wanna leave him alone. After a while we started to lose hope, believing that Jason would just have to put up with his horrible parents for the foreseeable future. That was until I stumbled across a curious shop that I’d somehow never noticed before…

———

Gilgamesh’s Magic Shop - For all your magical needs

The shop radiated a strange presence that I couldn’t help being drawn to. “Magical needs?” I raised an eyebrow as I read the large golden letters that adorned the sign that sat on the front of the building. My first thought was that it was one of those fake magic trick shops but it seemed pretty interesting and I didn’t exactly have anything else planned that day so I decided I might as well check it out.

Upon stepping inside I came face to face with a plethora of weird items and objects filling the many shelves around the shop. It all looked incredibly ornate with how well organised and decorated it was. Naturally I couldn’t help poking around a little, inspecting all sorts of books, potion bottles and crystals that all claimed to have magical properties.

“Ah, hello sir!” A man called from behind the front desk. I couldn’t help but jump a little as I could’ve sworn he hadn’t been standing there a second ago. He looked to be in his early 30’s or so but still looked amazing for his age. He had short hair that shimmered in the light with its golden blonde colour while his handsome face adorned a dusting of stubble. The clothes he wore looked rather unusual, almost like a mix between a wizard cloak and casual suit. “My name’s Gilgamesh but most people call me Gil. I’m the owner of this place so if there’s anything in particular you’re looking for then just ask.”

“Oh… um thanks.” I blushed a little at the stunning man’s proposal. “But I don’t think any of this fake magic stuff is gonna help me all that much.”

Gil laughed. “Please. The magic I sell is anything but fake. Here I’ll prove it.” I watched as he walked around the front desk and grabbed a potion bottle off a nearby shelf. Without any hesitation he popped the top off and downed the potion in one go. What I saw changed my view on magic forever. There was a moment of silence as Gil smirked over at me. Then without warning he lurched over and groaned. I could only watch on in astonishment as his once ordinary sized frame began expanding at a rapid rate. Seeing as his clothes grew tighter while his body packed on excessive amounts of fat and muscle. His entire body growing thicker and stronger! It was hard to tell at first but as his clothes started to rip I began to see how he was growing hairier as well! Even his light stubble from before poofed out into a large blonde beard! At first I’d thought the groans meant he was in pain but as the transformation came to an end, after his voice had deepened significantly, I realised they were actually groans of pleasure!

“W-w…what the fuck… just happened!?” I stuttered, looking up at the new man before me.

Gil turned and smiled at me. “Muscle bear potion.” He stated simply. “Does exactly what it says. Turns you into a big muscle bear of a man like so.” The huge shopkeeper gestured down at his now massive burly body. “This one is only temporary and should wear off naturally within a week but we do sell permanent versions as well.” He explained as he made his way back behind the counter once again, struggling to move a little with his big belly and thick appendages straining against the torn fabric of his clothes. “Looks like I’ll have to grab a new uniform from the back to use the next week though. Oh well, I’m sure my boyfriend Simon will enjoy seeing me like this.” He laughed heartily.

Before I stepped foot into that shop I believed magic was nothing but tricks and fantasy. But after witnessing that man transform right before my very eyes, I had no choice but to believe everything about this shop was real! All the spell books, all the magical clothes, all the powerful crystals. It had to all be real!!

After regaining my composure I managed to explain my situation to Gil. Telling him all about Jason and the situation with his parents. Of course Gil sympathised with the situation and told me I was a good friend for sticking by Jason and wanting to help him. He stroked his beard a little as he thought until he came up with a magical solution to my problem. “You know, I think I’ve got just the thing that’ll sort your friend's situation right out.”

Gil began wandering through the shop, searching the shelves for something in particular as I followed behind him. As he did I couldn’t help glancing at his big bear butt from behind and I guess he could feel my eyes on him judging by the look he gave me shortly after. Before long he ended up pulling another vial off the shelf, this one being filled with a shimmering blue liquid. Strapped to the bottle was also a small instruction manual on how to use it. “This should do the trick. Nectar of the bodysnatcher. Its pure liquid essence made from the blood of real bodysnatchers.” He explained though I didn’t even begin to pretend like I knew what he was talking about. “Drinking this will grant you the powers of a bodysnatcher for a one time use. I think it’ll be perfect for your friend Jason.”

Next thing I knew we were back at the cash register. After much reassurance that this potion was exactly what I needed to help Jason, I ended up forking over my cash and buying the strange looking vial while silently hoping I wouldn’t come to regret it.

———

When I first told Jason about what I’d bought he thought I was insane and rightfully so. Before visiting the shop I would’ve been the same. But after a ton of persuasion I managed to get Jason on board with my plan to get him away from his parents. To put him in a whole new body. I’d given it a lot of thought already by this point and had decided on the perfect candidate. My dad. I figured that way I’d be hitting two birds with one stone. Jason can get away from his parents and Jason can take the place of my asshole dad! It was perfect! He was quick to agree to this as he’d always had a bit of a crush on my dad anyways so anything that involved him was a green light from Jason.

Once it was decided, I brought Jason over to my house while my dad was napping and began going through the instructions with him.

STEP 1: Drink the nectar of the bodysnatcher to allow its power to sink in. Drinking the whole vial is recommended for a smoother experience.

Jason was a little hesitant but with a little encouragement from me he twisted the lid off the vial and tossed it back. Before long the entire potion had disappeared down Jason’s throat. Moments later he described a strange feeling pulsing through his body. Almost like he’d just taken a bunch of caffeine as new energy pumped through his veins.

STEP 2: Find a recently worn article of clothing belonging to the person who’s body you wish to take and put it on.

The two of us snuck upstairs as quietly as possible so as not to wake my dad. We could hear him snoring quietly from his bedroom as I reached into the dirty clothes hamper. Moments after I pulled out a pair of my dads smelly black socks that he’d likely worn to work that day before passing them to Jason who immediately pressed them to his nose.

“Oh come on dude. Really?” I whispered, watching my best friend shamelessly huff on my dad’s worn socks. “Just put them on.”

Jason rolled his eyes, giving the socks one last sniff before starting to pull them on. “Whatever man. I still don’t believe this weird magic shit is real but I know your dad’s hot scent is.” He sniggered quietly as he finished tugging the oversized socks on.

STEP 3: Find the person whose body you wish to take and kiss them directly on the lips. This act will activate the magic now within your body.

Now that Jason had my dads socks on, the pair of us crept towards his room as quietly as possible before slowly pressing the door open. There, laid out on the large king sized bed was my dad. His body was only half covered by the bed sheets as he slept in nothing but his underwear from what we could tell. I could already feel Jason’s eyes burning with desire as he gazed upon my sleeping father. He didn’t even care if the magic worked, he just wanted to plant his lips on my dad.

The two of us tiptoed closer until we stood over my dad, gazing down at him while he dreamt. I gave Jason a nod and he knew exactly what to do. Slowly and silently, Jason undressed until he was completely naked besides my dad’s socks before creeping onto the bed. I held my breath nervously as he manoeuvred his way on top of my dad so that he had one leg on each side of my dad’s body. Jason glanced over at me with a smile before looking down at my father again. Then without another second wasted, Jason lowered himself down until his lips pressed against my father’s…

Almost immediately Jason’s body began to glow slightly while a volt of magic surged through both his body and my dad’s. This immediately woke my dad, his eyes going wide as he saw his son’s best friend kissing him. But they couldn’t pull away. It was as if their lips were glued together somehow! I could only watch in bewilderment as my dad started kicking his legs beneath Jason and flailing his arms around but it proved pointless as soon enough he seemed to lose all the strength in his body. Almost like he was paralysed. It seemed as though Jason was experiencing the same thing as his body now laid dead flat on top of my dad. I would’ve been worried had I not heard Jason moaning delightfully through the kiss. Whatever was happening I knew it had to have felt good.

What happened next looked like something directly out of a Sci-fi movie. Jason’s body glowed once again as it slowly began to sink into my dad’s body. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me but as I watched Jason’s legs disappear into my dad’s beefier ones, I was forced to believe it. The rest of Jason’s body soon followed suit as his arms were next, Jason lining them up with my dad’s before allowing them to sink in as well. By this point my dad must’ve been experiencing just was much pleasure as Jason was by how his eyes had rolled back, not to mention how they both had obscene bulges that were rubbing against each other. That is until Jason’s crotch sunk into my dad’s as well, causing my dad’s dick to grow even harder. This process only continued with Jason’s torso fast disappearing until the only thing left was his head sticking out of my dad’s body, lips still pressed together. But of course that didn’t last long as even Jason’s head eventually pushed its way down inside of my dad’s head. Sinking into his body completely until my father was the only one left, now wearing the socks Jason had stolen from him.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried when my dad’s body started convulsing. For a moment I considered calling 911 but just as suddenly as it started, the convulsing stopped, leaving my dad’s body still and calm besides the pulsing erection in his underwear. “Dad? Jason?” I asked the sleeping man, not knowing who’s name to call. He didn’t reply. Only grunting and murmuring with his eyes closed. Then, without warning, he let out a deep moan which resulted in the pouch of his underwear getting soaked in cum. I had to look away in embarrassment…

“Whatcha lookin that way for kiddo. The show’s over here…” I heard my dad’s voice say but the tone behind it didn’t sound like him at all. It sounded cheerful almost, totally unlike his usual resentful self. I turned back around and I saw my dad now sitting up in bed with a huge cheesy grin on his face as he ran his hands along his thick hairy pecs. “You know I didn’t believe you at first but holy fuck… this is great! My voice is so deep! And I’m so hairy… fuck and these tattoos.” He traced a finger across the inked skin of one of his biceps while simultaneously admiring the thick muscle it sat upon.

“Jason? Is that really you in there?” I asked, still not quite believing that potion had actually worked even after all I’d just seen.

“Who else baby!” I watched as he hopped out of bed excitedly and dashed over towards my dad’s bedroom mirror. The way his face lit up upon seeing his reflection said everything. “But you can call me dad from now on…” he stroked his beard, admiring the facial hair he’d never been able to grow before as he inspected his mature looks. I could tell just by the expressions he made as his fingers ran across his face and down his body once again that he adored each and every sensation. Groping every part of my dad’s body that he’d always fantasised about touching. His pecs, his biceps, his ass and of course his cock. One of his rough hands glided over his wet crotch as he squeezed his cum soaked dad dick, still bulging in his underwear. The way he smirked so full of lust and desire was a look I never imagined I’d see on my own father’s face. Only after all that did he finally turn back to look at me and say “Unless of course you’d rather call me daddy instead.”

“Eww no! You’re literally my dad now Jason! That’s… weird…” I trailed off a little at the end. I’d never been attracted to my own dad before. Why would I be? He was an asshole!! Sure he might’ve been exactly my type with muscles, body hair and tattoo but… he was fucking dad for fuck sake! So why the fuck did I feel butterflies in stomach when he put a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m just kidding man. But seriously thank you for this. With your dad’s body I never have to go back to my shitty parents. Not to mention I look hot as fuck! I always wished I could fuck your dad but this is a whole other level.” With that he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in for a big hug, something my dad hadn’t given me since I was a kid. His strong hairy body and sticky crotch grinding against my own. “You’re the best *son* a dad could ask for.” He added, holding me tight in his arms allowing for me to get a good whiff of his scent.

After that I could’ve denied the feelings I had all I wanted but the semi in my pants was a dead giveaway. Jason chuckled as I rushed to hide the bulge but it was too late. My face went red as he gave me a pat on the back. “Don’t worry about it, Son. Can’t blame you for getting a little excited around your old man with how manly I am.” He was already acting so cocky and confident. “Now how’s about you and I head downstairs and go through everything I need to know to pull off being your dear old pops. That is after I’ve taken a nice long shower of course to familiarise myself with this hot dad body heheh.”

By that point I could already tell this was going to be a wild ride…

———

And that brings us back to the present. It’s been two weeks since Jason took my dad’s place and he’s been able to play the part perfectly, albeit coming off as a much friendlier version of my father. Turns out that when Jason took my dad’s body, he absorbed my dad’s soul as well. This in turn allowed Jason to tap into all of my dad’s memories, emotions and personality whenever a situation called for it. For all intents and purposes, he literally was my dad now. Hell he even insisted that I always call him dad even when no one’s around. It was weird at first but I’ve gotten used to it I guess.

He never fails to mention to me how great being inside my dad’s body feels. Whether it be his new muscles as he flexed them in the mirror, or bragging about how big of a load his big dad cock and balls can bust now. Loving his new beard, smacking his new ass, appreciating his new tattoos, gawking over his smelly new armpits and the list goes on. He described to me how great it feels to finally be treated like an equal by all the other adults around him when at work only to come home and boss me around in the most seductive ways possible.

If there’s one thing I do somewhat regret about all this however, it’s that now Jason won’t stop teasing me with his new body every chance he gets. Like today when he’d been laying on the couch in just his underwear, practically waiting for me to walk in on him. Whenever we were home alone he made sure to wear as little as possible to show off his body and I was always trying my utmost to tear my eyes away from him. But when he walked around in the house in nothing but a tight jockstrap that showed off his bare ass, I just couldn’t stop myself from staring and imaging what it’d be like to stick my face between my dads hairy cheeks… fuck! I can’t believe he’s managed to do this to me!

Now here I was scampering out of the living room, trying to get the thoughts of my hot new dad out of my head. Everyday it’d been getting worse. I’d been popping boners to my dad more often and even multiple times a day. It didn’t take long for him to slowly start infuriating my jerk off sessions starting with him crossing my mind for a moment as I jerked off until eventually it got to the point where I was having entire jerk off fantasies around him! Imagining what it’d be like to fuck or be fucked by him. And could you blame me when he was constantly shoving that hot body of his in my face! It was torturous at this point. Like he was slowly trying to wear me down. And it was working.

“Hey son. Why don’t you come back through here and watch some sports with your old man. You can snuggle up to me if you want.” Jason said as he came up behind me and wrapped my dad’s strong arms around me and pressed his arousal against my ass. “Come on, I know you love being close to dad.” He cooed, his voice so deep and soft at the same time that I practically melted on the spot.

Before I knew it Dad had managed to guide me back towards the living room where the two of us sat on the couch together watching sports. Jason had never been that into sports before so I could only guess it was a trait he’d picked up from my father after the takeover. As we watched he made sure to wrap an arm around me to keep me pulled close against his body. I didn’t want to admit it but I actually really enjoyed getting to be this close to him now. To feel his hairy body pressed against me as the scent from his pits filled my nostrils. It was driving me crazy.

At one point during the game, dad decided to stuff his free hand down his briefs to fondle his fat hairy balls. Just watching him do such a thing made me horny as fuck to the point where I wished I could’ve been the one cradling his big balls instead. Of course this was all according to dad’s plan as quickly noticed I’d lost all interest in the TV and was now totally focused on him. With a smirk dad pulled his hand out of his briefs and without a second of hesitation he pressed that very hand against my face.

“There you go boy. Huff on that.” He commended as the powerful aroma of his sweaty dad balls invaded my nose and overpowered all my senses. Before I knew it I was sinking deep into his hand, sniffing the scent deeply and craving even more. I knew it was wrong. It was my dad’s body. My dad’s balls. My dad’s scent. But… I craved it so fucking badly! And I only had myself to blame for giving my best friend that damn body!

In a flash I was down on my knees and between dad’s legs as I shoved my face into his pouch. Feeling the heft of his heavy balls press against my face through the tight fabric of his briefs. Allowing the powerful smell to wash over my face. He held my head down, forcing me to kiss and lick his bulge as his thick length grew harder. I wanted nothing more than to take it in my mouth and swallow every last drop of cum he had stored in my dad’s balls. And as he finally pulled down his briefs, allowing his thick cock to spring out in front of me, it seemed as though I was about to get my wish.

What followed was a scene of a father relentlessly face fucking his son as dad absolutely destroyed my throat with his cock. It was clear he’d been waiting to do this ever since I helped him steal that body. Thrusting his hips back and forth as he forced his thick cock as far down my throat as he could, making sure that I gagged on every glorious inch. I have no idea how long it went on for as I was still entranced by his aroma and by just how good it felt to feel his thick dad dick in my mouth but soon enough his moan started to grow and before I knew it my mouth was filled to the brim with thick salty cum.

I fell backwards having just swallowed my best friend's load. No… my dad’s load. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done but at the same time I didn’t find myself regretting it either. If anything I wanted to do it again right! When I sat back up I was of course greeted by a view of my dad’s softening cock as it dripped with cum. “You’re such a good boy for swallowing all of daddy’s cum.” He placed a gentle hand on my cheek, smiling softly. “As a reward, I might let you sleep in my bed tonight. Maybe then dad can give you a demonstration on how real men fuck. How’s that sound?”

“Oh yes please dad! I need your dick inside me!” I blurted out without thinking. I couldn’t believe how much of a slut he’d turned me into.

Dad chuckled softly before shoving my face back into his crotch. “If you clean me up nice and good, I’ll make sure your wish comes true son.” He didn’t need to say another word, I was already licking away. Dad went back to watching TV while I cleaned off his cock. Lapping up any remaining cum dripping from his cock before running my tongue across his soft, but still surprisingly large, shaft. Even after that I couldn’t stop myself from licking his big sweaty balls which dad didn’t seem to mind. God they tasted incredible…

And as my tongue slid back and forth, I couldn’t help but be thankful that I found that strange Magic shop when I did. To think that magic not only existed but could make something as crazy as this a reality?! Maybe I’ll have to head back there sometime and pick out something for myself. After all, Dad won’t stop going on about how amazing it feels to have a bigger, more mature body. Maybe I should find a way to get one myself to see what all the fuss is about…

Read The Sequel next!!

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#magic #permanent #hairy #male body theft #identity theft #absorption #dad #dad and son #age progression #male transformation #bear #male muscle growth

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slyratex · 7 months

Text

Sucked dry

It was a complex spell. But when you saw me in the hotel I spent my vacation in your home town in, you instantly knew I was the right person to try it on. I had many of the attributes you were looking for to test your skills. A young student, an intellectual, an artist. Shy and benign. Slim, androgynous, smooth, naive and unseasoned. So you offered me a drink to lower my defense. Started small talking, nodding and agreeing with everything I said to make me incautious. You complimented on the four traits of mine you admired the most: My rather androgynous appearance, my intelligence, my gentle character and my youthful spirit. I didn’t even get suspicious that you might be after exactly these treasures of mine. And when I was intoxicated and my emotions were putty in your hands, you offered to bring me back to my hotel room.

As soon as the door was unlocked, you pushed me inside, threw it shut and me onto my bed. I stood no chance, dizzy and clumsy as I was, and in mere seconds you positioned me lying in front of you, legs spread open, ass up in the air, offered to you like an open door. You slid kneeled on my bed and slid your shaft inside me, filling my tight hole as far as it went.

Then you started humping me while wanking my cute dick off. I couldn‘t resist, not in actions and not even in words. Your spell had already begun to show its effects on me. You leaned down over me and gave me a forceful kiss, sucking on my mouth and tongue mercilessly to extract the attributes from your victim that you had been looking for.

First you sucked the feminine beauty out of me. As your skin became smoother and your main hair longer and thicker, you saw my hair thin out and my face being manned up by short stubbles. My face became sharper and more defined whereas yours softened. I lost the memories of being a girlish boy and suddenly remembered being a typical rascal in my youth, a misbehaved boy known for showing typical behaviour for boys.

You also sucked my innocence from me, turning me into a smoker from my early adolescence, and making me less naive and more keen. The boy you saw first slowly disappeared as his defining attributes went over to you, substituting him with the guy below.

But you weren‘t finished yet. You sucked harder and the more you sucked, the more of my intellect you drained out of me. While your IQ rose by at least 60 points, making you a real master mind, mine fell by the same degree, leaving me with a brain so degraded it could barely handle simple math operations. You turned an all A student into a moron, a dim-witted idiot with sleepy eyes, not thinking about any complex or abstract ideas. As my memories were altered further, removing my great high school career and adding memories of bunking off school to meet with my friends in the woods experimenting with alcohol and cigars, my body transformed further, my beard growing, my style in clothes changing. Every thrust of your lower body against my ass banged away another piece of the puzzle that made up my once complex personality.

There still was a way to go. You had to change my whole personality, as you wanted to have everything I had. The character so many liked me for would certainly be a nice addition to your curriculum. You stripped me of my gentleness, my generosity, my shy and reluctant behaviour, all the things which people found cute about me. As my lungs and my heart turned more black and my education was erased, I started to think of the many fights I had when I was a young adult. How many nights I had to spent in jail. My hair receded further and became thinner, leaving me almost bald, but my beard grew thick and long and gave me a fierce look. Nothing was left of my trustworthy face. Tattoos appeared on my skin, making my appearance fit my character. In this new person there was no room for creativity, for philosophy, for an interest in art and literature. All this became totally irrelevant to me, while you took my talents in these areas from me and added them to your own perks. You knew people would love you for your charisma from now on, while I had become a guy causing those who I held close before our encounter to change the side of the street to avoid him.

One last step to make your spell complete. You still had one of my traits to steal. So you sucked and sucked, humping me more violently and speeding up your hand movements to jerk me off. I spasmed and cramped as my body underwent the hardest change of this transformation. Dizzily looking up to you and down on me I saw the traces of age the years had left on your body disappear. You became younger. How many years, I can‘t say. As many as separated you from the age of a college student. You felt your health improve, you became more athletic and more beautiful.

Meanwhile I experienced the opposite. You drained all of my youth from me you needed to reach the age I had before, but I grew older and older. My face was marked by wrinkles, my beard grew thicker, longer and greyer. More smoke filled my lungs and my belly inflated until it fitted a middle-aged man who obviously had enjoyed his life. My personality, already stripped of my high intellect and my well-educated character, now completed the U turn as most of my conditioning changed, everything I grew up with in the late 90s and early 2000s was deleted and the millennial in me basically died. He made place for an early Gen X man or even a late boomer. And this changed everything for me. I suddenly remembered many years that had never been there before. I had grown up with far more conservative values, I had a wild youth and then settled for a more traditional life. I had spent decades working a blue collar job.

And as I realised what was happening, a gigantic orgasm built up inside me. I tried to stop it as I wanted to resist the transformation that had already happened, but it was too late. I started grunting with a deep, manly voice, rough from all the decades of smoking and drinking. Meanwhile the twink boy humping me let out a high and girlish scream. You released the last shots of spunk that were produced by your old self into my ass to give the last of the properties that you wanted to leave behind to me.

Simultaneously, I ejaculated the last remains of who I was into your hands. I cursed in my mind, but with the first shot, my anger over the transformation disappeared. The second shot I released released me from any other negative feelings about this, leaving me with a neutral attitude towards your deed. The third shot came and I started to like it. A fourth shot of cum turned that into joy and acceptance, as I realised it wasn‘t so bad after all. The orgasm continued with a fifth shot that awoke a certain gratitude to you. With the sixth shot the new personality and the evaluation of it as not only something acceptable, but even something preferable to what was before was completely embedded in my mind. And then the last, the seventh shot of spunk left me and with it went every last rest of who I was, including the memory of this evening. As the orgasm ebbed away, I didn‘t even know anymore I was transformed, as your spell was complete.

I lied on the hotel bed exhausted, looking down on my body. I was fat, old, bearded, hairy, scruffy, rough, bearish, tattooed, greying, wrinkled, a full man. Well, the man I always was. Lighting up a smoke I looked at the twink kneeling in front of me. You pulled your dick out of my ass while licking up the jizz from your fragile hands. What a filthy millennial bitch you are! You gave me a horny grin and stood up. You put the money into your bag. Now that I tried the passive role for the first time, I knew it wasn‘t for me. „How about we do it the other way around and I show you how it actually works?“, I mocked you. „Sorry, but you didn‘t pay for that,“ you replied and gave me a wink, „I know you crave a beautiful young lad like me. But this was a one time thing and I think it is time you start looking for guys in your league again, gramps.“ Before I could complain, you left my hotel room. I stroked my hairy belly, and as soon as the door fell shut behind you, I started wanking my thick, manly cock again, fantasising about fucking the enviable young twink I will probably never meet again. I wonder what his life is like…

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carmyboobear · 2 months

Text

ALEXITHYMIA CH 3: nightmares, pepto, and fire

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 1 ch 2 ch 4

Chapter Rating: M (7.9k)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bottle of lube materializes in their hand.

“You did?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carmy really feels like throwing up now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> no but its ok, ill take some after work

- but thats so far away!

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

> ill be ok. ill make it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, then be my fuckin’ guest—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn't owe me anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem. Bye!”

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

Actually, he feels a number of eyes on him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drop it,” he hisses.

“Why’re you always like this?”

“Like what?”

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

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

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

“A favor? What fucking favor?”

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

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

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

“Richie. Don’t.”

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

“I told you—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fak,” Carmy says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s fine.”

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

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

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

“You weren’t. You’re not.”

“I’m just…wondering about one thing.”

“...Yeah?”

“Why have you never invited them to family?”

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

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

“Marcus was on family anyway.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh.”

“Wouldn’t it be…weird?”

“Why would it be weird?”

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

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

“Little too late,” he echoes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Around them? Yeah. A little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A certain possessiveness grips him then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did he cry?” They ask.

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s not.”

“He’s not! He’s really not.”

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

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

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

Carmy ignores him and reaches for a can of tomatoes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” Carmy curses. “Fuck!”

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

“Why?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Yeah. Me neither.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It always stays the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am,” they say calmly.

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

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

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

“I—get what over with?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” Carmy begs.

Two cars whiz by before they speak again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. I don't expect that.”

“Then stop expecting it from yourself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There shouldn't be a next time.”

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

“But—“ He stops. “I'm sorry.”

“I know.” They pat his back.

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

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

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

“Oh, cool!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Yeah?”

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

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

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

It does not always have to stay the same.

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

@zorrasucia

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