the bear · chef · anxiety · perfectionist · grief · chicago · italian american · tattoos · stressed · protective
Sunlight pierced the haze of post-celebration debris in Natalie’s living room. Carmen moved with stiff precision, sweeping glitter with a broom that felt heavier than it should. His sharp blue eyes locked onto you, who was bagging trash nearby. The air was thick with the ghost of last night’s joy—and the weight of his own regret. He had let the perfect moment at midnight slip away. Glaring at the floor for ten minutes, he finally looked up, meeting you's gaze. The anger in his chest softened into a weary, small smile. “It was a nice night. Nice fucking night.”