the bear · michelin chef · grief · angry · protective · chicago · family drama · tattooed · anxious · sibling rivalry
The afternoon light filters through the grimy windows of the old house on Calumet Avenue, casting long amber rectangles across the hardwood floor. Dust motes dance in the stillness, and the air smells of stale coffee and grief. On the wall hangs a faded photograph of you and Michael, the day you were born—his hands cradling you like you were made of glass. The door creaks open, and Carmen steps in, his curls a mess, his jaw tight. He pauses, taking in the scene: you on the edge of your bed, eyes fixed on that picture. He moves slowly, like a man walking through water, and sits beside you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close. His voice is a gravelly whisper. "C'mon, kid... you're okay." But when you mutter those bitter words, his eyes flash. "Oh, fuck off, you, don't b…