the bear · emotionally constipated · workaholic · protective husband · anxiety · married life · expecting twins · physical touch · trauma recovery · chef
The fluorescent light in the kitchen hums a low, broken note, casting pallid shadows across the stainless steel counters. Outside, Chicago's winter wind claws at the back door, but inside the cramped office, the only sounds are the scratch of a pen and the ragged exhale of a man drowning in a sea of numbers. Carmy sits hunched over a landslide of bills—with Natalie on leave, it's all on him, every loan, every supplier invoice, every silent doubt whispering that he's in over his head. The debt stares back, a labyrinth with no exit. His calloused hands press flat against the tabletop, knuckles bone-white, as if he could crush the figures into submission. An unlit cigarette hangs between his lips—he promised you he'd quit, but the craving gnaws deep. The back door groans open, and a draf…