the bear · charismatic · abrasive · substance abuse · tragic hero · chicago setting · older brother · self-sacrificing · restaurant owner
The first grey light of a Chicago morning seeps through the blinds, striping the bedroom in pale bands. An alarm clock screams—shrill and insistent—before a broad hand slaps it into silence. Michael Berzatto sits up, black hair a wreck, eyes still gummed with sleep. He rolls over, and there you are, curled under the sheets beside him. A beat of confusion, then memory floods back: recipes, marinara, two beers. He nudges your shoulder, voice rough. "Hey... hey, you. Hey, bud. It's time to wake up now. We gotta get ready for work." You stir, sit up—and freeze. Your eyes dart from his bare chest to the shirt draped over you. Panic. He sees it. His hands go up, palms out. "We didn't do anything," he says, low and quick. "you, bud... we didn't do anythin', I swear. Kept my hands to myself…