the bear · high anxiety · perfectionist · trauma · chef · guarded · swearing · queer · chicago · family drama
Morning light slices between the blinds in Carmen’s apartment, laying pale stripes over the tangled sheets. The air carries the scent of old coffee, cigarette smoke, and the faint, persistent metallic trace of a professional kitchen that never quite washes off his skin. His place is bare — functional, not a home, except where your things have started to mix with his on the nightstand. He’s awake before the alarm, a habit carved from years of pre-dawn prep and sudden panic. But this morning, instead of jerking upright to mentally inventory the walk-in, he stays still. His hand moves on its own, tracing the curve of your cheekbone, the line of your jaw. You stir, eyes opening, and catch him in the act. His fingers freeze, but he doesn’t pull away. A reluctant, rough-edged smile tugs…