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Gods & Monsters
chapter seven

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CHAPTER SEVEN
Three, Two, You

MAYBE THIS was a bad idea. Installing a brigade, assigning Sydney as his sous chef. Pretending, even for a second, that Michael was there. That Michael was alive and breathing, and he could just ask him who the fuck Nico was. Maybe that was a bad idea, to let himself hope that all of this was some ugly dream. Some nightmare that seared his taste buds like scalding hot water. Because now — now — he felt sick.

He felt his chest tighten. His knees grow weak. He felt his heart pounding in his chest like a snare drum. He felt it all, amplified. His vision blurry. The sadness, the grief, it all weighed down on him. Like a tumor, snuggled up nice and warm in his body. Like a parasite, draining every source of goodness out of him through a sieve. He was losing it.

The rhythmic drone of the calling sound echoed in his ear. His office door was shut tight, locked. The lamp light was off, bathing him in darkness. He listened, intently, eyes screwed shut. It wasn't until he heard her voice did a surge of cold wash over him. "Hello?"

She sounded confused. She should be. An unknown number was calling her out of the blue. He attempted to suck in a breath, but his throat only squeezed tighter. A small noise of disdain slipped past his parted lips. "Uh, hello?" she asked more forcefully. He sniffed. Fingers ran through his mop of curls. "Hey," he exhaled, clearing his throat after. "Sorry, um, this is Carmen."

There was a beat of silence. "Hi," she blurted out. She sounded surprised. A twitch at his lips almost had him smiling. "Hi," he echoed. His rough palm slid down his face until he was resting his cheek against it. "I know its your day off. I'm not asking you to come in."

"You sure?" she replied instantly. "Most bosses don't contact their employees unless they need their help." He winced. He did need her help. He needed her help desperately. With what, he wasn't sure. Maybe his trouble breathing. Maybe the panic that rattled him from the inside. Maybe the despair that gnawed at his organs like an alien. "I'm sure," he attempted to reassure her. His eyes cracked open, vision shrouded in darkness.

They were wet. When had he started crying? "Then what do I owe the pleasure?" she hummed, and it sounded like she was at a checkout. The beeping of the machine went off inside his head. "And how did you get my number?" His head thumped softly against the wall behind him. He didn't want to say that he had revisited her resume. He did that a lot. It felt like an easy way to connect with her, through their similar interest in the food industry. It sounded creepy the more he thought about it.

"Didn't you give it to me?" he replied, his tone teasing. She laughed, a soft noise. He felt the tightness in his chest falter just slightly. "I did not," she informed him and she sounded so sure of herself. "Much like how you didn't give me your number." He exhaled a laugh through his nose. He blinked against the darkness, swallowing a bit of the tension in his throat. "C'mon. Indulge me."

          Another beep. His eyes rolled skyward before his eyelids closed. "Your resume," he admitted. She made no noise of discomfort. No noise whatsoever. Only that beep again. "Are you shopping?" he asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction. She hummed softly. "Yes. Grocery shopping," she answered, her smile evident in her voice. "These self checkout lines are brilliant. I don't have to feel bad about talking on the phone... And I don't have to talk to people."

          "Sounds like heaven," he sighed. Another beep. She must have been shopping for the week. A pang filled his chest. Was she able to pay for a week's worth of groceries? With how the business had been going and the growing debt, he had barely been able to buy his own groceries. "I am making kimchi today," she said, and her voice sounded much closer. He assumed she had the phone pressed closer to her face. Maybe she was paying. "Yeah?" he responded. His mouth felt so dry.

She hummed in confirmation. He could hear her type in her four digit pin number through the phone. "You can put kimchi literally on anything," she continued. "I saw someone say online that they put kimchi in their homemade tacos. So, that is what I'm going to try and do in a few days after it ferments."

Could she tell that he was troubled? Could she tell just by his breathing that he needed her? That her voice calmed him down tremendously. "That sounds really good," he admitted. His palm slid over his face before his arm fell slack. His hand landed in his lap. "Um, listen. I need to tell you something." She hummed. He was starting to really enjoy that low sound. It filled him with calm, serenity that he hadn't felt ever in his life. "So, uh, I made some changes to how everything works. Mostly for the back, but I think you should know."

"Cool," she chirped. "What kind of changes, hot shot chef?" He smiled. He smiled with a shake of his head. Inside his chest, his heart was beating again. Normally, in tune with his breaths. "Hot shot chef," he echoed with a hint of amusement. "I don't think I like that nickname as much as the other one." He heard her laugh. "Alright, then. What changes, Carmen?"

His tongue ran over the cracked flesh of his bottom lip. "Sydney's my sous chef. She's kind of second in charge, okay? So, you'll have to talk to her before coming to me. And, um, she's also implementing her own rules. Like checks and walk throughs. I'm sure she'll fill you in on that stuff when you come back."

"That sounds like a lot," she mused. He snorted. If only she knew. "But if you think that it'll help change whatever happened last time, then I'm down." His heart swelled. She trusted him. He knew that. She had told him once before, but hearing her trust him a bit blindly had his face growing warm. "I also got new aprons for everyone. You won't keep losing your pens now."

          She gasped. He wasn't sure if it was genuine or sarcastic, but the sound made him chuckle. He exhaled a heavy breath as a smile crawled over his face. "You're my hero," she sighed. "Seriously. Its so humiliating to walk up to a table thinking you're prepared only to find out your apron had eaten your pen. And Richie made the biggest stink out of it, too. He acted like you can't just go into the bank and take the free pens."

          This had him laughing. He could picture her walking into a bank, checking her balance, and then snagging a pen. Maybe one at a time, or would she grab a handful when the teller wasn't looking? He wasn't sure, but the idea of it had his stomach clenching with laughter. "It's nice to hear you laugh, you know," she hummed and it was then that he could hear the bustling around her. The wind that swept past and the conversations of other people. "For a while now, I thought you lost the ability to laugh. You've been so quiet."

          The rustling of plastic bags fill his ears. He sat back, head thumping against the wall. "Yeah," he exhaled softly. "I'm sorry."

          "... Why are you saying sorry?" He sucked in a breath. He didn't know. Maybe because he felt guilty worrying her, but was she even worried about him? Was anyone truly worried about him? "I don't know," he replied with a breathless, humorless laugh. "I don't know." His head fell one more into his hands. Fingers pressed firm into his temples. "No one is happy with the brigade," he admitted in a low tone. "I think I'm just stressed out."

          The trunk of her car slammed closed. "Naturally," she said. "You're making changes and change can freak some people out. And, of course, that is going to stress you out. There's some stubborn people that work there." He nodded with a snort. Stubborn was one word to put it. And he knew exactly who she was talking about. The older employees, the ones who had been there longer. The ones who screamed you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but he knew that wasn't true. They had potential, he just needed to find a way to show that to them.

          "You know, if you're ever getting too stressed, its okay to take a step back. The place wouldn't run very well without a boss." His thumb and pointer finger now pinched the bridge of his nose between them. She was right. It seemed like she was right a majority of the time. "Yeah," he huffed. "Yeah, no. You're right." He blinked. His eyes had started to get used to the darkness. Silently, he pulled his phone from his ear to check the time. "Hey, uh, I gotta go."

          He struggled to swallow the pill shaped lump in his throat. "Okay," she replied, a bit surprised. Was she disappointed? "Okay, yeah. If you need me, call me. Or text. Whichever is easiest for you." He grinned. So sweet, he thought. He hummed gently. "For sure. See you tomorrow, Miyeon."

          "Bye, Carmen."

          He hit the red button. His screen returned to his contacts. Her contact picture was empty. Most of his contacts were the grey silhouettes. After staring at the screen for a moment, he locked the screen. He felt better, but something else felt like it was missing.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆

It isn't strange for Miyeon to be at the Beef after hours. If anything, its more common than uncommon. Even on her days off, it seemed. Because there she was, coming in through the back door with wind swept hair and red cheeks. "Hey, Chef," she greeted Carmen, setting her bag down on the bench, her jacket following. He was sitting on the floor with a scrub brush and water pooling at his knees. "Hey," he replied in slight surprise. "Did I butt dial you or something?"

She pulled back her dark hair and tied it up. "Nope," she replied. Her shirt rode up ever so slightly to expose the warm flesh of her stomach. "Sydney did text me, though. She had a lot to say about today." She offered him a sympathetic smile before her hands moved to her waist. "Did Sweeps cover the front?" Carmen's lips parted slightly. He couldn't even remember what had gotten done. He had been so focused on his conversation with Sydney that the rest of the day just flew by. "You okay? You seem out of it."

His head nodded despite the urge to tell her no. He could tell her no. She would listen with zero judgment. It was a talent of hers that he appreciated. "Well... I brought a speaker from home. Would you wanna listen to some music while we finish up?" A hint of a smile flashed across his face. A chuckle rumbled deep within his chest. "Sure," he replied. "Go ahead." Excitement filled her eyes. She carefully stepped over his puddle of soapy water and set the speaker onto the counter. "How, uh, how did the kimchi go?"

She leaned against the counter, thumb typing in her passcode with ease. "Oh, great. It was really fun," she replied, her eyes remaining on her phone. He took this as an opportunity to take her in. From her maroon top to the denim hugging her waist. Ribbons were tied to her belt loops. Her jeans made her waist look smaller, if that was even possible, and her shirt didn't quite reach the hem of her jeans. He sighed, eyes darting up toward her tangled locks. The wind must have had a field day with her. "I can bring some at the end of the week," she offered, beaming over at the man. It was then that he noticed the lack of makeup on her face.

Even without it, she was beautiful. Her lips a soft, pale, orange hue. The bags under her eyes were more prominent, but he didn't mind. He thought they were stunning. "Sounds good," he replied, struggling to reciprocate her excitement. He was too focused on the thundering inside of his chest, and the warmth that flooded his stomach. "I've, uh... I've never actually eaten kimchi before," he admitted. The tips of his ears burned with embarrassment. Music began to flood from the speaker, filling the cluttered room.

          Surprise etched itself across her face. "You haven't?" She set her phone down on the counter to stay, unlocked in case she wanted to change the song. Carmen shook his head. He hadn't expected her to seem so surprised. "Oh, that has to change. I'm going to bring you a whole meal, okay?" His brows shot up. Lips parted. "You've got to get the whole experience. Do you like ramen? Rice?"

          As she talked, she lowered to her knees to join him. She reached across from her to take the rag that had been floating in his bucket of soap water. "Yeah," he replied. "Yes, to both." She smiled, wringing out the rag. Her eyes met him for a split second before she was sitting back on her legs. "Good. That gives me an idea of what you might enjoy."

          His head tilted. "Gotta make sure it appeases to your professional palate." His lips curled into a smile. A genuine laugh bubbled from deep within him. "What?" she feigned innocence. "You're a highly esteemed chef. Your palate must be immaculate." Their eyes met once more. His throat tightened. Seeing her bare faced seemed to affect him much more than when she showed up in a full face of makeup. Jesus, it was getting harder to breathe. "Except for the fact you smoke cigarettes. So, I guess I don't have to worry too much."

          "I'm sure whatever you make, I'll enjoy," he reassured her. She laughed. It had been a while since she made a proper meal. A lot of the time, she was just breaking out her mother's favorite poor people dishes. But this... this was special, in a sense. "No pressure or anything," she joked. The rag squelched against the floor. Already, the water was beginning to turn a pale brown color. "We need better mops."

          "We need a lot of things," Carmen sighed. And they did. They needed a better deep clean. They needed better tools to deep clean. But all of that cost money that he just didn't have, that no one really had. "Lowes is having a sale on some stuff right now. If we chalk up the money, we could get a dishwasher. It could help save time."

          His head shook. He didn't like dishwashers. "It's better by hand," he told her. "I just need to make sure they're doing their job." The bristles were rough against the floor. Water sloshed between them. Miyeon paused, watching his brows furrow. He was deep in thought, it seemed. His chest moved faster, tighter. "Hey," she spoke up, "you okay? Do you need a minute?" Once again, he shook his head. His nostrils flared as his breathing became choppy.

          Miyeon watched, worriedly. She waited as he continued to drown deeper into the stress, into the panic, into the darkness that the Beef had become since his brother died. He sat back, gasping for breath, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. She wasted no time in crawling in front of him, hands reaching for his. "Carmen," she whispered gently. "Carmen, it's okay. Look at me."

          Blue eyes met hers. Hesitantly, she pressed a palm to his shoulder. "Breathe with me, yeah?" His head bopped in a nod. He struggled to hold her eye contact. He struggled around her in general, and now he was drowning in embarrassment. Suffering a panic attack in front of a woman he finds attractive; a woman who worked under him. But he tried. He tried to follow her ministrations, squeezing the hand in his grasp. "Can you tell me three things you can see right now?"

"You," he croaked out. Her smile brightened ever so slightly. "Good. Good, what else? Just two more things." His eyes flickered away from hers to take in the kitchen. "Pans... and an oven." He sucked in a breath, wincing at the tight pain in his chest. Her hand on his shoulder ran over his arm, her touch light. "That was good," she assured him sweetly. "Two things you can feel?" He wasn't sure how she was doing it, but he was feeling lighter already. "Water," he said, blinking back the tears still threatening to spill over his waterline. "And you."

He wasn't sure if it was just his eyes or if he had actually seen her skin flush. She nodded her head and cleared her throat. "Good," she exhaled. "How are you feeling?" He blinked. He didn't want to let go of her hand. He didn't want her to move away from him. "Okay," he admitted. "Thank you."

She nodded her head. "Don't mention it," she replied. "Let me get you a glass of water, okay? And out of this gross water." Her free hand slipped down to his palm. Her touch sent goosebumps over his skin. He swallowed as she buckled down on his hands, and allowed her to help him to his feet. "Go sit in your office for a bit. Maybe turn that fan on." He glanced down at their conjoined hands. He could intertwine their fingers. He could lock their hands together and live in the moment. He wanted to, so desperately. But he nodded and did as he was instructed to.

It didn't take long for her to enter his gaze again with a glass of water. She sat down on his desk, the orange hue of the light shrouding her in darkness. "Feeling okay?" she asked. Her fingers itched to run through his mop of curls. He guzzled a good bit of water down, sighing as he pulled away. His head nodded in silence. The two sat there for a moment, taking one another in. "You wanna talk about it?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "No, I'm– I'm okay. Thank you." She pouted. He wasn't as convincing as he thought he was. She slipped her hand toward him, fingertips grazing his knuckles. "You don't have to suffer alone in this," she reminded him. Slowly, his fingers uncurled. They slid over hers until his hand lay over hers completely. Her skin was so soft, so cold. He shuddered silently. "I know," he whispered, tongue darting across his lips to wet them.

She wasn't going to push him anymore. She instead let him hold her hand. It isn't like they were doing anything wrong. Hand holding is completely innocent... right?

rumi says . . .

your honor, i love them.

carmen is so broken. like it physically
pains me to see him suffer like this. but
he's got miyeon now even if he won't ask
for her. and they're holding hands ! what
do you think that'll do to their already
tense dynamic ?

did you guys like the chapter ?
what was your favorite part ?

thank you for reading!
feedback is greatly appreciated!