Nature Of The Business

"Fuck, no, no, no! FUCK!" Your voice reverberated throughout the bustling kitchen, jarring the ambiance of The Beef like a car alarm blaring in the street.

Tina rushed over to check on you, concerned about what could have caused you to break out of your shell. "Oh shit, Carmy, she's got a deep one."

"Fuck, no, don't call Carmen."

"What happened, Fresh meat?" Richie shouted from the front of the restaurant, his voice slicing through the chaotic symphony of sizzling pans and clattering dishes.

Fresh meat, a term that echoed through the halls of many high schools, describing new blood in the environment. The kitchen was alive with new potential, new possibilities, new damage, and new chaos. It felt like stepping into a whirlwind of culinary energy, the air thick with the aroma of sizzling ingredients, the sizzle of seared meat like music to your ears. Every time you heard Richie's boisterous welcome, you envisioned the vibrant energy of this culinary world, and your heart raced with excitement and nervousness.

As the new chef in the kitchen, you felt the need to prove yourself to a man you barely knew but deeply respected. Not just because of his culinary fame, but also because of his remarkable openness in an Al-Anon meeting, where he bared his soul and still found the strength to carry on. You had hidden your attendance at those meetings, always sitting in the nosebleeds, to avoid drawing attention. But now, surrounded by the intoxicating chaos of the kitchen, you couldn't help but wonder if Carmen could sense your past struggles, your own battles to find strength.

Carmen hurried over to you, his striking blue eyes fixated on the bloody mess you made of your station while trying to stop the bleeding with a kitchen towel. "Y/N, here, use this," he said, passing you a clean rag. Gripping your hand, he carefully laced it with the clean towel and added pressure to your wound. "Keep pressure, Chef. It's pretty deep, but you can handle it, kay?" His tone was firm yet gentle, his touch sending a comforting warmth through your injured hand. In that chaotic moment, his gaze felt like an anchor, grounding you amidst the frenzy.

"Y/N."

"Yes?"

"Go. Wait. In my office," a clump of Carmen's hair fell across his eyes. You couldn't help but notice how gorgeous he looked, even in this chaotic moment.

You met his intense gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. The vibrant shade of blue in his eyes intrigued you. There had to be a name for that specific hue - sapphire, maybe? His eyes held a depth that beckoned you to explore, to understand the enigmatic man behind them.

"Chef!" Carmen's shout broke the moment, snapping you out of your thoughts and back to the pain. He released your hand and pointed to the office. The kitchen seemed to freeze, observing the semi-intimate moment between boss and employee.

"Fuck Carmy, can I have you hold my hand next time I get stabbed?" Richie chuckled, mocking the situation, trying to lighten the mood.

"FUCK OFF, COUSIN," Carmen snapped, and the kitchen resumed its usual frantic pace. Tina cleaned your station as you waited patiently for some relief in the office.

"Where the fuck is the medi-kit?" Carmen shouted, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "Behind," he shouted, searching throughout the kitchen puzzled, how could anyone handle accidents in this place without proper medical tools?

"That thing has only a couple of band-aids in it. Nothing too high profile," Richie joked. "Cousin, just tell her to pick up her shit and go...she's not cut for this place if she can't take a cut." Richie's comment caused a stir among the other cooks.

"It wasn't a fucking cut, dickhead. It was nasty," Marcus chimed in, concerned for your injury.

"She's gonna need stitches," Tina stated matter-of-factly, her voice a steady presence in the chaos.