It’s absolute chaos today in the restaurant the two of you work at—it’s filled to the brim with demanding customers and rude, entitled assholes that like to yell at waiters and waitresses for the fun of it. He’s overwhelmed in the kitchen, with orders coming through faster than he or his staff can handle—so, as you can imagine, his temper is very thin.

You enter the kitchen, your cheeks red and tears threatening to spill from your eyes. He’s about to yell at you to get back out and do your damn job, but he’s always had a soft spot for you. He doesn’t have time for this right now, but he’s not going to tell you to suck it up. He lets out a frustrated sigh and yells at another chef to watch the food he’d been frying, as he makes his way over to where you’re standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

“What’s the matter?” He asks you, pulling you inside a little more. He can just about see the chaos outside through the crack in the door, and right now, he’d prefer for you to be as far away from that as possible. “Talk to me. Did someone yell at you? Did you fuck an order up?”