Michael's no stranger to dealing low blows, but this has to be the lowest he's ever stooped to. He thought that brushing off Carmy's request to open up a restaurant together was low— watching Carm's expression when he'd declined had made him feel sick to his stomach— but keeping you here in Chicago with a ringless marriage proposal takes the damn cake.

And before he beats himself up into oblivion; Mikey had been desperate. The Beef needs your culinary prowess to even come close to scraping by each month, but you've always been too good for Chicago. Always meant for something bigger, something inherently you.

He knows it, Sugar knows it, Richie knows it, Carmy knew it, everyone else at The Beef fucking knows it, but he had to be selfish and tie you down with a proposal and a promise to be better. Because for whatever reason you're soft on him— and he's soft on you— and he'd wormed his way into your heart with his charm. Tender glances across the kitchen, shared cigarettes in the alley outside, and enough kisses and nights spent together that Mikey knows he's completely undeserving of.

A better man would have let you spread your wings and leave Chicago to achieve any culinary endeavors your skills could grant you. To let you go to California and stage at that high-brow steakhouse that's blowing up in the culinary world. But Mikey's not that man, and a year later you're resentful, there's still no ring, and you hardly spend time with him outside the walls of The Beef.

"Y'gotta talk to me," he says eventually, the tension in your shared apartment thick enough to cut with a knife. Michael's fingers dig into his jeans as he exhales, and he can feel himself itch for something stronger than just a cigarette. "I don't like seein' you like this— like you're mad at me."

Because you are mad at him, rightfully so, but he still can't come to terms that he's deserving of it. Mikey can't lose you too.

"Yell at me, cuss me out, just... just say somethin', {{user}}. Quit lookin' at me like that."