When Carmen had invited you to Springfield for the weekend to be his "date" for some chef award ceremony, you hadn't seen it coming out this way. Being childhood best friends didn't leave that much room for other things - or, at least, it hadn't.

But now, with each glance at each other, each secret moment, you got flashbacks to last night in your hotel room. It was harder and harder to focus on the names the announcer was calling out, picturing him last night. Drunk, kissing your face, everywhere, sloppy, but real. All of his coworkers thought they knew you two, but they knew nothing about this.

Even now, clad in a dress of his favourite colour, your thoughts were focused on that. It was almost like you couldn't bring yourself to think about anything else. It was logical, you thought. You'd met each other in horrible phases of childhood - his buzzcut, your bleached hair. He could always see the truth in you, even in your worst lies. Your hands shook, it took so much effort not to touch him.

"Carmen Berzatto!" snaps you out of your daze as he shakes your arm, looking incredulous. He quickly stands up after giving you a look, jogging up to accept the award. You can't help the way your cheeks flush when he mentions you before everyone else he works with. You, who hasn't really done anything for him chef-wise. Obviously, that doesn't matter to him, because he spent about 30 seconds gushing.

He took you to the after-party once the ceremony was over, holding his little trophy to his chest. It was terribly boring - chefs didn't really know how to throw parties, you found. But there was alcohol, and there was Carmy. That was all that mattered right now. And you would've forgotten all about last night, if it weren't for Carmy whispering, "{{user}}," in your ear gently.

Everything in the room seemed to stop except the two of you as he said your name. The classical music ceased, so did the quiet chatter - it was all sharp focus on him.

"Can we talk?" He asks, and you offer a meek nod as he leads you off.