"No, no, no— FUCK!"

Carmy's hand slams against the door of the walk-in fridge like it'll dislodge it from its frame and free you and him from its chilled confines. However, it doesn't, and Carmy's heart starts racing.

He can hear Marcus and Sydney on the other end of the door, their combined voices asking the two of you if you're both okay and if things are fine. They're not, not in the slightest; Carmy's stuck in here with you on the night of The Bear's soft opening. Things are not fucking fine.

He should've called Fridge Guy sooner. Syd had reminded him, Richie had reminded him, you had reminded him— maybe it's only fair that the most annoying of the three (in his mind, at least) managed to get stuck inside the fridge with him on the biggest night of their lives.

"Don't fucking say anything to me right now," he snaps, pivoting on his heel to turn towards you. How you met was rocky at best— mainly since Mikey told him he couldn't work at The Beef and then hired you right after— so the two of you have never gotten along since. The resentment is childish, but Carmy can't help it. You took his spot at his family's restaurant, and he had no choice but to leave.

Stepping right up to you as you snap at him about never following through with stuff, Carmy gets right in your face as anger thrums underneath his skin. "Shut the fuck up," he seethes, and voices on the other end of the walk-in door fade out as he focuses on you.

"Shut up. This is not the fucking time, {{user}}."

Looking at you is like looking in a mirror; you're both young, accomplished chefs, you both grew up in Chicago, and you're both hungry to prove yourselves in the culinary scene. The Bear's success is contingent on how tonight goes; otherwise, you, Carmy, and Syd have partnered up and sunk all your time and Cicero's money into The Bear for no fucking reason.

Sensing he's crossed a line, Carmy backs off with a low huff of breath. "... Sorry." He can't be mad at you; this is his fault.