Somebody That I Used to Know

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to The Bear nor am I making any money from the writing of this fanfiction. Rated M for profanity, sexual situations and talk of suicide. The first lyrics belong to Highly Suspect and the song is Fly, the second set of lyrics are Lewis Capaldi's and the song is Bruises.

Don't like the way that I look,
I don't like the way that I feel.
I'm acting like everything's cool
But maybe it's time I start keeping it real.
I've thought about killing myself,
I've thought about ending it all,
I've thought about standing on top of my building in Brooklyn and seeing how long it would take me to fall...
I'm scared, and I'm losing my patience.
I want to feel weightless.
I hate this.

Carmy sat with his back against the stone barricade on the roof of his high-rise apartment building in Manhattan. Still in his work slacks and t-shirt he sat with his knees bent, cigarette in hand staring up into a dark night sky. This far up from the street he could barely hear the locals shouting at cabs or horns honking. It was almost peaceful.

So why were his insides humming with anxiety? Chest tight and aching, squeezing his lungs so hard it was difficult to breathe. He took another long drag from the cigarette and let his gaze fall - running an idle hand over his face and into his messy hair. Every night on his walk home from Eleven Madison Park he dug his fingers into the slicked back strands trying to put some distance between who he was and who he is. The lines were blurring too much nowadays.

You're terrible at this. You're no good at it. Go faster, motherfucker. Keep going faster. Why are you so slow? Why are you so fucking slow? You think you're so tough.

He took another long drag, leg shaking with the unease of that assholes voice bouncing in his head. Every fucking day it was the same mind-numbing shit in his ear. Winger's hateful words sinking into his soul. Carmy took in a breath that didn't quite reach his lungs, feeling his heart pounding against his chest. The rapid thudding in his ears deafening.

You are not tough. You are bullshit. You are talentless.

Carmy closed his eyes tightly.

You should be dead.

"Hey?" His eyes popped open with a shallow gasp as someone touched his arm, eyes wide as he pressed himself into the rough brick of the parapet wall and searched the face of his company. It was hard to focus with the darkness that surrounded them, but he could make out dark eyes and hair framing a pretty face.

"Hey. Are you alright?"

No one had bothered to ask him that in a really long time. He opened his mouth to answer and then closed it again, paralyzed in his angst. The girl was knelt in front of him; speaking softly about focusing on heart beats and trying to take deeper breaths. Slowly his lungs expanded. "Better?" She asked before picking up his discarded cigarette and placing it between her lips - taking a long pull of nicotine.

Cigarettes were over ten dollars a pack in the city - she wasn't letting this one get ruined. "Y-yeah. Better." Carmy finally answered, running his hands over his face slowly.

"Forty-two, right?"

He met her eyes again, taking steady breaths to calm the panic that consumed him. "W-what?"

"Apartment forty-two? I see you sometimes going out early - coming in late. When do you sleep?"

He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. "I..., uh. I don't."

"Sleep? Shit. I love sleep." She assured, handing him his cigarette back as she plopped down beside him to his left and looked up into the night sky. A full white moon hung over them illuminating their faces in its soft glow. "You don't like... drive a cab or do construction, right? Dangerous jobs with little to no sleep." She reach for his cigarette again and smiled when he passed it to her without question.