The Hive was more than just a restaurant in bustling Chicago. It was a monument of love, of adoration. Her father came from nothing and wanted to give her mother something, something to give their children and their children after them. It was a constant, a well oiled machine that oozed comfort and warmth and consistency that Bella knew most people never knew in their lifetimes.

She was lucky to grow up with something so constant, she knew. She would walk there after school from first grade until she got her car at the end of her sophomore year of high school and work the counter until they closed in the early evenings. Madison, her sister, helped her mother design the menus and serve drinks, and her father ran the kitchen. Bella felt out of place there, but she was the youngest, after all; she was eight years younger than Madison and her parents were in late adulthood, so of course she felt a little out of place. The business ran before her, and it ran despite her.

It was never her passion anyway, not really- it was her father's testament of love, her mother's passion project and Madison's future. Bella wasn't designed to fit into the equation, and she lived vicariously outside of it. She was a musician, music was her heart and soul. Every instrument she could get her hands on, she learned like the back of her hand. Sheet music was substituted for handwritten tickets, and she fed people with her voice, not with delicate brunch platters or greasy burgers at lunchtime or handcrafted coffee drinks. Her father loved when she would play live on Saturday mornings in the dining area, stationed at the front window of the restaurant, tucked away in her corner. Give us a show, he would smile to her every morning before the breakfast rush. She didn't get a thrill from cooking a complicated meal or running through the church rush, she got a thrill from playing for people and listening to their soft applause after a particularly well-crafted set.

Bella Moreau was going to be a musician, she'd known it from the day she knew what music was. It was a blessing to grow up in a house so full of sound, one so supportive of her passion and thirst for melody. She started with the piano in the morning, stretching her hands and readjusting to maintain round arches, strong fingertips. She played the cello in the afternoon, once she was older; she loved the deep sounds it made, the way the bass vibrated under her hands. She played the guitar in the evenings, when her mother made them dinner and her father sat in the living room with her, humming along to songs he knew, listening quietly to memorize the ones he didn't. Madison wasn't around much, but Bella felt the only time Madison truly saw her was when she played in the evenings. Madison would come in through the front door, usually cold and muttering bitterly about the strong wind outside, and stop to give Bella a kiss on the crown of her head before heading to the kitchen to help their mother.

Bella only felt purpose when she was playing something. She wasn't very outgoing or social, not well integrated with the rest of her social class. Madison was much older than her, and so were her friends, and so were most of their siblings, so Bella was usually on her own. She could only hear her own voice when she was singing, only felt heard when people were listening to her play. She wasn't good at much else, she knew. Her father thought she was perfect, and her mother would never say something so crass, but Bella knew she wasn't cut out for much else. She was just smart enough to get good grades, smart enough to coast with relative ease through standardized tests and the basics in school, but not smart enough to pursue much any "serious" degree. She couldn't conceptualize chemistry or biology, she didn't have the best memory for history class, and she struggled in English because she would've rather read sheet music.

A dusty guitar sat in the corner of her bedroom, her keyboard leaning against the inner wall of her closet. A "Hive" uniform hung on her open door, pants folded and hanging from the bottom of a hanger, the black shirt hanging from a separate hanger to the left of them. She had sold her cello the summer before her first semester of college, where she went on to major in communication and media and minor in multidisciplinary design. She'd managed to land a scholarship at the University of Michigan- she couldn't have been as dull as she thought, Bella remembered thinking bitterly upon receiving the letter- but not because she was passionate about it. She pursued her degree because it was simple, secure, and something to distract herself with. It was a way out.

A picture of her family sat on her nightstand. Her studio apartment was scarcely decorated, save a few neglected house plants and a few pictures with mismatched frames scattered around the place. A picture of her and her father on the coast of Lake Michigan hung next to her dresser. Somewhere deep in the back of her closet, a funeral brochure was buried in the bottom of a shoe box.

She (just barely) graduated three years prior, only to find herself stuck in a city that haunted her, doing a job she wasn't passionate about in a lonely apartment devoid of music. Sleeves of records were hidden away in her closet, record player stored out of sight.

Bella had tried so hard to run away from her life, her family's business, her music, only to find herself right back at the beginning. What a life, she couldn't stop herself from constantly thinking.

It was dark outside when her alarm went off. She sat in her bed for a few long moments, as if debating whether she wanted to actually get up. Her phone had few notifications when she checked it, headed to the bathroom. Dawn hadn't yet broke when she finished brushing her teeth and sorting her long hair, still blinking sleep from her eyes. Her bathroom was bare but had small mementos that made it feel like her: A ragged house plant, her makeup bag and purple toothbrush, A poster taped to the wall next to the door. The apartment was quiet as she dressed in her simple uniform, tucking her mustard yellow apron into her tote bag before stopping to grab an orange from her tiny kitchen. She brushed the small gold cross hanging from a dainty chain off the trim around her front door with her fingertips before walking out, making sure to lock the door behind her.

Her apartment was a less than fifteen minute walk from the restaurant, never less than ten. She'd walked the street hundreds of times now, and she got deja vu from all the times she had walked to the cafe early on a weekend morning to fill in as a server. Bella always walked in silence, hands stuffed tightly in her jacket pockets, even in the summer. She was sensitive to the windy weather the city was so known for. It was a good morning, though, she thought offhandedly. It wasn't frigid, even with the sun still set, which was odd for February.

Bella couldn't stop herself from thinking that her Dad would've loved walking in this weather.

He died at the beginning of her senior year of high school. He had picked her up from one friend or another's, and she remembered laughing with him in the car to his dramatic rendition of whatever song was playing on the radio. Then a car hit the drivers side door, sending splinters of glass into Bella's face as the car was pushed back onto the sidewalk, into the side of a brick building. The paramedics said he would've never survived it, that he likely never saw the car with its headlights off. A drunk driver, they sadly informed her mother when she arrived at the scene, riddled with shock and left with a gaping hole in her chest.

Bella didn't speak the whole night, not to her mother nor Madison. She barely spoke until the funeral, where she stood at the lectern in front of rows of pews cramped with people. She remembered palming at the hem of her heavy black dress, hair tied back away from her face. She couldn't hide, she couldn't breathe. She could barely even remember getting through her speech, rarely looking up from the shakily written notecards until she was finished, walking out of the church completely as soon as she'd uttered the last word. She didn't even remember what she'd said, and she dumped the cards into the nearest trash as soon as she'd finished, so she'd probably never figure it out.

She should've died in the accident but she didn't. She should've done something when she came to and saw blood dripping across his face, head hanging limply. She should've tried to get out of the car, call for help herself, comfort him, really speak to him one last time. She should've cried, begged, anything when she saw her mother arrive at the scene. She should've considered how it affected her and Madison, but Bella couldn't feel anything. She didn't feel anything for months, and had never felt like herself after it. Nothing felt the same, not her dreams or aspirations or relationships with her family. She'd lost a part of herself, the only part of herself that felt worth something when her Dad died, and she didn't think she would ever get it back.

Nothing was the same. Nothing would ever be the same.

She pushed through the back door of the Hive without bothering to see if it was unlocked.

Bella had just finished wiping down the front counter when she saw Madison practically run to her office, a choked sob leaving her mouth before the door shut loudly.

Bella always stayed late to do the more thorough cleaning tasks, not having much to go home to at eight thirty in the evening unlike the rest of the staff. They'd hosted a private event tonight, anyways, some low-key Galentines party where the group got pleasantly wine drunk and were whisked away by a boyfriend or two around midnight. The event was tiring and likely unnecessary but Madison insisted, unwilling to pass up the money in the wake of Covid.

Bella could hear rustling coming from the office, though completely oblivious to what Madison was doing. She clenched her hands unconsciously at the sound of the harsh click of the door shutting, feeling apprehensive and uncomfortable; she and Madison were not close in any real sense of the word. Bella was not the person that ever saw Madison cry, let alone comforted her. Bella didn't feel qualified to intrude by checking in on Madison. She didn't feel like she deserved the chance, really. But when she looked back down at the counter, Bella knew she couldn't in good conscience leave Madison like that.

No matter the distance between them, Madison was half of her: her protector, a role model, her competition, her best friend, a stranger, her strength. She wasn't the kind of person Bella would leave alone, crying. So Bella unclenched her fists and slowly walked down the corridor to Madison's office door. Her father's office door.

She didn't knock. Slowly, she turned the door handle and stepped into the dark office. A lamp was sat in the corner of her desk in the corner of the small room, dimly illuminating Madison, who was sitting against the wall facing Bella.

The younger girl's stomach dropped at the sight of her distraught sister. Madison was so solid, so in control compared to Bella and her mother. Bella could count on one hand the amount of times she'd seen Madison cry throughout her entire life. "Maddi?" Bella called out to her sister softly, slowly dropping to her knees to be at Madison's level, the light from the open door illuminating her face.

Madison shook her head almost involuntarily, fingers twitching at her sides as she took trembling, shallow breaths. Her hand was death gripping her phone, turning white from the intensity of her grasp. Madison's gaze flitted to meet Bella's, a distant look in her green eyes.

"Mikey just fucking shot himself on the State Street Bridge, Honey." Madison's use of her childhood nickname made Bella's stomach churn sourly. She sat there with her hands in her lap, jaw dropped on her knees in front of her older sister, who was sitting with her knees pulled to her chest, still twitching. Bella couldn't think of anything to say.

"Oh my God."

"Yeah." Madison sounded like she could be sick. Bella certainly felt like it. Mikey Berzatto was Madison's best friend since kindergarten; Bella remembered seeing Madison walk to the restaurant with him by her side as they got older, when Madison didn't care to buy a car and Mikey didn't have the money to. Despite their massive differences they were too similar to not be drawn to each other. They were close, eldest children of business owners, so adult compared to their other peers. Madison was him. Bella could've sworn Madison had loved him, before, though she had never said it explicitly to her. The Berzatto's had that effect.

"Mads, what do we do?" Bella felt so small asking her sister that, especially with her sister sitting in shambles in front of her, but she didn't know what else to say. She couldn't imagine it. It couldn't be real. Madison put her head in her hands, which were resting against her knees.

"Fuck, Honey," Bella could hear the tears in her voice, "I gotta go see Richie." Bella nodded, awkwardly reaching out for her sister. Mikey was Madison's best friend. They grew up together, she really thought he would get his life around. He was Madison's rock. She loved him. What would happen to The Beef?

"Yeah, I... I can drive you," her words sounded more like a question than a statement, but it was an olive branch. A request to be close, to help, to comfort her. Madison was hit with a wave of grief, a deep hurt from the pit of her stomach working through her. She nodded from behind her hands, whispering obscenities between clenched teeth.

"Yeah, please," was the only clear message Madison could muster, reaching for the desktop beside her to pull herself back into a standing position, Bella following her. The younger sister couldn't stop herself from hugging the older one around the waist, feeling every tremble and cry that came out of her. Bella didn't like it. Any measure of grief made her sweaty and ready to run out of the room, but this moment was bigger than her aversion. Her sister was devastated. Mikey was dead.

"I'm so sorry, Madison."

"Holy fuck." They were the only words she could muster.

"I know. I'm so sorry."

"Holy fuck. I just saw him yesterday. We just... I just saw him, Honey. I saw him yesterday."

"I know." Bella's voice was quiet. Madison hugged her back, clinging onto the black sweatshirt she wore under her apron, body stiff and tense.

The office was quiet. The car ride was quiet. Richie's apartment was quiet when they arrived, save his quiet sobbing. Bella was quiet as the two cried together and pretended not to hear the intimate details shared between grieving friends.

The room was quiet yet heavy with unspoken words, some things too deep and too confidential to discuss in the presence of Bella. The three sat outside of Richie's front door, sharing a cigarette as they processed the news. Bella felt out of place once again, but didn't feel it would be right to leave, for some reason. She felt the two would shatter if they were left to stew in their grief together. Bella could handle it, she wanted to handle it. She couldn't help it.

Both sisters were quiet when they arrived at their mother's house early the next morning. Their mother was quiet as they broke the news, processing the death of a boy she watched grow up. They sat together in the silence of it all. It was the first time all three Moreau women had really sat together since Bella came home. There was nothing to say.

"How is it with Carmy back? How did that birthday party for Cicero go?" Madison asked quietly into the phone, a dull hum surrounding her. She played with a corner of a paper on her desk, her small office warmly lit by her small lamp. It never got easier, that much she knew. It had been nearly a decade since her dad died, Jesus Christ, and she still felt swamped under the demands of the restaurant. It never stopped, and she could never afford to let it. There was a reason they served such an extensive menu, they needed to appeal to all types of customers.

The Hive was rooted in history. Something of a monument in their part of Chicago. it had been there since the Depression, constantly morphing into some new version of itself. A hot dog joint, a cafe, a diner, it didn't matter, because there was a little piece of each version tucked away on every part of the menu. It was comforting, to have something so capable of running despite its many changes, but it was daunting. If she fucked it up, she wouldn't be the only one hurt. Most of her regulars relied on the place to be a constant comfort spot, somewhere familiar and routine. She didn't care much for the pressure.

Richie sighed, and she swore she could hear him take a drag from a cigarette. He was sitting in his car, having dropped Pete off at home and left Carmy at the restaurant. "It's Carmy, Stinger..." She knew Richie was feeling rough when her nickname came out. Mikey's nickname for her, actually. "I don't know. It's fine. Dude is messed up," He sounded frustrated, and Madison could imagine him rubbing his forehead, elbow propped up on the ledge of the open car window. "I don't know how to fucking deal with him. He wants to fucking change everything. We have a delicate ecosystem, you know, and he's fucking with it."

"You can't avoid change," Madison reasoned, and he sighed deeper. "No matter how much you want to. We all know that."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just fucking sick of it." Richie paused for a few heavy moments. She nodded though she knew he couldn't see her. He let the silence linger for a moment before speaking again. "You know he asked about Honey?"

"Really?" Madison sounded skeptical yet intrigued, glancing over at the phone. "What did he say? Why?"

"He just asked when she came home, what she's doing. Said he walked past The Hive the other day, forgot how close it was to us, you know. You remember that big crush he had on her when we were younger?" It almost soundsd like he was smiling. "We used to grill him every Christmas about it, even that last one."

"It could be good for the both of them," Madison pondered, "to talk to each other. It's been a while... Honey doesn't talk about anything, she's like a fucking brick wall with me. She hasn't been right since, well, I don't know when." She rubbed her forehead at the thought of her sister. "She needs a friend, I think. Someone that's not me."

"Yeah, Carmy could probably use one too, if he wasn't such a jagoff." Richie scoffed, but Madison knew he cared deep down. He wouldn't have brought Carmy up at all if he didn't care. Richie was drowning trying to be Mikey's stand-in, and he seemed to expect Madison to know how to deal with him better. She almost wished she did, but Carmy was not her Bear. She didn't know him like Mikey did, and she knew she couldn't treat him like Honey. The dynamics were far too different, much to her regret.

"I'll try to mention it to her. We'll see if she listens," Madison hummed, looking at the clock, then at her purse. It was late, and she'd be back early in the morning. She wondered if she should surrender and just sleep on the office futon. She kept an extra change of clothes in the bottom drawer as a just in case. She said a short goodbye to Richie before hanging up the phone.

In the months that followed Mikey's death, things had changed. Bella had changed, more than anything. She seemed to be more present than she was before, less despondent and distant. Madison knew she was struggling with being home, with working at The Hive. Bella rarely talked about her time away at school, but Madison knew she'd at least had distractions while she was away. Here, she was surrounded by the ghosts of her past and left to watch them dance around her. She'd never been able to deal with the grief, not really. She'd always felt out of place there, and without their Dad, Bella felt she didn't have anything. She was never close with Madison or their Mom, not like she was with their Dad.

Madison felt responsible for that, in a way. She was just so much older than Honey, and she was busy with her own life, and she thought she'd have more time, and she thought Honey knew how much she loved her even though they didn't talk much. After the accident, though, Honey pulled away. She stopped playing, and singing, and just went on autopilot. She threw herself into school and stopped doing anything outside of it. Then she was gone, hours away in a different state, only ever coming home for Christmas which she refused to actually spend at their childhood home.

Bella didn't know how else to handle it. She didn't know how to handle anything, really. She didn't feel good enough for anything anymore, she didn't have any passion, she didn't think she was funny, or interesting. She sat alone in her small apartment, reading some book she'd read a thousand times since she'd first found it in high school, sitting cross legged on her bed.

She thought of Mikey. She thought of what the Berzatto's must be going through in the wake of his death. He didn't even leave a note, she'd heard, and that hurt. She knew what it was like to lose somebody so quickly, so completely. She couldn't imagine how they dealt with it. Bella knew Carmy had come home from whatever hotshot restaurant he'd been working at in New York to take ownership of The Beef, though she hadn't seen him since he'd gotten back. She wondered if that was for better or worse.

Carmy was sensitive, he always had been. That was one of the things that made her like him so much. But she knew he was damaged, more damaged than she'd ever known him to be now, and she couldn't help but feel she was still more damaged. She couldn't handle the idea that she would ruin him, too, whatever was left of him. Nothing was worse than feeling empty, and Bella sucked the life out of people. She hadn't known him in a long time, and she knew it wouldn't be the same as it once was. Maybe it was for the better. There was no point in pulling someone else into her mess of a life. Madison and her mother were only just starting to get close again, and Bella didn't need to add anyone else into the equation.

She brushed her teeth while thinking of Carmy, the Bear with the sad blue eyes who was always working in his sketchbook during lunch period. Carmy, who tagged along with Mikey in a way she never did with Madison, who sat on his childhood front porch and chain smoked during Christmas dinner, when she was doing her "I need some air or I'll kill myself" cool down walk, who always brought a special little dish just for her during the holidays.

She didn't think he noticed her before the accident. He came to her dad's funeral with Mikey, though she didn't know why. They didn't hang out, they rarely spoke outside of ordinary pleasantries. But he always brought her a special dish, something inspired, learned in his time away, saved for her whenever they crossed paths during the holidays.

She dreamed about bears that night.