Grey Fics (M)

[gingerbreads]

So these characters are part of a story I've had a long time! And I've been writing some snz fiction of them recently. Mainly my chef character.

Grey is 5'4", 27, Brazilian-American, tan skin, a ton of moles, often has his sort of medium ashy brown hair slicked back, sometimes it's down, and it's wavy. V slim build. Nick is 6'2" with bleached blonde hair, Grey's younger half brother at 22 (different height dads lol), 80% leg. This story is, to sum it up concisely, about a chef who basically moved to France, finished culinary school there, worked his way up the ranks in different restaurants, had a restaurant with a friend in Lyon,  the restaurant failed bc of various reasons including his business partner fucking him over w/ gambling, moves back to NYC all jaded at 27 years old. 

Soooo I decided to post these fics here! I'll post these brother ones in one thread I think, and then fics of Grey with his love interest in other posts? I guess that works. Because none of them are too long.

****

“I’m moving to Alaska.”

“What?” Nick stared down at him, blinking.

Grey sighed. “It’s the only state where ragweed doesn’t fucking grow.” He and Nick had met up outside Nick’s university building, making the fifteen minute walk to a small restaurant hidden away underneath a corner bodega, utilizing the building’s basement. He’d found it on recommendation from a former colleague, and had been looking forward to trying it for a few weeks. It was a rare, blessed day off and by god, he was letting someone else cook for him for once. 

Of course, on one of these very rare, precious days off, the pollen count happened to be atrocious. Every year in the early fall, like clockwork, Grey would wake up with eyes watery, nose itchy, and a vague (and admittedly, dramatic) desire to never leave his apartment again. 

“Wouldn’t you still find something else to be allergic to?” Nick laughed, sticking his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. It was a fairly cool day, not as warm and humid as it normally was at this time of year in NYC. “‘Cause didn’t you not have allergies ‘til you moved to France? Maybe you’re just cursed.”

“Shut up,” Grey said, awkwardly avoiding walking straight into a pole as he rubbed at his teary eyes. “I-” His breath caught, and he stifled a shuddering sneeze silently into his shoulder, something that did absolutely nothing to quell what felt like a colony of ants crawling around in his sinuses. 

“You’re not in the kitchen, you don’t need to do that.” Nick’s voice had a sing-song quality to it, and when Grey glanced at him, he was grinning.

Grey rolled his eyes at his brother. “Don’t- snf. Ugh.” He rubbed at his nose vigorously. “Don’t police the way I sneeze.”

How many blocks were there to this fucking restaurant again? Fifteen minutes was beginning to feel like an hour. Every second Grey spent outside in this hellscape was wreaking havoc on his stupid immune system that just had to decide this plant was an enemy. His nose was beginning to run, and every sniffle just made the tickle worse. He blinked rapidly, his vision blurring again, and his walk slowed. 

Nick was already several feet ahead of him with his long strides (curse his long legs) before he noticed Grey had almost come to a stop. He turned around, eyeing him curiously. “Grey? Are you-”

Grey had stopped walking and was standing with his mouth slack, eyes unfocused. He sniffed hard and rubbed his nose, stupidly expecting a different outcome as if it would suddenly clear the itch, but it just exacerbated it, and he dipped quickly into his elbow, his body bending forward with the force of the sneezes. “Huht-chiew! ...Huh-ishhh’oo...! Huh… HIH-ssshiew!” People around him were giving him a wide berth, probably thinking he was sick and wanted nothing to do with that. 

“Jesus, should we-” Nick tried, but Grey held up a hand, indicating he wasn’t quite done yet and talking would be pointless until he gave him a second. 

“Heht-...Ugh.” He lost that one and he waved his hand impatiently toward his face, as if somehow that made the sneezes come faster, “Heht-Ish’iew! Hhh’sshiew! Heh...ah. Snf. Hih… HIH’xchoo..!!” He paused, experimentally, bending back upright, pulling his face from his arm, not quite sure if his nose was finished or not. Feeling the prickle in his sinuses persist, but not really having the energy to sneeze properly, he let out a small, ticklish, “H’choo!” into his wrist.

“You wanna just, go in here and get out of the pollen?” Nick was looking at him with raised eyebrows, and he was jabbing his thumb at some pizza place behind him.

Grey eyed it, furrowing his eyebrows. He didn’t get a rare day off just to go squander it on some low rate shit pizza. He sniffled. “No, I’m fine, we’ve only got a-” He cut himself off, stifling a silent sneeze into his wrist. “A couple blocks left.”

It was Nick’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’re so pretentious about your food.”

Grey grinned, and patted his brother on the arm. “Some things in life are worth being pretentious over, Nicholas.”

“Don’t pat me with your sneeze hand.”

Grey laughed. “Pick up the pace so we c-can…” He trailed off, angling his body away from Nick and sneezing into his arm, “HIH-chiew! ...Hahihsschieww...! Snf. Get out of this fucking air.”

“I’m the one who’s always ten feet ahead of you because your body is roughly the size of my legs.” Nick choked; he couldn’t even keep a serious voice throughout that sentence, and Grey glared at him.

“Next time I’m not sneezing into my elbow, I’m aiming it directly at you.”

 

[snifflechick]

Ooh, I like this! I always like sibling-y banter. 

I love that he's such a food-snob that he'll suffer just to get to the restaurant (can relate tbh). 

All-round fantastic job. I can't wait to see more, if you decide to!

[gingerbreads]

1 minute ago, snifflechick said:

Ooh, I like this! I always like sibling-y banter. 

I love that he's such a food-snob that he'll suffer just to get to the restaurant (can relate tbh). 

All-round fantastic job. I can't wait to see more, if you decide to!

thank you, same!! Yes I'll post another soon, I have a few written, was just gonna space it out as to not spam lol

[MiraKarat]

Definitely loved this one!❤️ Can't wait for more🥺

[gingerbreads]

@MiraKarat Thank you!! 😭 ❤️ Here is another one!
This takes place early in Grey's career, around age 20, pre-France. Made up the culinary school, because I can do that.

****
A blast of cold air hit Grey’s face from the walk-in, its chilled contents neatly aligned on the shelves. He shivered, blinked rapidly, and with his breath catching, he quickly twisted his body away from the walk-in and ducked into his elbow with a sneeze, sharp and wet, “Hiiih-shiew…!”

“What is that, some kind of Pavlov response?” One of the chef de partie called- Albert or Andrew, Grey thought. “Why are you sneezing every time you open the walk-in freezer tonight?”

Grey sniffed, adjusted his bandana. “This happens when I get a cold, a quick temperature change fucks me up.”

“Cold, huh? Don’t sneeze all over the ingredients.” The guy chuckled.

Grey rolled his eyes. As messed up as it was, whether they were sick or not, it was pretty much an unspoken rule in foodservice that unless you were shitting yourself or vomiting, you better be at your shift. Last guy that called off sick for a little cold, he got a pretty clear message from the executive chef that he had “fucked up the service by not showing up”, and he spent the whole day with his coworkers snickering at him in contempt. 

Needless to say, Grey was not doing that any time soon (or ever), being only a few months into culinary school and a week into this new job. Because of course he’d gotten sick right as he had started this job. Of course. Not to mention this was the most fast paced kitchen he’d worked in so far.

Grey had been working the line for four years since he was sixteen, had taken some a break between school after high school to focus on working in kitchens, and had decided to take a one year program at the NY Culinary Institute before applying to a program in Paris. Now he was just trying to get as much experience as possible, and this particular job had higher pay than his last.

He grabbed the batch of sauce they needed, but not before nearly falling over a case of frozen broccoli someone had left out earlier. It had caused him to skid against the boxes of ingredients, brushing up against the frost, his hand gripping the side of the shelves. “Jesus,” he muttered, his head throbbing at the sudden swift movement. He brushed the frost off himself, the cold quickly seeping into his uniform.

The shift went by rather quickly; it was a warm spring Friday night in New York City, and people wanted to dine out, so the rail was almost constantly full with tickets. Normally Grey would have no problem keeping up, but he was on day three of this stupid cold and it was starting to get to him. His movements were becoming a little more dull and sluggish, his chopping not quite as rapid, and he was starting to not be able to keep up with the new fires, wincing every time the head chef yelled at him (“What the fuck do you think this is, a fast food joint? Act like you work at a high end restaurant!”). The sous wasn’t much help either, giving him looks like he couldn’t believe they’d hired such a moron who couldn’t even scoop a quenelle (his hand was shaking when he’d plated it because his body was starting to get wracked with sickness shivers and fatigue). 

This particular restaurant had a mixture of old style French and more modern American cuisine, including a couple of particularly spicy dishes that people were apparently crazy about tonight. Usually the spice didn’t bother his nose at all, but any more fires of that dish and Grey was going to lose it. His eyes watered as he cooked, and he kept ducking into his shoulder every five minutes, effortlessly stifling a silent sneeze.

Between 86ing on dishes that were in high demand (leaving some unhappy customers) and the waitstaff leaving dishes dying under the heat lamp, the chefs were not too happy in the kitchen that evening, leaving Grey to be often the target of their wrath. Which was fine, he got it, he worked in kitchens long enough to be used to this. But his body was beginning to feel ache-y, his sinuses were stuffed, and the itch in his throat was getting worse. All he wanted to do was go home and crawl in bed.

When the service finally ended, the kitchen cleaned, and his shift was mercifully over at 11:30pm, Grey shrugged on his jacket, a light one with suede on the inside- maybe normally a little warm for spring, but Grey had felt like he needed it. 

Though the evening wasn’t too cool, he still shivered when he stepped out into the night air, pulling his jacket tighter in on himself. He paused, watching his coworkers filter out into the night in front of him. Then his lips parted, nose flared, and he jerked to the side, letting himself sneeze freely, bending at the waist but not bothering to cover, “Ha-ish’oo! ISHH’ieww…!” God, that felt good. Wait, “Hih-chiew...! HIHgshooo…” Okay, now he was done. Probably. He sniffled, one of his hands resting on his knee, the other wiping at his nose.

“Bless you!”

Grey startled and turned around to see Albert (he remembered now- Al) standing in the doorway. He was an older guy, tall with silver hair; he had started cooking later in life, but had been working at this place for years.

“Ugh, thag-” He sniffed, cleared his throat. “Thanks.” 

“Rough shift, huh?” Al’s dark eyebrows were raised.

“That’s an understatement,” Grey scoffed. “But it’s mostly because I feel like shit right now.”

“Yeah, you look like shit.” Al grinned. “Get some sleep and feel better, Sousa. Better day tomorrow!” 

Grey watched him go, then started off in the opposite direction, wondering if he should stop by a convenience store and get some Nyquil, or if he’d be too knocked out to get up in the morning. 

...Fuck it, Nyquil sounded too good right now.
 

[gingerbreads]

*DJ Khaled voice* anotha one.
Anyone else hate how when we paste text we have to re-add in the italics

***
 

“Heh… hehishiew!”

“Why are you sneezing so much?”

“Huh.” Grey looked at his brother, eyebrow raised. Nick was lying on their parents’ sofa with his legs in the air over the back because he was a weirdo, doing something on his phone. He sniffled, rubbed at his nose, which was feeling very itchy this afternoon. He’d just gotten back from France a couple of weeks ago– for good this time, being that his restaurant had fucking perished, and on top of his post-France depression, general feeling of anxiety and failure, and intense job searching (he had several interviews tomorrow for chef de cuisine and sous positions that he’d just rather not attend), he woke up consistently with his head stuffed full of cotton and his nose running like a faucet. 

Today had seemed a little different, he’d taken the off brand allergy pills he bought and attended a demonstration of his cooking to a restaurant manager with no problems, but it seemed as if his stupid allergies were back full force the second he had down time in the afternoon. Nick was still living with their parents as he attended his first semester of law school, making the commute into the city every morning.

But today Nick didn’t have class, so Grey decided to stop by while their parents were still working, wanting company but not really keen on having to go through another well intended but ultimately frustrating parental inquiry of: how was he doing? What was the last restaurant he interviewed at? Had he narrowed it down yet? Was he feeling okay? It was exhausting.

“You keep sneezing,” Nick continued.

“So sue me.”

Nick laughed, “Well, I could handle lawsuits soon.”

Grey opened his mouth to reply, but his jaw went slack, and he turned into his elbow with a shivery, “Hihh-iiISHHuee..!” 

“Buhhh-less you.”

“Ugh. Thanks.” Grey scrubbed at the side of his nose, which did nothing to relieve the tingling sensation, nor did seemingly any of his sneezing. He shifted in his mother’s old leather chair, setting the laptop he’d been using to research restaurants on the coffee table, to use both of his hands to rub at his face. His eyes were beginning to water and he used the edge of his sleeve to wipe at them. 

“Are you allergic to New York now?”

“I got some kind of fall allergy in Lyon, okay?” Grey sighed. “And I guess it’s also here.”

“Another strike against France,” Nick huffed, shaking his head. “France is continuously cancelling itself.”

Grey snorted.

“Bring on the callout posts.”

“What does that e-evenme– hih-ETchiew…” Grey shuddered a sneeze into his shoulder, sure that his eyebrows were making a very interesting journey on his face, his mouth still drawn down in irritation.

Nick righted himself on the sofa, bleached blonde hair falling into his face. “Aww, you don’t know what that means. I love my boomer-y brother.”

“Ugh.” He sniffled, pawed at his nose. “You are so fucking weird.”

Nick gasped. “Why, Grey… lil ol’ me? That’s the nicest thing you could say, thank you.” He then, inexplicably, decided to put on a southern accent, “Why, everyone thinks I’m the most unique and interesting maiden in all the land. And I am, with my flowing blonde hair, my saucy wit, and my beautiful big ol’ brown eyes.”

“I don’t know why I even come over here–” Grey’s breath caught and he snapped forward, this time into his hand without thinking, “hihISH’oo...” He frowned, got up from his place on the living room chair, and looked around for a kleenex box to no avail– but was able to secure a paper towel from their kitchen, the fabric rough but better than nothing. The tickle in his sinuses flared and he ducked into the paper towel, both hands to his face, nearly losing his balance with an uncharacteristically intense but typically high pitched sneeze, “hehHIISHH’yieww!” that bent him at the waist. Jesus.

“Oooh, that sounded like a good one,” Nick remarked, having resumed his upside-down position with his legs in the air.

“Please stop talking.”

Nick shut up for about five minutes (it was all he was capable of) before he asked, “How’s the job search going?”

The question hung in the air for a second as Grey felt his heart pick up as he thought of leading a kitchen again, a rush of dread surging through him, and he swallowed. The awkward beat before he answered was obvious, but he said, “Fine. It’s– You know. It’s fine.”

“Do you wanna talk–”

“Nope,” Grey said, popping the “p”. He picked up his laptop back up from the coffee table, flipping through the tabs in his browser, hovering between reading another critic review on the New American restaurant down the street, but he could feel Nick staring at him. “Stop staring at me.” He sniffed liquidly and rubbed roughly at his nose.

“Are you allergic to–” Nick was cut off by Grey muffling a quiet sneeze into his arm. “My piercing gaze? My penetrative eyes?”

Grey shuddered. “Don’t say pene– hihECHyew– ...don’t say penetrative.”

“Bleeeesssss youuu.” 

Grey rolled his eyes and didn’t grace Nick’s drawn out blessing with a reply, blowing his nose lightly into the paper towel. They worked in a miraculous silence save for Grey’s occasional sniffling, though he seemed to actually be done sneezing for now. He closed his laptop, rest his head on the back of the chair, and tried not to think about tomorrow. 
 

[Kolen]

Ahhh! I want moar!! Moarrr, please!!! 🥺 these are so good and it's fun to read about a man with a high pitch sneeze I think it's adorable and it really hits me right-😋