Ali

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

“How do you feel?” you asked softly, tugging the zipper of Josh’s jumpsuit up to its final notch. The bright fabric gleamed under the dim backstage lights, and his radiant smile only amplified the glow. You placed your hands flat against his chest, letting your fingers trace the velvety fabric in a quiet moment of affection.

“Excited… a little nervous,” he admitted, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. As he pulled away, his lips rolled together in thought, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt where they fidgeted absentmindedly.

“You’ll do great, you always do,” you reassured him, your voice firm but tender. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.” Your words carried more weight than usual– this was the last show of the tour. The whirlwind of hotel rooms, airports, endless flights, buzzing venues, and ceaseless movement was coming to an end.

It was bittersweet. Part of you would miss the pace– the constant hum of excitement, the thrill that came with living life on the move. But another part of you yearned for the simplicity of home. You longed for quiet mornings, expensive wine, and lazy days spent dancing around the living room in your pyjamas, just the two of you, free from the world’s demands.

Josh’s hand shifted slightly at your waist, drawing you back into the present. “I know,” he said, a hint of a grin breaking through his nerves. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just… festivals are scarier. So many people, so many more eyes.” His voice was quiet, but his eyes, locked on yours, searched for reassurance.

You raised a playful eyebrow, rising onto your toes until your face was level with his. “What happened to ‘fuck fear’? Hmm?”

A laugh escaped him, short and light. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a quick kiss before his hands squeezed your sides teasingly. “You’re right. As always.”

“Two minutes, Josh!” Tanner’s voice called sharply from the hallway, his usual pre-show routine to keep Josh on schedule.

Josh rolled his shoulders back and exhaled, his breath tight with anticipation. “You’ll be in the stage wing?”

“Of course,” you promised.

You followed him through the chaotic backstage tents, weaving past crew members and tangled cables, the orchestral opening for Starcatcher echoing through the space. When you reached his brothers, he stole one last kiss before bounding onto the stage with an energy that sent electricity through the air.

From your vantage point in the shadows of the stage wing, you watched them transform. Josh, Jake, Sam and Danny commanded the space with ease, their every movement amplifying the roaring energy of the crowd. And the deafening cheers seemed to fuel them ever more.

You stayed just out of sight, a comforting presence Josh sought with fleeting glances. Every now and then, he’d throw you a sly smile, one meant only for you, a silent reminder that you were always on his mind.

The show was everything it always was– loud, raw, electric. You swayed to the music, smiling fondly at Josh’s antics as he strutted across the stage. Feather boas and sparkly sunglasses were flung his way, and he soaked up the adoration like sunlight.

You stepped a little further to the right when one of the amplifiers beside you blared a little too loud, no doubt attributed to Jake's request. You considered putting in earplugs to protect your ears which were ringing slightly at the volume of the music, but a quick glance at the setlist had you realising that there were only two songs until the end of the show, and you wanted to hear it without obstruction. 

Swallowing back the mild discomfort, you refocused on the music, your heart beating against the rhythm as the song came to a climax. Danny's face twisted in passion as he abused his drums, swinging against the cymbals with fervour. 

At the last few swings, the hot heat of a nearby pyro machine blew off, shooting hot fire into the air, creating a symphony of chaos and raw aggression with the music. 

Each blow delivered had another bullet of fire shooting into the air, and you took a step back to relieve yourself of the burning heat ebbing from the machine nearby. Though it wasn't enough, as when you waited for the last beat to drop, the silence gave way to an unnatural hissing sound emanating from the machine only mere feet from you, awaiting the final beat.

That wasn’t normal.

The next few moments happened in a blur. They passed too quickly for you to decide to move away from the machine, and too quickly for you to truly register what happened. 

Bliding, hot light burst from the little black box, so bright that you lost sight of your surroundings completely. The small explosion was accompanied by a deafening bang, one that certainly wasn't normal, and one that had you cowering away, hands flying to your ears against the vibrations. 

But the damage had already been done. You hadn't realised the song was over, by the way the ringing in your ears deafened you completely. You stumbled back a few steps as a nauseating rush of dizziness overtook you. White, hot, searing pain spread across the side of your face, and you were sure you made a sound of protest had you been able to hear it through the shrill piercing noise that vibrated through your skull.

Disorientated and disabled by the confusion that wracked your body, you turned to the darkness, away from the stage, away from the ringing noise. 

But the ringing did not dissipate. No, in fact, it only seemed to grow louder with each step you took away from the stage. You hadn't realised your eyes had been screwed shut until you walked into something, hard and unmoving, the jolt of your head sending a pang of pain through your face. You had walked into an equipment storage box, you realised as you cracked your eyes open. 

Turning around to gather your bearings seemed to only make things worse, as the area in front of you tilted on its axis, and you were falling with it. Your hands still clutched the sides of your head, palms pressed over your ears protectively as you swayed to the side. 

A crew member you recognised, but couldn't remember the name of appeared in front of you, his face taut with concern as he grabbed your shoulders to steady your balance. 

“Woah, you alright?” he asked. His gaze drifted to the side of your face, looking at you didn't know what. He lifted your hand from your ear and winced. “Oh shit,” he muttered. You looked down at your hand, now hovering between the two of you, palm coated in a curdling mixture of blood and some unknown, yellow substance.

Blood. 

Blood. Blood? Why was there blood? What happened? You couldn't think through the pain that stretched across every nerve in your head, your jaw throbbing and ear aching against every noise that still drifted from the stage to where you stood. 

You hadn't realised the man in front of you had gone until he returned again with a towel, in which he folded and pressed against your ear. You hissed at the pressure against your head, but found yourself grabbing onto his forearm as you stumbled to the side a little. 

What was going on? 

“What happened?” you asked as he led you out of the side stage area, his hand still pressing the fabric against the side of your head. He walked you to the makeup trailer, and carefully sat you down on his makeup chair. 

“Looks like you fucked up your ear,” he explained, wincing as he saw the red soaking through the white fabric. “Don't worry, the set should have ended by now, Josh should be out soon,” he comforted. “I’m gonna go find a medic, just… stay still, try not to move too much.” And with that, he was gone, closing the caravan door behind him gently to alleviate any noise. 

Somethow, the silence in the small space was anything but comforting. Instead, it gave way to the persistent ringing, which now not only pierced the side of your head, but what felt like your entire face. You steadied yourself with one hand on the edge of the dressing table, the other still pressing against your ear as if the pressure would alleviate some of the pain. 

It didn't. 

It sounded as if you had been cloaked underwater, the ticking of the clock by the door muffled yet still pounding against your ears. You tried to focus on a singular point in the room, in a feeble attempt to quell the circus spin of your vision, but it only seemed to get worse, at one point almost knocking you off your idle position in your chair. 

Not long went by before the door to the caravan opened and Josh stepped in, flushed and sweaty, his eyes searching the space before they landed on you. 

“There you are Baby, I’ve been looking all over for you. You okay?” he asked, stepping towards you, his perky expression quickly turning confused at the sight of you, cowering in a chair with a grimace on your face. 

You hissed, not knowing what was worse, the slam of the door against the wall or the ring of his loud voice. You didn't mean to hurt his feelings, but you winced against the noises, each sound like a hammer to your face. 

“Shhh,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut through the intense pain. You felt like you were going to be sick. Josh furrowed his brows and continued towards you until he stood in front of you, crouching onto his knees to lower himself to your eye level. 

“Baby, what happened?” he asked, tilting his head to see the cloth pressed against your ear, a shadow of blood staining the fabric from where it had soaked through. “Is– are you bleeding?” he asked, voice loud in alarm and concern, making you whimper out in pain as you clutched the fabric closer. 

“Fuck! Be quiet, please,” you begged, a hot tear slipping from your eye, running down the crevice between your nose and cheek and landing on your lips. 

Josh’s eyes were wide in complete shock and confusion as well as concern for your health. He nodded frantically, whispering a ‘sorry’ before shuffling closer to you on his knees. 

“Can I?” he asked, voice softer this time as he reached out to touch the towel bunched up against your ear. You nodded, but quickly regretted it as the feeling closely resembled your brain being loosely tossed around your skull and made you wince. 

Josh's frown deepened at your pained reaction, and he tentatively reached up to remove the cloth. It stuck to your skin with dried blood as he peeled it away slowly, blinking at the sight of the oozing yellow substance. 

“Shit,” he whispered, conscious to keep his voice low. “You’ve fucked up your ear drum, Baby.”

He pressed the cloth against your ear again, providing you with a level of protection from the sound around you, and stroked his thumb against your sweaty forehead. 

“How did this happen? Were the amps just too loud?” he asked, planting another hand on your knee. 

You shook your head, only to be met with an overwhelming dizziness, again. You had got to stop doing that. You squeezed your eyes through the spell and felt Josh’s hands steady you by the shoulder. “Try not to move too much, your balance is out of whack,” he instructed. 

“The fire…” you explained meekly, your jaw throbbing with pain when you spoke, “It went wrong or something. Exploded.”

His eyes widened at your words, a panicked look on his face as his eyes addressed the rest of you, “Shit, it didn’t burn you did it?” he asked. 

You hummed a ‘no’, avoiding shaking your head as well as speaking to preserve some essence of comfort against the pain. Although relieved, his frown remained, seeing you in pain being one of the hardest things to watch. 

You rubbed your temples, groaning in pain. “Ugh, it hurts so bad…” you said, mostly unable to hear yourself through the noise being created in your ear. 

Josh pressed his lips together and caressed your hairline with nimble fingers, “I know, honey. I know. It’s going to be really uncomfortable for the next few weeks, but I’ll be here.” Josh looked up to the roof and ran the heel of his palm over his forehead harshly, “Fuck, this is all my fault.”

“Why?” you whispered, a protective feeling washing over you at Josh's self-blame. 

“I asked them to turn the pyros up– wanted it to be extra for the last show ‘n everything. And now you’re hurt– badly, and if I hadn’t just–”

“Josh,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his shoulder, “You didn’t know it was going to do that. This isn’t your fault. It isn’t anybody's fault. Please don't blame yourself.”

He sighed and gave you a small smile, “Okay, Honey, I’m sorry. Let's just worry about you for now, ‘kay?”

You gave him a small sound to signal your agreement, and let your eyes fall shut, breathing deeply through your nose to try and calm the pain.

“I need to go get someone. A medic or something, will you be okay here on your own?” he asked. 

“Someone’s already on their way,” you explained through gritted teeth.

“Alright, good,” he sighed, patting your knee. “Are you comfortable here? Want me to take you to the couch to lay down?” he asked, looking up at you from his kneeled position, hands braced around your body as if you could break at any moment. 

You reached up to knead the side of your thumb into the muscle of your jaw in an attempt to quell the pain. “Yes please,” you answered with a sigh.

Josh nodded and stood quickly, “Alright Baby, just lean on me. You’re gonna feel really dizzy when we stand up, but I won’t let you fall, promise.”

You had almost forgotten Josh had been through this exact injury before, having experienced the pain, the discomfort, the dizziness. Josh helped you stand with a tight arm wrapped around your body, and walked you over to the little couch in the corner of the room. 

You weren't as dizzy this time, with Josh's stability stopping you from toppling over, but the painful waves of nausea still boiled in your throat. 

“There we go, slowly now,” Josh guided, helping you lay down on the couch as he promptly settled a few pillows beneath your head. 

Josh hovered beside you as you eased back onto the couch, his hand never leaving yours as he adjusted the pillows beneath your head with delicate care. His brow furrowed, concern etched into every line of his face. You watched him through the throbbing ache that pulsed from your jaw to your temple, his frantic gentleness almost endearing, if not for the pain clouding your thoughts.

“There,” he murmured, crouching down to your level. He smoothed a strand of hair from your forehead, his fingers cool against your overheated skin. “Better?” he asked.

You gave him a faint smile, though it faltered as the sharp ringing in your ears gnawed at the edges of your sanity. Josh’s expression softened, his thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles.

“You know,” he began, his tone lightening as a flicker of mischief danced in his eyes, “This reminds me of that time I tripped over the amp cable in Chicago. Remember that? Flat on my face, right in front of the crew. You laughed so hard, you fell off the equipment case you were sitting on and sprained your wrist.”

Despite yourself, you chuckled weakly at the memory, but the movement sent a jolt of pain radiating through your head. You winced, your hand flying to your temple.

“Don’t make me laugh, Josh,” you groaned, though there was no real irritation in your voice– just a kind of weary exasperation.

He grinned sheepishly, his free hand reaching out to rest gently on your arm. “Sorry, Baby. I’ll save the comedy routine for when your head’s not about to explode.”

There was a knock at the door, sharp but not overly loud, and Josh raised a brow and turned his head toward it, relief flashing across his face. “That’ll be the medic,” he said, rising quickly. “I’ll grab the door. Be right back.”

As Josh opened the door, a middle-aged woman with a warm presence stepped in, carrying a small medical bag slung over one shoulder. She gave you a professional yet kind smile as she approached, her eyes scanning your pale face and the makeshift towel still pressed to your ear.

“Hi there, Hun,” she said warmly, setting her bag down on the floor beside the couch. “I’m Michelle. I hear you’ve hurt your ear, mind if I take a look?”

Josh lingered close, peering over Michelle's shoulder as she carefully knelt beside you, donning a pair of gloves and reaching for the towel. “Can I remove this?” she asked gently.

You nodded hesitantly, bracing yourself for the volume of the room. She pulled the towel away slowly, inspecting your ear with a practiced eye. Josh winced as the bloodied cloth revealed the full extent of the damage– dried blood mixed with a clear yellowish fluid that trickled from your ear.

“Yep, definitely a ruptured eardrum,” Michelle said, her voice calm but definitive. “The noise volume must’ve done it.” She frowned as she observed the sight, pulling out a flashlight from her shirt pocket and shining it down your ear canal. “There's a lot of fluid buildup…” she commented, mostly to herself. 

“Is that a bad thing?” you asked, and Josh squeezed your calf from where he could reach. 

“Not great… you’re going to have some trouble with hearing, and the pain won't be great, but I can write you a referral for some strong painkillers. Let me clean you up and give you some low level pain relief, honey.”

Josh’s hand found your knee, running his thumb over your skin comfortingly. “How long will it take to heal?” he asked, his voice tight with worry, looking back at his own injury that led to numerous cancelled shows and a painfully long recovery period.

“Shouldn’t be longer than 2 to 3 months to fully heal… as long as it doesn't get infected,” Michelle assured him, beginning to clean the area with a gentle touch. “The dizziness and nausea are from the damage to the inner ear, but they’ll subside as she heals. It’s important she takes it easy for the next few weeks especially, no loud environments, no sudden movements– and no flying either, the air pressure can worsen the injury. You need to keep the ear dry too to prevent infectious growth.”

Josh nodded, having heard the same instructions for his own ear, although he had forgotten about the no-flying rule. 

“Looks like we're gonna have to road trip it back home this time, Sweetheart,” Josh said, his eyes meeting yours as the medic wiped the fluid from where it had dried on your neck. 

You groaned, “We’re gonna have to split it into two days, the drive’s too long to manage at once,” you complained. 

Josh smiled sympathetically, “That's alright, we aren’t in a rush. I’ll book us a night at a fancy hotel along the way.”

“Drive carefully,” the medic intervened as she rummaged in her bag for something, “Driving can be really uncomfortable with all the movements and bumps. Once you’re home I suggest bedrest for at least a week, just to make sure you aren't exposed to any loud sounds. You probably wont want to leave bed either way with the dizziness… and the nausea.”

You muttered a sarcastic ‘great’ under your breath, but were surprised when you couldn't even hear yourself, the sound no longer being drowned out by ringing, but some kind of muffled blockage. 

Josh knelt beside the couch to be closer to you, his eyes darting between you and the medic. “That means it's your turn for couch duty, Beautiful. So no arguing when I’m waiting on you hand and foot this time.”

You managed a weak laugh, wincing as the movement tugged at the pain in your jaw. Josh immediately leaned closer, his face a mixture of apology and affection. 

Josh shook his head with a wry smile, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m not used to seeing you like this. Usually, you’re the one fussing over me.”

You gave a faint smile, your eyelids fluttering as the medic wiped away the last remnants of blood and discharge from your neck and squeezed a few drops of steroid solution into your ear canal. The cool liquid stung sharply and itched fervently as it travelled into your ear, and you hissed, squeezing Josh’s hand instinctively. His grip tightened in return, grounding you.

“All done,” Michelle reassured, her voice steady. “Just need to write you a referral and give you a rundown of what to watch for.” You nodded blankly, not quite hearing what she had said.

Josh shifted closer as she worked, his eyes never leaving your face. “You hear that? Almost done. Then we’ll get you all set up back at the hotel— blankets, snacks, whatever you want. You won’t have to lift a finger.”

“Josh,” you mumbled, your voice soft but laced with humor despite the ache in your head. “You’re acting like I’ve lost a limb.”

He feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “You’re bleeding out, did you really expect me to react differently?” he joked.

Michelle stifled a chuckle, glancing at Josh. “Well, she’s not wrong— she isn’t ‘bleeding out,’ but it’s good to have someone looking after her. She’ll need plenty of rest and hydration.” Michelle sat back on her heels, peeling off her gloves with a practiced snap. She placed a bottle of pain relief and an antibiotic prescription on the small table beside the couch.

“Take these as directed,” she instructed, her tone firm but kind. “If the dizziness or nausea gets worse, or if the pain doesn’t improve in a couple of days, make sure you see a doctor. And no loud music for a while, alright?”

You nodded slowly, each motion calculated to avoid aggravating the throbbing pain. “Thank you,” you said, your voice faint but sincere.

Michelle packed up her kit and rose to her feet, addressing Josh. “She’ll be alright as long as she takes it easy. If you need anything, let the event staff know– they’ve got my number.”

Josh nodded, standing to see her out. “Thanks, Michelle. Really.”

As the door clicked shut, he turned back to you, his hands planted on his hips as if surveying the situation. “Alright, Missy,” he said, his tone playful but underpinned with care, “You’re officially banned from doing anything but lying here and letting me spoil you rotten.”

You smiled faintly, letting out a long, slow breath. “I think I can live with that.”

Josh grabbed a soft blanket draped over the back of the couch, spreading it gently across you. He settled beside you, his hand resting lightly on your arm. “Anything you need, you just say the word. Want to just lay here and cuddle? Or maybe we should watch one of those terrible reality shows you secretly love while we wait.”

You groaned dramatically, though a small grin tugged at your lips. “I’m not in the mood to see people throwing wine glasses at each other.”

“Well, how about I just sit here and look pretty for you, then?” he offered, leaning back with a mock-model pose that drew a reluctant laugh from you, quickly followed by a wince.

“Josh,” you muttered, “I told you, don’t make me laugh.”

His grin softened into something warmer as he reached out, brushing a knuckle lightly across your cheek. “Alright, Baby, no more jokes. Just rest. Once the crew is all packed up and we’re able to head back to the hotel you’ll be able to sleep. Won’t be long.”

A rough hour went by before someone came in to tell you both that it was time to go, and Josh tentatively helped you stand and walk to the van, messily clambering into the nearest seat with much difficulty. 

Turns out Jake had noticed the pyro malfunction too, with being so close to it like you, he told you his own ears were ringing from the blast, and he had even seen you wobble off stage as you struggled to fight against the dizzy aftermath.

“That's why you should always be on my stage side,” Sam boasted, “Jake's shit is always too loud.”

You smiled fondly at the banter, but couldn't find it in you to react with any semblance of real humour, as truthfully, you were struggling to follow the conversation at all. Their voices were entirely too quiet, and you questioned how they were even able to hear themselves. 

Josh patted your thigh from beside you, and when you looked his way, his mouth moved almost soundlessly. 

“Huh?” you asked, leaning in closer to hear. 

Josh frowned, not wanting to raise his voice so as to damage your hearing even more, but knowing how difficult it was for you to hear through your ruptured eardrum. He mouthed a ‘nevermind’ and sent you a sympathetic smile, kissing your forehead sweetly.

Once back at the hotel, your dizziness quelled. You bid your goodbyes to the others, before sluggishly retiring to your hotel room with Josh, who refused to leave your side. 

After helping you out of your clothes and into your pyjamas without tipping over, Josh wandered into the bathroom to get both of your toothbrushes ready.

“I’ll miss this hotel room, ya know? It was one of my favourites,” Josh said, making his way back towards you with your toothbrush. 

“You’re only saying that ‘cause it has jacuzzi jets in the bathtub,” you argued with a small smile before slotting the toothbrush into your mouth. 

He smiled and knelt before you, “Hmm maybe you’re right.” He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmmph,” you shrugged, unable to speak around the toothbrush and mouth full of foamy toothpaste. You winced when opening your jaw too wide sent a jolt of pain through the side of your head. 

Josh jutted his lip out, “My poor Baby. I’m sorry this happened to you lovely, I know it’s not fun.” You shrugged, feigning indifference despite the discomfort. Josh helped you stand to make it to the bathroom and spit your toothpaste out. You relieved yourself while he changed, and took some medication as he showered, before settling into bed. 

You sighed heavily once under the covers, watching as Josh waddled around, hands busy as he got your phones into their chargers and things ready for the morning, a toothbrush hanging limply from his mouth, and damp hair dripping water buds down his neck. 

“Alright,” he sighed as he messily rubbed his head with a towel before finally slipping into bed, leaning to switch the bedside light off and shuffling across the bed to reach you. He looped his arm beneath your back and pulled your body against his, letting your good ear rest against his chest. “How’s that? Comfy?”

You hummed a half response, never truly comfortable with the ache in your head, but as comfortable as you could be. As the silence settled in, you became painfully aware of a persistent ringing somewhere in the distance. You wondered if it may be coming from the mini fridge, or maybe the air conditioning, but as you lay there against Josh, wide awake, it grew apparently louder. 

“Josh?” you whispered, and he turned his head towards you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“Hm?”

“What’s that… What's that ringing? Can you shut it off?” You complained frustratedly, the ringing only making the pain and discomfort worse, nagging you relentlessly. 

“Shut what off?” he asked, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“The ringing… it's so loud,” you waved a hand around the room, “Hurting my ear…”

He was silent for a moment, listening out for what you may be talking about, before he sniffed, “I don't think there's anything ringing in here, sweetheart. Probably just a bit of tinnitus.”

You huffed frustratedly, grumbling something about how difficult it would be to sleep through the noise, and Josh rubbed broad circles on your back with the flat of his palm comfortingly. 

“Aht aht,” he warned, taking your hand from your ear. You hadn't even noticed it travel to the injured spot, fingers moving to crawl in and scratch away the itch that had been faintly nagging you. “I know it’s itchy, beautiful, but touching it will only make it worse. Just try and rest now.” He spoke softly, whispering small words of reassurance, until he himself drifted off to sleep, no doubt exhausted from the travel, the performance, and caretaking.

Your night was long, and mostly sleepless. You tossed and turned, finding minimal comfort in any position as the fluid in your ear trickled around and throbbed. Your ‘uninjured ear’, although without medical attention, felt awful too. Constantly ringing, itching, and showing obvious signs that it was dangerously close to rupturing too.

By morning, Josh packed your bags and sorted everything out with the rental car, insisting you sat idle on the bed until he was done. Your frustration grew throughout the morning as you found yourself unable to hear him as he spoke to you, careful to keep a low volume to protect your hearing. Nevertheless, you pushed your annoyance aside, and let Josh hold you close as he led you out of the hotel and into the rental car. 

The nausea had mostly subsided, but the dizziness and disorientation remained, as well as the aching pain, but you tried your best to ignore it as Josh pulled out of the hotel parking lot and began the treacherous drive south. 

“Croissant?” Josh offered, handing you the wrapped pastry from across the centre console. You muttered a small thanks as you took the pastry from his hand. Though, when you peeled back the paper wrapping and exposed the tip of the croissant, taking a well deserved bite, a shot of pain spiralled through your jaw to your ear. 

"You alright, Honey?” Josh asked immediately, squeezing your thigh at the sound of your wince. 

“Yeah just… hurts to open my mouth,” you frowned, tearing a small piece of croissant off the pastry and shoving it between your lips, only parted slightly now. You grimaced when even the simple act of chewing hurt, and forced yourself to swallow the half-chewed piece of pastry.

Josh frowned, stealing a quick glance at you before turning his attention back to the road. “You don’t have to eat right now, Baby. I can stop later and get you something softer. Maybe soup or, I don’t know, mashed potatoes or something.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Gas station mashed potatoes for breakfast? Sounds gourmet.”

“Hey,” Josh shot back playfully, “I’m just looking out for you. I’d puree the damn croissant if I could.” He reached over again, rubbing his thumb gently over your knee. “We’ll figure it out. You just focus on taking it easy, okay?”

You nodded, letting the croissant sit forgotten in your lap as you leaned your head against the window, staring out at the passing scenery. The world outside blurred as the car rumbled along, each dip and bump in the road reverberating through you, tugging at the ache in your head. You breathed in slowly, willing yourself to stay calm and ignore the discomfort.

But the silence— or rather, the muffled quietness— felt oppressive. Even with Josh humming softly under his breath, you couldn’t escape the incessant, high-pitched ringing in both ears. It was relentless, like a mosquito that wouldn’t stop buzzing near your head. You shifted uncomfortably, rubbing at your temples.

“You okay?” Josh asked softly, sensing your restlessness.

“Yeah,” you murmured, though it wasn’t convincing. “It’s just… I can’t get used to the quiet.” You paused, searching for the right words. “I mean, it’s not quiet for me. It’s loud. I can’t—” You stopped, frustrated by how hard it was to explain.

Josh’s brows furrowed as he glanced at you again. “The ringing?”

You nodded miserably, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to block it out. “It’s so loud, Josh. It’s driving me crazy.”

His hand found yours on your lap, warm and grounding. He squeezed gently. “I know, Baby. I can’t imagine how frustrating that must be.” He paused for a moment, as if considering something. “You know what Jake always told me when I burst my eardrum a couple years ago and had tinnitus?”

You cracked an eye open, tilting your head just enough to look at him. “What?”

“He got me to focus on something else. Anything else. The more attention you give the noise, the worse it feels. It’s like staring at a bright light– it burns into your vision.”

You frowned, skeptical. “That sounds… too easy.”

Josh grinned, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe, but it always helped me. Here—” He turned the music on low, just a gentle hum of sound in the background. “Focus on this. Or count the trees we pass, or… hell, count how many times I say something annoying today.”

You laughed weakly, which only earned you a small wince. “It’s not hard to lose count with that one.”

Josh smirked, clearly pleased to see even a faint bit of humor from you. “See? You’re already distracted.”

It didn’t fix the ringing, not really, but it gave you something to latch onto besides the noise and discomfort. The ache in your head ebbed slightly as you focused on Josh’s soft singing over the radio, his voice smooth and steady, even at a whisper.

The hours crawled by, but Josh made sure you were as comfortable as possible. When you stopped for lunch, he insisted on finding a decent place that served soup, running inside himself to grab a warm takeaway container of something creamy and smooth while you waited in the car. He returned triumphantly with a container of tomato soup and a bottle of water, setting them carefully in your lap.

“Nothing but the best for my girl,” he said proudly, settling back behind the wheel.

You smiled faintly, wrapping your hands around the warm container as if it might soothe you. “I feel spoiled.”

“That’s the goal,” Josh replied, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple. “Now eat up. Or... drink up, I guess? I need you feeling better so you can start bossing me around again.”

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

The drive continued, the sunlight growing softer as the day stretched on. By the time you checked into the hotel halfway home, you were exhausted, the ache in your head sapping the last of your energy. Josh carried your bags inside, refusing to let you lift a finger as you trudged to the room.

As soon as you were in bed, propped up by pillows, Josh settled beside you with a sigh of his own. He reached for the remote, flipping idly through channels until he found some old sitcom playing softly in the background.

“Better?” he asked, nudging your shoulder gently.

You nodded, already feeling your eyelids grow heavy. “Better,” you murmured, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

Josh wrapped an arm around you, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your arm. “Good. Get some sleep, Baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

The ringing persisted, faint and constant, but somehow, with Josh’s steady presence beside you, it didn’t seem quite so unbearable.

And as you drifted off, the last thing you felt was his hand brushing through your hair, his voice a quiet promise against your forehead: “We’ll get you home soon, I promise.”

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

By the time you pulled into the driveway of your home back in Nashville the next day, you were utterly drained. Josh parked the car and quickly came around to your side, gently helping you out and steadying you as you shuffled toward the front door. Your equilibrium was completely out of whack, the disorienting swirl of dizziness making every step feel uncertain.

As you crossed the threshold, Josh guided you to the couch, his hand firm but careful on your lower back. “Easy, Baby,” he murmured, helping you lower yourself onto the cushions. You leaned back with a groan, closing your eyes to block out the spinning world.

“I’m gonna make you some tea, alright?” he said, brushing his knuckles against your cheek before disappearing into the kitchen. You heard the clatter of mugs and the low whistle of the kettle, the muted sounds only reminding you of your muffled hearing.

Josh returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup of tea and a warm smile. “Here,” he said, kneeling beside you and holding the cup carefully as you took a slow sip. “Good?”

You nodded, managing a faint smile. “Thanks.”

“Have you had your meds yet?” he asked, setting the tea on the coffee table.

“Not since this morning,” you admitted. Josh frowned and immediately got up, grabbing your pain relief and a glass of water from the kitchen. 

“I’ll go to the chemist first thing tomorrow to pick up the prescription painkillers.”

After making sure you’d taken the low level pain relief you had access to, he joined you on the couch, pulling a blanket over both of you. He settled in, gently moving you to rest your head on his chest. “Wanna pick something to watch or are you gonna try and catch some sleep?” he asked softly, scrolling through the options on the TV with one hand and stroking your head with his other.

You hummed, only hearing the last leg of his sentence, before closing your eyes, letting his warmth and the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing soothe you until you drifted off.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

The next couple of days were a blur of rest and quiet, but the pain only seemed to get worse. By the third day, it was unbearable— sharp, throbbing, and radiating down to your jaw and neck. Each time you swallowed or yawned, a pop of air shot into your ruptured eardrum. It had you clenching your teeth against the feeling and only making the pain worse, aggravating your mood alongside. You could barely move without wincing, and after a bit of convincing, you finally allowed Josh to drive you to the doctor.

The diagnosis wasn’t what you wanted to hear: your ear had become infected.

You sat on the exam table, your arms crossed and frustration written all over your face. Josh stood beside you, his hand resting protectively on your knee. “Shit,” he muttered, his brow creased with worry.

You huffed, trying to tamp down your irritation. “This sucks.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Josh said softly, giving your knee a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll get the antibiotics, and you’ll feel better soon. I’ve been through this before, remember? It sucks, but you’ll get through it.”

You sighed, nodding reluctantly as the doctor handed Josh the prescription and went over the treatment plan.

Back home, Josh wasted no time getting you settled into bed. He handed you your first dose of antibiotics along with some water, watching closely as you swallowed the pills. “How’s your jaw?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You mumbled a faint response, too sore to form proper words. Even the effort of speaking made your jaw ache, and Josh’s concern deepened as he tucked the blanket around you.

“Alright,” he said softly, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Just rest, Baby. I’ll take care of everything.”

You drifted off almost immediately, the exhaustion and pain pulling you under. Josh stayed by your side for a while, watching you sleep with a worried expression before quietly retreating to the kitchen to make dinner.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

You woke up around seven in the evening, the smell of something delicious wafting through the room. Josh appeared in the doorway with a bright smile, carrying a bowl of soup. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he said, setting the bowl on the nightstand. “I made your favorite— tomato soup with the little pasta pieces you like. Thought it’d be easy on your jaw.”

You smiled weakly, sitting up with his help as he placed the bowl in your hands. The soup was warm and flavourful, the broth soothing as you sipped it carefully. But by the time you reached the pasta pieces, the effort of chewing sent sharp pain shooting through your jaw.

You set the spoon down, your shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry,” you said softly, guilt creeping into your voice. “It just hurts too much to eat.”

Josh’s face softened, and he shook his head immediately. “No, no, don’t apologize. It’s okay, sweetheart. I just want you to feel better.” You gave him a faint, grateful smile before leaning back against the pillows. He kissed your forehead, his thumb brushing gently over your hand. “Try to get some more rest, alright? I’ll clean up and be right back.”

You reached a hand out to him and whined at this, and he stopped his movements to look at you worriedly. 

“What’s wrong, Beautiful?” he asked, tucking away some hair from your forehead. 

“Can you come and lay with me?” you asked, your voice so soft and broken he thought he would melt. 

“Oh, Honey, of course,” he cooed, crawling over the mattress and situating himself beside you, pulling your body to lay across his. You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, and wrapped your arms around him weakly, reaching for any form of connection. Josh soothed you with a flat palm on your back, stroking up and down carefully. 

“I hate this,” you admitted, voice muffled between the pillows and his body, cringing as you felt the sting of tears arrive. “I mean– I haven't even been able to cry about it, cause it just hurts too bad. I hate laying here all day just doing nothing. I hate it so much.”

Josh pulled your body closer, tightening his hold and kissing the top of your head before resting his cheek against it. “My poor girl. Sweet, sweet girl. You don't deserve this. I’m so sorry, my love. Is there anything else I can do?”

You shook your head, breathing in his natural fragrance and sighed, “Just hold me, please.”

You sounded so pained, so lost, and Josh couldn’t help but shrug you a little closer, “Of course, my love. You just need some tender love, I’ve got you.”

Josh continued to stroke your back, whispering soft words of endearment and comfort until you went limp in his arms. He sighed, ridden with distress at the state of you, weak and in pain. He dug through his memories in search for home remedies that helped him the most, but found that at that time in his life, the memories were foggy, clouded by some feverish haze. 

Lifting his hips slightly so as not to wake you, he fished in his back pocket for his phone, and pulled up Jake's contact, typing out a message, ‘I need your advice.’

Jake responded effectively immediately, and Josh slid out from beneath you, careful not to move you too much, and placed a pillow beneath you for you to hold in his absence. Jake's caller ID showed up the second Josh left the bedroom. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Jake asked casually. 

Josh wandered into the kitchen and began preparing himself some food for dinner, “What did you guys do to help me when I fucked up my ear? I can't remember,” he asked, diving straight to the point. 

Jake pondered silently across the line for a few beats, “Uhhh. Well you slept a lot, and we made sure to roll you onto your good side if we ever saw you sleeping on your ear,” he started. “Warm foods, like soups and stews and stuff. You never liked smoothies ‘cause I think the cold made your jaw ache more.”

Josh sighed– these were all things he already knew, and although they were helping you, they just weren't enough. “Is there anything else?” he prodded.

“Look Josh, healing takes time. She’s not gonna get better overnight. You have to give it time and be patient with her.”

Josh sighed. That was not what he wanted to hear. 

“Actually, something else that helped you,” Jake started, and Josh straightened, listening intently. “Danny did some research when our shows were cancelled, and apparently a warm compress with a soft massage on your neck and jaw and stuff really helped ease the pain. You loved it– knocked you out everytime you were up with pain.”

“That’s perfect, thank you.”

“But Josh, I’m serious when I say you gotta be patient. I mean, maybe she’s better at handling it than you, but you were pretty snappy sometimes. Don't take it personally if she gets frustrated with you, just… let her be upset.”

Josh nodded with a sigh, “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind, thanks Jake. And thanks for dealing with me when I was being a dick.”

Jake laughed, “No problem, keep me updated.”

“Will do, love you.”

“Love you too, bye.”

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

The next morning, Josh woke up with you still curled up beside him, your face scrunched in a frown even in sleep. His heart twisted at the sight, wishing he could shoulder your pain instead. He lay there for a moment, gently brushing his fingers over your arm before you stirred awake, blinking slowly as if even that small action was an effort.

“Good morning, baby,” he said softly. “How’re you feeling?”

You let out a small, hoarse sound that wasn’t quite a word, shifting slightly under the blankets.

He sat up, concern etched on his face. “Would you like me to make you some breakfast? Your meds are due in a couple of hours, and I don’t want you taking them on an empty stomach.”

You murmured, “Mmm, not hungry,” your voice faint and muffled.

Josh sighed, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. “I know it hurts to eat,” he said carefully, “But I can make some porridge or oatmeal, so you won’t have to chew.”

Your eyes welled up at his kindness, the frustration of the past few days bubbling to the surface. You nodded slightly but winced at the movement, and Josh winced right along with you, his expression pained as though he could feel it himself.

“‘Kay,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple. “I’ll be right back.”

Josh returned a few minutes later with a small bowl of oats, the hot bowl carefully balanced in his hand. But when he saw your tear-streaked face, his heart broke all over again. Your eyes were red and puffy, and you sniffled quietly, trying to compose yourself.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he set the bowl down and sat beside you. He gently wiped away your tears with the pads of his thumbs, his touch impossibly tender. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, settling beside you on the bed. He watched you for a moment, so sad and defeated, and he knew only one thing could make you feel better in this moment. “Is it the cooking? Be honest,” he teased. "I mean, I never prided myself on being a great cook, but surely it's not bad enough to make you cry?"

A watery giggle escaped your lips despite yourself, and he grinned, clearly pleased with the small victory. “There it is. That’s what I needed to see. Don’t let this thing win, okay? You’ve got way too much fight in you for that.”

He reached over, wiping your tears with his thumbs before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “You’ve survived worse things. Remember when you sat through that whole documentary on the making of The Godfather? Yeah, this infection has nothing on that.”

You laughed softly, the sound barely there but enough to make his grin widen. “There’s my girl,” he murmured. “Now, let’s get you fed so we can put this mean old infection in its place.”

You nodded faintly, and he helped you take a few spoonfuls of the porridge. It wasn’t much, but it was enough, and soon after, he helped you take your medication.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

About an hour later, you stirred from a restless nap, your body tense with discomfort. “Josh?” you called softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He was by your side in an instant. “What do you need, baby?”

You hesitated, embarrassed. “I… I need to pee.”

“Okay,” he said gently, sliding an arm under your shoulders to help you sit up. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

You swayed as he guided you to the bathroom, his arm steady around your waist. By the time you reached the toilet, you were too exhausted and in too much pain to care as he helped you sit down, his movements respectful and careful.

“Take your time,” he said softly, stepping back into the bedroom to give you as much privacy as he could while still being there to support you.

When you were done, he helped you back to bed, tucking you in with a concerned smile. “Want to watch a movie?” he offered, his voice light but tentative.

You let out a faint hum of agreement, snuggling close to him as he pulled you into his side. The warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart were comforting, though he couldn’t ignore how quiet and weak you seemed.

It broke him to see you like this, so far from your usual self, but he stayed strong for you, scrolling through options before settling on Gilmore Girls.

A few minutes in, you tilted your head toward him. “Can you turn it up? I can’t hear it.”

Josh reached for the remote and turned up the volume a couple of notches. “How’s that?”

“More, please?” you mumbled, frowning.

He paused, looking down at you with a worried expression as he gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. “It’s already pretty loud, baby,” he said softly. “The doctor said to keep things quiet until the infection’s gone at least, remember?”

You huffed, your frustration clear as you turned your face away slightly. “Fine,” you muttered, saying nothing more.

Josh pressed his lips into a thin line, still watching you. After a moment, he offered gently, “How about I turn on the subtitles?”

You blinked up at him, your hearing so muddled that you asked, “Turn on what?”

“Subtitles,” he repeated patiently.

“Oh. Okay, yeah,” you said, your voice tinged with exhaustion. He turned them on, and though it helped a bit, you were still annoyed by how much effort it took to follow the show.

Midway through the episode, you dozed off again, your body giving in to the fatigue. Josh watched you for a moment, his heart heavy with worry and love. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he whispered, “Sleep well, my love.”

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

The next morning, Josh woke to find you already awake, sitting cross legged at the head of the bed with your shoulders hunched, your fingers pressed against your jaw. He frowned as he sat up, hair sticking out in messy tufts.

“Baby,” he mumbled, voice raspy with sleep. “What are you doing up so early? It's barely light out.”

You glanced over at him, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “It hurts,” you whispered. “And it’s so itchy, Josh. I can’t stand it.”

Your hand drifted toward your ear, but before you could touch it, Josh was already moving. Gently but firmly, he caught your wrist and pulled it away.

“Hey, no,” he said, his voice a mixture of concern and gentle authority. “You’re not supposed to scratch or touch it, remember? Doctor’s orders.”

“It’s itchy,” you whined, a tear slipping down your cheek. “And it hurts so much.”

“I know,” he soothed, letting go of your wrist to brush the tear away with his thumb. “But the itching means it’s healing. I promise, baby, you’ve just gotta let it be.”

You sighed heavily, your hand falling limply into your lap as you fought the urge to argue. “Fine,” you muttered, clearly irritated but resigned. “Can I at least have some painkillers or something? My head is pounding.”

Josh nodded immediately. “Of course, my love. I’ll get them for you.”

He slipped out of bed and headed to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water, two pills, and a peeled mandarin.

“Here,” he said, setting everything down on the nightstand. “But you need to eat this first,” he instructed, holding the mandarin out to you. You frowned at him but took one slice of the mandarin anyway, biting down gingerly. Almost immediately, you winced and set it back on the plate.

“I can’t, it hurts too much” you said, frustrated and reaching for the pills, “I’ll just take them.”

He shook his head gently, moving the pills from your reach and causing your frown to deepen. “Not on an empty stomach,” he said patiently. You rolled your eyes. “You know that. It’ll make you feel worse."

"I don't care, Josh, just let me take them," you insisted, rather angrily, leaning to grab them, only for Josh to pull them further from your reach, knowing you would be too dizzy to move and get them yourself. Frustration boiled and bubbled in your chest.

"How about I grab you some soup to eat instead?” he suggested.

“I don’t want soup!” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “All I’ve had for the past week is soup, and I’m sick of it! Just…” you trailed off, struggling to find the words that explained your frustration. You hated this, but you hated being mean to Josh even more.

Josh froze for a moment, startled by the outburst. Then, instead of reacting defensively, he exhaled slowly and sat back on the bed, his expression softening.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice calm and measured. “I get it. You’re tired, and you’re hurting. Let’s try something different.”

You looked down at your hands guiltily. “I’m sorry, that was mean. You’re only trying to help, I just–”

“It’s okay, Sweetheart. I get it,” he said softly, stopping you from dwelling.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to touch your arm gently. “Why don’t we take a minute to ease the pain first, hmm? Jake told me a warm compress should help, and then we’ll figure out something for food. Yeah?”

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t stop him as he left the room. When he returned, he had a heat pack in one hand and a reassuring smile on his face.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, climbing onto the bed beside you. “Let’s get you comfy. Lay down on your tummy for me.”

Reluctantly, you shifted to lie on your front, your head resting just beside his thigh against the mattress with your bad ear facing up, just as the doctors had advised you. He gently tugged at the collar of your shirt, pulling it aside to expose your neck and shoulder.

“This might feel a little warm at first, tell me if it’s too hot” he warned as he pressed the compress against your jaw. The soothing heat spread immediately, coaxing a small sigh of relief from you.

“Good?” he asked softly, his fingers beginning to work along your jawline.

“Mhm,” you mumbled, the tension in your body starting to ease as your eyes fluttered shut against the sensation.

Keeping the compress balanced over your jaw, he pressed his thumbs, warmed by the heat pack, over the taught muscles of your neck. They moved in slow, deliberate strokes, kneading the muscles that had been tight with pain. He worked up your neck, towards the base of your skull, his touch firm but gentle, careful not to press too hard.

He smiled as you sunk into the mattress with a groan. “There we go,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. “That’s my girl. Just relax for me.”

You whimpered softly in relief as his fingers found a particularly tight spot near the base of your neck. He chuckled lightly, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple.

“Sounding like you’re enjoying this a little too much,” he teased, a playful smile on his lips.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against the side of his leg.

He laughed quietly, clearly relieved to see even a flicker of your usual self as his fingers moved to your shoulder. He worked on the knots there, his hands strong but tender as he massaged away the tension.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, his thumbs working magic along your shoulder blade, “if I ever quit the band, maybe I’ll open a massage studio. What do you think? ‘Josh’s Soothing Touch’— catchy, right?”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “You’d need a better name. Sounds like a brothel.”

He gasped dramatically. “Wow. Critique from my number one client already? Tough crowd.”

You smiled faintly, the combination of his warmth, humour, and touch making the pain feel a little less overwhelming. After a minute, he replaced the heat pack from your jaw to your neck, reaching round to grasp your face softly with his hand, the pad of his thumb gently kneading into the muscle of your jaw.

He massaged you there for a little while, before moving the heat pack back to your jaw, and continuing massaging your neck instead.

“Thank you, my love. For taking care of me. I love you,” you whispered, your voice soft but sincere as you broke the comfortable silence.

“Anything for you, my sweet girl. I love you too, Beautiful,” he replied, pressing another kiss to your temple as his fingers continued their careful work. “Now, no more talking, just relax, okay?”

And as the loving magic of his touch pressed in against the overwhelming pain you had been fighting, you finally began to feel a little more like yourself again.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

Tag List ~ @allof--mylove

he frowns. “scary?” he says. he tries to figure out what could have made her think that. he is moving some heavy furniture, he guesses, and his arms look big and bunched up as he works, and maybe she's just never noticed that before.

he sets the furniture aside and hunkers down in front of her.

“scary, huh?” he asks gently. he brushes her hair back from her face. “i promise i’m not. not to you, little girl. not ever.”

she hugs her stuffed pink bunny a little closer.

“but your arms,” she says, trying to put this feeling into words, trying to explain something she’s never known before, the reality that her dad is big and she is small. “you can do things i can't do. things even mama can't do.”

he shrugs. “yeah, i guess so. i like to help you and mama do that kind of stuff.” he tickes her. “like rearranging your whole bedroom when mama gets excited about redecorating.”

she giggles and his face melts into a grin. god, he loves her. this little look-alike of you that broke his heart when he held her the first time and has put it back together every day since.

“you’re bigger than your little bunny, aren't you?” he asks, tugging gently on the well-loved ear of her stuffie. “and you can do things she can't do, right?”

she nods.

“but you’d never hurt her,” he says. “and she doesn't have to be scared of you, does she?”

“i don't think so,” she says, starting to understand.

he holds out his hand and lets her compare her hand to it. it barely spans the length of his palm.

“same with me and you,” he says. “i am a lot bigger than you. but you don't have to be scared of me. because i'll never hurt you, baby girl. you hear me?”

she nods. she throws her arms around his neck and hugs him as tightly as she can. he holds her close and hugs her back, knowing just how gentle to be with her.

“i love you, daddy.”

danny hugs her a little tighter, using his strength for tenderness, always, when it comes to her.

------------------------------------------------------

You are very sensitive to loud noises. Since you were a little kid, all your friends have known that a jump scare is a guaranteed win to get back at you for a prank war. You would scream like a banshee, most definitely fall on your behind, and actually need a moment and several deep breaths to rein in your pounding heart back to normal.

Sure, it’s an annoyance and can cause inconveniences sometimes, but you have lived with it for years and can usually get it under control. Therefore, you never really mentioned it to Danny after you two are together. As the attentive and caring lover that he is, he picked it up all by himself.

The first time that he noticed it, it was a quiet afternoon. You were having a lazy weekend at your apartment, minding your own business respectively—you were nose deep in your chunky historical romance novel, Danny was working his way folding a pile of laundry fresh out of the dryer—the comfortable silence draped over you. He was stealing glances at you from time to time. He couldn’t help it—the sunlight that trembled on your curls with your breathing, the unintentional swaying of your legs that were stretched behind you and bent at the knees, and the way that you were completely unaware of your own natural and effortless beauty. He was just so in love with you. However, the love bubble is punctured abruptly by the noise from a power drill coming from your upstair neighbour. Naturally, you both flinched. Fortunately, the sound only lasted for a few seconds before the peaceful and tranquil atmosphere was restored. Danny noticed that your head was still tilted towards your left shoulder as if flinching from a tickle and your fingers were still pressing into your ears. He opened his mouth, wanted to check in with you, but despite your actions, you seemed completely unbothered, already getting back to your reading. Your hands stayed there for about another twenty seconds, and after that, you were completely normal, as if nothing had happened.

After that, the evidence has been piling up quite self-evidently. There was that night when the storm was particularly vicious. Danny was drifting in and out of conscious, bothered by the thunder and the pouring rain blowing against the window. He felt you stir in his arms. He looked down, and you didn’t wake up; it didn’t seem like you were having a bad dream either. There was just that flinching again—your eyebrows furrowed, your neck craning to the left. Danny carefully reached out and caressed the left side of your face, his thumb brushing feather-light strokes on your cheek. To his relief, you stopped frowning and leaned into his touch subconsciously, nuzzling his hand like a kitten. Danny made sure your breathing went back to normal before he fell asleep again.

There was also that time when you and the boys went to see the fireworks for New Year’s Eve. You were largely distracted by the visuals. The sounds only caught up with you when some of the single-shot aerial salute were fired towards the end. Upon that first loud bang, Danny’s black earmuffs were already around your ears. You turned your head, giving him a grateful look and flashing him a smile. He only squeezed your shoulder reassuringly as the people around began counting down. It happened so naturally that it skipped how he has already not only noticed, but also learned your way to deal with it.

Sure, Danny could have directly asked you. A simple “are you sensitive to loud sounds?” would suffice, but he prefers to let you take the lead. You should be the one who decides when it feels right and comfortable to tell him about it. This is the principle that Danny holds when it comes to most sensitive topics between you. He knows that it takes you longer to open up, so as long as it’s not something urgent, he always waits patiently.

And it did take a while for you to realize that. But once you began connecting the dots, things became abundantly clear. Danny always manages to find a way to make his presence known. The loud ‘honey, I’m home’ every time he dropped his bag at the doorway, the sliding of a steaming mug into your sight when your eyes are glued to the laptop screen and your fingers are flying over the keyboard, the keeping your Adblock software up to date especially during Halloween season so the unscrupulous jump-scares from the horror movie trailers would never get you. You have even joked with Danny how you have stopped accidentally breaking plates or glasses ever since you guys started dating. God knows how many broken ceramics or glasses you had to sweep up when you were with your ex. Danny would never creepily appear right behind you and then scolded you for being dramatic when you are genuinely jumped out of your skin. When he wants to get your attention in the middle of your little dance party, he always changes or turns down the volume of the song that you are playing and lets you notice it yourself.

You also remember that time when Danny found you minutes before he was about to go on stage.

You were about to go to your reserved spot at the side wing when you heard Danny calling your name. “Danny! what are you doing here?” He was all dressed up, the makeup sparkling around his eyelids. He looked so divine, but his breathing was quicker, and he looked a little flushed as if he was in a rush. Well, duh, of course, he was. Curtain was in five, he was not supposed to be here.

“Here,” he dropped something into your palm and spoke again before you had time to see what it was. “I knew you said you’re fine, but I want you to have them just in case.” “Okay, babe.” Given the tight timing, you decided to play along. Plus, you trusted him anyway. With that, he gave you a kiss with pouty lips so as not to mess up his makeup and hurried away at the stage manager’s anxious urging.

When you got a chance to look at the objects in your hands, you recognized it was a pair of earplugs—not two pieces of bright orange foam you found at the dollar store, but the proper ones, the “standing-right-behind-the-barricade” kind that you saw photographers and security guards wear. And they are in your favorite colour too. Your mind instantly went back to that conversation you had when you finally told Danny about your sound sensitivity. He was nodding along attentively and you could almost hear the gears in his brain turning. “What?” You asked, feeling a little self-conscious. “No, no. I was just thinking. You said loud sounds…What about the drums, do they also…” “Of course not!” You laughed, “they are quite the opposite, honestly. I was referring to like, more erratic noises. You drums are nothing like those!”

That was one of the earlier shows that Danny took you to, and those earplugs have been with you ever since.

Whenever you go to concerts, no matter if it’s at the crowded, overwhelming pit, or in a low-lit, intimate bar, Danny always stands behind you — not only to protect you as a human shield from strangers’ unnecessary physical contacts (accidental or not), but also to hug you from behind so that he can sway with you gently along with the rhythm, steal a kiss when the song comes to your favourite part, and catch the tears that slide down your cheek with his thumb when you are so deeply touched by the lyrics.

Today, you were walking down the street with Danny. As a firm believer and the loyal executant of “the sidewalk rule”, Danny was walking on the traffic side of the sidewalk, his right hand is stuffed in the left pocket of your coat, his fingers tangled with yours. This has always been your little tradition when walking together. Danny jokingly named it “save a glove, hold hands”, derived from that infamous cowboy phrase. It was late afternoon, there were few people on the roads. The air was crisp, delectable of the food smell coming from the bistros and restaurants nearby. You were telling Danny about one of the movies you recently watched and was about to get to the juicy reveal of the plot twist when you heard the siren of an ambulance in the distance. Your heart instantly sped up your fingers twitched slightly.

You hated the sounds of sirens; terrified, you’d even say. Among all your noise triggers, they are probably the worst. You have hated it since you were a child; when your cousins would whip out their electric firetrucks and police car models on a playdate, the flashing light and clanking noises always made your skin crawl. Oh, just wait until you find out about the real ones screaming and whizzing by while you walk. It’s not only the high pitched sound, but also the instant reflex in your brain alerting that “something is wrong”, some one is hurting, someone needs help—a fire? a robbery? A car accident? Or could it be an abduction case? Did some grandma slip and fall in the shower, or is a mother unexpectedly going into labor? Images flash before your eyes: blood, yelps, a doctor performing CPR in the moving vehicle… To make matters worse, your deceptive brain offers you to consider the possibility: what if someone you knew is in that vehicle right now? What if they are the ones that was anxiously waiting for the help to arrive? Sure, life is not some soap opera or Lifetime original movie, but….what if?

“Ummmm…and then…then…”

The sound was getting louder, the ambulance was rapidly approaching. You tried to brush it off, faking a cough when you stuttered in your narration. “Come on, get it over with. You’re not going to have a panic attack mid conversation just from hearing some noise. No adults behave like that.” You scolded yourself silently, blinking rapidly as you turned your head away from the street. Just as the howling was becoming unbearable, the next moment, you were wrapped in a hug. Before you knew it, you were tucked in between Danny’s arms. His hand that was previously inside your pocket now snaked around your waist, his other hand holding your head against his chest, his palm covering your ear.

For the next twenty seconds, Danny became your senses. You were engulfed in his scent—mahogany cologne, musk, and the lingering smoky smell on his scarf from the restaurant you just left; his hand pressed against your ears—his big hands, strong fingers, palm dry and warm, radiating his body heat; the sound are all muffled, it was as if you slid into a warm pool—with a protective medium in between, you were safe from the noises. It was reassurance in every possible way.

You felt Danny’s hand gently rubbing your back, his familiar tell-tale sign to slowly welcome you coming back to him. His movements were gradual and calculated. He lifted his palm from your ear little by little, as if peeling open a tub of newly-opened yogurt, letting the exoteric sounds flush back slowly, the slow inflation of a ballon. Gone was the ambulance, along with your anxiousness.

You blinked, forgetting when you squeezed your eyes shut, and collided right into Danny’s eyes—the kind brown paired with the faint hue of an earthy green limbal ring—the undivided attention that makes your head swoon and your knees buckle.

“Hi.” He tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

“Hi.” You shyly replied, pulling his hand back to your pocket as you resumed your walk, lacing your fingers with his.

People were still hurrying to and fro. The cars swooshing by behind you. No one took notice of a hugging couple on the side of the road, or if the did, they would just think it was some cheesy PDA. No one would understand the utter care, gentleness, and intimacy you have just experienced.

Of course he would’ve noticed. Just like he always did. Naive of you to assume that you can fake or hide anything from Danny, your Danny. Little did you know, throughout his time with you, he had trained himself to become the curator of an archive that was you. He could cite chapter and verse of your preferences and abhorrences. He enjoys every minute of it and he is always excited to discover more; he never sees it as a chore or an ordeal, but a labor of love instead; because if he wanted to, he would.

It was by then that you fully understood what Danny really means when he says he loves you with his whole body and his whole heart. It wasn’t the sex or the booze talking, nor the post-show adrenaline. What he means is that he loves you so much that it has become part of his instinct. You are wired into his thought process and will always be part of his consideration for whatever problem he is facing, a constant in the equation. In between choices, you will most often be firmly chosen by him, and in the rare cases that you weren’t, he would have legit reason, which you are certain that you would be sincerely convinced of because you understand that a relationship is about both giving and taking, and that you would do the same for him without any hesitation.

“Oh, Danny.” You sighed contentedly, slightly shaking your head, from the disbelief that a heart is capable of love with such depth that it will permanently mark your soul, from that annoying little voice in your head that makes you wonder what you have done to deserve such a lover like Danny, and from the epiphany which makes you realize that you are smitten by him and will most likely be stuck with him for the rest of your life. It’s a blissful surrender, you wouldn’t have it any other way. There are so much feelings in your heart, but no need to express them at all; because one glance at Danny’s eyes looking back at you with oozing adoration tells you that he fully understands every word you wanted to say down to the punctuations. So much was conveyed in the telepathic silence. There was honestly no greater communication. You know this was the perfect moment that calls for those exact three words, and Danny has already said them to you first, leaving you no choice but to chuckle and say it back.

“I love you, Danny.”

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