caroline

joe keery

mornings

curls

beauty treatment

cut

what must it be like to grow up that beautiful

undress you with my eyes im ready to go

remove my shirt and tie im ready to go

all for you

all this sympathy is just a knife

my valentine

back home

younger!reader:

prank

2016 pt2

mochi pt2

distracted

2016

plane ride

mochi

mama that burn

meeting

sonny angel

i told ya

pilates princess

kiss all the time, disco occasionally

inspired by party 4 u by charli xcx

you told yourself it wasn’t about him.

the party.

the lights, the music, the people spilling into your apartment like you had something to prove. you told yourself it was just because you could. because you were young and single and fine.

completely fine.

“this is insane,” your friend laughs, looking around at the crowd. “since when do you throw parties like this?”

you shrug, sipping your drink. “felt like it.”

that’s the answer you give everyone.

it’s easier than the truth.

you checked your phone twelve times in the last hour.

no messages.

no missed calls.

nothing.

you try to laugh it off, leaning into conversation, letting people pull you onto the makeshift dance floor in your living room.

music too loud. bass thumping through your chest.

it should feel good.

it doesn’t.

because every time the door opens your head turns. every single time.

you hate that about yourself.

you hate that after everything. after the distance, the arguments, the way it all unraveled so slowly it almost didn’t feel real. you’re still standing here like this.

waiting. hoping.

“you good?” someone asks, nudging you.

“yeah,” you smile quickly. “just hot in here.”

it’s a lie.

you feel cold.

someone spills a drink. someone else starts shouting over the music. laughter echoes, bodies moving, hands grabbing, people living in the moment you built for them.

for him.

you drift through it all like a ghost.

present.

but not really there.

i basically threw this party for him.

the thought hits out of nowhere.

sharp.

embarrassing.

true.

you disappear into your bedroom for a second, closing the door behind you, the music muffled now.

your reflection stares back at you.

hair perfect.

makeup perfect.

outfit chosen way too carefully.

you look like someone who’s having the time of her life.

you don’t feel like her.

“this is stupid,” you whisper to yourself.

because it is.

throwing a party like this, hoping he’ll just… show up.

walk through the door like nothing happened.

like you didn’t break each other a little.

but god, you want him to.

a knock sounds at your bedroom door.

“hey, where’d you go?” your friend calls.

“coming,” you say quickly, forcing yourself back out.

back into the noise.

back into the waiting.

another hour passes.

maybe two.

you stop checking your phone.

not because you don’t care

but because you do.

too much.

and then, the door opens again.

you don’t mean to look.

but you do.

and for a second, everything else fades. it's him.

joe stands in the doorway, scanning the room like he’s not sure if he should be here.

like he almost didn’t come.

your breath catches.

he looks the same.

which somehow makes it worse.

your heart starts racing before you can stop it.

before you can think.

before you can protect yourself.

he spots you.

of course he does.

it’s like something pulls his gaze straight to you.

and there it is.

that look.

the one you know too well.

the one that says i shouldn’t be here and i couldn’t stay away at the same time.

you don’t move.

neither does he.

not at first.

people brush past him, music still loud, the party still happening around you like this isn’t the moment everything tilts.

then he starts walking toward you.

slow.

hesitant.

like he’s giving you time to walk away if you want to.

you don’t.

“hi,” he says when he reaches you.

it’s so simple.

so normal.

it almost breaks you.

“hi.”

your voice is quieter than you expect.

there’s a pause.

so much sitting in it.

everything unsaid.

everything still there.

“this is…” he gestures vaguely around. “a lot.”

you let out a small, nervous laugh. “yeah.”

you don’t say why.

you can’t.

his eyes linger on you.

taking you in.

like he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

“you look…” he starts, then stops.

“what?”

he shakes his head slightly. “good.”

you swallow.

“thanks.”

another pause.

longer this time.

“i didn’t think you’d come,” you admit before you can stop yourself.

his expression shifts.

softens.

“i wasn’t going to.”

your chest tightens.

“then why did you?”

he looks at you like it’s obvious.

like it always was.

“because it’s you.”

and god.

that’s the problem.

it’s always been you.

and him.

and everything in between.

the music swells around you, louder now, but it feels distant.

like you’re standing in the center of something fragile.

“i shouldn’t stay,” he says quietly.

you nod.

“okay.”

you don’t ask him to.

you don’t beg.

you don’t say any of the things sitting on the tip of your tongue.

but your eyes... they do.

he notices.

of course he does.

“you threw all this…” he starts, glancing around again. “for what?”

you hesitate.

this is it.

the truth.

the thing you’ve been hiding all night.

“i think you know.”

your voice is barely there.

he exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“you can’t do that.”

“i know.”

“it’s not fair.”

“i know.”

but neither of you moves.

because fair was never really the point, was it?

“i missed you,” you whisper.

it slips out.

soft.

dangerous.

his eyes close for a second.

just a second.

like it hits him harder than he expected.

“don’t,” he murmurs.

but he doesn’t step back.

“i did,” you say anyway. “i do.”

he looks at you again.

really looks at you.

and you can see it. the same thing you feel.

still there. still alive.

“this was a bad idea,” he says.

“yeah.”

“really bad.”

“i know.”

but neither of you leaves.

not yet.

and around you, the party keeps going.

“hi, i’m—” you pause, laughing softly at yourself, glancing just off camera. “wait, do i say my name first or...”

“you definitely say your name first,” joe’s voice comes from somewhere behind the camera, amused.

you shoot him a look, trying not to smile too much.

“shhh you’re not supposed to talk,” you whisper.

“i’m being supportive,” he argues quietly.

you roll your eyes, then turn back to the camera, composure slipping just a little.

“hi, i'm yn, and this is my vogue beauty secrets.”

it starts off normal.

or… as normal as it can be with joe hovering just out of frame.

it’s early. too early.

but your skin is fresh, your hair clipped back, and there’s something about doing this that keeps you awake.

“i usually start with cleansing,” you explain, reaching for the bottle. “especially if i slept in makeup, which… i definitely did last night.”

a quiet laugh comes from somewhere behind the camera.

you ignore it.

mostly.

the routine starts smoothly.

you talk through each step, fingers moving with practiced ease, explaining products, little habits, things you’ve learned over time.

you’re calm now.

settled.

until...

“you forgot the part where you steal my moisturizer.”

you freeze.

just for a second.

then your eyes flick toward the mirror.

“oh my god,” you laugh, already smiling. “are you serious right now?”

joe leans into frame slightly, hair messy, hoodie on, looking way too comfortable for someone who definitely was not supposed to be in this.

“what?” he shrugs, grinning. “it’s true.”

you shake your head, trying not to laugh too hard. “you were not invited to this.”

“i live here,” he points out.

“that doesn’t mean you’re in my vogue video.”

he steps a little closer anyway, resting his arms on the counter behind you, chin almost on your shoulder as he looks at the lineup of products.

“this is a lot,” he says.

“it’s not that much.”

“there’s like twelve things here.”

“there’s eight.”

he hums. “still excessive.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile doesn’t fade.

“anyway,” you say, turning back to the camera, “after cleansing, i go in with...”

joe reaches past you, grabbing a bottle.

“this one’s my favorite,” he says.

you stare at him through the mirror. “so that’s mine.”

“you said we share.”

“i said you borrow... one time.”

he grins. “same thing.”

“sorry he’s not normally like this,” you say, attempting to sound composed.

joe raises a brow. “i’m exactly like this.”

“unfortunately.”

you continue your routine, but now he’s there.

hovering.

commenting.

watching you like he’s genuinely interested, even if he keeps interrupting.

“what’s that for?” he asks when you pick up a serum.

“hydration.”

“you’re already hydrated.”

you blink at him. “that’s not how skin works.”

“seems like it is.”

at one point, you turn slightly to blend something in

and he just… watches.

quiet now.

soft.

like he forgot about the camera entirely.

“what?” you ask, catching his expression.

he shakes his head a little. “nothing.”

but he’s smiling.

that kind of smile.

the one that makes your chest feel warm.

“do you want to try something?” you ask suddenly.

he looks immediately suspicious. “no.”

“come on,” you laugh. “just a little.”

“absolutely not.”

you’re already reaching for him.

“it’s just moisturizer!”

“that’s how it starts”

you dab a little onto his cheek anyway.

he freezes.

“you’re unbelievable,” he mutters, but he doesn’t move away.

you gently blend it in, trying not to laugh at how serious he suddenly looks.

“see? glowing already.”

he glances at himself in the mirror. “…okay, wait.”

you grin. “right?”

the camera keeps rolling, but it doesn’t feel like filming anymore.

it just feels like… this.

you and him.

“final step,” you say eventually, finishing up. “lip balm.”

joe hums. “important.”

“very.”

you apply it, then glance at him.

“…do you want some?”

he narrows his eyes slightly. “is this a trick?”

“no.”

he leans down just slightly.

“fine.”

you swipe a little onto his lips, careful, gentle.

he watches you the whole time.

“okay,” you say, clearing your throat softly, turning back to the camera. “and that’s my routine.”

joe stays right there, arm slipping around your waist without thinking.

“highly recommend,” he adds.

you laugh. “you’ve used, like, two of these products.”

“i look great though.”

you tilt your head, pretending to consider. “…you do look kinda glowing.”

love your work, kissesssss

love this!! i yearn to be his young gf.

he shouldn’t be here.

joe knows that before he even knocks.

it’s late. too late to pretend this is casual, too late to dress it up as anything other than what it is... a bad idea he keeps choosing anyway.

but he still knocks.

you open the door in sweats and one of his old shirts.

that’s the first thing that hits him.

his shirt. hanging off you, soft and familiar and wrong in a way that makes his chest tighten.

“hi,” you say, a little breathless and honestly shocked that he showed up here.

he swallows. “hey.”

there’s a beat.

then you step aside to let him in.

you two met through a friend.

it was supposed to be nothing.

a party, too loud, too crowded. you tucked into the corner of the couch, laughing at something someone said, younger than everyone else but not out of place. not really.

he noticed you anyway.

not in a way he wanted to admit. not in a way he should’ve.

but you were easy to talk to. quick, sharp, a little sarcastic in a way that caught him off guard.

he asked how old you were halfway through the night.

he shouldn’t have asked.

he definitely shouldn’t have cared about the answer.

“twenty,” you’d said, like it was nothing.

like it didn’t shift the ground under his feet.

“you shouldn’t be wearing that,” he mutters now, nodding toward the shirt.

you glance down, fingers brushing the hem.

“why? it’s comfy.”

“it’s mine.”

you shrug. “you left it.”

he exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face.

“that’s not the point.”

you tilt your head, watching him.

“then what is?”

he doesn’t answer.

because the point is, you’re twenty.

and he’s standing in your apartment at midnight like he hasn’t spent the last week trying to convince himself this is something he can walk away from. like he hasn’t already failed.

“joe,” you say softer, stepping closer. “why are you here?”

he laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it.

“i don’t know.”

that’s the problem.

he does know.

he just doesn’t like the answer.

“you’ve been ignoring me,” you add

that almost makes it worse.

he nods slightly. “yeah.”

“why?”

and it hits him all over again. how easy you are to want. how natural it feels to be around you. how much he shouldn’t feel that way.

“because this isn’t...” he starts, then stops.

“isn’t what?”

“right.”

the word hangs there.

“because of my age.”

it’s not a question.

he doesn’t lie.

“…yeah.”

your lips press together, something flickering across your face. hurt, but quieter than he expects.

“i didn’t think you cared that much.”

“i didn’t either,” he admits.

that’s the worst part.

he didn’t.

until he did.

“so what,” you say, arms crossing loosely. “you’re just gonna disappear?”

“i tried,” he says, a little sharper than he means to.

you blink. “tried?”

he lets out a breath, pacing once like he needs to burn something off.

“i tried not texting you. not coming around. not thinking about you every five seconds like” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening.

like it’s embarrassing.

your voice softens.

“and?”

he laughs, hollow. “and it didn’t work.”

“then why are you still fighting it?” you ask.

he looks at you like the answer should be obvious.

“because i’m older than you.”

“so?”

“so i should know better.”

“about what?” you push. “liking me?”

he flinches slightly.

because that’s exactly it.

“you’re at a different place than me,” he says, quieter now. “you should be with someone your age. someone who-”

“who what?” you cut in. “doesn’t make you overthink everything? doesn’t make you show up at my door at midnight even when you’re trying not to?”

he goes quiet.

you step closer again.

slow. careful.

“you think i don’t see it?” you murmur. “the way you look at me like you’re already halfway gone?”

his chest tightens.

because you’re not wrong.

“i don’t wanna be something you regret,” he says finally.

it’s barely above a whisper.

that’s the truth of it.

not judgment.

not embarrassment.

fear.

your expression softens.

“you won’t.”

“you don’t know that.”

“neither do you.”

he exhales, shaking his head slightly like he’s losing an argument with himself.

“this could get messy.”

you nod. “probably.”

“people are gonna talk.”

“they always do.”

“you’re gonna change,” he adds. “you’re twenty. you’re still figuring things out.”

you hold his gaze.

“so are you.”

that one lands.

“i’m not asking for forever,” you say, quieter now. “i’m just asking you to stop acting like wanting me is some kind of mistake.”

his eyes flicker.

because that’s exactly how he’s been treating it.

like something to fix.

not something to feel.

you reach for his hand.

then hesitate.

then lace your fingers with his anyway.

“if you don’t want this,” you add softly, “then don’t be here.”

his grip tightens instantly.

reflex.

honest.

“but if you do,” you whisper, “then stop punishing yourself for it.”

he looks at your hands. then back at you.

and for a second you can see it. the moment he almost walks away.

the moment he almost chooses the safer option. but he doesn’t.

his other hand comes up to your face, hesitant at first, like he’s still asking permission even now.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs.

you smile, small. “dramatic.”

he huffs out a breath, something soft breaking through the tension.

“you have no idea.”

but he doesn’t let go.

not this time.

even if part of him is already bracing for the consequences.

younger!reader meeting the stranger things cast for the first time

you almost didn’t come.

you stood in front of the mirror longer than you needed to, smoothing your outfit down for the third time, second-guessing everything. your hair, your makeup, the way you were standing, even the way you breathed.

“they already know about you,” joe had said earlier, casual, reassuring. “it’s not a big deal.”

but that was exactly the problem.

they knew about you.

just… not really.

the restaurant was louder than you expected.

warm lighting, clinking glasses, familiar faces you’d only ever seen on screen. laughing, leaning into each other like they’d known each other forever.

and then there was you.

joe’s hand found yours instantly when you stepped in, squeezing gently like he could feel the hesitation in your bones.

“hey,” he murmured, leaning down slightly. “you’re good.”

you nodded, even if you weren’t entirely sure you believed it.

introductions went smoothly at first.

smiles, hugs, easy jokes. they were nice. genuinely nice.

“we’ve heard so much about you,” one of them said with a grin.

you laughed lightly. “hopefully good things.”

“only,” someone else added.

and for a second, it felt… okay.

like maybe you’d been overthinking it.

it slipped out so easily.

too easily.

“yeah, i’ve just been busy with exams lately,” you said, shrugging a little. “it’s kinda brutal at my age.”

someone tilted their head. “wait... how old are you?”

you didn’t think twice.

“i just turned 22”

and then.. that pause.

not loud.

not dramatic.

just there.

like something invisible had shifted in the air.

a glance exchanged.

another.

a smile that didn’t quite land the same way as before.

you felt it immediately.

your stomach dropped, heat creeping up your neck as the realization settled in.

you tried to ignore it, picking at your napkin, forcing a small smile when someone asked you another question. but it wasn’t the same.

they were still polite.

still kind.

but there was something underneath it now.

something quieter.

something judging.

joe didn’t catch it right away.

he was mid-story, animated, hands moving as he talked, making everyone laugh like he always did.

you loved that about him.

the way he lit up a room.

but right now, it made you feel… smaller.

like you were standing just outside of something you weren’t quite part of.

“you okay?” he asked eventually, leaning closer to you.

you nodded too quickly. “yeah, i’m fine.”

he frowned slightly, like he didn’t fully buy it, but before he could press, someone pulled him back into conversation.

and you let it happen.

because it was easier than explaining.

you didn’t mean to go quiet.

it just… happened.

you listened more than you talked, laughing when it felt right, but holding yourself back in ways you hadn’t before.

maybe they were right.

maybe you were out of place.

but then somewhere between appetizers and dessert it shifted. not all at once. just… little things.

you made a joke.

a quick, offhand comment — the kind you usually kept to yourself.

but it landed.

really landed.

someone laughed.

then someone else.

and suddenly you were being pulled into the conversation instead of sitting on the edge of it.

“wait, no.. tell that story again,” one of them said, leaning forward.

you blinked. “what, the one about my professor?”

“yes,” they laughed. “that was insane.”

you glanced at joe for a second, unsure.

he was already looking at you.

smiling.

soft. proud. a little gone.

like he always did.

“go on,” he murmured.

and so you did.

after that, it got easier.

you relaxed without meaning to, slipping into their rhythm, teasing back when they teased you, laughing louder, talking more.

you didn’t feel like you were trying anymore.

you just… were.

and they saw it.

they saw you.

not the number.

not the assumption.

you.

at one point, you excused yourself to the restroom.

just for a second to breathe.

to process.

to let the lingering tightness in your chest loosen a little.

when you came back, you slowed near the table without meaning to.

because they were talking about you.

“…i didn’t expect that,” someone admitted quietly.

“yeah,” another agreed. “but look at him.”

there was a pause.

you followed their gaze.

joe.

he was smiling at something someone had said, but his eyes flicked toward where you’d just been sitting. instinctively, like he was checking for you even when you weren’t there.

“i’ve never seen him like that,” someone said.

“me neither.”

“…he’s really happy.”

you swallowed, something warm blooming in your chest.

and for the first time that night, you didn’t feel out of place.

when you sat back down, the energy felt different.

lighter.

someone nudged your shoulder. “we’re planning something next weekend. you should come.”

you blinked. “oh, i don’t wanna intrude-”

“you’re not,” they cut in easily. “you’re with joe.”

simple as that.

but it meant more than they probably realized.

joe looked between you and them, a little confused but smiling anyway. “what did i miss?”

you shook your head, lips curving. “nothing.”

but your hand found his under the table.

and this time you didn’t feel like letting go.

on the way home, he glanced over at you.

“seriously, what was that earlier?” he asked. “it got weird for a second.”

you hesitated.

then smiled softly.

“it’s okay,” you said. “it worked itself out.”

he studied you for a second… then nodded, trusting you.

his hand reached over, squeezing yours.

and you squeezed back.

because by the end of the night you weren’t just the girl they’d heard about.

requested!

stripper!reader x joe keery

dating joe keery was never going to be quiet.

you knew that.

you just didn’t think it would hit like this.

it starts with a picture.

blurry, taken outside the club. neon lights bleeding into the night, your arm looped through his, his head tilted down toward you like you’d just said something that made him smile.

it shouldn’t have been a big deal.

male celebrity seen with girlfriend. happens all the time.

but then someone recognizes you.

not by name.

by where you work.

“isn’t she a stripper???”

the comment blows up faster than anything else.

screenshots. reposts. threads dissecting your life like it’s public property. people digging up your stage name, clips from the club’s tagged posts, grainy videos where you’re on stage. confident, untouchable, owning every inch of yourself.

and suddenly that’s all you are to them.

not his girlfriend.

not a person.

just...

that.

you find out before joe does.

curled up on the couch, phone lighting up with notifications you wish you’d never opened.

your stomach twists the more you scroll.

“he could do better.”

“this is embarrassing for him.”

“imagine dating a stripper…”

you lock your phone, but it doesn’t make it go away.

it just sits there in your chest instead.

heavy.

ugly.

joe walks in a few minutes later, keys hitting the counter.

“hey, you good?” he asks, immediately picking up on it.

you hesitate.

that’s all it takes.

“…what happened?”

you don’t answer right away. just hand him your phone.

watch his expression change as he scrolls.

confusion.

then realization.

then something sharper.

“are you serious?” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

you try to play it off. “it’s not a big deal...”

“no,” he cuts in, looking up at you. “don’t do that.”

your throat tightens.

“it’s just... this is what people think, joe. it’s not new.”

“i don’t care what they think.”

“but it affects you,” you push, voice smaller now. “your career, your image”

he sets your phone down harder than necessary, stepping closer.

“you think i’m embarrassed of you?”

you don’t answer.

and that answer is enough.

his voice softens immediately.

“hey… no,” he says, reaching for you, hands warm against your arms. “no, don’t go there.”

you look away, blinking too fast.

“it’s not exactly… the kind of job people respect.”

joe lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head.

“i respect it.”

you glance back at him.

he means it.

“you work your ass off,” he continues. “you’re confident, you own yourself in a way most people are too scared to. that’s not something to look down on.”

your chest feels tight for a different reason now.

“they don’t see it like that.”

“then they’re wrong.”

simple as that.

later that night, it gets worse before it gets better.

articles start popping up. headlines that twist everything into something cheap and scandalous.

but then

joe posts.

no long caption. no explanation.

just a picture of you.

not from the club. not anything they’ve seen.

it’s you in one of his hoodies, hair messy, laughing at something off-camera. soft. real.

you.

caption: “my girl.”

the reaction is immediate.

some people double down.

but a lot of them… quiet down.

because he’s not hiding you.

he’s not apologizing.

he’s not even entertaining the narrative.

he’s choosing you. loudly.

you’re sitting next to him when it starts blowing up again.

this time, your hands are shaking for a different reason.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you murmur.

joe shrugs, glancing over at you.

“yeah, i did.”

you study him for a second. “you’re not worried?”

“about what?”

“what people think.”

he leans back, arm pulling you into his side like it’s second nature.

“i think,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple, “that i’m the one who gets to decide who i love. not them.”

you let out a small breath, tension easing just a little.

“and you’re okay with… all of me?”

he huffs out a soft laugh.

“that’s kinda the point, isn’t it?”

your lips curve, finally.

because for all the noise, all the opinions, all the judgment

i've been wanting to do like a baddie!reader cause joe wouldn't know what to do with all that... but like he prob would

you knew exactly what you were doing.

the bass was heavy, shaking the floor, sliding up your spine with every beat and you let it take over. slow at first, just enough to warm the room up, hips rolling like second nature.

not for everyone.

for him.

joe.

you didn’t even have to look to know he was staring. you could feel it. that kind of attention that sticks to your skin, follows every move like he’s memorizing it.

still, you gave him a glance over your shoulder anyway.

and yeah.

he looked wrecked.

leaning against the wall, drink forgotten in his hand, eyes locked on you like he hadn’t blinked in minutes. jaw tight. lips parted just enough to give him away.

you smirked.

good.

you turned fully, back to him now, giving him exactly what he didn’t deserve but couldn’t stop watching. slower this time. controlled. dragging it out just to see how far you could push him.

it worked.

you heard the shift before you felt him. his footsteps cutting through the music, quick, impatient.

then he was right behind you.

close.

too close.

his hand hovered at your waist for half a second before settling there like he’d finally given up pretending he had self-control. fingers pressing in just enough to ground himself.

“you’re playing a dangerous game,” he muttered, voice low against your ear.

you didn’t stop moving.

if anything, you leaned back just a little, letting him feel it.

“am i?” you said, soft, teasing.

his grip tightened.

not enough to stop you. just enough to say he could.

“you know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, breath uneven now. “don’t act like you don’t.”

you turned your head slightly, just enough that your lips almost brushed his jaw.

“say it then,” you whispered. “what am i doing?”

he went quiet for a second, and that silence said everything.

then his hand slid just a little, pulling you back into him, closer, like he was done pretending he didn’t want you there.

“driving me insane,” he said.

you smiled, slow and satisfied, still moving against him like you had all the time in the world.

“good,” you murmured.

and the way his fingers dug in just a little deeper?

yeah.

preforming at lolla and joe falls in love bc duh

the lights are so bright i can barely see the crowd.

just flashes, hands in the air, phones glowing, silhouettes moving with the music. the bass is loud enough to shake through my chest, and everything feels a little unreal in the way it always does when i’m on stage.

but this one feels bigger.

lollapalooza always does.

“how we doing tonight?” i call out, breathless, grinning as the crowd screams back at me.

it’s electric. messy. alive.

i move across the stage like i belong there. because i do. mic in hand, hair sticking to my skin, adrenaline running so high i don’t even feel my feet anymore.

and somewhere in the middle of it i look out.

and for a split second, everything slows.

joe didn’t even plan on being there that early.

he was supposed to come later, meet up with friends, hang around for a few sets.

but someone told him, you should check her out.

so he does.

and he’s not expecting much. just another set, another artist, another crowd.

until you walk out.

and suddenly it’s not just noise anymore.

it’s you.

he doesn’t notice the people around him pushing forward. doesn’t care about the heat, the yelling, the chaos.

he just watches.

the way you move like the stage was built for you. the way your voice cuts through everything. raw, real, not perfect in that polished way, but better because of it.

you look like you’re feeling every second of it.

and he can’t look away.

“who is that?” he asks, barely taking his eyes off you.

someone says your name like it’s obvious.

like everyone already knows you.

and yeah. he’s heard it before. probably seen clips, interviews, something.

but this?

this is different.

this is… real.

i don’t know why i notice him.

i shouldn’t.

there are thousands of people out there.

but there’s something about the way he’s standing still, focused, like everything else faded out for him.

like he’s not just watching a show.

like he’s watching me.

my chest tightens for a second.

i almost miss my cue.

almost.

but then i lean into it.

into the feeling.

into him being there, even if i don’t know who he is.

my next line comes out a little softer. a little closer to the mic. a little more real.

and somehow, it feels like it lands right where he’s standing.

joe feels it.

he doesn’t even know how to explain it.

one second he’s just in a crowd, the next it feels like you’re singing directly to him.

like the space between the stage and where he’s standing just… disappears.

he lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head a little like he’s trying to ground himself.

“this is insane,” he mutters.

but he doesn’t move.

doesn’t blink.

he just stays right there, watching you like he’s trying to memorize it.

the way your voice cracks just slightly on a note and you don’t hide it. the way you smile after, like it’s part of it.

the way you are.

and somewhere between one song and the next

it hits him.

by the last song, i’m exhausted.

sweaty, breathless, heart racing but in that good way. the kind that makes you feel like you’ve given everything you had.

“thank you,” i say into the mic, softer now. “seriously. this means everything.”

the crowd roars.

i take one last look out.

and there he is.

still there.

still watching me like that.

my stomach flips.

i don’t even know why.

i just smile. small, real, not part of the performance.

and for a second, it’s just us again.

then the lights cut.

joe doesn’t leave.

he can’t.

his friends are texting him. people are moving, heading to the next stage, the next thing.

he stays.

“you coming?” someone asks.

“yeah.. just… give me a second,” he says, already distracted.

because he’s not done.

not with that.

not with you.

he finds himself near the side of the stage, not even fully sure what his plan is. just that he needs to see you again. not from a distance. not through lights and speakers.

for real.

when you finally step off, still catching your breath, towel around your shoulders

he almost forgets what he was gonna say.

you look different up close.

softer. more human.

but somehow even more… you.

“hi,” he says, a little breathless.

i look up.

and it’s him.

the one from the crowd.

the one who looked at me like that.

“hi,” i say back, my voice quieter now.

there’s a second.

just looking at each other.

and then he laughs a little under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

“that was..” he shakes his head. “i don’t even know how to describe that.”

i tilt my head, smiling slightly. “good, i hope.”

“yeah,” he says immediately. “yeah, it was… more than good.”

there’s something in the way he says it that makes my chest feel warm again.

“i wasn’t planning on being here,” he admits. “but i’m really glad i was.”

i study him for a second.

“me too,” i say, before i can overthink it.

he smiles at that. soft, almost disbelieving.

“i think i just… became a fan,” he adds.

i laugh quietly. “just now?”

“yeah,” he nods. “like, five minutes ago.”

“tough crowd,” i tease.

“no,” he says, softer now. “i just needed to see you live.”

my breath catches just a little.

there’s a pause.

not awkward. just… full.

“i’m joe, by the way,” he says.

i nod, telling him my name even though he already knows it.

he just wanted to hear me say it.

and standing there, backstage noise fading into the background

i realize something.

that look he had?

he still has it.

like he’s already a little gone.

and for some reason

younger!reader x joe keery

joe leaving for tour

i start crying while he’s still packing.

it’s quiet at first.

i’m sitting on the edge of the bed, notes and flashcards spread out beside me like i’m trying to study, but i haven’t read a single word in ten minutes. i just keep watching him move around the room, folding clothes, checking things off in his head.

like this is normal.

like he’s not about to leave.

“you okay?” he asks without turning around.

i swallow. “mhm.”

he glances back at me anyway.

and yeah... i’m not okay.

my eyes are glassy, my lip caught between my teeth, fingers twisting the corner of one of my notes.

he sighs softly, setting his shirt down. “baby, c’mere.”

i shake my head quickly. “no, i’m fine, just keep packing.”

he doesn’t listen.

he walks over anyway, standing in front of me, hands gently pulling mine away from the crumpled paper.

“hey,” he says, softer now. “talk to me.”

and that’s it.

that’s all it takes.

my face scrunches up and i hate it because i know i look like a baby, but i can’t stop it.

“i don’t want you to go,” i mumble, already tearing up.

his expression softens immediately.

“i know,” he says.

“and i can’t even come,” i add, my voice wobbling. “i have exams, and classes, and i just...” i let out a frustrated breath. “it’s such bad timing.”

he crouches down in front of me, hands resting on my knees, grounding.

“hey,” he murmurs. “look at me.”

i do, barely holding it together.

“your exams matter,” he says gently. “you’ve been working your ass off for them.”

i shake my head, tears slipping down. “i don’t care about them right now.”

he huffs a quiet, almost amused breath, not making fun of me, just… soft.

“you will,” he says. “you’re gonna walk out of them feeling so good, and i’m gonna be the first person you call.”

that just makes me cry more.

“that’s so far away,” i whisper.

he stands up just enough to pull me into him, arms wrapping around me, pressing me into his chest.

i cling to him immediately, burying my face in his hoodie, my notes sliding off the bed onto the floor.

“hey, hey…” he murmurs, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head. “c’mere.”

“i’m gonna miss you,” i mumble into him.

“i’m gonna miss you too,” he says, just as quietly.

“like… a lot,” i add, my voice muffled.

he smiles a little against my hair. “yeah. me too.”

i sniff, pulling back just enough to look at him. “what if i fail because i’m sad?”

he raises an eyebrow. “you’re not gonna fail.”

“but what if”

“you’re not,” he repeats gently. “you’re too smart for that.”

i make a face. “don’t say that, it’s pressure.”

he laughs softly, brushing his thumb under my eye, catching a tear before it falls.

“okay,” he amends. “you’re gonna do your best. and that’s enough.”

i nod a little, even if i don’t fully believe it.

his hands slide up my arms, steady, warm.

“we’ll call,” he says. “all the time. i’ll annoy you.”

“you already do that,” i mumble.

“yeah, and i’ll keep doing it from a different time zone.”

i huff out a small laugh, but it breaks halfway through.

“i just wish you were here,” i say quietly.

he leans in, pressing his forehead against mine.

“i wish you were coming with me,” he admits.

that makes my chest ache in a different way.

“but,” he adds softly, “i’m kinda proud of you for staying.”

i blink. “why?”

“because it would be easier to run away with me,” he says. “and you’re not. you’re doing your thing.”

i don’t even know what to say to that.

so i just look at him.

and then my eyes well up again.

“hey no, don’t do that,” he murmurs, smiling a little as he wipes under my eyes again. “you’re gonna make me not wanna leave.”

“then don’t,” i say immediately.

he laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “you’re dangerous.”

“i’m serious.”

“i know you are,” he says softly.

there’s a pause.

a quiet one.

“i have to go,” he adds, and i hate how gentle he says it.

i nod, even though i don’t want to.

he presses a kiss to my forehead. then another to my cheek. then, softer, to my lips. lingering just a little longer than usual.

like he’s trying to make it last.

“you call me after your first exam,” he says.

“okay.”

“even if you think it went bad.”

“okay.”

“and if you cry...”

“i will,” i interrupt.

he smiles. “then you call me anyway.”

i nod again, gripping his hoodie for a second like i don’t want to let go.

he squeezes me one last time before stepping back, grabbing his suitcase.

i already feel it.

the quiet.

the space.

“joe?” i say softly.

he looks back at me.

“i love you.”

his expression softens completely.

“i love you too,” he says.

and then he’s gone.

and i’m left sitting on the bed, notes scattered, eyes still a little wet

but my phone already in my hand.

we knew, booking the trip, that it might happen.

but knowing and seeing it are two very different things.

the beach photos are the first.

i don’t even realize we’re being watched. i’m too busy laughing, trying to pull away from joe as he drags me closer to the water, both of us barefoot, sun warm on our skin.

“you’re gonna fall,” i tell him, laughing.

“worth it,” he says, already tugging me in anyway.

his hands are on my waist, steady, warm, grounding and i don’t even think about it. not the way i lean into him, not the way i look at him like there’s no one else around.

because for a second, there isn’t.

until there is.

the pictures drop.

then more.

us after dinner, his hand low on my back, guiding me through the street like it’s instinct. my fingers hooked in his belt loop, pulling him back when he walks too fast.

comments everywhere.

the tension??

they’re literally glued together

HE’S OBSESSED WITH HER

we try to ignore it.

we do.

but then...

the balcony.

“they got pictures,” joe says quietly.

i already know from his voice this one’s worse.

“of what?” i ask, even though my stomach’s already sinking.

he hesitates.

then shows me.

and my breath catches.

it’s us.

late. dark. the city lights behind us.

i’m standing with my back against the balcony railing, his body close to mine, hands slow and deliberate as they slide under the hem of my dress, pushing it up just enough to expose my thigh.

my head’s tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted

and his mouth is right there, just below my jaw.

another photo. his hand at my hip, pulling me closer, my fingers tangled in his shirt like i’m trying to keep him there.

another. his lips at my neck, my body leaning into his like i don’t even remember how to stand on my own.

it’s not everything.

but it’s enough.

“oh my god,” i whisper.

my face burns, not from embarrassment. from something deeper. something protective.

“they were watching,” i say, my voice tighter now.

“yeah,” he says quietly.

he locks his phone, like he doesn’t want to look at it anymore.

“that’s ours,” i add, softer. “that was...”

“i know,” he cuts in gently.

there’s a pause.

heavy.

then he reaches for me, hands settling at my waist again. but this time slower, more intentional, like he’s asking.

i step into him anyway.

“hey,” he murmurs, his forehead brushing mine. “look at me.”

i do.

his eyes are steady. calm.

“they got a picture,” he says. “they didn’t get that moment.”

my hands slide up his chest, gripping lightly in his shirt. “it doesn’t feel like that.”

“i know,” he says again. “but it’s true.”

his thumb traces along my hip, grounding, familiar.

“that?” he nods toward the phone on the bed. “that’s just what it looked like.”

his voice drops slightly.

“i know what it felt like.”

my breath catches a little.

“yeah?” i whisper.

his lips brush just under my ear, barely there.

“yeah,” he murmurs.

my fingers tighten in his shirt.

“then remind me,” i say softly.

there’s a pause.

and then he does.

his hands slide back to my waist, slower this time, deliberate. like he’s rewriting it. like he’s taking it back.

he leans in, lips warm against my neck, but softer than before. not rushed. not hidden.

intentional.

mine.

i let out a shaky breath, tilting my head slightly, my hands finding his shoulders, pulling him closer instead of holding back.

“this is ours,” he murmurs against my skin.

not loud.

not for anyone else.

just for me.

and for the first time since i saw those photos.

it actually feels like it again.

we’re more careful after that.

quieter. later nights. less obvious.

but we don’t stop.

he still reaches for me without thinking. still pulls me closer when we walk. still presses his lips to my shoulder when we’re alone, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

and yeah... the internet is still losing its mind.

they’re insane for each other

you can FEEL it through the photos

that balcony pic?? hello??

but they don’t know.

they don’t know the way he checks in with me after, softer now.

“you okay?” he asks one night, thumb brushing over my wrist.

i nod, leaning into him. “yeah.”

he studies my face for a second.

then presses a quiet kiss to my temple.

“we keep what’s ours,” he says.

i smile a little.

“we do.”

and even if they catch glimpses, they’ll never get the whole thing.

Do u see my vision

absolutely.

i’m sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by a mess that would probably look insane to anyone who isn’t a dancer.

thread. scissors. ribbons. dead pointe shoes tossed off to the side like casualties. my bag half open, rosin dusting the floor.

and in the middle of it all, i’m sewing.

“you’ve been doing that for like… twenty minutes,” joe says from the couch.

“mhm,” i hum, not looking up.

“they didn’t come like that?”

i smile a little. “nope.”

there’s a pause.

“you’re telling me you buy these and then have to… finish making them yourself?”

“pretty much.”

i tie off the last stitch, cutting the thread with a small snip. “there.”

i hold the shoe up for a second before setting it down beside the other one.

joe leans forward, squinting at them. “so you’re done now?”

i hesitate.

“…not exactly.”

he narrows his eyes. “what do you mean not exactly?”

instead of answering, i pick one up and shift onto my knees.

“okay don’t freak out,” i say casually.

“that’s a terrible thing to say before doing something,” he replies immediately.

i ignore him.

i grip the shoe in both hands, thumbs pressing into the box

and then i bend it.

hard.

there’s a dull cracking sound as the stiff front starts to give.

“oh my god?!?” joe sits up straighter. “what are you doing??”

i laugh a little, continuing to work the box, pressing and bending it so it’s not rock solid anymore. “breaking it in.”

“you just broke it.”

“no, i’m fixing it,” i correct.

he watches me like i’ve completely lost it.

“there’s no way that’s supposed to happen.”

“it is,” i say, glancing at him. “otherwise it’s too hard. i won’t be able to move properly.”

he shakes his head, still staring.

“this feels wrong.”

“just wait,” i say.

i lift the shoe slightly

and then slam it against the floor.

the sound echoes through the room.

joe jumps.

“jesus babe”

i do it again. and again. hitting the box against the hardwood to soften it, to make it mold a little better.

“you’re attacking it,” he says, half horrified.

i’m trying not to laugh now. “i promise i’m not.”

thud.

thud.

“you just spent all that time sewing it...”

thud.

“...and now you’re beating it up??”

i finally stop, grinning a little, slightly out of breath.

“yeah.”

he stares at me.

then at the shoe.

then back at me.

“…this is the most unhinged thing i’ve ever witnessed.”

i laugh, sitting back on my heels. “it’s normal.”

“no, it’s not,” he says immediately. “none of this is normal.”

i soften a little, reaching over and nudging his knee. “it is in ballet.”

he looks down at the shoe still in my hand, then back at my face.

“does it hurt?” he asks again, quieter this time.

i shrug lightly. “yeah. but it hurts more if i don’t do this.”

his expression shifts. still confused, but now there’s that hint of concern again.

i pick up the other shoe. “you wanna try?”

his eyes widen. “absolutely not.”

i laugh. “c’mon, you said you were gonna help.”

“i didn’t know helping involved violence.”

“just hit it on the floor.”

he hesitates.

“…i feel like i’m gonna get in trouble.”

“you’re not.”

i hold it out to him.

after a second, he takes it, turning it over in his hands like it might explode.

“okay,” he says slowly.

he lifts it a little

then lightly taps it on the floor.

i stare at him.

“…joe.”

“what?”

“hit it.”

“i did.”

“no, you didn’t.”

he sighs, then lifts it higher and brings it down harder.

thud.

he winces. “i don’t like that.”

i laugh, taking it back. “you’ll survive.”

he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “this whole thing is insane. you sew them, break them, slam them, what’s next?”

“i step on them,” i say casually.

he freezes.

“…you’re kidding.”

i just smile.

“you’re terrifying,” he mutters.

i lean over, bumping my shoulder into his. “and yet you’re still here.”

“yeah,” he says, glancing at me, softer now. “i am.”

there’s a small pause.

then his hand finds mine, fingers sliding between mine like it’s second nature.

he looks at the shoes again, then back at me.

“…you work really hard,” he says quietly.

i shrug, a little shy now. “it’s just what i do.”

he shakes his head. “no. it’s more than that.”

his thumb brushes over my knuckles.

“i didn’t get it before,” he admits. “like... watching you dance, i knew it was hard, but…” he glances at the shoes scattered around us. “this? all of this? i didn’t see this part.”

i smile a little. “most people don’t.”

he squeezes my hand gently.

“i’m glad i do now.”

my chest feels warm.

i lean into him slightly, resting my head against his shoulder.

“even if it’s ‘unhinged’?” i tease.

he huffs a quiet laugh.

“especially then.”

and when i reach for the shoe again, ready to keep working, he doesn’t stop me this time.

the first time he sees me, it’s from the front row.

i don’t know that yet.

all i know is the lights are blinding, the bass is loud enough to feel in my ribs, and my heels are hitting the runway in that steady, practiced rhythm. one foot, then the other, like i’ve done a hundred times before.

i’ve done a lot of shows.

faces blur together after a while. celebrities, photographers, people who are “important.” i stopped trying to keep track.

so when i step out and do my walk, chin slightly lifted, expression neutral, i don’t expect anything to feel different.

but it does.

it’s quick. barely a second, but my eyes flick toward the front row like they always do, just a sweep, just habit.

and then i see him.

he’s leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees, like he forgot how to sit back. his eyes are locked on me. not in that usual way i’m used to. not like he’s analyzing the outfit, or thinking about the brand.

he just looks… stunned.

like he wasn’t expecting me.

like something about me caught him off guard.

i almost lose my rhythm.

almost.

but i don’t break. i never break.

still, something lingers.

and for the rest of the walk, i can feel it. his gaze, steady and warm and completely focused on me, not the clothes, not the show.

just me.

joe doesn’t even remember who invited him.

someone from the brand, maybe. a friend of a friend. he said yes without thinking too hard about it.

fashion shows aren’t really his thing.

but now he’s sitting there, front row, lights flashing, music loud and then you walk out.

and everything else kind of disappears.

he doesn’t care about the collection.

he doesn’t notice the other models.

he just watches you.

the way you move like the runway belongs to you. the way your expression is calm but not empty. like there’s something underneath it. the way your eyes flick up for a second and land on him.

and he swears his heart actually stutters.

“who is that?” he leans over, asking the person next to him without taking his eyes off you.

they tell him your name like it’s obvious. like everyone knows you.

and yeah, he’s definitely heard it before. seen your face somewhere. but it’s never been like this.

never… real.

by the time you disappear backstage, he’s already thinking about how he’s going to see you again.

i forget about him.

or at least, i think i do.

the show ends, there’s chaos backstage. outfits being changed, people shouting, makeup being touched up, phones buzzing.

then the after party.

i almost don’t go. i’m tired, my feet hurt, and i’m already half out of my makeup.

but my manager insists.

“you should be seen,” she says.

so i go.

and the second i walk in, i feel it again.

that same… pull.

i don’t even know what i’m looking for, but my eyes move through the room anyway. faces, lights, movement.

and then i find him.

he’s standing near the bar this time, talking to someone, but he’s not really there. his attention is somewhere else.

until it lands on me.

and it’s like the whole room pauses for a second.

his expression shifts. surprised, a little relieved, like he was hoping i’d show up but didn’t know if i would.

i look away first.

i don’t know why.

i don’t usually get like this.

joe doesn’t waste time.

he tells himself he’ll be normal about it. casual. not weird.

but the second he sees you walk in, all of that kind of goes out the window.

“i’ll be right back,” he mutters to whoever he’s talking to, already moving.

he doesn’t overthink it.

if he does, he won’t go.

so he just… walks up to you.

“hey,” he says, a little breathless, like he got there too fast.

i turn, and it’s him. front row.

up close, he’s even more… real.

“hi,” i say, trying to keep my voice steady.

there’s a second where neither of us says anything.

just looking at each other.

and then he laughs softly, running a hand through his hair. “this is gonna sound stupid, but i didn’t know if i’d actually get to talk to you.”

i smile a little. “why wouldn’t you?”

he shrugs. “i don’t know. you just… didn’t seem real up there.”

i raise an eyebrow, amused. “and now i do?”

“yeah,” he says immediately. then, softer, “but it’s kinda worse.”

i laugh under my breath. “worse?”

“yeah,” he nods, smiling a little like he’s embarrassed. “because now i know you’re real, and i still can’t stop thinking about you.”

that catches me off guard.

i look at him for a second, trying to figure out if he’s joking.

he’s not.

and somehow, that makes my chest feel a little lighter.

“that’s a pretty bold opening line,” i say.

“i know,” he exhales. “i had a better one planned in my head, but… you walked in and i forgot it.”

i shake my head, smiling now. “so you just went with that?”

“yeah,” he says. “figured honesty might work better.”

it does.

we end up talking for… i don’t even know how long.

long enough that the music fades into the background. long enough that people start to leave. long enough that my feet stop hurting because i forget about them completely.

he’s easy to talk to.

like, really easy.

not in a boring way. in a way where i don’t feel like i have to perform. which is new. especially here.

he tells me he’s seen my work before, but never like that. never in person.

“you looked at me,” he says at one point, quieter now.

i pause. “i look at a lot of people.”

“not like that,” he shakes his head.

i don’t even remember doing it.

but the way he says it makes it feel like it mattered.

“maybe i just noticed you,” i say lightly.

he smiles at that, a little softer than before. “i’m really glad you did.”

there’s a pause.

not awkward. just… full.

“can i see you again?” he asks.

it’s simple.

no games, no weirdness.

just honest.

i study him for a second. the way he’s looking at me like he actually means it.

like he’s not just caught up in the moment.

and for once, i don’t overthink it.

“yeah,” i say.

his smile spreads a little wider, relief flickering across his face.

and i realize, as i stand there with him, that for the first time in a long time i don’t feel like something to look at.

i just feel like… me.

ofc!!!!

i always hesitate for a second before taking my shirt off around him.

it’s small, barely noticeable but it’s there. my fingers kind of linger at the hem, like maybe i could just… not. or turn away fast enough that he won’t really see. or grab one of his hoodies before he even looks up.

but joe notices everything about me.

not in a way that makes me feel self-conscious. just like he cares enough to pay attention.

so of course he notices.

“hey,” he says softly from the bed.

i pretend not to hear at first, slipping one arm into his hoodie, trying to play it off. “what?”

“c’mere for a sec.”

“i’m good here,” i mumble, avoiding his eyes.

there’s a small pause. then, gentler, “you’re not, though.”

my stomach twists a little.

i sigh, like i’ve been caught, and turn around. “joe…”

“just come here,” he says, quieter now.

there’s no teasing in his voice. no pressure. just warmth.

so i walk over, hoodie half on, arms kind of folded in front of me without thinking. like i’m trying to cover up something he’s already seen a million times.

he reaches for my wrist, tugging me closer until i’m standing between his knees. his hands slide up my arms slowly, giving me time to pull away.

i don’t.

“what’s goin’ on in that head?” he asks.

i shrug, looking anywhere but at him. “nothing.”

he tilts his head a little. “you sure?”

i hesitate.

and then it all just comes out.

“i don’t like my skin right now,” i admit, my voice smaller than i want it to be. “it’s just… bad.”

his eyebrows pull together. “bad?”

i nod, finally dropping my arms a bit. “there’s like… spots. on my chest. and my back. not a lot, but enough. and i just...” i let out a quiet, awkward laugh. “everyone online looks perfect. like smooth, clear skin all the time. and i feel like i look… gross.”

the word sits heavy in the air.

he doesn’t react right away.

he just looks at me.

and somehow that almost makes me more nervous.

then he reaches up, gently pushing the hoodie off my shoulders so it slips back down my arms.

“can i?” he asks softly.

i swallow, then nod.

his fingers brush over my shoulder, light and careful.

i tense for a second.

waiting.

for him to hesitate. or pull back. or say something that confirms what i already think.

but he doesn’t.

instead, his thumb traces over one of the spots like it’s nothing. like it doesn’t change anything at all.

“this?” he murmurs.

i nod, barely.

he shakes his head a little, almost to himself. “baby, this is just skin.”

i let out a small, shaky breath. “it doesn’t feel like ‘just skin.’”

his hand moves up to my shoulder again, then down my arm, grounding, steady. “i know it doesn’t,” he says. “but that doesn’t make it something bad.”

i finally look at him.

he’s not grossed out. not even close.

if anything, he just looks confused that i’d ever think he would be.

“you know what i see?” he asks quietly.

i shake my head.

his hand comes up to my cheek, thumb brushing just under my eye. “i see you. all of you. not some edited version, not whatever people online are pretending to be. just… you.”

my chest tightens a little.

“and i like you a lot more than whatever that is,” he adds, nodding vaguely like he means social media, filters, all of it.

i huff out a small laugh. “you’re biased.”

“yeah,” he says easily. “i am. doesn’t mean i’m wrong.”

his hands slide around my waist, pulling me a little closer until my knees press into the mattress. “you think i’m sitting here, looking at you, and thinking about your skin?” he asks softly.

i hesitate. “i don’t know…”

he shakes his head, smiling just a little. “i’m thinking about how pretty you are. how you’re standing here overthinking everything. how i wanna keep you right here for a while.”

my face warms.

“and for the record,” he adds, quieter now, “i don’t need perfect. i don’t want perfect. i want real. and you’re real.”

his thumb brushes over my shoulder again, slower this time.

i don’t flinch.

i don’t try to cover up.

i just stand there, letting him touch me like there’s nothing wrong with me. like there never was.