chloe

it’s a night that joe still can’t process he’s at, convinced that he sticks out like a sore thumb. regardless he moves in stride, knowing that he represents a small demographic in this space.

he enters the red carpet, flashing cameras and hollering paparazzi immediately greeting him into the metropolitan museum of art. he’s cool, calm and collected under the immense pressure – he’s used to the overwhelming environment around him, moving around the space like he owns it. 

but the moment joe spots you at the red carpet, he’s completely and totally captivated by you — like his world has rocked. he feels the world silence around him, eyes only seeing you and you only. the way your eyes shimmer under the flashing lights, how your dress gleams whenever you move, all of it. he’s stunned. he makes a mental note to make sure to talk to you tonight — even if it’s just a ‘hello.’

unfortunately, you two are being thrown around from interview to interview, and he hardly has the chance to talk to you until you both enter the main room. and even if he did, everyone would make a whole deal about it, and he assumes both of you probably wouldn't want that. but yet, it took one interview with you in the background for fans to start entertaining the idea of you two. 

user: wait is that who i think it is in the back…  > (1.2k likes, 22 replies) user420: omfg it’s Y/N L/N behind JOE MF BURROW 😭 DOES HE KNOW HE’S BREATHING THE SAME AIR AS MY ICON  > (23.1k likes, 56 replies) user3: wait they don’t look bad together 👀 but hey what do i know > (57.8k likes, 80 replies)

in each interview clip that’s posted, fans notice that he tries to sneak a glance at you as much as he can without making it obvious. it got to a point where an interviewer has had to snap him out of his down-bad daze. the moment he snaps back into reality, he remembers that there’s a phone to his face and a mic near his lips, and probably millions of people who definitely know that he’s starstruck.

“joe?” she asks, trying to get a read of what’s going on with him.

"hm? i’m sorry, i didn’t catch that. what did you say?” he feels the tips of his ears turn red, and he can’t help but feel bad for the poor interviewer for catching him in this state. 

"is there anyone you’re excited for tonight? any looks that have caught your eye?" she asks with a glint in her eye, as she tries to egg him on to say names, brands or anything that can be used as a clip or a headline. joe tries to gather his composure as he prepares one of his most media-trained responses of the night.

"i mean — i’m just excited and grateful to be out here tonight," he eloquently answers, smiling at the interviewer. "it’s a huge honor and i’m excited to meet as much people as i can." he feels himself take a sigh of relief, but tries not to make it incredibly obvious.

"all right, we’ll leave you to it. enjoy your night, joe!" she smiles back at him as she sends him on his merry way. 

"thanks, you too." he walks away, shoulders loosening up from tension. he’s a hundred percent aware that he made a fool of himself, and the consequences will bite him in the ass tomorrow morning, not just from his teammates or his parents.

user4: props to joe shiesty for saving all 45 of my cats from a tree > (1.1 likes, 14 replies) user85: thank you joe for letting me borrow your rolls royce, left the keys on the table 🫂 > (851 likes, 14 replies) user67: joe ty for saving my family from that burning building > (187 likes, 4 replies) user69: shoutout to joe burrow for lending me a million dollars, appreciate it big guy > (651 likes, 8 replies)

joe notices you from across the room, in awe of the scenery. your eyes twinkle in wonder, mouth agape at the beauty around you — and not just the amazing outfits tonight. he glances over to your arm linking around your manager’s (he assumes) for the majority of the night, staring at the luxurious and exquisite decorations strewn around the hall, with you in deep conversation about the grand displays. he’s incredibly starstruck, which says a lot for a guy like him. your beauty and charm enchants him, and he’s absolutely positive he hasn’t felt this way for someone in a while – that “love-at-first-sight” feeling where you try to steal as much glances as possible, your heart rate picking up at the idea of them, and even envisioning a future with them. 

he musters up the guts to approach you (and if he’s lucky, hopefully he’ll get your number), but ayo edebiri gets to you first before he can and he almost gives up on talking to you completely. he tries to play it cool and talk to the people around him, trying to make small talk as much as possible. as the night progresses and the conversations become more and more repetitive in his ears, he feels himself getting antsy and itching to leave the place. preferably with you, though.

meanwhile on your end, you pay attention to a man in a navy suit trying to approach you the entire night, with his gaze burning into your skin as you try to catch up with ayo, and introduce yourself to another actress. you observe him trying to walk up to you, but someone taps his shoulder and then he’s pulled away to make yet another connection. throughout the night, you can’t help but steal glances at the mystery man in blue. you try to ask your manager, val, who he is —  but to no avail. 

“you sure you haven’t seen him anywhere? he isn’t from a show i haven’t seen? a singer with an album that i haven’t heard? an athlete—“ you list off potential careers for the mystery man, trying to see which one will stick in her brain. she has a moment of realization, eyes wide and brows raised. 

“oh, that’s where i think he’s from – sports!”

"sports. you know him from sports." you say, deadpanning.

"yes, sports! i don’t really know which, but i’m sure it’ll come to me later tonight."

"girl, whatever. i’ll be right back." you lie with a smile on your face, untangling your arm from val and trying to sneak off into the exhibitions without getting caught by any wandering eyes. you attempt to make yourself small despite your extravagant appearance, and duck under any wandering staff members.

joe notices you wandering off from across the room, and tries to excuse himself from a conversation with lewis hamilton. (“...i need to walk my goldfish.”) he tries to follow your lead, but the crowd of people — and your impressive stealth, given the outfit you’re wearing — makes it difficult to see where you headed off to. he’s almost convinced that you’re only a woman in his dreams, and not one of reality.

–

as you rid yourself from the chaotic party atmosphere, you walk into the spacious exhibit and take a look at the painting in front of you.

venus and the lute player. 

you stare longingly at the painting, taking into account every single detail — the wreath of flowers, cupid, the intricacy of the curtain, the unfinished background. you take a step further to get a better look of the painting as much as possible while holding your breath, when all of a sudden— 

“i had a feeling i’d find you here.” you jump at the voice behind you, and you turn around to see the culprit. alas, it’s the mystery man in blue who held his gaze towards you the entire evening. you take a solid look at him — kind eyes, well-built frame, beautifully-swept hair. he looks like a storybook prince come to life. 

“you had a feeling?” you smile, the tension now lifting from your shoulders. he nods, finally getting a hold of you after hours of tireless socializing and nonstop photos. he feels the tips of his ears flush, now realizing he’s in the presence of a stunning actress. a stunning actress that he’s only met tonight, but sees himself with her forever. 

“it’s getting crazy out there – i’m guessing you needed a breather?”

“yeah,” you admit, twiddling your thumbs. “it’s not really my scene, but the met is just breathtaking. i try to stop by museums when i’m back home, but i’m always doing something for a movie or an event. they just hit different in new york. times like these are really the only chance i get to take it all in — especially without getting hounded by the press or strangers.” you explain. 

“i get it. especially in a city as big as new york, it’s probably suffocating,” he sympathizes, completely understanding where you’re coming from. “it gets exhausting knowing that every time i go out, someone assumes one thing about me or my life. but you must have it rough, though.”

“i mean — don’t get me wrong, i love new york — but it gets tiring sometimes. eyes always on you wherever you are and all that. but i still say i’m from here. i don’t really take pride in hollywood as much,” you ramble. when you stop talking, you feel his gaze burn into you. he lets out a chuckle, and you realize that his eyes have never left you.

“oh my god, i’ve been complaining this whole time that i never asked for your name, or what you do!” 

"it’s okay. i’m joe," he introduces, extending a hand towards you. you return the favor, introducing yourself back with a beautifully manicured hand. "quarterback for the cincinnati bengals."

you smile back, keeping a mental reminder for val. you know for sure she’ll ask about every single detail about him.

“i’m y/n. i act, been in a couple movies.” he chuckles at your introduction, knowing damn well that you’ve totally undersold yourself. he sits on a bench near the painting, gesturing you to sit. following him, you sit and take into account the sheer size of him. you look back at the painting, now staring at it from a distance.

"i think just ‘acting’ is underselling yourself — my teammates and their partners love your work," he muses, now getting a better look at your face. "pretty sure they told me to find you tonight. admittedly i have yet to see a film from you, but i’d love to get a recommendation." he says bashfully, rubbing behind the back of his head.

“okay, but you’re in the freaking nfl! that’s a big deal – i don’t know a lick of football – but i’d love to hear about it from the best of the best!” 

“i mean – you’re ‘hollywood’s darling,’ or so they say,” he air quotes. “i think hollywood beats football.” you giggle at his comment, feeling the intensity of the evening ease off of your shoulders. 

“let’s just settle on the fact that we’re both good at what we do.” you finish, joe’s hands raise in defeat and a smirk on his face.

for the rest of the evening, you converse and get to know each other. you learn about the worlds you both live in — his being football, and yours being hollywood and acting. you’re both cracking jokes and learning about each other’s passions outside of your careers, and what drives you both to do your best. it leaves you shocked by the end of the night to completely let go of your anxieties in front of a stranger. but little did you know, joe felt the same exact way. 

you’ve rocked his world.

–

you stand up from the bench to continue to admire the painting and its beauty, but also to secretly hide your blushing face. you don't typically get nervous, but his intense gaze has you feeling like the only woman in the world.

”whatcha lookin’ at?” joe asks, standing as well to try to get a better look at the painting from behind you, eyes traveling around the painting but immediately returning his gaze to you.

”venus and the lute player, made by titian. venus — the goddess of love — is being crowned by cupid,” you explain, gaze fully locked onto the painting and hands gesturing around the painting. “titian was known for making female subjects’ personalities more complex at the time. in this case, venus is more than the object of desire.” you pause. you start to realize how close he is to you.

“she’s a symbol of the power of women,” you finish, taking a deep breath. “sorry — i tend to ramble. i think this stuff is really cool to me.” you apologize. 

“don’t be sorry. i like that you like art history, it’s cool. i’m not super familiar, so it’s good to start somewhere.” he smiles, noticing your cheeks blush at the compliment. now your heart is beating loud and fast. maybe it’s the close proximity between you two or how much he cares about your interests, but you can’t help but revel in this moment as much as you can before you’re swept back into the chaos of the met gala, and later the real world.

“really?” you whisper, as you turn around and look up into his eyes. he can’t help but notice the way your eyes twinkle under the museum lights. 

“i could hear you talk about it all night if i could.” he answers, trying to savor this moment as well. he feels the world around him tune out, especially when his broad chest is so incredibly close to yours. his head ducks down to ghost his lips onto yours, as one hand snakes onto your hip and the other making its way to your cheek. you two move dangerously closer, looking at each other’s lips and almost closing the distance between each other–

“there you are,” val says, standing under exhibit entrance. “been looking for you everywhere! this place is massive!” you and joe immediately separate and distance yourselves from each other, snapping you two back into reality. the room now feels colder, like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on you. val glances over to joe, trying to figure out what his deal is.

“you found me,” you smile defeatedly, watching val walk up to you as she grabs your hand and drags you back into the main hall. as you cross the middle of the exhibit, you halt. you turn back to joe, whose blue-eyed gaze hasn’t left you at all. you jog (with your best attempts) back to him and quickly shove your phone towards him. he looks at you with confusion, and then gets the hint.

“quick, put your number in before my manager asks too many questions.” you whisper, with joe snatching your phone at lightning speed and texting himself back. you stare up at him in the meantime, trying to capture his visuals as much as you can before it’s all reduced to a daydream. 

“y/n?” val asks, now looking back at you with confusion. 

“be there in a minute!” you passively respond. you grab your phone back from joe’s hands and you scurry back to her, now leaving the exhibit. you try to get one last look at not only joe, but the painting as well.

joe feels his heart sink, like he just woke up from a dream he refused to wake up from. he stands in front of the painting, the closest thing he has to you. he leaves the exhibit promptly after, the exchange replaying over and over in his head.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Rafe didn’t seem to be sleeping either. His breathing was too shallow, and he was still fidgeting now and then. You turn toward him, placing a hand on his back. He flinches at first, either from pain or surprise. Slowly, he starts relaxing as you rub his back gently. Your plan was to distract yourself with that until you fell asleep, but your touch seems to have convinced him it’s okay to touch you despite everything that happened earlier. He takes you into his arms, rubbing your back like you did his.

“Can’t sleep?” He mutters.

“No.” You reply softly. Even though the adrenaline had long faded, your body physically exhausted, your mind was still alert. Worried. Sensing for danger. Trying to figure out if you could ever really be ‘casual’ with Rafe anymore. If all of this had to end, even though you didn’t want it to.

You must have dozed off at some point, because the weight of Rafe getting off the bed forces your eyes open. Sunlight is drifting through the window, birds chirping. You stir, noticing him putting on his shoes.

“Sorry,” He whispers, turning toward you. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Going to the rink.”

“What time is it?” You ask, your voice groggy.

“8ish. Go back to sleep.” He gives you a small smile, but something in his eyes snaps your mind into focus. It’s Saturday. A football game day. Why would he go to the rink? But before you can get the words out and hoist yourself up, he’s already gone.

You change quickly, wanting to follow him out when your phone rings. It’s Meghan. The second you answer, she’s asking how you’re doing. If you’re okay.

“I’m fine,” You assure her. “Weird night. I’m so sorry. I had no idea Mike would do that.”

“I don’t think anyone did.” Meghan’s voice is gentle.

“I should have paid more attention, or been more wary-”

“No, he shouldn’t have done what he did,” She interrupts. “Thank God Rafe saw it. How’s he doing, with the injury and everything?”

“I don’t think either of us slept well. But his head seems fine. Won’t tell me otherwise.”

“Is he still with you?” She asks.

“No. He went to the rink. Practically ran out of here. I’m not sure if he just needed to blow off some steam or if he’s worried or what.”

Meghan is quiet for a moment, and your mind spirals again. You speak before she can.

“Meghan, I think I might like him. More than I should.” You admit.

“Yeah,” She says with a sigh. “I don’t blame you after yesterday.”

“I don’t think he feels the same way, though. That’s what sucks. He’s always been clear this was just casual, that this is all he does.” You try not to sound too sad. He’d set the rules, and you’d agreed to it.

“How do you know unless you talk to him about it?”

“Why would I be any different from all the other girls he’s already seen?” You almost scoff.

“Well, I can answer that,” She laughs easily. “You didn’t seek him out. He had to pursue you. And he’s not often the one pursuing. Girls throw themselves at him all the time. Myself included, like at the arcade.”

“Okay, maybe he just liked the challenge. I’m still not that different.” You counter.

“Disagree,” She snips. “People either put Rafe on a pedestal because he’s a rich athlete, or they keep him at a distance because they’re scared of him. You didn’t do either of those things. I saw. I think he liked that you treated him like anyone else.”

“Hm,” You mutter, pondering her words.

“I can ask Miguel when he gets out of the shower, but I’m pretty sure he agrees with me.” Meghan insists, and you know she’s smiling.

“No, I believe you.” You tell her, but you still had some doubt. Friends saw the best in you and wanted to hype you up.

“Go talk to him at the rink, okay? And if it doesn’t go well, I’ll buy you breakfast.” She promises.

“Thanks Meg, talk to you later.” You hang up, urging your body to go to the rink before your mind can talk you out of it.

Somehow, the cold of the rink bites through your jacket and jeans. And your nerves weren’t helping. When you open the closest set of double doors, you can see your breath. You nearly jump sound of the doors closing behind you reverberates across the empty arena. Rafe is skating back and forth on the ice faster than you’ve ever seen him, taking shots that snap into the goal.

“I got 20 more minutes on the clock, Pete!” He calls out, not looking your way as he keeps doing drills. You glance at the timer above the rink, glowing red, as you lean against the barrier. Rafe’s skates scrape against the ice as he stops in front of you, chest heaving. “Oh, what’re you doin’ here?”

His voice isn’t harsh. His eye’s aren’t cold. But something is still off.

“Wanted to check on you. Something wrong?” You keep your voice soft.

“Uh, shit night.” He mutters the obvious answer.

“Understatement of the year,” You say, and that gets a smirk out of him. “But I’m asking if there’s something wrong with us. What are you thinking?”

“Just wanted to clear my head, nothin’ wrong with us. I just…you were right. About how it would feel to see you hurt. I couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened. And the second I saw those drinks, I…I saw red. I lost control. I didn’t…I didn’t mean…” He trails off, looking away from you now. “I scared you.”

“You didn’t scare me, Rafe.” You reply, shaking your head. You could feel your heart aching for him. The pain in his voice, in his face.

“I did. I saw it in your eyes.” He insists, voice breaking. “I try not to lose control. I’ve worked so hard. Got into hockey. Pushed myself. I tried so fuckin’ hard.”

“Rafe,” You make your voice louder like that would drown out his thoughts. “I wasn’t scared of you. You startled me, but I understood what you did. If I’d seen that I don’t know if I would’ve had as much control as you. The only time you’ve ever scared me was when you got hurt on the ice. That’s it.”

Rafe is quiet for a moment, trying to get his breathing under control. You wished he’d skate a little closer so you could reach out to him. Touch him. He says your name like a warning.

“You don’t know me. All the shit I’ve done. How many times I’ve lost control.” An edge of frustration builds in his voice.

“No, I don’t. You’re right.” You keep your voice calm, warm. “But all I see is someone trying to work on themselves. Someone who cares about people and wants to protect them. You told Evan about the campus counseling. That’s because you also go, right?”

“Yeah,” He nods, his mouth thinning into a hard line under his helmet. “Once every two weeks.”

“Your past is your past. I’m just glad you’re smart enough to work on yourself and find an outlet.” You promise. Rafe had never scared you, ever. You worried when he got confrontational, because he might get hurt. But you weren’t scared of him. You didn’t think he’d ever raise his voice or his hands to you. He goes silent again, the timer ticking down behind him.

“I still…you’d still…I think if you really knew me, you’d leave. Everyone leaves.” His voice is so quiet it breaks your heart. It makes him sound so small, so young. And suddenly you’re the one that feels protective over him.

“You don’t have to let me in. I get why you keep your distance now.” You assure him. The whole conversation you’d envisioned about telling him that you might like him too much felt like it wasn’t even needed, if he already wasn’t willing to get closer. If he needed more distance. But he shakes his head in response.

“I don’t wanna lose you.” He admits hoarsely. You could feel your cheeks flush. Stronger than ever, you wish you weren’t on the other side of this stupid hockey rink.

“Okay. Then you won’t.” You take a deep breath, rolling up the sleeves of your jacket like the arena had suddenly gotten too warm. “Go shower and let’s go to game day. Relax for a bit. And if we need to talk more later, we’ll talk. Deal?”

“Deal. Meet you there.” He agrees, ignoring the timer and heading back to the locker room.

You get ready quickly. Well, as quickly as you can. Showering, changing, doing your hair and makeup. When you get to Rafe’s it’s the same as always. Party in full swing. Music blasting. But nothing feels the same. Not between you two.

Rafe tries to get you to play beer pong again, but you weakly make up an excuse, ignoring his look of confusion. Meghan and Evan were there, thankfully, so you latched on to them. Trying to talk about classes and parties and whatever else. To your relief, Meghan doesn’t mention the chaos of the other night to Evan. The conversation stays light, so you can easily play along.

Your mind is still swimming. Trying to make sense of your feelings for Rafe. Could you really just stay fuck buddies after everything that happened? And if you really did like him too much, would that be the end of it? Would you never really be friends with him after that?

Rafe is surrounded by girls again, as he so often is. That has to be jealousy in your gut. He glances at you, eyes always drifting together like magnets, and you offer him a smile. But he’s not stupid. He can tell something’s wrong. Of course, he waits until later, when you’re grabbing another drink to approach you.

“Hey, you good?” He mutters, voice low. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Rafe,” You take a deep breath. “It’s nothing. But to be honest with you, as much as I understand why you want to keep your distance from people, I don’t think…” You stop yourself for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I don’t think I can just keep fucking you behind closed doors and pretend that I don’t give a shit in person. I thought I could do this, but I don’t think-”

“Don’t need you to pretend,” Rafe interrupts, brows furrowed. “Just…we are what we are. Is that not okay?”

“After last night, I don’t know.” You admit. “I want to be your friend. Stay being your friend. I don’t know if I can keep hooking up.”

“Oh,” His voice gets distant. “Okay.” The look on his face is making your heart clench again. Like he wants to be fine with it, for you. To do whatever you want. But he clearly didn’t expect this. And what’s a girl to a fuckboy if she doesn’t want to sleep with him? “You’re just done, then? That’s it?” Annoyance was slipping into his tone.

“Not done. I just-” The room suddenly feels hot. Stuffy. Claustrophobic. You pull the collar of your Duke jersey off of your neck, as if it was choking you. “I don’t…like I told you, this stuff is weird for me. How it feels like we get so close to each other sometimes and I’m supposed to act like it’s nothing. Like during the day, we’re nothing. But it’s fine, Rafe. Really. You were straight up with me. I’m gonna hang out with Meghan.” You tell him, slipping away as quickly as you can. Chest heavy, body still warm, tears pricking your eyes, you head back outside. You can hear his voice say something, call out to you, but you don’t register it.  

Tale as old as time. You should have expected this. Two people casually sleep together. One’s not sure if that dynamic works for them but does it anyway. That person develops feelings. It’s not Rafe’s fault. It’s not. It’s yours.

“How’s the party going?” Meghan’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Fine. Just still exhausted. Didn’t sleep much last night.” You answer, plastering on a smile.

“Same.” She sighs, Miguel kissing her cheek softly.

“Nobody’ll ever hurt you two while we’re around, okay?” He says to you both. His expression is so determined that a real smile breaks through for you, and you nod.

“Wow. Enough of that,” Meghan flushes scarlet, laughing nervously. “We only have a few game days left. We should get a group photo.” Her proposal is innocent, but you know what she’s doing. She wants to post a photo of Miguel, but doesn’t feel ready enough to post something with just the two of them.

Of course, Miguel is all for it. He drags you both out to the lawn, wrangling the boys, including Rafe. You try to keep your expression neutral, even when Rafe chooses to stand beside you like everything’s normal. One of the younger boy’s opts to take the photo, counting you all down and taking multiple angles for good measure. Once the photoshoot is over, you turn to go back to Meghan when a warm hand catches your wrist.

“C’mere,” Rafe’s voice says, pulling you back to him. “Holiday, take one for me.” He calls out, tossing his phone to his roommate.

“W-what are you doing?” You stammer as he wraps an arm around you.

“Damn, alright. Everyone clear out. Rafe’s got a special request.” Holiday’s voice interrupts.

“Just shut the fuck up and take it.” Rafe snaps. You glance up at him, still unsure, but he’s already looking down at you. “Smile.”

Maybe it’s the way he’s smiling. Happier than you’ve seen in a minute, all of a sudden. But you do. Genuinely. Like it’s simple and easy. And then you pose for the photo. Because Meghan’s words about there only being a few game days left ring in your ears. No matter what happened with Rafe, at least for now it would be nice to have a photo.

“All set.” Holiday calls, and Rafe cups your face. You freeze, wanting to pull away. To say something. But with Rafe, your mind goes empty. He leans down, giving you a long, soft kiss. You feel your eyes flutter closed. When he pulls away, the sounds of the party coming back, you can barely think. “Okay, gross.” Holiday mutters, handing Rafe his phone.

“I’m not trying to hide you, if that’s what you think.” Rafe insists, still holding you close.

“Okay, good to know.” Your voice shakes. Your body betrayed you, heat pulling in your core. If you stayed much longer, you knew where this would go. He’d get you in his bed. Think that as long as he can seduce you, everything’s fine. Rafe would win. “I should go. I’m still exhausted. Send me the pic, okay?”

“’Course,” He murmurs, letting you go. “You can sleep upstairs if you want.”

“During a party?” You scoff. “No way. Need some quiet.”

“Fair enough. Text me when you get back.” He gives you a quick hug, reluctantly going back inside.

The whole walk back with Meghan and Miguel, you try to regulate your heart and your breathing. They’re being a typical, real couple. Hand in hand. Chatting about everything. And it makes you happy, but it’s also easy to tune out. And obsess over Rafe again. There was no way you could keep things casual anymore, even if he was the best you’d had. You liked him too much, you had to admit it, and you’d just get your heart broken if you stayed when he didn’t want anything more.

Your phone vibrates but you ignore it. It’s probably Rafe sending you the photo you asked for. But then it vibrates again. And again. You’re about to silence it when Meghan gasps, stopping in place, her free hand holding her phone closer to her face.

“Holy. Shit.” She breathes, turning the phone to Miguel. His dark eyes brighten and he grins widely.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He whoops as Meghan smiles.

“What?” You stop with them, confused.

“Open Instagram. Right now.” Meghan insists, flashing you a knowing smile. But unlocking your phone gives you enough of a hint. Your latest notification? Rafe Cameron had tagged you in a post on Instagram.

Your heart lurched into your throat, cheeks flushing pink. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. There was no way. You were dreaming. You were still sleeping, and this was a dream. You click on the notification, everything slowing like you were in a trance.

It was a picture from earlier, but Holiday had clearly taken multiple. The one that Rafe chose was at the moment where you’d finally smiled. And the happiness was all over your face. Eyes crinkled. Mouth a little too wide. But it didn’t even matter because Rafe stole the show.

The way his hand was on your waist was casual yet a touch possessive. His grip was clearly pulling you closer. And in this photo, he wasn’t looking at the camera yet. He was looking at you. His lips curving into a smile and his eyes…his eyes made it look like you were the only thing he ever wanted to look at.

And the caption? “partner>Clemson”

“Rafe never posts girls.” Meghan interrupts your thoughts, shaking your shoulders excitedly.

“Rafe rarely posts anything.” Miguel echoes. “You’ve made him a changed man.”

By the time you walked into your dorm building, the exhaustion from the day had been replaced with an excitement and nervousness that made you wired. You knew your room would still be empty with Katy gone, but all you’d wanted was to debrief with her. The past two days had your mind reeling. Girls passed by and it almost felt like they’d seen the post and were looking at you, talking about you.

And that made you realize something you hadn’t thought much about. Rafe posting you had made it so that a lot of Duke suddenly knew exactly who you were. The boys who followed hockey and thought Rafe was the best on the team. All the girls who waited for him outside the tunnel, who went to the games, who gossiped about him in the hallways.

For someone who spent most of their life as an outsider, blending in to the background, this amount of attention was surreal. And terrifying. You’d already felt like too many eyes followed both of you before. And now, it would get so, so much worse.

But for the first time since meeting Rafe, you were starting to feel like you didn’t want to run from him anymore. He was different than you expected in almost every way. Fun but protective. Working on himself. Taking action. So you pulled out your phone, opening Instagram and liking his photo. Then you opened your messages, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard as you thought about what to say.

You: got back safe. nice post btw.

Rafe: good. thought u might like it.

you jolt, your head snapping up, heart slamming once against your ribs. the sound doesn’t belong here, at least not with who’s left alive. it sounds too young.

“katniss, help me!” the voice cries again.

you don’t even need to think about it. of course everyone looks to katniss. and in the blink of an eye, she’s already moving, shooting up from the sand so fast it’s like she’s spring-loaded. her bow’s in her hand and her feet are carrying her toward the trees before any of you can react.

“prim! prim!” she screams. you’re quick to remember that’s her sisters name.

it chills you, because you’ve heard this before, this trick. you’ve heard these birds echo the voices of the dying in previous games, long before even your own. you’ve heard victors choking on sobs, usually their family begging. the sound is designed to tear you in half, and to rot you from the inside out.

“jabberjays,” you breathe, but there’s no time for any of it to sink in. you’re already pushing to your feet with the rest of them, bodies surging forward to chase after katniss.

the jungle swallows her quickly. katniss is fast, cutting through the brush with a desperate speed that leaves the plants snapping back in her wake. your chest burns trying to match her pace, branches catching against your arms as you force yourself forward. you can hear the others scattering out in a broken line behind you, some falling behind, but finnick and peeta stay closest, their voices pushing out after her.

“katniss!” your own voice breaks panicked, because the sound is too loud, all of it - her shouts, your shouts, the thunder of bodies running through the greenery. it’s too much noise, and it must be too easy to track.

castella and harmon could be anywhere. this could drag them in like a beacon. you know katniss hears her baby sister’s cry, but she has to hear you too. she has to know this isn’t real.

she’s just too fast. finnick manages to stay on her trail, but even he looks strained, jaw set as though he knows he’s seconds from losing her.

you’re running blind, lungs burning, when it happens. there’s a sharp stumble, the thud of a body hitting the ground. beetee.

it jolts through the ground. everyone falters, just for a heartbeat, and you whip around instinctively.

“beetee!” johanna calls like there’s no time to slow down, and she doubles back immediately.

you skid in the dirt, shoes slipping, and for a split second your eyes lock on rafe. he’s stopped mid-run, frozen halfway between the you and beetee, eyes flicking from you to the path katniss disappeared down.

your chest heaves, breath ragged as you rush past him. your hand catches his arm, grounding you for half a second. “go, go with them!” you push at his shoulder lightly.

he lingers just a second, scanning you, then but he listens, sprinting after finnick, who’s paused only long enough to glance back and see what’s happened. rafe gives him that sharp hand gesture where he points ahead with his hand, the kind that means don’t worry, just go. finnick’s jaw clenches before tearing off again.

then you’re dropping down beside beetee. his glasses are askew, his coil of wire half-unraveled like a trail behind him. his hands fumble uselessly, as if his brain can’t keep up with his body.

“beetee, please,” you beg, crouched low as you press a hand to his arm.

his eyes are glassy, distant. you know what he’s hearing. you know who he’s lost.

johanna kneels on his other side, one hand already braced against his back, the other swiping angrily at the mess of wire. “c’mon, genius. this isn’t where you get to fall apart.” her tone is biting, but you can see the tightness around her mouth.

you help gather the wire too, looping it clumsily into manageable coils, anything to lighten the load. between the two of you, you manage to wrestle it together and sling it back into beetee’s trembling hands.

then, both of you hook your arms under his, hauling him upright. he stumbles, but with the combined force, he finds his feet.

johanna’s voice comes out harsher than she probably means it to. “no one else is going to die. we just—” she cuts herself off, teeth sinking into her lip as she tries to swallow the burn in her chest. finally she spits it out, “we have to be careful. stick with the group.”

you nod hard, still clutching beetee’s arm as his weight leans on you. “together. we’ll stay together.”

somewhere ahead, katniss’s voice still carries. the jabberjays don’t stop. even as you and johanna drag beetee forward, the voices chase you through the trees, calling katniss’s name over and over, a child’s voice ripping itself raw. “katniss, help me! please!” it doesn’t let up.

you can hear katniss ahead, her bow catching branches as she barrels through the jungle.

and then, just as suddenly as it began, the cries cut off.

you look toward the dark tangle of trees, chest rising and falling like you’ve been holding your breath for miles. the silence lasts a second too long before it fractures.

“finnick!” a girl’s scream tears through the canopy. you jolt, head snapping to the sound. finnick himself lets out a ragged curse somewhere ahead.

“annie!” it’s his voice this time, desperate.

another jabberjay swoops low, wings thrashing the air, and the sound shifts again. it’s male now, a man’s voice howling through the branches, “katniss!”

your chest tightens, pulse hammering, but it’s the next one that cracks you open.

“rafe!”

it’s not katniss’s sister, and it’s not annie. it isn’t some nameless voice pulled out of the districts. but you know this one. it’s so familiar.

your throat goes dry, your body cutting off your breath like it doesn’t trust you to survive it. “sarah,” you swallow. your stomach caves in, folding around the name.

you both promised, in a thousand whispered plans, that you’d protect her. how did they get her voice? how did they catch the sound of her screaming?

it nearly tears you apart, even if you’re not the target, because you know rafe is hearing it too. and unlike you, he doesn’t get the buffer of disbelief. he’ll believe it, he’ll feel it in his marrow.

your legs keep moving, but the sound begins to fade. and with each step, you realize what’s happening: the voices are following the others up ahead. panic eats its way up your throat. you think that if you lose the sound completely, it means they’re too far ahead.

“c’mon,” you gasp, adjusting beetee’s weight. you steal glances at the back of peeta’s head, his blond hair bobbing just ahead. as long as he’s in sight, you’re not lost. peeta’s the thread tying both groups together.

then he slows, stops. your heart lurches, and you see him crouch.

through the break in the brush, you catch it all in fragments. katniss is curled on the ground, hands clamped over her ears, jabberjays darting like knives in the air. peeta kneels in front of her, calling to her. finnick stands like a shield behind them, swatting at the birds, jaw tight.

and rafe . . . he’s a few feet off, hands over his ears, body pitched forward like he’s trying to collapse in on himself, but he doesn’t move away. he stays close, even through the torment. and for one splintering moment, you think he’s waiting for you.

you drop beetee’s arm. the coil wire falls heavy in the dirt. your legs carry you forward before you’ve even decided, cutting through branches, reaching for him.

but when you do, you slam into nothing. the impact rattles your teeth, sends you stumbling backward with your palms stinging. confusion surges first. it’s a forcefield.

you blink, dazed, staring at the faint shimmer in the air where your body hit. then you try again, shoving forward, shoulder-first this time. nothing. it throws you back, relentless.

“no—” your voice cracks, rising with panic. you press your hands flat to the invisible barrier, dragging them down as if you could claw it apart. “no, how long ‘til it lifts?”

beetee, still catching his breath, adjusts his glasses. “if the gamemakers designed this as part of the system then it won’t release us at whim,” he says, “an hour, perhaps less, but no sooner than that.”

an hour. this is an active sector. you have to wait for an hour.

your heart breaks as your gaze locks on rafe. he’s still crumbling in the sound, shoulders rigid, face strained like he’s holding himself together by force.

you press your palm harder against the barrier, almost like you could reach him. like if you push hard enough, your hand might break through. you want to tear it away with your bare hands. you want to be in there, shoulder to shoulder, anything but standing useless on the outside.

but the arena has made sure: all you can do is watch.

you sit there the entire time, your knees dug into the dirt. your eyes never leave him. rafe shifts between trying to shut it all out with his fingers shoved into his ears and his heads bent low, and snapping up to swat the jabberjays away when they get too close to him, or katniss, or finnick.

it’s unbearable, watching him, knowing it’s sarah’s voice they chose.

and after what feels like forever, the first real movement startles you. rafe rips his hands from his ears, his grip snapping around the handle of his mace, and with a sudden, violent swing he brings it across a small cluster of jabberjays swooping too close.

the crunch being sharp, feathers scattering, finnick averting his gaze. rafe pins them into the dirt. he doesn’t look relieved. if anything, he looks colder, staring down at the bodies as if he isn’t even seeing birds anymore, but just bloodied, broken things.

your head tilts without meaning to, your palm pressing harder to the forcefield, like you could reach him if only you leaned far enough. you can’t. all you can do is watch as he sits down hard, knees bent, arms hooked over them, his forehead resting against the edge of his wrist.

time blurs. minutes stretch into what feels like an eternity. you don’t even notice it at first, not until peeta finally manages to reach katniss. the barrier collapses without warning, and the jabberjays scatter. the others begin to move, relief rushing through the group, but all you see is rafe.

you’re already moving before you even think. you drop down behind him, close enough that your knees brush his back as you settle on the dirt. your hands reach for his shoulders, light at first, the touch almost cautious. he flinches, just barely, like a twitch under your fingers, but you don’t draw away. instead you squeeze gently, then lean down, your lips pressing to his shoulder blade, tasting salt and sweat.

your arms slide around him from behind, circling his frame. you rest your cheek against his back. the sector is quiet now, the jabberjays gone. it’s over, and you want him to feel that, through the press of your arms, that you’re here.

“are you okay?” you whisper, leaning into him. you don’t really expect an answer, not after what he just went through. he’s silent, but you can still hear katniss gasping, her breaths jagged while peeta murmurs quick reassurances, telling her she’s alright, telling her the capitol wouldn’t dare touch prim.

“your fiancé’s right,” johanna cuts in, standing again after checking on finnick. her axe is loose at her side, her voice carrying that bite that always makes you wonder if there’s something else behind it. like envy, maybe. “the whole country loves your sister. if they tortured her or did anything to her, forget the districts, there would be . . .” she smirks bitterly, eyes flicking away, “riots in the damn capitol.”

johanna doesn’t stop there. she turns her face up, addressing the canopy above like it’s snow himself looking down. “hey, how does that sound, snow? what if we . . . what if we set your backyard on fire? you know you can’t just put everybody in here.”

“johanna—” you try calling her name low, a warning, but she barrels on.

eventually her eyes come back to the group, her tone dropping quieter. “what? they can’t hurt me,” she says. “there’s no one left that i love.”

your expression falters, your gaze slipping down to the ground beneath her boots. you pity her, almost. you can feel it in your chest, but you know better than to let it show, because johanna would tear you apart for it. so you stay quiet, watching as she looks over to katniss, her voice barely above a whisper. “i’ll get you some water.”

even now, she’s focused on katniss, protecting the girl who was just forced to hear her baby sister’s cries through a flock of mutts. still your mockingjay.

you glance at katniss now. her face is a mess of shock, grief, and confusion all blurred together. but you turn back to rafe. he’s still folded into himself, silent, distant. your hand lifts, brushing dirt off the fabric of his suit in small strokes, like it matters, like if you can clean away what clings to him, maybe you can take some of the weight too. you smooth the fabric at his shoulder.

“it wasn’t real, rafe,” you murmur, low enough for only him to catch. your hand finds the back of his neck, slick with sweat, and you rub slow circles there. when your palm comes away damp, you wipe it against your thigh without thinking, your eyes never leaving him.

he doesn’t answer or even move. you let him have that silence, watching the tightness around his jaw, the way his shoulders haven’t loosened even once.

then, carefully, you reach across and set your hand against his chest. his heart beats hard beneath your palm, proof that he’s still here. “strong heart,” you tell him quietly, pressing your fingers into the fabric.

his eyes drop down to your hand and he stares at it like he doesn’t know what to do with the words. then he looks away, angled just enough toward you that you know he heard, even if he can’t face you yet.

“no fear,” you add, softer still, rubbing small circles into his chest, coaxing him back piece by piece.

your hand shifts, reaching past him to the far side of his head. you guide him toward you, pulling him in until you can press your lips to the side of his face, before you ease back and breathe, “let’s go, c’mon,” when the sound of the others moving nearby filters through, meaning it’s time to leave.

he doesn’t move right away. not until you rise, brushing dirt from your legs, and extend your hand down to him. he looks at it for a beat, then lets you help him up.

he still looks gutted, the memory of sarah’s voice echoing in his head. annie’s screams, prim’s cries, they even cut deep enough on their own, but sarah . . . that had been unbearable.

you keep your touch on him as you guide him forward. the two of you retrace the path back toward the beach, back to where you’d run from an hour ago.

26th May 2026

Clark K.: Take all the time you need!! READ

27th May 2026

Clark K.: Morning. Clark K.: I got you your oat-milk vanilla latte. Are you coming down soon?

You: Sorry. I left earlier. See you at work?

Clark K.: Ok! No worries. 🥸 See you. READ

28th May 2026

Clark K.: I know you said you wanted a little space from our morning walks. I put a gift card from the coffee shop on your desk. In case you fancy a cup on your way to work. READ

3rd June 2026

↳ CLARK K. FORWARDED AN ARTICLE.

HOW TO GIVE SOMEONE SPACE: IT'S TIME TO LET GO.

Clark K.: I'm so sorry. Ignore that. I didn't mean to send it to you. READ

5th June 2026

Clark K.: Are you free this weekend? Let's talk about it. Please.

Today

Clark K.: I miss you so so much. Please let me talk to you. READ

You: I thought about it. Let's give this a shot.

the message sends off with an ominous woosh with the added liquid courage you had in your system. you hadn't expected a response so soon, considering the emotional whiplash you were giving him.

"t-this, am I hallucinating? do you mean it? do you really mean it?"

you certainly hadn't expected clark to spring right up from his slouched position beside your front door. looking like an absolute and utter mess. his glasses were nearly tucked in his breast pocket, hair combed upward in one spot he must've been running his hand through all night while waiting for you.

clark's shadow towers over you, like an anxious spirit, bouncing on his heels, too wary to touch you.

your heels hang loosely by the way you hold them by the straps.

"i—you're here. i didn't—…"

"i know," he cuts in, shaking his head, barely being able to contain the relief coursing through his veins. "too soon, zero buffer time. i was…just here to apologise for that…'i miss you' text. it was awfully pushy. and i felt really silly, especially when i promised you time and space —"

you quickly close the distance, cupping his jaw with both palms. tip-toeing to kiss once. completely sure of yourself. his surprised hum melts the second your lips slot between his. and he sighs, content and deep to curl his arm by your hips, lifting you up in the process.

"had my fill —" a soft, separation, and then you press another kiss, "all the time an'space." you continue, words broken by the urgent need to have him as close as you could.

clark turns you around, with your legs locked around his hips. he presses you flush against your front door, hiking you securely around him. he lets you have the room to speak, dragging the gentle curves of his nose down your jaw. his own bated breath warms your sensitive skin.

you tilt your head, panting in the aftermath of your confession. "i'm sure." you whisper, breathily, his mouth leaving urgent pecks to the column of your throat.

"i want you, clark."

"Tickets are insane. Like — insane. I was gonna see if anyone wanted to split nosebleeds, but they're still like three hundred bucks each."

He watches you for a second. You can tell he's working something out. You go back to your coffee because if you wait too long, he won't say it.

"Y/N."

"Hm."

"You know I have a box there, right?"

You look up. "What?"

"A suite. At Paycor. It's mine. You're always welcome to use it." He says it like he's telling you what time it is. "Any show. You don't have to ask. Just tell me what date."

You don't say anything.

"Y/N."

"I'm processing."

"What's there to process?"

"That for two weeks I've been doing math in my head about nosebleeds, and you have a box."

He laughs. Small. "I thought you knew that."

"How would I know that?"

"I don't know. I thought I'd mentioned it."

"Joe."

"What?"

"You have not mentioned that."

He sets his phone down. Picks his coffee up. Takes a sip. "Well. Now you know. Bring whoever. I'll have the chef send food."

You stare at him.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Y/N."

"Nothing. I love you. Eat your eggs."

———

You bring three friends.

Mads, Anika, and Cat. You cleared it with him first — is three too many, is it weird if it's all girls, are you gonna come — and he answered them in order like you'd asked them in a meeting. no. no. yeah, I'll come if you want me there. you wanted him there.

He's the only guy in the suite. He doesn't seem to register it. He's at the bar making Mads a drink because she asked him what he was making for himself, and he said whatever you want, what do you want? Cat is taking pictures of the stage from the window. Anika is sitting on the couch, already on her second glass of wine, telling you about her sister's wedding.

You watch Joe across the room. He's listening to Mads explain her stance on tequila. Nodding. Asking her a follow-up. She's gesturing with both hands. He's smiling at her with his whole face.

"Y/N."

"Hm."

"He's so nice."

"I know."

"Like genuinely. He asked me about my job."

"He does that."

Anika watches you watch him. "You're so gone."

"Shut up."

"You're so gone, Y/N."

"Shut up."

———

Sabrina opens with Taste, and the four of you scream.

Joe doesn't scream. But he's on his feet at the window with his drink in his hand, watching the stage, and when you look at him, he's smiling — that small one, the one that means he's having a better time than he expected. He glances at you. Catches you watching.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Y/N."

"You're having fun."

"I'm at a concert with you."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the answer." He takes a sip of his drink. "I'm having fun."

You go back to the window. Anika is taking a video over your shoulder. Cat is screaming the words. Mads is dancing in a way that suggests she's three drinks in and entering her Sabrina era. Joe stays at the window. You can feel him at your back.

———

By please please please, you've pulled him into it.

You turn around mid-chorus and sing it at him — I beg you don't embarrass me, motherfucker — and his head tips back, and he laughs. Open. Surprised. The laugh you don't get to see at press conferences.

He leans down to your ear.

"I won't embarrass you, motherfucker."

"Joe."

"What?"

"You can't say that."

"You just said it."

"I was singing."

"I was participating."

You elbow him. He doesn't move. Anika is filming again. You don't tell her to stop.

———

The show ends. Your voice is gone. Mads is crying about because I liked a boy. Cat is rebooking her flight because she missed her Uber and now wants to stay another day. Anika is already in the car downstairs.

Joe holds your coat for you. Helps Mads with hers. Carries Cat's tote because she's holding her phone in one hand and a tequila soda in the other. You watch him do it.

In the car, he puts his hand on your knee. You put your feet up on the dash because your shoes are killing you, and he doesn't tell you to take them down. Your friends are in the SUV behind. The driver is taking the long way because Joe asked him to — take the river road, the highway's gonna be a mess.

"So."

"So."

"How was your first Sabrina Carpenter concert?"

"I had a really good time."

You look at him.

"What?"

"Nothing. I thought I was gonna have to drag it out of you."

"Why?"

"Because that's usually how this goes. I ask if you had fun, and you say it was fine, and I have to interpret it."

He glances at you. The streetlight catches him. "I had fun. She's good. You were having fun. Mads is funny. Anika keeps asking me questions like she's interviewing me, which I kind of like. Cat tried to give me half her drink. That's a good night."

"Joe."

"What?"

"That was a whole answer."

"Yeah."

"Like a real one."

"I know."

He puts his hand back on your knee. His thumb moves once. Slow.

"You're gonna make me go to more of these."

"Yeah."

"Figured."

II. Halloween

You bring it up over the weekend.

"The Bengals Halloween party is in three weeks."

He doesn't look up. "Mhm."

"Are you gonna go?"

"No."

"Joe."

"Y/N. I don't go. You know I don't go."

"I know."

"So."

"So I was just asking."

He looks up at you then. You go back to your phone. You don't say anything else.

———

You bring it up again the next morning. Casually. Like you forgot you'd already mentioned it.

"So the Halloween party —"

"Y/N."

"I'm not pushing. I'm just saying. Alex's been texting me about costumes for two weeks, and Jay asked me yesterday if we were coming, and I didn't know what to tell her."

"You tell them I don't go."

"I told them I'd ask."

"Y/N."

"I'm just telling you what's happening, Joe. They want me there. I want to go. But if you don't want to, that's fine."

"You'd go without me."

"I'd go with Alex."

He watches you for a second. Then he goes back to his coffee. You don't bring it up again that day.

———

Three days later, he comes out of the bedroom with his phone in his hand.

"I'll go."

"To what?"

"The Halloween party."

You put your laptop down. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Joe."

"Don't make it a thing."

"I'm not making it a thing."

"Y/N."

"I'm just — yeah. Okay. Yes! Let's go!"

He looks at you. He's trying not to smile. "You're making it a thing."

"I'm not making it a thing."

———

He says yes on Monday. You start texting Alex about it on Monday. By Tuesday morning, you've narrowed it down to three couples' concepts, and you bring them to him over breakfast.

"I'll handle costumes —"

"I probably have something in the closet that works."

You look at him.

"What?"

"I probably have something in the closet that works," he says again. "Depending on what we're doing. And I can call Kyle for whatever else we need. He's good at this stuff. He did the Met thing."

"Joe."

"What?"

"You're going to call your stylist to put together a couple's Halloween costume."

"Yeah."

"With me."

"Yes, Y/N."

You stare at him.

"I can also just buy something off Amazon."

"No, I want Kyle to do it. He's good. Let me do this part."

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He picks up his phone.

———

Kyle pulls a white suit with thin purple pinstripes from Joe's closet that Joe forgot he owned. LSU-era. " That'll work,Kyle says on the phone, looking at the picture Joe sent. Send me your measurements again, Y/N I'll get the Harley pieces sent up by Friday.

Friday morning, a garment bag arrives at the door. Red and black. The pigtails were clipped to the hanger. A bat with a bad girl's sticker peeling on the side. You stand in the front hallway holding it, and you can't stop laughing.

"Y/N."

"Yeah."

"What's so funny?"

"Your stylist bought me a bat."

"He commits."

"I love him."

"You've never met him."

"I love him anyway."

———

The night of the party, you do his face in his bathroom.

He sits on the counter in the suit pants and a white undershirt because the vest goes on last. You stand between his knees with a sponge in one hand and a tube of white face paint in the other. He's watching you in the mirror over your shoulder.

"Hold still."

"I'm holding still."

"You keep talking."

"That's not the same as moving."

"It moves your face, Joe."

He goes quiet. You work the white into his hairline. His eyes track you in the mirror. It's a little unnerving — his face is the thing you know best in the world, and you're covering it up.

"Y/N."

"Don't talk, your mouth's next."

"Can I say one thing?"

"One thing."

"I can't believe I let you do this."

"That's not one thing; that was a sentence."

"Y/N."

"Hold still."

You move to the green around his eyes. He closes them for you. You have one hand on his jaw to hold him still and the other working the eyeshadow in, and you can feel him breathing slow under your fingers, and you can feel exactly how much he trusts you for this — letting you put your hands on his face for an hour while you cover it up.

When you're done with the eyes, you step back to look at him. He opens them.

"Verdict."

"You look insane."

"Y/N."

"In a good way. In a really good way."

"I feel insane."

"That's the costume."

He laughs. Small. You do the red around his mouth last. You go slow. You don't want to mess it up. When you're done, he stays still for a second, watching you in the mirror, and then he says come here and you step in between his knees, and he holds you by the hips with his still-gloved hands, and he kisses you on the forehead because you told him not to mess up his mouth.

"Y/N."

"Yeah."

"This is the most insane thing you've ever asked me to do."

"I know."

"I'm doing it because I love you."

"I know that too."

———

He looks devastating.

In a good way. You're already in your costume — red and black, the pigtails, the bat in your hand — and you stand in the bathroom door and look at him, and you have to take a second.

"Joe."

"Don't."

"You look really good."

"Y/N. I look like a clown."

"Yeah."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"It was from me."

He comes over to you. He hooks a finger in the waistband of your shorts and pulls you a step closer. You let him.

"You're going to be insufferable about this tonight, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Figured."

———

Ja'Marr clocks him before you get inside.

You're walking up to the rented-out space from the car — Joe in the full Joker, you in the full Harley, his hand on the small of your back — and Ja'Marr is on the sidewalk in a cookie costume, and he sees Joe, and he stops walking, and he says, very loud, oh my GOD.

"Don't."

"BRO."

"Ja'Marr."

"BRO."

"Don't."

Ja'Marr is doubled over. Tee is coming up behind him in a full Batman costume, and he sees Joe, and he says holy shit, and then he says hi, Y/N, and then he goes back to holy shit. Alex is two steps behind Tee in a Poison Ivy costume that you helped her pick out, and she sees you, and she screams.

"Y/N."

"Hi."

"Y/N, OH MY GOD."

"Hi, Alex."

Jay is somewhere behind Alex in what looks like a milk carton costume, already laughing. She gives you a thumbs up over Alex's head.

"Y/N."

"Yeah, Joe."

"This is your fault."

"I'm aware."

———

Inside, Alex pulls you away from him for an hour.

She has photos to take. She has people to introduce you to. She has gossip about which of the rookies showed up in costumes their wives hate. You let her drag you around. You keep glancing back to find Joe in the crowd — he's never far. He's holding a beer. He's letting Tee's mom take a picture with him. He's nodding at someone in a Chiefs costume that he is, charitably, pretending to find funny.

Jay finds you by the bar around eleven.

"You got him here."

"I know."

"Y/N. You got him here."

"I know."

"In costume."

"I know, Jay."

"And you're Harley."

"Yes."

"I'm gonna cry."

"Don't cry."

"I'm a little drunk."

"I can tell."

She hugs you. You hug her back. Across the room, Joe is watching you and trying not to smile.

———

At midnight, you find him on a couch in the back room with three of his teammates around him.

He's holding a bottle of something. His face paint is smudged at the corner of his mouth. The vest is unbuttoned. He's laughing at something Tee just said, and he hasn't seen you yet.

You stand in the doorway and watch him for a second.

He sees you. His face does something — the small smile, the one you get to see, the one that means you're there. He pats the couch next to him. Tee scoots over.

You sit down. Joe puts his arm around your shoulders. You can feel the white face paint coming off on your Harley costume. You don't care.

"Y/N."

"Yeah."

"Thanks for making me come to this."

"Yeah, Joe."

"I mean it."

"I know."

He kisses the top of your head. His face paint comes off on your hair. You don't tell him.

III. Sheet Mask

He comes home from a workout on a Sunday afternoon.

You're already in yours. You're sitting on the couch with a sheet mask on, watching something stupid on Bravo, and he walks in the door, stops in the entryway, and looks at you.

"Y/N."

"Hi."

"What is on your face?"

"A sheet mask."

"A what?"

"A sheet mask."

He comes closer. He leans over the back of the couch and looks down at you. His face is pink from the gym. His hair is damp at the temples.

"That's a piece of wet fabric."

"It's a sheet mask, Joe."

"Is it doing anything?"

"It's hydrating."

"What does that mean?"

"It means it's putting moisture in my skin."

"With a piece of wet fabric."

"Yes."

He stares at you. You stare back. You can feel the mask sliding slightly on your cheek.

"Come here," you say.

"No."

"Joe."

"Y/N."

"Come here."

———

He comes.

He doesn't sit on the couch. He stands in front of you with his arms crossed and looks at you. You can tell he's already losing because he hasn't gone upstairs to shower. That's his tell. If he were really saying no, he'd be in the shower already.

"Sit down."

"Y/N —"

"Sit. Down."

He sits. On the floor. Between your knees. With his back against the couch and his head tipped back to look up at you.

"I'm not putting that on my face."

"You don't have to."

"Oh."

"I'm putting it on your face."

"Y/N."

"You said you weren't going to. I'm respecting that. I'm doing it for you."

"That's the same thing."

"It's not the same thing, Joe."

"It's the same thing."

You reach into the basket by the couch and pull out a fresh packet. You tear it open. The mask is folded in half inside, dripping. You peel it apart with your fingers and hold it up. He looks at it. Then he looks at you. Then he closes his eyes.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine, Y/N."

"Thank you."

"I hate you."

"I know."

———

You do his face slowly.

You smooth the mask onto his forehead first, then work it down over his cheekbones, his nose, and his chin. He keeps his eyes closed. You can feel him breathing slowly under your hands. The mask is cold from the fridge — you keep them in the fridge, which is a thing he's mocked you for — and you feel him flinch the first time it touches his skin.

"Cold."

"I know."

"Why is it cold?"

"Because I keep them in the fridge."

"Why?"

"Because it's better for your skin."

"Y/N."

"Don't talk, you're going to crease it."

He stops talking. You work the mask into the corners of his jaw. You smooth the eye flaps down. You press the edges against his temples. When you're done, you sit back on the couch and look at him.

He looks ridiculous.

A grown man with a sheet mask on his face, sitting on the floor of his living room, in joggers and a t-shirt that says Bengals strength & conditioning, with his eyes closed and his head tipped back against the couch cushion.

You take a picture.

You don't ask. You just take it.

He opens one eye. "Y/N."

"Yeah."

"Did you just take a picture of me?"

"Yes."

"Y/N."

"Let me see it."

You hand him the phone. He looks at it for a long time. You can't tell what his face is doing because the mask is covering most of it. You watch him scroll. Zoom. Scroll back.

"It's bad."

"It's amazing."

"Y/N."

"Joe."

"Can I post it?"

"No."

"Joe."

"Y/N."

"Close friends only."

He looks at you. The mask is still on his face. You can't read him.

"Close friends."

"Yeah. Not my story. Just the eighty people who already know us."

"Eighty!?!?"

"It's a small eighty, Joe."

He goes quiet for a second. You watch him decide. The mask makes it harder than usual.

"Fine."

"Yeah?"

"Close friends. And if it ends up anywhere else, I'm divorcing you."

"We're not married."

"I'll find a way."

———

You post it to close friends.

You set the phone face down on the coffee table, and you go back to Bravo. Joe closes his eyes again. The mask is starting to dry at the edges.

Ninety seconds later, your phone buzzes.

Then it buzzes again.

Then it doesn't stop buzzing.

Joe opens his eyes. "What's happening?"

"I don't know."

"Y/N."

"I — it's close friends, Joe, it's only —"

"Check it."

You pick up your phone. You have fourteen replies already. Half of them are crying-laughing emojis from your friends. One is from Mads — Y/N I AM HOWLING. One is from your sister — send me the link to the mask. One is from Anika — Y/N!

Then Joe's phone buzzes on the coffee table.

He doesn't open his eyes. "Tell me."

You pick up his phone. You read the screen.

"It's Tee."

Joe's eyes open.

"What does it say?"

"He sent the lipstick-face emoji."

"Y/N. How does Tee know?"

"I —"

"Y/N."

"Alex is on my close friends list."

He stares at you. The mask creases at his forehead.

"Y/N."

"What?"

"You posted me in makeup to a list that includes my receiver's girlfriend."

"In my defense, you said close friends."

"Alex isn't your close friend, she's his close friend, and now she has screenshot capability —"

"Joe."

"— and the Bengals wags group chat is its own ecosystem, Y/N, you don't understand —"

"Joe."

"What?"

"You're talking really fast."

He closes his eyes again. Breathes in through his nose.

"This is going to be in the team group chat in twenty minutes."

"I know."

"Ja'Marr is going to lose it."

"I know."

He doesn't say anything for a second. Then he laughs. Small. Real.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

———

His phone buzzes again.

You look at it. It's his mom.

You hand him the phone without saying anything. He opens his eyes. Reads the screen. You watch his face. The mask is hiding most of it, but you can see the corner of his mouth lift.

"What does it say?"

He hands you the phone.

tell her I said hi. You look ridiculous. I love it. xx

You read it twice.

"Joe."

"Yeah."

"Your mom is funny."

"I know."

He's looking at you now. The mask is starting to slip at his hairline.

"Y/N."

"Yeah."

"Why is my mom on your close friends list?"

You don't answer right away.

"Y/N."

"She's nice."

"Y/N."

"What?"

"You haven't met her."

"We've DMed."

"You've DMed."

"A couple times."

"Y/N. You've been DMing my mom."

"She started it."

"She — Y/N."

"She commented on something I posted in like September. And then she DMed me. We've gone back and forth a couple of times. That's it."

He's staring at you. His mouth is open a little. The mask is doing nothing for him right now.

"Joe."

"Yeah."

"Don't be weird about it."

"I'm not being weird about it."

"You look weird about it."

"Y/N. My mother is on your close friends list. And we haven't done a real meeting. And you've been DMing her since September."

"Yes."

He closes his eyes. He doesn't say anything for a second. You watch him work through it.

"Joe."

"Yeah."

"Are you mad?"

"No."

"Joe."

"I'm not mad. I'm — processing."

"What's there to process?"

"That my girlfriend and my mother have a DM relationship I didn't know about."

"Joe."

"I'm not mad, Y/N."

He opens his eyes. Looks at you. The mask is sliding now, definitely past its lifespan. He looks ridiculous. You love him.

"Text her back for me."

"What should I say?"

"Tell her hi back. Tell her I'm being walked like a dog."

"I'm not telling your mom that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's true and I don't want her to know."

He laughs. His shoulders shake against your knee. You type hi Robin! He says hi. xx and send it. She sends back a heart. You put the phone down.

Joe stays on the floor with the mask on for another twenty minutes. You don't tell him when it's done. Neither does he. Eventually, he opens his eyes and peels it off himself and looks at you.

"Y/N."

"Yeah."

"My skin feels weird."

"That's because it's hydrated."

"I don't like it."