I Was Afraid I’d Eat Your Brains

“I’m goin’ out,” he muttered to Sarah, who was tallying receipts.

“You sure you don’t want to wait for another sign from the universe?” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

He didn’t dignify that with a response.

Ellie hollered after him, “Bring her soup! It’s romantic!”

He brought soup.

Goddammit.

────୨ৎ────

You lived a few blocks off campus, in a cozy little apartment building with ivy climbing the bricks and a mailbox that leaned just slightly. Joel had walked past it a dozen times, back when you and Sarah talked about you moving in. You’d pointed it out once, with a laugh, and said, “That window? That’s where I scream into the void when my thesis eats my soul.”

He found that window now. The curtains were drawn.

He knocked. Once. Twice.

No answer.

Something clenched inside him.

But before he could reach for his phone, the door creaked open. And there you were.

Barefoot, bundled in two blankets, hair a mess, eyes glassy and tired. You blinked at him like you weren’t entirely sure he was real.

“…Joel?”

He blinked right back.

“You sick?” he asked, voice low, gruff.

You nodded slowly. “Fever. Sore throat. Lost my voice yesterday. Haven’t even checked my phone, I—”

“You didn’t tell Sarah. Or Ellie. Or me.”

You opened your mouth to answer—then paused.

“…Didn’t know I was supposed to tell you.”

Joel stared.

Then handed you the Tupperware of soup like it was some sort of peace offering.

“I been savin’ lemon scones all week,” he said. “They’re goin’ stale.”

Your brows lifted, even as your eyes watered from the steam of the soup. “You saved scones… for me?”

“Don’t make a thing outta it.”

“I’m making a thing.”

Joel looked at you, pale and sick and smiling weakly at him like he hadn’t just spent three days trying not to feel your absence like a bruise. And something inside him softened. Dropped its guard.

“You should’ve told me you were sick,” he said, quieter now. “I would’ve brought soup earlier. Or tea. Or hell, carried your ass to the doctor.”

You leaned your head against the doorframe, voice barely audible. “Didn’t know you’d care that much.”

Joel’s eyes met yours. Steady. Warm. Unspoken things settling between you like dust.

“I do.”

The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable. Just real.

“…Are you coming in or are you going to stand out here like a sad Victorian man with soup?”

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Your apartment was a mess.

Not dirty—just lived-in and clearly abandoned in favor of survival. A couple empty mugs on the coffee table, tissues crumpled in soft piles, your laptop blinking sleepily from the couch. Joel had never been inside before, but it looked exactly like you: warm, chaotic, surrounded by books and soft blankets, a half-written post-it note stuck to the fridge reading “Don’t forget to be kind to yourself.”

“You’ve been livin’ like this?” he muttered, setting the soup on the counter.

“Didn’t really have the energy to do much else,” you croaked from where you’d sunk onto the couch, wrapping yourself tighter in your cocoon of blankets.

Joel walked over and handed you the mug of tea he made—ginger, lemon, and a lot more honey than he’d usually allow.

You took it with both hands, sniffled, then looked up at him with glassy eyes.

“Thanks, Joel. Really. You didn’t have to—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he cut in, crossing his arms. “I did have to. ‘Cause apparently you’d rather suffer in silence than text one of my daughters or me that you’re sick and dyin’ in here.”

You blinked at him, confused. “I wasn’t dying—”

“You’ve got a fever. You look like hell.”

“Wow,” you rasped. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Don’t get cute with me,” he said, even as he checked your forehead with the back of his hand like it was second nature. “You didn’t even tell Sarah. Or Ellie. You know how mad they’re gonna be?”

You sniffled, mumbling around the mug. “Didn’t want to be a burden.”

That made Joel stop cold.

He crouched down in front of you, elbows on his knees, voice lower now—firm but gentle.

“You listen to me. You’re not a burden. You’re—” he paused, jaw flexing. “You’re someone we all care about. Me, especially.”

You blinked at him. Your throat worked like you wanted to say something, but all that came out was a tired squeak.

Joel sighed. “You ever pull this stunt again, and I swear to god I’ll drag you back to the bakery myself. Sick or not.”

“…Will there be scones?”

He scowled. “Always.”

You smiled behind the rim of your tea.

────୨ৎ────

Later, you fell asleep on the couch with your head leaning on his shoulder, the blanket wrapped around you like a sad, shivering burrito. Joel didn’t move. Just rested his hand gently on your knee, watching the rain blur the windows and feeling something settle in his chest for the first time in days.

When Sarah texted, “Did you find her or did you get lost?”, he sent a photo of you curled up next to him.

Joel: She’s safe. Still an idiot. Restin’ now.

Sarah: You love her.

Ellie: It is obvious.

Joel shook his head, turned the volume down, and stayed right there—until your breathing evened out and the soup went cold and everything else finally felt warm.

₊˚⊹♡

thank you for reading!