oh no, joey quinn

Every time you check, it’s still there, and it’s still very real. You grin at your screen again before locking it. You fucking did it. The thought keeps hitting you in waves. Every few minutes your brain seems to restart itself and go wait, no, seriously, you actually did that! And every single time, it sends another sharp thrill through your whole body.

You quit.

No more miserable Monday mornings. No more fake-smiling through meetings that make you want to claw your own skin off. No more spending your entire commute home trying to recover from the weird hollow feeling your job had been leaving inside you for months now. Years, if you’re honest.

You’d been talking about leaving forever. You’d come home absolutely drained, tired beyond tired, bad long days much more frequent than good ones. Everyone knew that. Izzy knew. Joe knew. Most of your friends probably knew. You’d complained about your manager so often, Joe had started recognising names from your stories without needing context anymore. He now knows which coworkers drive you insane on the daily, knows what kind of emails instantly ruin your mood, knows the exact voice you use whenever you come home from work and you’re already halfway mentally checked out.

So, really, if you think about it, this shouldn’t be surprising at all.

It is though.

You don’t think anybody would’ve ever expected you to actually do it. Especially not like this.

The buzzer sounds almost immediately after you press it downstairs, followed by Joe’s voice crackling through the speaker.

“Hello, who’s there?” You can tell from Joe’s funny tone that he knows it’s you.

“Hi, let me in please,” you echo back, already smiling.

There’s a pause, and you’re expecting Joe to buzz you in, but then he asks, “… why do you sound weird?”

Your smile widens immediately. Oh, this is going to be good.

“Let me in.” You’re pushing the building door before it’s even fully unlocked, giddy with excitement over the news you’re carrying in your back pocket.

By the time you reach his front door, Joe’s already standing in the doorway waiting for you, and immediately – just, immediately, you can tell that he knows something’s happened.

His eyebrows pull together at the sight of you, eyes scanning your face whilst a slow smile grows on his. You can tell that he’s trying to figure out what emotional state he’s dealing with before deciding how he’s going to greet you.

“Hello,” he almost laughs as you barge past him whilst you shrug your coat off with far more dramatic energy than necessary.

“Hi.” You slap your coat onto the floor before quickly picking it up again with a giggle.

Joe watches you for another second. He hasn’t seen you this manic ever before and it’s amusing, sure, but also kind of… concerning.

“What’s going on? Why are we so happy?”

“I had a really good day today.”

Joe closes the door but barely takes his eyes off of you. For fear, maybe. Probably.

“Yea? You win the lottery?”

You gasp. “Oh my God, imagine if I did!” you crunch your nose at Joe before you walk over to the fridge to get yourself a drink. “No, the universe can’t be that kind. I also might not be able to handle any more excitement.”

That gets his attention properly. Joe follows you and leans against the counter, arms folding loosely over his chest now as he studies you harder. “And you’re excited about…?”

You grin.

You’d gone over how you would tell him for the past two hours. Maybe you could tell him all casual like it wasn’t a big deal at all, play it cool. Or you could not even really mention it at all, just let it be something that accidentally slips out much later. You want his surprise, his shocked reaction, to be bigger than your delivery of the news, but, stood in his kitchen now, you suddenly can’t wait another second.

“I quit my job.”

The silence that follows is so immediate and complete, it almost physically hits the room and swallows it whole.

Joe freezes.

His face doesn’t fully fall, because he catches himself too quickly for that, but you see it anyway. The surprise. This real, genuine reaction of pure shock that flashes across his expression before he smooths it away.

The very second you see it… oh. Oh, yes. Fucking victory. You actually got him.

“You… sorry, you what?”

“I quit.”

Joe blinks at you a couple of times, and then straightens away from the counter he’d been leaning against.

“You quit today?”

“Mhm.”

“You handed your notice in?”

“Yes.”

“You actually… wait, you actually resigned today? Just now?”

You kind of love that he’s a bit slow about it. That he’s trying to make sense of something he seemingly can’t really make sense of. It proves your point exactly right, it’s so delicious you can’t stop smiling.

“Yep!”

Joe stares at you for another second longer before exhaling softly through his nose.

“… I… um, yea. Okay.” And there’s something so careful about the way he says it that your excitement falters for maybe half a heartbeat. What does he mean, okay? Before you can say anything though, he steps forward, takes the bottle of water from your hands whilst saying, “Okay. Come here. Talk to me.”

And you…

Talk to me?

You watch Joe calmly walk over to his sofa with your drink in his hand, and…

He said, talk to me?

Not, what the fuck? Not, why would you do that? Not, are you insane? Have you lost your mind? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Something that resembles anger sprouts within all of your giddy excitement, and it feels terrible. It lets some of the air out of your balloon of elation and makes it hang a little lower than you want. You wanted shock from Joe. You wanted him completely thrown. You wanted a crazy manic laugh from him, followed by the immediate fond admittance that you just keep surprising him, not a single boring day with you around, et cetera, et cetera.

You wanted him to look at you and realise maybe he doesn’t know everything after all.

Instead, Joe immediately switches into soft careful handling mode like you’re holding a live grenade between your hands, and he doesn’t want to startle you into dropping it for fear of blowing not just yourself but also him into a million pieces.

You follow him over to the sofa whilst stumbling over your words.

“It’s fine, before you say anything, I know it sounds dramatic, but honestly, I’ve wanted to do it forever, and I was literally sat there today thinking, if I have to answer one more email I’m actually going to lose my fucking mind and–”

“I’m not questioning why you quit.”

“Oh, okay. You just. I don’t know, you looked like you were going to say something.”

“I looked surprised.”

Oh. Okay.

“You are surprising me.” Joe repeats himself, smiling slightly as he watches you catch up to those words.

You wish it felt a little more satisfying if you’re completely honest with yourself, but, you’ll take what you can get and let your face break into a wide smile as you kick your shoes off before dramatically collapsing onto the sofa.

“I just really couldn’t do it anymore, you know?” you say, suddenly laughing again, taking your drink back from Joe’s hands. This whole thing still feels slightly unreal. “I was sat there staring at my screen and my manager was talking at me – not with me, but at me, and I genuinely had this moment where I thought, if I stay here another six months I’m going to become one of those deeply miserable people whose personality completely turned into their job title.”

Joe snorts softly despite himself. His job is kind of his whole personality, he thinks, sneaking a glance at the guitars he’s got piled up in the corner of the room. It’s fine. It’s different for you, and you’re not talking about him.

“I’ve not had a ‘good day’ at work in months, it’s just been… bad, and boring, and draining and... I just had enough.”

“So you just resigned in the middle of the day, just like that.”

“Yea. Well. When you say it like that it sounds impulsive.”

With his head tipped back a little, he stares at you down his nose for a second.

“It wasn’t impulsive.” You double down.

“Okay.”

“You think it was impulsive?”

“I think,” Joe says carefully, moving his hand over to your thigh for a squeeze, “that you’ve hated this job for a very long time.”

“I have.”

“And I think you’ve talked about leaving for months.” His hands find your arm next, and he pulls at it until he’s got your hand in his.

“That too.”

“And I think staying there was making you miserable.” He brings your hand towards his mouth where he kisses it.

“It really was.”

“So…” Joe leans back until his back hits the cushions. “What’s the plan now?”

Well, shit. You knew this was going to come. That he was going to shift the conversation to practicalities and logistics and… reality. How vile. He could’ve at least waited until tomorrow, maybe.

You comically shrug and make a face, unwilling to let your mood slide as you say, “I don’t know yet.”

But the shift in the room is small and subtle with the way Joe’s looking at you. It’s just enough for your shoulders to tighten a little even though you’re trying your best not to let it affect you.

“It’ll be fine, though. I have savings.”

Joe just looks at you.

“And I’ll obviously get another job.” You turn a little, pushing one leg up onto the sofa to face Joe a little more. “One that won’t be as shit, preferably. Update my CV. Get some interviews in. Stop looking at me like that, I know it won’t be easy, but this is… it’s a good thing. This is a good thing.”

“Okay. Good thing you’re not stressed about it.” Joe says sarcastically, means it as a joke, but it lands wrong.

“I’m not stressed. I’ve cut the source of the stress out of my life today, there’s no more str– no more stress for me, thanks.” Even to your own ears, you don’t sound convincing, but you’re stubborn and you’re sticking to your own narrative for your own peace of mind.

“Mm, okay, if you say so.”

“You sound stressed.” You retaliate, getting kind of sick of Joe’s careful ‘okay’ing.

“I think I sound like someone whose girlfriend just quit her job with no warning.”

The word girlfriend softens the sentence enough that you don’t immediately bite back at him. The fact that he then tries to move your leg so it lays over his lap helps too.

“Don’t worry,” you insist. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will be.”

“No, but like… I’m happy.”

Joe watches you quietly for a second then, fingers scratches over the skin just below your knee. He’s being horribly attentive, quietly studies you to figure out what’s happening underneath the version of yourself that you’re presenting him with today.

“You know… you know I’m not judging you, right?”

You shrug one shoulder.

“I don’t know, you looked worried.”

“I am worried.”

“Well don’t be. I’m not.”

That’s the exact problem, Joe thinks. But fine. This doesn’t seem like a reality you’re wanting to face today, so, he decides he can save it for later.

“But I’m also happy for you.”

You frown slightly. He’s not acting like he’s happy for you, and that’s literally what his job is. He could at least pretend.

Joe sighs softly before reaching over to tug you closer to him. “You hated it there.”

“I know.”

Arms encase you into his side as he continues. “And every time you’d come home from work, especially these past few weeks, you looked ready for bed before you’d even taken your shoes off.”

You look away. There’s some conflicting feelings here… you’ve not liked your job for ages, that was your issue. Something you had to deal with. Hearing Joe say things like that makes you realise that… you’ve made him deal with it as well. He has had to deal with you after a long day’s work, five times a week, for… well, for months.

Guilt rubs into your skin in the exact spot where Joe rubs his hand slowly up and down your shin. “I just… I wish you’d talked to me before doing it.”

But you had talked to him about this, almost constantly.

Hadn’t you?

“I did.”

“No,” Joe says gently. “You talked about hating your job. That’s not quite the same as talking about quitting your job. That’s…” Joe pauses and waits til you look at him before he adds, “That’s different.”

You don’t answer.

What’s there to say? How do you react to this? He’s fucking right.

There is a difference between going ‘I hate this’ and then moving on with your life and actually, you know, blowing your entire life up over it. Some small ugly part of you had been so focused on finally catching him off guard that you hadn’t really stopped to consider what being left out of a decision this big might feel like from his side. It hadn’t even crossed your mind that whilst you were busy celebrating your big surprise reveal, Joe might just be standing there wondering why you hadn’t brought him along with you.

Joe suddenly pats your thigh, shaking you from your thoughts as he takes a deep breath and asks, “You hungry? What you in the mood for?”

The conversation drifts after that.

Joe falls into a long explanation of a meal he’s made before, but someone brought something into work and now he feels inspired to try something new, give it a new twist, and, did you even like it the last time, he asks. You did, and Joe says that you’ll like it even more this time.

One story from his day at work flows into another, and before you know it, the evening at Joe’s flat has turned into just a normal evening at Joe’s flat. You grumble about your messy boyfriend as you help clear the table so you can set it, and Joe slaps your bum when you reach up into the kitchen cabinets.

Normal stuff.

Something’s a little off though. A little… different. You can feel Joe trying very hard not to push too hard whilst he has also clearly got about twelve more questions he wants to ask about your day. He keeps stopping himself halfway through sentences. Keeps carefully redirecting things into lighter territory whenever the mood starts tightening.

You don’t think Joe’s got iron fists, but you can practically feel the velvet gloves on him. He’s doing it for you. He’s being nice. That’s good, you try to tell yourself. You can choose to see that as a good thing.

Today is a joyous day and he’s trying not to ruin it for you.

That’s good.

By the time you end up in his bedroom later, warm and tangled together underneath the duvet, the adrenaline has mostly burned itself out into something softer.

You feel lighter.

Untethered somehow.

There’s no more deadlines to think of that are weighing you down. No more urgent pressing e-mails from managers that you feel pressure to respond to immediately. That, plus, Joe said he was tired before, which usually means he doesn’t really feel like getting sexy with you, but he’s still found enough energy to hold you tightly and kiss you slowly down your neck.

Then, the thought suddenly hits you again, and you grin into the darkness.

“Hey… didn’t I tell you I had some surprises left?”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh against your skin.

“Took you a minute, didn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been waiting to say that all evening.”

You smile smugly. “Yea, little bit.”

This is cute. Joe’s got his whole body wrapped up around yours, and he’s sleepily pressing little kisses in spots he knows you like best, and he’s going to admit defeat whilst you bask in victorious glory over being right. Joe lifts his head slightly to look at you properly, and for a second he does look impressed. Really impressed. It sends a warm little pulse through your chest and you can’t wait not to care about being late for work tomorrow morning.

“I mean,” he says slowly, “yea, you definitely surprised me.”

You’re sleepy, eyes half closed, but your smile couldn’t stretch any wider, you’re practically beaming. “I knew it.”

Joe smiles despite himself before kissing you once more, catching the corner of your mouth. But then, his hand stills slightly against your waist, and something changes.

“What?” you ask immediately, trying to sound less urgent and more casual but failing completely.

Joe hesitates for another moment, and then says, “Ah. It’s nothing.”

“No, tell me.”

He exhales softly through his nose and shifts beside you until his face presses up against yours, cheek to cheek. “No, it’s just, you know you don’t have to do things like this just to surprise me, right?”

Your smile disappears instantly, and you move away from Joe enough to turn your face and look at him. “What does that mean?”

Joe copies you and shifts slightly onto one elbow beside you to be able to look at you better.

“I just mean–”

“You’re making it weird.”

“I’m making it weird?”

“All I did was quit my job… like, it’s not that crazy. People quit their jobs all the time. It’s not like I sold an organ or whatever.”

“All right, what the f– don’t go selling any of your organs, my God,” Joe closes his eyes briefly like he’s trying to organise his thoughts carefully before speaking. “No, what I’m saying it, it’s just that, you’ve been so focused on proving that I don’t know you that well that I think maybe you’re forgetting that… this is your actual life, you know?”

You frown deepens. “That’s so… you’re being dramatic.” You dismiss him.

“I don’t mean it dramatically.”

“Well it sounds dramatic.”

Joe watches you for a second, his hand still at your waist whilst he rests his head into his other. He studies the crease between your brows and the slight squint of your eyes before he clicks his tongue and lets his head touch his pillow again.

“Okay.”

Your dislike of the word ‘okay’ has unexpectedly grown a lot today.

“No,” you’re not accepting the okay. “Seriously, what’s your point?”

“My point is…” He pauses, lets his eyes scan the ceiling. “Well… now what?”

You blink. “What?”

“You quit your job. Okay. Great. Now what?”

“I already said, I’ll just get another one.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Joe’s hand slips away from your waist entirely now. “I just want to understand what the goal is here,” you can tell he’s being honest whilst trying to control his tone of voice to not hurt your feelings. That in and of itself is doing exactly that: hurting your feelings. “Do you think I’ll like you more now? Because you surprised me?”

Your stomach drops immediately. No. That’s not… that wasn’t the point at all.

“What?”

“Or do you like yourself more now, maybe?”

“Okay, you’re being a dick.” You start moving the covers to help you turn over. You don’t want to continue this conversation now, and Joe can talk to your back if he’s not done yet.

“I’m just asking.”

“Well they’re not nice questions.”

Joe goes quiet as he watches you settle and get comfortable on your side turned away from him. He doesn’t want a fight. Doesn’t need to turn something that he’s sure you want to be joyous and celebratory into something that touches reality even slightly. He just wishes that you knew what your behaviour, your actions, what all of that feels like and looks like from where he’s stood.

“Okay I’m sorry.” Joe decides he’s said enough, and scoots over to be a bit closer to you until he’s spooning you. He can still hold you as you fall asleep, even if you’re a bit annoyed with him.

But then you defensively murmur, “That’s not what this was about.”

“Me liking you more?”

“Anyone liking me more.”

“Okay.”

A silence falls for a moment, and you wait for Joe to maybe say something else, but he doesn’t, and suddenly, your annoyance shifts into hurt. “You don’t believe me.” You half whisper, curling up a bit more and sounding way more defeated than Joe was expecting you to sound.

“No, I do. I do believe you. I believe you hate your job.”

He’s right, you do hate your job. So much. But that’s not the part that you need Joe to believe. Joe believes you hate your job, but not that quitting it was the right decision to make.

The silence stretches as you stare at the wall whilst Joe stares at the back of your head.

Eventually he sighs.

“I just hope that the point of all this wasn’t just to prove that I don’t know you, you know? Because you’re right, I don’t know everything about you. I just… I guess I just pay attention.” The shrug that follows is tiny, you can feel it against your back. “I pay attention because I love you.” Joe whispers into the skin of your bare shoulder. “But if that's too much–…” he stops, turns his head away for a second and then back again. “Fine. I’ll stop.”

Before you thought you had this figured out, but hearing Joe murmur those words into the dark room suddenly shapes your want of not being obvious and easy-to-read into something that’s… a little sad.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, ever, all right?” Joe whispers and kisses your shoulder.

You thought proving Joe wrong and pushing Joe away were two completely different things, but right now, they look alarmingly similar.

“All right.” You decide to not get into it.

Maybe the issue isn’t being seen, or being known inside and out by Joe.

Maybe the issue is the possibility that one day, he won’t.

The silence that follows stretches, and neither of you seems particularly interested in breaking it. Eventually, sheets whisper against each other as you feel Joe tighten his grip on you and snuggle his face into your neck. You easily let yourself be pulled firmer into his chest like that because, even though there’s a slight uneasiness you don’t want to face, Joe’s still warm and soft and strong.

The thought ‘he probably knows I still want him to hold me like this’ crosses your mind like it’s a bad thing, and you immediately feel worse for it.

For the first time since this ridiculous, what even is it, a fucking challenge? For the first time since it started, winning doesn't feel nearly as good as you thought it would.

---

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