#define close

When you’d walked out of your bedroom and into the living room, a surprised Josh raised his eyebrows at you. He was leaning back into the sofa and had an acoustic guitar in his lap that he was absentmindedly playing whilst he was watching TV on a low volume. The guitar playing stopped when he saw you and didn’t pick back up as he watched you walk over, pillow in hand, facial expression drained.

“Hey, what’s up?” the guitar got moved onto the floor.

You didn’t answer when you put your pillow down on the opposite end of the sofa and took the blanket you’d slept under before. You curled up, ignored Josh who tried to ask if you were okay a couple of times as you stared at the TV. He asked if you wanted to talk about it. Said you probably should talk about it if you didn’t want Josh to think about this all night.

“It’s going to keep me up if I don’t know if you’re okay.”

You ignored it all, didn’t give a shit if Josh was going to get a good night’s sleep, and eventually turned over and faced the back of the sofa. It sent the message it needed to. It took just another moment before Josh turned off the TV, and then the lights as he left you alone.

This was stupid.

But you were stubborn.

You were stubborn and were going to go to sleep on your sofa, even though you were the one that lived here, and maybe Joe should be the one to sleep on the sofa.

Or actually, he could go home. To his own flat. Where all things were his, and the only things that felt like they were yours were the plants you’d brought in and the toothbrush you’d left by his sink.

Yea.

Joe could just leave.

You didn’t care that he was still paying rent.

 But you didn’t actually get up to go and tell him that. Of course not. You just wallowed in thought. In all the would-dos and would-says. Shivered because this new stupid blanket Josh got wasn’t thick enough to keep you warm throughout the night.

You made yourself cry inside of that soup of goopy misery. Felt what lived inside of your chest as it drowned and mentally apologised to it when, after three hours of not being able to actually go to sleep, after three hours of anger that turned into fragile neediness, you decided to get up and make your way back.

Find Joe.

Because, and fuck him for this, Joe always knew how to fucking fix it.

And there was something so silly about walking down the hallway of your flat with tears staining your cheeks to sneak into Joe’s old bedroom. To find Joe inside of the bed there, the lay-out of the room still the same. Joe’s side of the bed still the same.

The click of the door closing made Joe lift his head up in an attempt to see into the dark.

He hadn’t expected you at all, so for a second, he thought that maybe you’d just walked in to get something. Your phone. Or your charger. But then you walked around to your side of the bed and got under the covers. It was too dark to see your face, but you found Joe’s warm body and snuggled up. Pressed your forehead to his jaw and hummed through a sigh and Joe didn’t need to see your face to hug you closer. Didn’t need to see if you’d been crying to wrap arms around, and to tangle legs, and to press a small kiss into your hair.

You wiggled as you settled and sighed as you sunk deeper into the mattress. You could deal with the disappointment within yourself in the morning.

“I’m sorry.” Joe whispered into the dark, and you decided you could also deal with your disappointment in Joe in the morning, so you softly whined and said, “Pause.”

“Pause?”

“Mhm.”

Everything could just be paused. Postponed. Just for a few hours. You just needed to get some sleep.

Joe wasn’t in a position to not accept that. His heart felt full with the nostalgia he unexpectedly found with you sneaking into this room in order to get some sleep. It used to be like this. He was in the same location. In the exact same spot. Just, everything was yours now.

Me too, Joe thought.

Everything was yours now, including Joe. Whether you wanted him or not.

He squeezed you tighter and saw that you got to sleep. Traced finger tips across skin that warmed under the covers, and tickled into your hair by the nape of your neck, and he could feel how you were drifting off and, fuck off, he was yours.

He’d tell you in the morning.

Joe was going to tell you in the morning.

He would.

When Joe woke up, you were gone.

Fucking figures, Joe thought.

The private moment of waking up together that would’ve granted him the security and comfortability to say whatever needed saying was gone now.

Joe rubbed both hands over his face and scolded himself for not waking up as you had gotten out.

But it was fine.

There’d be another moment for it, he’d make sure.

Venturing out of your bedroom, you weren’t in the bathroom. Nor in the living area. He did, however, find Josh in the kitchen.

After awkward but polite good mornings shared, there was some uncomfortable shuffling around. Joe had made breakfast thousands of times in this kitchen, and he was already reaching to open the fridge when he realised that, actually, that was a weird thing to do. He no longer lived there. He couldn’t just go into cupboards and find the food that he knew was there – he knew exactly where the oatmeal went. He knew exactly where to find the cinnamon to sprinkle on top. How the coffee machine worked. Which cupboard to open to find the mugs.

Joe opted to busy himself making a coffee first. The machine was right there on the counter – less weird to reach for it and prepare himself a morning brew.

And Josh was cool about it. Opened a cupboard for him to fetch him a mug. It was a bit of an awkward dance, but a friendly one, tight smiles shared as Josh prepared his own breakfast.

It wasn’t until the loud noise of coffee beans being ground up that Joe decided to just… ask.

Might as well act like last night actually happened.

“Sorry about last night, mate,”

“Oh yea, no worries, I didn’t…” Josh frowned and shook his head as he scraped some butter onto his toast. He didn’t finish his sentence. Didn’t need to. Took a bite before buttering the second piece.

“Have you seen her?” Joe tried sounding as casual as he could, but failed miserably.

It was as honest and vulnerable of a question he was ever going to ask Josh. It revealed he had no idea where the fuck you’d gone, which in and of itself revealed that there was probably a reason you hadn’t told him.

But Josh was relaxed about it.

“Yea. Morning run. You just missed her, I think.”

And it took all within Joe to pretend that didn’t surprise him as much as it did. He just nodded. Pretended like that was a normal thing to hear about. Morning run. Sure. Miss be-useful-first-thing, what the fuck? When had you picked up that habit?

The coffee machine stopped whirring, and Joe took his coffee. Went for a sip immediately and instantly burnt his tongue. Rookie move.

“Is um… is everything okay? I don’t want to pry, but,” Josh asked as Joe moved around the island to sit down.

“Ah, well… you know,”

No, actually, Josh didn’t know.

Which was good.

Joe didn’t really want him to know.

Joe didn’t really want to explain.

Couldn’t really explain.

Where the fuck would he even begin?

“Hmm, yea,” Josh accepted the non-answer easily. “She seemed upset, but wouldn’t really say anything.”

Joe had to suppress a smile.

Of course you hadn’t fucking said anything.

“I asked like fifty times if she was okay, but she… I don’t know, she fully ignored me I guess. Kind of went catatonic on me a little.”

Joe drank his coffee and nodded.

“To be fair though,” Josh made big eyes at himself, “I was being really fucking annoying. I would’ve rolled over and ignored me too, I think.”

Both men let huffs of air escape them in silent laughter.

Then a moment of silence followed where Joe drank his coffee and Josh ate his toast. Joe realised he didn’t like how Josh knew things about you that he didn’t, but the upside was that it was incredibly useful, actually.

Josh talked where you... well, you did not.

“Did she cry?”

He wanted to know.

“No, she just… watched TV for a bit. I don’t know, she seemed tired so I went to bed shortly after to make sure she could get some sleep.”

That meant that, if you’d cried, you had waited for Josh to leave the room. Joe didn’t know if that was a comforting thought or not.

It didn’t take much longer for Josh to finish his toast and to casually suggest for Joe to make his own breakfast. Mentioned that everything on the bottom shelves of the fridge was yours before he walked out, and this morning was just full of surprises.

You split the fridge?!

What kind of sensible flatmate behaviour was this?!

When it was you and Joe, your stuff would just be thrown in wherever. None of it sorted. Joe would end up having your oatmilk in his coffee and you’d end up using his cheese in your omelettes.

Actually, he remembered how this had been the source of bickering for more than once. More than a couple of times. You would fall out over Joe having your food all the time, if he really thought about it. But it was always playful. Always something fun about it. A reason to swear at him until you made yourself laugh, and a reason for him to shut you up with poking fingers in your sides. The back and forth had never prompted you to split the fridge.

Had you and Joe ever been normal flatmates?

Probably not, he guessed.

Joe decided against breakfast in the end and just finished his coffee. Waited until you got back from your morning run, which he still had a hard time wrapping his head around, and when he eventually heard the front door open, he got up to make you a drink.

You knew Joe was still there by his coat that was hung up by the front door.

Fine.

Fine.

It was fine.

You were sweaty and sticky and hot and you could feel your heartbeat in your face, but it was fine.

Walking into the kitchen, you were welcomed by Joe in jeans and a T-shirt, bare feet, hair stupid, already holding out a glass of juice for you.

You took it and refrained from talking as you had a sip. Looked at him over the glass though, and you hoped that what Joe would see was determination. Strength. That he saw someone who wasn’t going to take bullshit, because you weren’t.

You’d just gone for your very first morning run for fuck’s sake.

For a moment Joe just looked right back at you. Watched you have the drink he poured for you. You had bits of hair stuck to your flushed neck and had to breathe through flared nostrils. It was wildly attractive, if you asked him.

“Morning run?”

You caught a small smirk from Joe that you turned away from. Couldn’t look at him be cute when you were supposed to be mad at him still.

Then, in a rogue move, Joe opened the freezer and took a single look inside to find a frozen pizza he took out and tossed onto the counter.

That was meant to mean something.

You gave it a blank stare as Joe looked at you and you sighed.

“Hey,” Joe tried getting your attention back on him, but instead, you put the glass down and turned around. Walked out. Went to your bedroom.

Joe followed.

“Hey,” Joe tried again, stood in your doorway, watching you collect an outfit. “Talk to me.”

It went ignored.

This was the worst part of not having an ensuite; having to take just enough clothes into the bathroom to change in there. You and Josh weren’t exactly on a just-a-towel level yet. Bathrobe felt scandalous too, somehow, even for the five steps it took to get from your bedroom into the bathroom.

Josh could see you in clothes or not see you at all.

Joe easily moved aside when you walked past him, out of your room, and you looked at him as you did.

“Come on. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Joe tried again.

It didn’t feel like you were fully ignoring him, but you weren’t answering him either.

You were thinking Joe was being an idiot.

You were trying, had been trying really hard to meet him where he wanted to be met, and then he just went and let you know he didn’t trust… you? Your flatmate? The situation he’d created with his own two hands?

Felt unfair.

You didn’t say any of that though. Just walked into the bathroom, and then left the door open.

Joe would get the hint, you thought.

He did, but only when you started peeling off your sweat-soaked top with the door wide open, still.

Joe moved quick. Sort of scrambled to get into the bathroom, to lock the door behind him, and then to help you get your top over your head as you struggled with the damp fabric around your shoulders.

You undressed, and Joe helped, and you made eye-contact the whole time.

You could see how he was searching. Trying to find whatever you weren’t saying in your eyes, his chin tucked in, his eyes pleading, all soft and rounded.

Joe tried.

He really tried.

You were getting naked right in front of him, body flushed and glistening with sweat and he got a good look as you stretched your body over the bath to turn the shower on and then you kept staring right at him as you removed more clothes and you were doing something with your eyes and Jesus fucking Christ, Joe was trying.

Trying to not grab you by the shoulders and give you a good shake.

Trying not to let his eyes skirt downward because you’d just removed your sports bra and, oof, man, that was a lot of skin on show.

Joe was trying not to hold you by the face and trying not to get real close and trying not to whisper words into your mouth in hopes of coaxing out some of your own. Which… he failed. Because he did get your face into both his hands just after you’d reached up to untie your hair. He did get real close. And he did ask you once more to just talk to him, please.

You handled the close eye-contact fine.

Handled the cupping of your face fine.

And Joe couldn’t stop searching your face.

Was there truly no budging?

Was this… was this it?

Had he just gone and fucked it all up for himself? Had the big plan behind his move imploded because he couldn’t deal with the fact that you were now… no longer in his flat with him? Joe’s mind tried to make sense of it, but all he could really come up with, was that you probably didn’t even consider the two of you to be together.

You’d never talked about that.

Had never mentioned it.

Hadn’t labeled it.

You were just close flatmates that weren’t actually flatmates anymore, and… and now what?

He just wanted you to talk.

You were just in your underwear now, stood in a small bathroom and Joe ticked off all boxes in his mind: you were alone, check. You were close, check. You were in your safe space, check.

The shower was hot now, slowly filling the room with warm steam and, fuck, if you would just fucking talk.

Joe was about to repeat himself. Was about to say it again. But then he saw it.

Something changed.

Your eyes softened and your mouth tightened as you tried to keep your lips wobbling. As you tried to not let what was living inside of your chest get out. When you started blinking more rapidly as your eyes stung with tears, you also began avoiding eye-contact and, good. This was good. Joe let you go then, and watched as you got out of your last piece of clothing before you stepped into the shower.

You left the shower curtain open, and Joe thought he’d never undressed quite so fast.

You’d never shared a shower before.

Something about it felt really momentous, but you didn’t have the opportunity to think about it for too long. The thought vanished just as quickly as it had crossed your mind, because when Joe stepped into the bath behind you and held you by the shoulders before curling his arms around to hold you close, you decided that, actually, you were going to talk.

“You left,” you started, voice far thinner than you wanted it to be.

“I know.”

“You left and you’re making me feel bad about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not fair. It’s not my fault you moved out,” you reached up to hold onto Joe’s arm across your front and you felt how your eyebrows knitted together when you softly followed with, “Is it?”

And, fuck.

Something snapped into Joe’s chest.

Something swelled and popped.

He didn’t know what that was, all he knew was that it hurt.

“No!” Joe tightened his arms before he let you go enough to turn around. “No, baby, of course not, is that– do you think I left because of you?”  

You looked at each other, and for a moment, Joe didn’t know if he was looking at shower water or tears that were running down your face.

You gave a small shrug before Joe lifted his hands to your face to wipe at your cheeks. If they were tears, they had no business being there, so he needed them gone.

“I didn’t leave this place because of you. Hey,” you avoided eye-contact, so he grabbed hold of you by the face again where both your of your hands found his wrists. “Look at me. Look– I did not move out because of you, all right?”

Well, he did… but, it was nuanced. He moved out for the both of you. He had to be careful. He couldn’t say the wrong thing and ruin what already felt ruined enough.

You gave a tiny nod that he could feel more than he could see, and you looked so fucking sad, Joe couldn’t help but move in to try and kiss some of it from your face.

He hoped you believed him.

You were naked in a shower together, of which Joe was getting none of the stream, and you were trembling because of things Joe had said and done and all he could think to do was hold you.

So he did.

It was a terrible waste of water, but it felt so incredibly necessary for him to not pull back until you did. Let you take the lead. Curl an arm around your head, the other around your waist, and follow your pace.

Joe felt how you were trying to control your breathing, and, you were right. He wasn’t allowed to be the cause.

He was the reason why you were feeling the way you were feeling and he realised he had been, for a while, probably.

Joe pushed you.

Joe had been pushing you.

He shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have left and he shouldn’t have tried with all his might to keep you as close to him as you had been before and he shouldn’t have taken his jealousy out on you and he shouldn’t have repeatedly asked you to talk to him because look! Look what all of it had lead to?

Your lead.

Your time.

Your pace.

No more making you meet him halfway.

Joe was going to wait for you.

He would.

It didn’t fucking matter how long it was going to take you, or if you’d even get there at all. He was going to wait. If that meant actually befriending Josh like a normal person, then he was just going to have to befriend Josh like a normal person.

Joe held you close until your finger tips stopped digging into his skin so much, and then he softly said, “I’ll wait.”

That made you look up at him.

“I’ll wait for you. I can be patient.”

And, you frowned. Because what the fuck was Joe talking about.

“But…” you started, and you felt it then. You could feel whatever was inside of your chest collect every little speck of bravery it could find within your body. It pulled it from the muscles in your legs and from the bones in your arms. Found some hidden inside the beating of your heart and then some more in the humid shower air inside your lungs. And then, it said it.

“I’m right here.”

Joe blinked at you. Didn’t get it.

“I’m right– Joe, what do you mean, you’ll wait. Have we not been– is this not what we’ve been…” you furrowed your brow at how words seemed to escape you. All bravery gone.

Joe saw.

Heard what you were saying and, before you even fucking knew what was happening, Joe had both his arms around your waist and lifted you up, effectively pressing his face right into your tits as he scared the living daylights out of you because you were in the bath.

“Joe–” you shrieked, but were quickly shut up by his mouth that pressed to yours before your feet had even properly touched down again.

“I love you.” Joe squeezed it from his own mouth right into yours. Barely got the words out normal as he didn’t want to stop kissing. Didn’t want to break contact, lips and hands doing the most.

“Joe,” you laughed, giving his shoulders a light push before you felt something against your hip, and– oh.

“No, I’m sorry. Ignore that. I love you. Did you hear me? I love you. I said I love–”

“I love you too.”

Joe froze before he groaned with both eyes squeezed shut, and you looked down to see how hard that had made him.

“I love you too,” you repeated yourself and saw it jump, leaking already, and Jesus, that was quick. This was a fun game actually. Talking suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

“Hey, I love you. Did you hear me? I said I lovemmpf–” Joe got a hand over your mouth just for the sheer agony of what it was doing to him.

You took your shot and bit right into his fingers.

“Stop it, you’ve got to– you can’t–”

And, yea, you could actually. You shut Joe up with kisses of your own this time.

You were sharing your first shower together, and it felt sort of momentous.

It felt momentous because you’d shared words that had been stuck in the back of your throat for a while now.

It felt momentous because Joe just told you that he loved you.

It felt momentous because you said it right back and everything about it felt right.

It felt momentous because you were going to have loud shower sex and Josh was likely going to hear you and you actually didn’t care about it. You cared more about the pizza that was slowly defrosting on the kitchen counter which actually sounded like the perfect breakfast food, if you were being honest.

You and Joe were just flatmates, but not.

Were just close, but more.

Were in love. Had said the words now, for the other to hear with their ears, and wasn’t that a shocking turn of events after last night?

Joe couldn’t explain it if he tried.

Didn’t really want to either.

As long as you knew. As long as you understood.

And you did. The proof was in the pudding.

Something felt alive in Joe’s chest. And in yours too.

Maybe someday, they could meet.

Have a chat.

Talk things through.

Or not.

They could also just look at each other. Sit on the sofa. Curl into each other and eat pizza. Watch the first ten minutes of films before they’d doze off together. Make fun of plants that got overwatered in a desperate attempt to keep them alive because they were buddies with yours and Joe could never be responsible for the death of plants that had friends, were you joking?

They’d call you idiots.

And, yea you were.

But it was fine.

You were just close. In love. Together. And that didn’t need explaining. As long as you knew and understood, that was all that mattered.

You were all that mattered.

Your lead.

Your time.

Your pace.

Your love.

the end

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He just thought you’d get angry with him. Not that you’d cry. In hindsight, he didn’t fully understand why that hadn’t been the expectation, though. You always felt with your whole body. Heavy emotion and tears always found you fast.

So he’d curled his arms around you then, and it took you a good while to control the spasms inside of your chest. You weren’t technically crying, you didn’t think, but if Joe was going to press you to talk one more time, you’d burst right into sobs.

And then he said, “I’ll wait.”

That made you look up at him, forcing him to slide one of his arms from around your head.

“I’ll wait for you. I can be patient.”

So you had heard him right.

The line in between your eyebrows grew deeper as you frowned at him, because what the fuck did he mean he was going to wait? And, in addition, what the fuck did he mean he could be patient?

Joe had just followed you around the flat trying to provoke you into arguing – that’s essentially what he’d been trying to do. Bold of him to claim he could be patient.

You were in the shower together and you knew Joe was just trying to say nice things by ways of comforting you, probably. You hoped that was what was going on. But he was getting it so wrong.

“But…” you started, trying to both make sense of what Joe meant whilst simultaneously thinking of how to tell him he was dead wrong. “I’m right here.”

And you had been.

Joe was the one that left.

You remembered Joe telling you, “Yea, you’re not going anywhere.” in a tender moment when you were trying your best to comfort him for a change, and you’d reacted the same then. Of course you weren’t going to go anywhere. You were there.

Always there.

“I’m right here.”

Joe blinked a couple of times, and looked a little lost, face blank and unassuming.

“I’m right– Joe, what do you mean, you’ll wait? Have we not been– is this not what we’ve been…”

Doing?

You couldn’t finish the sentence and furrowed your brow at how words seemed to escape you, all earlier bravery gone, because it sounded a lot like a big confession that you’d not vocalized before, and what if you were wrong?

What if Joe was going to tell you that, actually, no, what you were saying was not what you had been doing at all, you stupid bitch.

He wouldn’t say that.

But that’s what it would feel like if you were wrong.

Your brain was swimming, thinking thoughts and trying to draw conclusions where there weren’t any to be drawn when suddenly, it all clicked into place for Joe.

He was such an idiot.

Before you knew what was happening, Joe had you shrieking. He’d bent at the knees, got both arms around your waist and picked you up. It was a cute celebratory thing, because whatever you’d said had been all Joe had wanted to hear for weeks. But it was also really fucking terrifying, because you were in a wet slippery bath and you both had wet slippery bodies and the only way Joe was centering his gravity was by his face that was smushed against your chest and this was exactly how sometimes people got bad concussions.

“Joe–” you squeaked from your throat, and you were about to swear at him. Tell him to put you down. That he was a fucking idiot. That he was stupid and that this was dangerous, despite the smile that was already playing at your face.

But then before you could get any of that out, Joe let you slip down and kissed you hard, right on the mouth. Your back bent away from him and had you disappear into the shower stream, but Joe just followed, hands squeezing your sides and his lips roughly pressed to yours, not willing to break contact.

You tried wrapping your head around how you got from trying your best not to cry to being kissed in the way that you were, already feeling drunk on the giggles you were swallowing, and it felt a little ridiculous.

And then Joe spoke through his kisses and said words you didn’t think you would ever accept from him.

“I love you.”

But actually, it was fine.

You were surprised how easily joy bubbled up from deep inside your gut at hearing him mumble his confession. You couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth, but Joe kept his mouth right there.

“Joe,” you pushed him at the shoulders, and instead of moving away, Joe decided to move closer, feet squeaking against white acrylic. You got cornered until your back touched the tiles and you laughed as you turned your head to break the kiss.

Joe just followed, curled around and got you from the side and, “Joe!” you giggled, because there was water streaming straight into your face, and you knocked one of the shampoo bottles down into the bath, and Joe kept hogging your mouth and you needed that to breathe and– oh.

Joe was hard.

You felt it against your hip and Joe felt how it startled you slightly.

“No, I’m sorry. Ignore that,” you could hear how there was laughter stuck inside of his voice too, but there was something urgent there too.

“I love you. Did you hear me?” he bent to make eye contact, got your chin into his hand to force it. “I love you. I said I love–”

“I love you too.”

The wet words slipped out before your brain could even catch up to it, voice way softer than Joe’s, but you didn’t mean the words any less.

Somehow it was an easy thing to say. It helped that Joe said it first, so you were just parroting which didn’t feel half as embarrassing as you imagined it could have been.

Your words stilled Joe’s whole body, just for a moment, completely frozen, and then he groaned with both eyes squeezed shut and let his head fall, face first into your shoulder.

You grinned when you looked down and saw the direct effect of what you’d said.

Made you want to say it again.

“I love you too,” you made it sound extra breathy that time, not even sure if Joe would be able to hear it over the shower water clattering into the bath, but you could tell he caught the words fine from the way Joe’s knees gave out for a split second, dick jumping and already leaking.

You loved Joe.

“Hey, I love you. Did you hear me? I said I lovemmpf–” Joe got a hand over your mouth just for the sheer agony of what it was doing to him. You took your shot and bit right into his fingers as you smiled.

“Stop it, you’ve got to– you can’t–”

Joe didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence. You got him back in the best way; with wet kisses and with scraping teeth. With hands in his hair that you used to push him right against your face. With a leg that hiked itself up until your knee touched his hip, prompting Joe to get his hands under your ass, lifting you up and pushing you against the wall in an attempt to slip inside.

But all of it was too slippery.

Too wet.

And you were laughing too much to make it work.

So you kissed, with both feet sort of steady in the bath and let your hands touch bits of Joe that made him flinch.

You were sharing your first shower together, and it felt sort of momentous.

“I love you,” Joe said again like they were the only words he knew how to use now, dragging his lips down your throat, pressing kisses to your chest.

“I love you, too,” you replied, biting your teeth into your bottom lip whilst working both hands on him, using one underneath and making Joe gasp.

Joe kept trailing down more until he kneeled and you lost your grip on him. Without warning he pressed his whole face into you, and both your hands found his shoulders as you worriedly tried pushing him back.

“No, Joe,” you pushed until you could look him in the eye. “Stop, baby, you’ll drown.”

Baby.

Joe looked up at you and quirked his eyebrows as he smirked, both because you’d never called him baby before and because of the double entendre.

You meant that Joe could drown because you were in the shower and if his mouth was busy, surely he would end up inhaling the water that ran down your body until he’d fucking choke.

Joe, however, took it to mean something else.

And he wasn’t exactly wrong, either.

“I mean…” he started, making eye-contact with what was right in front of him. Pretty. Glistening. Dripping. Joe was about to say some stupid shit aloud, was about to say that he loved her, maybe even just as much as he loved you, because, Jesus Christ, he really fucking did.

“I’ll happily drown in you.” he got a small kiss in where he wanted to so desperately kiss you, but then you laughed and said, “No. No drowning today.” as you sunk down to your own knees, joining him sat down in the tub.

Joe easily accepted you, hands finding yours to help you down safely, happy to oblige and move to where you wanted him to be, which was sat on his arse where the water hit him overhead.

With his eyes barely open, he grinned widely as you moved to sit on his lap, one knee either side of him, arms slung around his neck. It was a tight fit and skin squeaked against the side of the tub. Joe thought that surely this couldn’t actually be nicer than him getting mouth on you, but, sure.

Your pace, remember?

Your lead.

“I love you,” you mouthed as you went in for open-mouthed kisses which Joe happily accepted, pulling you into him hard, trapping himself in between the two of you and starting quick little tilts of his hips. You helped by finding a rhythm of your own, rubbing over him and holding Joe as close as you could to add pressure where he was so clearly looking for it.

“I love you,” Joe breathed in reply, and they were barely even words at this point. Just wet vowels falling from a gasping mouth that tried telling you how good this already felt, and that he wasn’t even inside yet.

Joe’s lips tinged just as shiny red as the tip of him, and you weren’t sure if you were working up a sweat more now than you had during your run, but you knew that this activity was much preferred over the other.

When you finally lifted up just slightly more and used your fingers to line Joe up to slip inside, you saw how droplets of water spat from his lips as he mouthed a desperate, “Please.”

Joe didn’t need to beg.

But it was lovely when he did.

Made you stall, just to hear him say it again. Have him ask extra nicely.

You felt how Joe’s grip on your hips strengthened, fingertips digging deeper into your flesh.

“Please, please. Baby, please, can you–”

You sunk down onto him, making him disappear inside of you entirely. The loud moan that escaped you surprised Joe enough to move a panicked hand up to cover your mouth.

That just made you whine louder.

“Shh– shhh–,” Joe trembled through shushes, trying for eye-contact, “You can’t– you... you gotta be quiet. You...” Joe faltered, hand moving to hold you by the side of the face, fingers disappearing into wet strands that were then used to pull you in closer to kiss.

God, he fucking loved you so much.

Could you feel it? Could you feel how anguished he felt that he only had two hands to touch you with? Could you feel how feverish and lightheaded you made him feel? Could you feel how there was a deep craving inside of him that only you could satisfy for him?

He wanted you to feel it.

Feel his love.

Joe wanted you to feel how much he loved you, so he used his mouth where he could, and used his hands where he could, and he imagined how the water running down the two of you was getting rid of all the bullshit.

You were being cleansed of all the bad until there’d be only good left.

You were having sex in the bath until it’d be nothing but just love there.

You rode Joe in the bath until your knees starting hurting too much. Until the water than ran down both your faces became too annoying. Until your hands knocked all the other bottles of shampoo and conditioner into the bath behind Joe. Until Joe got too freaked out that he couldn’t shut you up, and wasn’t that an insane contrast to whatever he had been trying to do the night before?

You hadn’t minded Joe trying to get you to be loud.

But Joe trying to get you to stay quiet was infinitely better.

It made you want to be bratty about it. Be loud on purpose. Get those eyes to flare and bulge, wet lips shushing you, but otherwise doing nothing else to stop you from feeling good. Because ultimately, that’s all Joe wanted; for him to be the one to make you feel good.

When Joe came, he made a sticky mess of the side of the bath.

When you came, you made a sticky mess of Joe’s fingers.

You kissed for a while after then, stood up out of the direct surge of water, and you loved this. Loved kissing Joe as your brain slowly found its way back to reality. It was all soft touches and slow movements and a terrible waste of water, but you fucking loved it.

When you thought Joe reached behind to finally turn the shower off, you found he instead reached for a bottle of shampoo.

“Turn around.”

Joe made sure you felt it.

Felt how fucking loved you were.

Massaged your scalp with love in his finger tips.

Rinsed your hair out with love in his palm.

Towel dried you after with love in his arms.

You had never felt this taken care of before, and when Joe reached for your hairbrush, he was surprised to turn back and find two wet shimmering eyes staring back at him in the large still slightly fogged-up mirror.

“Hey,” he curled an arm around your front and you let a wet chuckle escape you. “You okay? What’s going on with you right now?”

You shrugged and felt silly as you looked at each other via the mirror. Joe pressed a kiss against your ear, and you managed to squeak out, “I don’t know, just love you, I guess.”

That made Joe push his forehead to the side of your skull as he bit his lips into his mouth.

“Oh no,” he softly said, wincing slightly before you could see him smile. The effect of those words hadn’t just gone and changed within the last hour, so it seemed.

“I love y–” you were cut off by a louder groan as Joe bent down, hinging at his hips, pushing his head into your ribs and you couldn’t help but laugh as you let your arm scratch up and down his back.

“Maybe,” Joe breathed, eyes squeezed shut for a second in a bid to recompose himself. “Maybe don’t use those words for right now.”

“Got it.” you nodded. “No talking.”

That made Joe turn his head enough to see you smile in the mirror. Joe hadn’t just spent all morning to make you talk only for you to

“All right, no. That’s not what I said, I–” Joe moved to stand up straight again, and you saw your chance to make him double over again.

“I love you.”

“You– hnngg,” Joe had to turn and lean both elbows on the sink, head dropped down, having real trouble finding his breath.

“Tell you what,” you started, smile unable to be swiped from your face, and you grabbed Joe by his shoulders. “I’ll go make breakfast. Throw that pizza into the oven. We’ll have it on the sofa and then you can brush my hair after, all right?” you pressed a small kiss to his shoulder blade and wanted to say it again, just for fun, but decided you’d probably tortured him enough.

You tapped a shoulder to which Joe hummed and then went to leave the bathroom, turning around and unlocking the door.

“Hey,” Joe stopped you just before you walked out, and you looked over a shoulder to make eye contact with him in the mirror once again.

“Love you.” Joe’s constricted voice squeezed out, just because he couldn’t have you tell him three times and not say it back.

You smiled and used a hand to pretend to lock your lips up, making a breathy laugh escape Joe before he let his forehead drop into the crook of his elbow.

Loved you.

Joe loved you and he loved that you loved him. He just needed a minute.

You loved him.

That needed more than a second to acclimate to.

Your love.

He would so happily drown in it, you had no idea.

Perhaps, he should take the lead for just a little while. Make sure he was actually going to survive this.

His lead.

His time, maybe.

His pace, definitely.

But your love.

Always your love.

the end

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson,

@choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn,

@dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee,

@figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4,

@hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke,

@lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr,

@munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories,

@phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn0628, @sidthedollface2, @solzi1420,

@songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73,

@werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

This new casual form of intimacy seemed so small, but Joe felt how it smothered that little grain of doubt that resided in his chest. That little grain that had convinced him that you were probably going to fall into a new routine with your new flatmate after he moved in and, then you would probably grow close to him and Joe knew how you... no.

No.

He couldn’t think that.

It wasn’t fair on you. He caught himself trying to finish the thought a lot, but he knew it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t true. He didn’t even fully believe it. It was this thing. Still, he also couldn’t help how it simultaneously made him grow a little more possessive and made him want to prepare for the worst.

But, she was here, he had to remind himself.

She’s here.

And she was wandering around his space, letting her train of thought flow freely from her brain into his living room and he used to witness this all the time when you lived together still. Joe realised he’d actually missed it a lot, and wasn’t that the whole point? That he got to miss you now?

God, Joe missed you a lot and you were right there and he could just burst at the seams at how fucking lucky he felt.

He was a just normal guy in a normal flat with a normal relationship– well, normalish relationship, anyway. Not that you had talked about anything yet. Of course you hadn’t. But it was pretty fucking obvious what this was. So he had started shrugging whenever someone would ask if you were actually together, which felt a lot better than the forever, “No, we’re flatmates, what are you talking about?” he used to throw at people, practically gaslighting them out of whatever they thought they’d witnessed between him and the girl that he used to live with.

It was working. The plan he had made, this vague idea of normalcy; it was working out the way he had wanted it to.

And yea, sure, you were getting a new flatmate and Joe had a difficult time not feeling some type of way about that, but, he had made the decision to move out and, look at you now.

“Do you think I can get a raise out of this? Or at least get a weird bonus, mid-term?”

Joe had a hard time not laughing at your question as he saw you had already mentally moved onto something else. You were stood in the middle of the room, both hands on your hips, eyes scanning the room. Everything tidy and organised.

“Joe, when did you last clean?”

Joe followed your gaze up into one of the corners of the ceiling.

“I cleaned today.” Joe said, knowing you’d likely not take it as an honest answer. You had lived together, remember? No fucking way was Joe ever going to feel the urge to maybe sometimes swipe a feather duster across the upper corners of his living room.

You shuddered at the thought of what resided behind his curtains there.

You sighed and tutted and turned back to Joe’s kitchen like you were going to start cleaning his fucking ceilings at half past ten at night.

“Hey, no. No, no. Stop. Will you come sit down a second? My god.” Joe huffed, feigning annoyance. When you turned on your heel and giggled as you scurried over, Joe let a laugh escape his throat just before you let yourself fall into the cushions next to him.

He hooked an arm around your neck to pull you in so he could press his nose into your cheek a second. You gladly let him, and when he held you close like that for longer than you initially thought he would, you suddenly realised you’d just been talking about yourself for twenty minutes straight.

Just barged in with unimportant thoughts on your mind that you just verbally vomited right into Joe’s space. You knew it was mostly nervous energy that was only there because your new flatmate picked up his keys earlier, which now meant there was every opportunity for someone to just... walk into your flat at any given time. That had unexpectedly brought on way more anxiety than you previously thought it would do.

Hence why you decided to just... escape it, and went over to Joe’s to spend the night there.

Joe was pressing his nose into your cheek and held you in place for a bit before he moved his head down, hiding into your neck a second.

“You okay?” you asked softly, head tilting down a bit.

“Mm, yea, fine.” Joe inhaled deeply, before pressing a few small kisses to the crook there and moving back to look at you the in eye. He unhooked his elbow from around your neck and placed two cupped hands on either side of your face, swiping bits of hair back in the process.

Joe was leant all the way back into the sofa, head squished in between two of the back cushions and you took a moment to look at each other. Joe studied your face and rubbed his thumbs across the apples of your cheeks until you grew shy.

“You look tired,” you softly said before Joe sat up a little and leant closer. It had you close your eyes just before scrunching up your nose as he kissed the very tip of it.

“I am tired.” He mused, copying your nose scrunch when you blinked your eyes open again, and Joe looked so soft. Sort of pleased with life, happy to be where he was and like he’d just had a really good productive day. He blinked slowly, eyes only half open, and looked sleepy enough to slip right into dreams the second his head would hit his pillow.

You loved him like this. His hands on you, all soft touches. Comfy and cosy and calm. Just you and him. No one else. No threat of someone randomly walking in.

This was perfect.

“Mmm, me too.” You smiled and let Joe grab one of your elbows to pull an arm across his stomach as he sat back again.

“I’m not surprised. You’ve just done a 5K as you tidied this room, I think.”

You huffed a laugh as you sank into Joe’s side, and then you sat like that in silence for a moment. No TV on. No phones in sight for some easy distraction. Just you and Joe and the view of his living room.

“Are you okay?” Joe suddenly asked, emphasis on the you, and you tried hiding the small, hitched intake of breath by quickly nodding and casually going, “Yea. Fine.”

You could feel how Joe tucked in his chin to look at you.

He waited. Wasn’t going to tell you, “No, be honest...”, but also wasn’t going to accept it and move on. It was still like that. He knew you were lying, and you knew he knew, no words shared at all.

So you sighed and took a second, and then said, “Josh picked up his key today.”

And you didn’t want to explain what that meant.

Didn’t want to tell Joe that, for a while, this existing-in-two-flats thing had just felt like a bit of a joke. Just the two of you playing and being silly about whatever you really were. You still sort of thought of him as a flatmate because he still came over all the time, and you went over to his all the time too. You existed in the same space almost just as much as before, sort of.

But now a new flatmate was actually moving in, and suddenly, it felt like reality had slapped you right across the cheek like it had done that day that Joe moved out.

You’d gotten to hide away for a lot of that.

And there was no real hiding this time around.

You couldn’t go home and pretend Joe was going to move back in eventually, because now Josh’s things were going to be all over the flat. Which was fine. Josh signed a lease. His things were allowed to be all over the place.

It was just... things were getting real now.

Shit was real.

“Which reminds me,” you suddenly piped up, pushing uncomfortable thoughts down, tucking those away for another time and place. “This is going to save you some money!”

You saw how Joe’s mouth slowly stretched into a smile as he watched how his own feet rubbed against yours. Then he caught himself and quickly furrowed his brow, saying, “No, I don’t think it works like that.”

You copied his expression, but were more confused than anything else.

“Of course it does. Josh signed the papers, he’s going to start paying rent now, you–”

“I said that I had taken care of things, didn’t I?” Joe interrupted you, fingers playing with the folds in your sleeve of the arm that rested over his stomach. “Can’t just not keep a promise like that.”

You blinked at him a second, then moved to sit up to stare at him harder. If both Joe and Josh paid rent, that basically meant that you... got to live for free for a while? That math wasn’t mathing. One plus one wasn’t equalling two here. You looked around Joe’s flat and tried to think of his own expenses, and... what the fuck was he doing?!

“Joe,”

“You’re not going to be able to talk me out of this.”

“Joe.”

Joe ignored you and faked a yawn, sped it up along with stretched out arms above his head and quickly said, “So tired. Bed?” before getting up and leaving you on his sofa as he left the room.

“You’re insane if you think I’m just going to accept that!” you called after him and heard him laugh from down the hall.

“Did you not just say you were after a weird mid-term bonus?”

And you hated how that made you smile. Made you punch one of the cushions and sink your teeth into your bottom lip begrudgingly as you forgot to breathe a second.

Joe smiled to himself too as he turned on the lights in his bathroom. It felt like he was winning a contest - there was no contest, no one to fight, not really, but, he was definitely winning.

“You coming?”

Breathe.

Calm down.

You could pretend to fight him on this once more in the morning.

Crawling into bed with Joe had its own little routine which was different from the one at yours. Different order of things, because the lay out of the flat was different.

Bathroom first. You brushed teeth together, always had to stop Joe when he washed his face too aggressively and then used your own moisturiser on him. “Just for your dry patches,” you’d always say, but would end up swiping delicate fingertips all over anyway. There’d be a snarky comment, of you using too much, of him feeling too greasy, of how he was going to stick to his pillow all night now, and then you’d always kiss him to shut him up before moving on to do your own skincare routine.

When you’d get into bed, Joe would already be in there, giving his phone a last once-over before he’d scoot down and get comfortable.

This time, however, when you walked into his bedroom, the lights were already off, and it looked like Joe was already falling asleep.

This soft man.

So sleepy.

He was all messy curls and bare arms, duvet tucked under them, curled up right in the middle of his bed. You slid in and cuddled up right behind him, hips against his bum, chest to his back.

You were right.

Joe was already falling asleep.

You pushed a leg in between his for warmth and snuck an arm around his front.

“You’re crazy,” you whispered into the skin of his shoulder which prompted Joe to grab hold of your hand and pull it into his chest so you were hugging him properly. The big spoon to his small one. Then he just hummed as you pressed a small kiss to his warm skin there.

“So crazy.” you nuzzled into his pillow, your nose rubbing his back as you did, and you felt how he ducked his head down to press a small kiss to your fingers.

You fell asleep warm, comfortable, and smiling.

You woke up in the same way.

Just on your stomach now, and with Joe’s heavy limbs slung over your body. When you turned over, it woke Joe up, and for five blissful early morning minutes, you tried crawling into each other’s skin as best you could. Breathed each other’s breath and tasted each other’s skin. Stroked hands underneath clothes and had fingers crawling into underwear, just to touch and to hold.

When you quietly asked if Joe wanted coffee, he groaned and told you to shut up. He was able to feel you giggle to that, and he could cry with how happy he felt in that moment. Why would you have to go and ruin it by getting up to go and make coffee?

“Five more minutes.”

“Mmm... it’s never just five.”

Joe sighed, “Just five.” speech slurring with early morning drowsiness and then burrowed himself into you even more.

And fine.

Joe could have five more minutes.

But then they easily turned into twenty, because they always did, and you had to eventually bribe Joe with breakfast for him to let you go so you could sit up.

“If you take a slow shower, I’ll have it ready when you finish.” You looked over your shoulder where Joe, still with his eyes closed, smiled widely. His nose was slightly red from pressing it into your skin, and his bedhead made you have to suppress a giggle that you hid by leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead before you got out.

Joe barely even felt that little grain of bad in his chest when he thought of how much he loved you.

Because he did.

Joe fucking loved you.

There was going to be a moment soon where he was just going to have to say it. It was going to spill out of him in some other way if he wouldn’t simply use the words, he just knew it.

Joe loved you as he watched through squinty eyes how you reached for a pair of white socks of his to borrow.

Loved you as he watched you pull one of his old sweaters over your head before you walked out, bare legs still on show.

Loved you when he stepped into his living room after his shower to the smell of burnt toast and scrambled eggs and coffee.

Loved you as he watched you step onto a chair in the corner of his room, wet dishcloth in hand to remove the strings of dust you had scolded him over the night before.

Loved you as he felt what the sight of your stretched body, your bare tighs, and the little peep of your bum did to him inside of his boxers.

Loved you as he groaned and let his head fall onto the counter, having to breathe through it, because you were just cleaning his living room, and not giving him a sensual striptease act or whatever.

Loved you as you looked back over your shoulder, raising your eyebrows in surprised confusion before accusingly asking, “Really, Joe? Cleaning?”

Loved you as he stutteringly defended the blood rush down south by saying, “You have no idea what you look like right now.” into his elbow where he had to hide his face for a second.

Loved you, loved you.

He was hardly able to deny any of it.

And he didn’t feel that he had to, either.

Because, you were there. In his flat. In his clothes. Cleaning his dusty ceiling corners. And wasn’t that just something he wanted to tell the whole fucking world about?

That small little green grain of doubt and worry and negativity dried out and got no sunshine to really grow into anything. Thank fuck.

He got to ignore it for a while.

Forgot about it entirely, and pretended it wasn’t even there for a bit.

It was easy.

Joe loved you.

He knew he did.

Would tell you soon.

Didn’t know how.

Or where.

But he was going to say it.

He was going to use his words because he was just a normal guy who loved a normal girl and you weren’t being weirdly secretive about what you got up to in private. At least, not how you used to be, anyway.

Joe loved you.

You brought Joe flowers and cleaned his ceiling and wore his clothes and cooked his breakfast.

Joe loved you, even though your new flatmate Josh turned out to be impossibly good-looking in addition to being incredibly kind as well, so Joe didn’t even get to have a real reason to dislike him at all, which seemed unfair, but, all right.

Joe loved you, even when suddenly two shiny black acoustic guitars appeared on your living room wall, because Josh worked in music, and wasn’t that just so cool?

Joe loved you, even though his very first thought after that was, well I know how to play guitar too, don’t I?! which you had never even mentioned before.

Joe loved you, even when he walked into your flat one evening and interrupted a dinner you were having with Josh and one of your friends and, look, Josh cooked for us, and for the first time ever, he felt uninvited and intruding.

Joe loved you, even when your friend jokingly said, “You’re over here at lot for someone that moved out.” right to his face, to which you then heartily laughed, because she was only joking, Joe, and then you didn’t say anything about how you were together, but, you were together... weren’t you?

Joe loved you, even when he stuck to the bit and handed you his flat key like he always did, expecting to find it in his coat pocket later, but then ended up finding both his pockets empty when he went home the next morning, which, yea actually, that made sense, because Josh lived there now, and it was a little weird to have a key still, wasn’t it?

Joe loved you, even when you had told him to come over on Friday evening because you’d had a shit day at work, and for the first time ever, he had to ring the doorbell to get inside.

Joe loved you, even when Josh was the one that answered the door, and Josh almost didn’t let him in, telling him, “Oh, she’s fallen asleep on the sofa, mate.” to which Joe just smiled as he stepped around him, because what the fuck did Josh even know about falling asleep on the sofa in this flat?

Joe loved you, even when he found you asleep on the sofa, curled up under a blanket he’d never seen before, with an empty pizza box bar some crusts still on the coffee table, and you never ate a whole pizza yourself, so that was obviously shared with someone else.

Joe loved you.

He knew he did.

But there was a playstation besides the TV now, and a cool record player on the side, pile of vinyl next to it, and, God.

Joe fucking hated this.

Whatever was inside of Joe’s chest, that thing he didn’t even want in there, was growing.

Was getting fed without Joe even fully realising he was feeding it.

He hated those guitars. He hated that he no longer had a key. He hated that stupid blanket. And he hated that empty pizza box.

Still, he sat down beside you and placed your socked feet onto his lap. Watched the last scenes of whatever film you’d put on as he slowly kneaded a foot and let you sleep, and he tried his best to not get bitten. To not let it sink its teeth in. To not let it hurt.

It was silly.

Joe was being silly.

Rational thought saved him.

Rational thought told him he still loved you.

And he hoped rational thought was going to be enough.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson,

@choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn,

@dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee,

@figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4,

@hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke,

@lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr,

@munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories,

@phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @solzi1420,

@songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73,

@werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

With your new flatmate, your inside-the-flat behaviour had drastically changed. What was once the exact location of all the intimacy was slowly turning into a place that resembled outside. Where strangers were (Josh). Where people could perceive you (Josh).  

The safety was gone, a little.

When you stirred awake after falling asleep on your sofa, and Joe was still sat by your feet, casually holding onto an ankle still, the first few seconds of seeing him there made you smile. He was watching TV, which was showing something you hadn’t put on, and the changing lights that illuminated him gave you a good look at his profile. At the curve of his nose. At his slightly parted lips. His tongue working along his teeth. Along the inside of his cheek.

God, he looked fucking perfect.

Even with his hair too short and unstyled.

Even with his tongue pushing his face into weird expressions.

You got to wake up slow, felt like you’d been out for over an hour, easily, and loved the little fragment you got of how things used to be. Just the two of you on the sofa. TV on. Soft touches. No one else there to make it weird. To ask questions. To give looks.

Just closeness and gentle affection, a touch of protectiveness as you were being held by the ankle as you’d napped.

But then you heard a kitchen drawer close behind you, and you immediately balled up in a knee-jerk response. You pulled your feet right from Joe’s lap as you tucked in your knees. Ripped your ankle right from his grasp.

And it was silly.

It was just your feet.

Josh likely would’ve seen them on Joe’s lap already.

He would have had to have let Joe in too. You remembered the key you had meant to slip back into his coat pocket but had forgotten about.

All Josh really knew about Joe was that he used to live in the flat, and that you still remained good mates. Close friends. Sort of flatmates still, but not, because, location.

You had gone through every which way of describing you and Joe whilst trying to remain an air of casualness.

Yea, Joe would still come over a lot, since you were friends, you know? Normal stuff.

But then your friend had gone, “Ha. Yea, all right. Good mates. That’s one way of describing it.” Like she’d known anything – she didn’t.

She had no idea.

Not a clue.

She couldn’t have, because you and Joe weren’t like you and Joe were around others.

You didn’t blame her, but you’d quickly changed the subject anyway. Swiftly moved onto a different topic. Asked Josh if he liked pizza, because you had pizza a lot in this flat. Josh did like pizza. But, only without any cheese on. “I’m vegan.” You didn’t think that technically even counted as pizza. But, sure.

It was just your feet.

And it was just Josh in the kitchen, likely not even paying attention to where your feet were.

You realised it a second too late though. Your knees had already been tucked in, and Joe’s face had already fallen. You could see how his eyes darted from you to your new flatmate over the back of the sofa a few times.

In a bid to save yourself, to save the situation, you straightened your legs again and pushed both feet into Joe’s thigh. Masked it as a tired post-nap stretch and smiled through a yawn, doing your best to move on as quickly as you could.

Unbeknownst to you, there had been some quiet conversation going between Joe and Josh. Soft spoken words, no louder than the TV, but not quite whispers either. Voices hushed and kept low because, she’s asleep. And she’d come home and looked like her Friday had lasted a whole month, Josh had chuckled as he picked up the empty pizza box, tidying up.

Joe had scrunched up his eyebrows and couldn’t help his little pout as he’d cast his eyes down to look at you.

“Yea, the pizza sort of gave it away.” He’d said, and for a moment, Josh’s mind swam as it tried to make sense of what Joe’d just said.

And Joe saw, but he didn’t really want to explain it. Didn’t want to tell him that, pizza sort of meant a lot. It was just food, and not even your or his favourite, but there was comfort and routine and pizza sort of belonged to the two of you.

Pizza was yours.

Josh didn’t need to know that.

“Oh, no, this was mine – I had this.”

And, oh, my God, Joe could really fucking kick himself for thinking the worst.

In casual chat, Joe puzzled it together. You’d gotten home. Seemed annoyed. Tired. Overall just in a terrible mood. And Josh had offered you a bite of his pizza – the one he was already eating when you’d walked in. And you’d looked at it for a second and then had gone, “Not hungry. Thank you though.”

Joe was the worst.

He watched you sleep and you looked so peaceful. So soft. He was the actual worst person ever. Drawing conclusions where there wasn’t even anything to be drawn in the first place.

Joe watched you as Josh quietly cleaned the kitchen. Listened as he complained about not being able to open the window in his ensuite, how it would get stuck all the time, and asked if Joe knew anything about that. Joe didn’t tear his eyes away from you as he said, “Yea, she was meant to get that fixed, but ended up just opening the bedroom window to air the room out.”

Your cheeks were slightly blushed, and you sounded a little congested. Joe could hear your breath rumble a bit, like it was getting stuck in your chest. Start of a cold, maybe, he thought, and he knew that it was probably one more thing that had added to all the bad today. All the bad that had made you text him to come over.

To fix it.

And he fucking loved fixing it.

Joe wanted to make you tea and feed you soup and stick you into one of his hoodies. Stuff your hot water bottle into the pocket for good measure. Hold you close to his chest where, sometimes, if he held you there for long enough, you’d suddenly cry. You would sob without explanation, bury your face into his neck, and it was weird but Joe would fucking glow on the inside from the knowledge that you deemed Joe safe enough to get your tears out.

God, he was so fucking gone for you.

Loved you.

Loved you loved you.

Did he not want you to have a nice flatmate? Did he want you to have one that didn’t offer you pizza after a long, rough day? Was he really that terrible of a human being?

No.

He did want you to live with a nice person. One that did offer you pizza after a long, rough day.

It just upset him that it wasn’t him.

He wanted to be the nice flatmate.

Like he had been.

Well.

Fucked that up all by himself, didn’t he?

Joe had to remind himself of all the reasons why he made those personal choices. And the plan had been working. It truly had been. But then you’d just pulled your feet from his lap because Josh was there and... were you embarrassed of him? Was that what this boiled down to?

You pushed your feet into Joe’s leg as you stretched and yawned, and Joe waited for Josh to walk out of the room to tap you just above the knee. To squeeze you there.

You looked up and around, just to make sure you were alone, before you held out your hand that Joe then grabbed hold off. He pulled until you sat up and then, in a rogue move that he didn’t see coming, you leant in to kiss him.

Josh was just down the hall, door wide open.

And you kissed him.

Surprise.

Not moving backwards, then.

It was only short. Just a quick small little thing, but it was lips against lips, and it startled Joe so much, he couldn’t even think to be quiet about it. To not let his lips smack the way they naturally would when giving someone a kiss.

If that bothered you, you didn’t show it, mind too sluggish to catch up to what was happening maybe, and Joe grinned as he softly said, “Hi.” after you broke apart.

“I’m sorry.” was the first thing out of your mouth. You meant for texting him to come over and then promptly falling asleep on the sofa before he had even made his way over. You hadn’t meant to do that.

Joe heard your apology and took it to mean, sorry for the hard flinch away from him, which seemed silly now. You had just gone and kissed him. There was hardly anything left to be sorry for now, was there?

Joe had taken a step forward by being casually intimate with you in front of a stranger - held your feet in front of Josh - and, at first, you had shied away, only to then meet him there on your own terms a second later - be casually intimate with Joe with Josh just in the other room.

A new normal.

Your pace.

It went like that for a while then.

Joe would take your whole hand without asking, only for you to snatch it back and then give him a finger.

Which was fine.

Made Joe secretly smile every time it happened. He started being able to predict it a little too. Knew that if he’d overshoot, he’d end up with what he wanted in the first place too. Which, if you zoomed in on that a lot, could be classified as manipulation.

But you were happy.

So it was fine.

You were trying and so was Joe.

You were trying when, a couple of days later, you found yourself in a pub with Joe and a couple of his friends and he’d convinced you to just get a quick drink, just the one, and yea, that was okay. You could have a drink with Joe’s friends. They were kind, fun people.

You ended up meeting everyone outside, and after a round of greeting, you offered to go get drinks inside. When you came back to join the group, Joe had sat down on a barstool and you went to stand beside him. Handed him his drink. Cheersed him before you went for a sip. And then you felt his hand curl around your hip.

You tried the whole time.

Blushed the whole time too.

You couldn’t hold his hand as you walked home from the pub after that one drink.

But you could accept his scarf getting draped around your neck when he noticed you were cold.

And you were also trying when the two of you were on the tube together, and Joe had spotted someone subtly point their phone at him. Instead of acting like he was alone, like he was just out and about on his own for a second, he sat forward a little and moved his arm to touch your opposite outer thigh. It was meant to be protective, and it did shield you from having your picture taken, but it took a lot for you to not move his arm away and get up to stand near the doors where you could pretend you didn’t even know who he was.

You couldn’t turn around on the escalator to look at him after.

But you could accept the hand on your lower back as Joe guided you towards the exit of the busy station.

You were trying. Actively trying. And it felt like agony if you thought about it for too long. But it was fine if you just sucked it up and went with it.

Joe tried too.

Joe tried his best to be normal about you going out with Josh and some of his friends. Just told you to have a good time. To call him when you got home.

Joe tried his best to be normal when you told him Josh really wanted a dog, and maybe that would actually be so fun, wouldn’t it? You would go to pick out one with Josh, because if it was going to live at the flat, you would have to get along with it too, and wasn’t that smart thinking? Joe had to remind himself that you weren’t getting a dog together, but, that was sort of exactly what was happening, wasn’t it?

And Joe tried his bestest best to be normal when after being buzzed up into your flat, he found your front door left open for him to make his way in by himself, because you were too busy in the living room where Josh was playing guitar and making you laugh by singing about what you were doing and trying to make things rhyme. And then Joe had to try even harder when the song quickly turned into rhymes that made fun of him, which only made you laugh louder.

Yea.

Josh was a nice guy.

But, fuck Josh.

After hearing the giggles Josh was able to pull out of you, Joe became determined to let Josh hear what other noises Joe was able pull out of you.

And for a little while, you relished the attention. Joe had learnt a thing or two about what you liked in bed by now, and he knew how to drag it out for maximum pleasure too.

Joe had laid you down on your own bed, spread you out and undressed you real slow. When you’d gone to grab the hem of his T-shirt, he’d taken hold of your hand and brought it up to his mouth to kiss it.

Just you, then.

All about you.

Which was... you weren’t going to lie, this was fucking fantastic.

But it became a little weird how Joe kept turning his head to look at your closed bedroom door every time you let a moan slip out.

It became a little weird how he kept softly instructing you to be louder for him.

“Come on, let me hear you.”

It didn’t feel wildly out of place, but... something felt a little off about it.

You didn’t mention it until afterwards, when you were sat with your backs against the headboard, and you could see how it lingered on his face; something was off.

“Hey...”

Joe was quick to turn his head to look at you, and he immediately smiled to hide whatever you knew was brewing underneath the surface.

“Hey.”

“Are you okay?” you tried to hide your worry with warmth, which was silly, because Joe’d already seen it.

Joe lifted his arm to throw around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, warm sticky skin to warm sticky skin, and he kissed you on your hairline before casually answering, “Yea, of course.”

And you knew he was lying, but you kept quiet. Silently played with the folds of your duvet over your lap and waited until, finally, you heard Joe sigh.

“Promise not to make fun of me,” Joe started, to which you didn’t respond with words, but instead found the hand that wasn’t curled around your shoulder and intertwined your fingers with his.

Joe took a moment to find the right words.

“But...”

The silence gave your brain time to panic. A million things went through your mind. Every single little thing you’d done that could’ve maybe upset him.

Something was wrong, and you were the problem, because you had definitely fucked up, hadn’t you?

What had you done?

The key.

Fuck.

You kept forgetting about his key. It was there on your dresser. You could get out of bed and give it to him right now if that was–

“I don’t like that there’s a guy in your bedroom.”

And...

Oh.

Was he... was he being serious?

You moved away from him a little to get a proper good look at his face, and followed his gaze to see he was looking at your bedroom door again.

And... oh, God.

You didn’t like that.

That left a weird taste in your mouth.

Made you frown at him. Made you grimace a little.

You understood what he meant. But Jesus fucking Christ.

“Joe...” you started, moving even further from him, sitting up properly now.

“No, I know... I know,” he sighed, lifting both hands that he then dropped into his lap as he made a stupid face. “It’s stupid.”

Which was exactly right.

Joe was being stupid.

Joe had moved out and had forced you to get a new flatmate and now he was being a real child about it. Was calling your former bedroom your bedroom still, which it wasn’t. Was calling your flatmate ‘a guy’, like he was some random dude, which he wasn’t.

“Josh is my flatmate,” you said, trying to make the point that it was normal for him to be in the flat with you.

And then Joe felt it.

Joe felt whatever was inside of his chest, that stupid dark little monster that had been bouncing around in there all night, he felt it crawl up into his throat. Into his voice box.

It was too quick, the reaction too fast.

Joe knew the words were unfair and undeserved and ridiculously accusatory without any real legs to stand on.

Joe heard himself say it. Heard himself snap the words, and they were out of his mouth before he could even begin to try to stop them from even being formed at all.

“Yea exactly.”

That green fucking monster.

Joe saw how your face dropped. Saw the disbelief and the confusion. The did-he-really-just wheels turning behind your eyes that slowly clicked into their yea-he-did slots.

You knew what Joe meant, but desperately tried to find the humour in Joe’s face, because surely, he must have been joking.

It wasn’t a funny joke.

And then, you realised it wasn’t a joke at all.

Joe didn’t smile or laugh. Just looked at you, expression slightly stern but otherwise blank, and holy fucking shit.

No.

You remained calm.

Wanted to fucking scream at him, yell, “What do you think you’re accusing me of exactly?!” and, “Please say that again, but slower, will you?!” but, you didn’t.

Instead you turned around and slowly got out of bed, taking one of your pillows with you.

“No, baby, wait,”

Baby.

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I– I didn’t mean it like that. That came out wrong,” Joe rambled, but you slowly stalked towards the door.

“I’m just,” Joe rubbed an anxious hand across his forehead. “God, I... I don’t know.”

Jealous.

He couldn’t even say it.

But that was okay. You heard him loud and clear, anyway.

“Please come back to bed.”

You reached for the door handle and had already decided you weren’t going to come back to bed. You’d sleep on the sofa and Joe was going to have to think about what he’d just said.

Just before you stepped out, you turned your head over your shoulder and looked at him.

Joe.

Sat in your bed in his old bedroom, chest bared, leaning forward into his own lap like he’d been reaching out for you as you’d taken the four steps it took to get to your door.

And it was the cruelest thing in the whole fucking world to realise right then and there that you... shit.

You fucking loved him.

What he said had hurt, but what he hadn’t said hurt worse. The silent, I know what you are like as a flatmate because I have lived it and now you have another one, rung loud in your ears, and you understood right then that the only reason it felt like your heart was bleeding was because you loved him.

Fuck.

You opened the door without looking, but then heard the soft sounds of an acoustic guitar being played in the living room, and looked towards where it came from.

“Baby,” Joe tried one last time, and one of your hands shot up in warning. He had to stop calling you baby. Had to stop talking all together.

“I’m sorry.” Joe apologised again, voice much softer, much more sincere this time, and you only thought of how Joe wasn’t allowed to be the cause of your pain. Had he not learnt from the past? Had he not listened to you then?

You looked back towards Joe, who was about to open his mouth again to say more apologetic words, you were sure, but you stopped him before he could.

“Joe,” you warned again, but stepped into the hallway anyway, reaching for the door handle on the other side to close it.

Just before you did, you made direct eye-contact with a man who knew he had said the wrong thing at the wrong time, but you just needed him to know extra well.

So you dropped your shoulders and said, “You’re the guy in my bedroom.” before you shut the door.

Joe didn’t move.

Just stared at the wooden panels of the door.

And shit...

You were right.

He was the guy in your bedroom, and why the fuck was he even thinking about anything else?

What else was more important?

Joe had to really force himself to not go after you. You left because you wanted space from him and he didn’t really have any other choice but to take your lead on this one, did he?

Your lead.

Your time.

Your pace.

Fuck.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson,

@choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn,

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@werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

It was a good thing that he found he was able to easily control it with rational thought. Problem was that rational thought had the habit of abandoning him once it got dark outside and he was alone in his flat.

His new flat.

Where everything was his.

Where everything got put in places that he chose. All his things were where he wanted them, all catering towards his routine. Which was why a basket of underwear made it into a bathroom cupboard, and why a shelf got put up near the balcony door, so he had a place to keep his cigarettes and a lighter. Gone were the days of rummaging through coat pockets ‘til he found what he was looking for.

It was sort of great, Joe wasn’t going to lie, living on his own.

It didn’t look quite as nice, not quite as homey, but Joe was sure he’d soon learn what the place was missing. He didn’t worry about it. There were more important things to worry about. Like, how quick dust built up into bunnies underneath the sofa and how every time he’d open his front door, it’d waft out from underneath, only to settle in the middle of the room for everyone to see. Or how somehow he panicked so much about keeping his plants alive that he was systematically overwatering all of them.

Idiot.

It was fine.

Rational thinking.

It was all fine.

Things were different now.

Good different.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” Joe joked as he let you in, pointing out the large bouquet of flowers in your hands.

His place already smellt amazing. Joe made a good roast, and had one going now, things in the oven, bubbling and simmering away.

“If I never did things I shouldn’t do, life would be very boring,” you said, laying the colourful bunch down on his island.

“Did... wait, did you actually get those for me?”

“Have you got a vase?” you were already opening cabinet doors. “You don’t, do you?”

When you didn’t get a reply, you turned to see Joe stare at the flowers. He looked a little dumbfounded.

“Joe?”

“Hmm?” he looked up at you and blinked a few times. “Oh, um...” he squeezed his eyes shut a second, trying to gather his thoughts.

Took too long, you thought.

“A vase?” you repeated, trying very hard to keep a straight face, to not let the smallest inkling of a smile slip through.

“Sorry, I don’t... I don’t think I’ve got a vase.”

Why the fuck would he own a vase, Joe thought.

“I’ll get you one as a housewarming gift,” you found a pitcher. “This’ll do for now.”

There was evidence on the counter of what Joe had been in the middle of, cutting veggies, preparing the gravy. But as you filled the pitcher with water, Joe still kind of hovered in the same spot in silence. Looked at the flowers that you’d brought in and felt silly for how those made him feel.

When you placed the pitcher in the middle of the island and reached for the bouquet, you broke his trance, and Joe softly laughed at himself.

“This is... my God, this is so sweet? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten flowers before.”

“Well,” you smiled back, about to throw stones into your own windows. “I didn’t get them for you.”

“Oh?” Joe immediately felt embarrassed. Mortified. Felt the skin of his neck flush with heat.

“I got them for your flat.”

Got him.

Joe let out the breath he was holding in defeat, dropping his head and smiling. Scoffed softly at himself because you were joking, and he was an idiot.

“You know, give it some colour. Give me something nice to look at when I’m here.” you plopped the flowers into the pitcher and didn’t get the chance to make it look nice, to arrange it a little, because before you could, you got picked up by the waist and shaken about. You shriek-laughed a loud, “No!”

“Something nice to look at?” Joe pressed his face into your cheek as you squealed through your giggles.

“Am I not nice to look at, huh?” Joe squeezed extra tight before he put you down, turning you in his arms and keeping you real close.

“You’re nice to look at,” you said sweetly, still grinning widely, nose nudging up at his. “If I could put you in a vase and arrange you all nice, I would.”

Joe snorted, and you felt it on your face.

“Hmm. You’re funny.”

You got kissed by soft lips that almost felt shy to kiss you.

“Don’t get me a vase.”

And then you got kissed a little harder. Bit more firm.

“I’ll get my own.”

“No,” you objected, speaking right into his mouth. “You’ll get a stupid one with like, frosted writing on, or something. Live, love, laugh.”

You felt Joe’s smile as he kissed you harder, both arms squeezing as they wrapped around your waist tighter. You sighed into Joe’s affection and took great comfort in the fact that you were alone. You were outside of your flat, which was still wild in your opinion, but at least you were alone.

Alone was good.

Joe’d gotten into the habit of showing affection when you were around others, around strangers, and you didn’t think you were ever going to get used to it.

The first time Joe reached to hold your hand, you’d nearly had a panic attack.

It wasn’t very cold, but the wind was cutting. Hurt your forehead as you walked and made you hunch as you pulled up your shoulders to shield yourself as best you could. Joe’s hand finding yours was a welcome warmth for your cold fingers, but it still made you fall silent as you tensed up.

Joe just held on for a few steps, and looked at you. You could see him stare from your peripheral, could feel the burn of it high up in your cheeks, and tried your best to ignore it.

“You can relax.” Joe humorously said, speaking softly and leaning in a little to make sure you could hear him.

“I am relaxed.” You immediately argued, because holding hands with Joe shouldn’t be weird. It should actually be normal. You tangled up with your full bodies more days than you didn’t when you shared a flat. If anything, Joe’s touches were exactly what turned you lax, all floppy and boneless.

“S’just cold.”

“Hmm,” Joe sounded unsure, very obviously not believing you, and squeezed your fingers a couple of times. When you didn’t smile, Joe let his own drop too, and asked if you were okay.

“Fine.” You reassured, growing a little defensive. If Joe could just stop talking about it, that’d be great.

“Should I– do you want me to let go?”

“No, it’s okay.” You said, sounding a little squeaky, but you doubled down with a squeeze of your own.

Joe took it, accepted it, albeit a little unsure if maybe he’d made the wrong move here. But you’d walked along, and you held hands, and when you fell into random conversation again, holding your hand became something Joe stopped thinking about. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb along yours, and at one point used his grasp to pull you in front of him when you had to share a narrow bit of pavement with oncomers.

You weren’t like Joe.

Not for a single second had you been able to be as casual about it as Joe had been.

You focussed on your hand the whole while you walked, and couldn’t help but check to see if others were looking at it. If strangers that passed you looked down at your hands. To check if they could see. If they somehow knew that you’d never done this before.

You had.

But not like this. Not outside. Not in public.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to hold Joe’s hand, but there was something about this new phase you were in, where Joe walked over to yours to pick you up to go out for dinner together. Where he had to ring the doorbell and ask if he could quickly come up to use the toilet before you left. Where he pretended he didn’t know where the bathroom was and made you show him the way. Where he faked being anxious when you left your flat, saying that he hoped you liked the restaurant he booked a table at. Where he nervously asked if you liked Italian food, as if you hadn’t shared a million pizzas together.

Things were different now, and although you were close, would often do everything you could to dissolve into his skin, walking hand in hand through the streets of London felt insane. Like you were moving too fast, even though you understood how silly that sounded.

You’d spent that entire walk thinking of a natural reason to let go of his hand, and Joe had felt your fingers twitch. Felt how you seemed to change you mind about it every three seconds. But, you’d said he could hold onto you, so, he simply did.

It wasn’t until you reached the restaurant and used the heavy door as an excuse to wiggle your fingers from Joe’s hand, using both of yours to pull it open.

Baby steps, Joe thought as he smirked to himself, astonished that he’d gotten to hold your hand out in public for over ten minutes.

He was sure you’d slap him away the second he even attempted to intertwine your fingers together.

Which, coincidentally, was exactly what you did the first time Joe tried to lean in for a quick peck on the lips as you said goodbye to each other outside of his flat.

You’d been out, and were both in a bit of a rush to get home. You thought that the way you’d hugged his arm for a second was plenty goodbye. You’d pressed the side of your face to his bicep and said you’d see him later.

You’d reached the point where you wanted to go cross the street as Joe would walk the other way to get to his front door, and when you tried to step away, he yanked you right back by the elbow.

The way you recoiled away from him was so extreme, it startled Joe. You almost made it look like he was about to hit you.

“Jesus,” he mumbled under his breath, and you immediately apologised. You stepped back closer to him, were about to accept a quick kiss as an apology, but let your eyes nervously dart around to see if there were other people. If there were witnesses.

Joe just looked at you, blinked a few times and then, instead of leaning in for a quick kiss, squeezed you in your side.

“Calm down. Call me when you get home.”

And you’d blushed at how Joe’d smiled at you before he turned to head inside. Your face had remained hot until you got home where you then had to take a moment to shake all the nervous jitters from your body.

It was such a weird spot to be in, Joe thought.

How he couldn’t get too close if there was the slightest chance of someone seeing, but to have you literally whine at him inbetween his sheets if he didn’t touch you in the right spot with the right pressure at the right speed.

But steps were being made in the right direction.

You each had you own place now, and Joe made a point to sometimes not see you for a few days. He kind of enjoyed getting to miss you. He liked how his stomach did flips when you’d ring his doorbell after not having been over for a few days. He liked how absence made his heart grow fonder, and how that felt healthy.

Joe assumed you felt the same way; maybe you didn’t like it as much as he did, but surely you also understood how this was at least more normal.

He never thought that what the two of you were before was toxic.

It was just... weird.

Good weird.

But this was better.

Still a little weird, he wasn’t going to lie. But better.

He got to tell you to call him when you got home now. He got to invite you over to his flat for Sunday roast now. And you would then come and bring him flowers now.

Joe had never received flowers before. Well, maybe he had. But not like this. Not from a girl who brought them just for him. Just because. He kind of loved it. Kind of loved you.

“God, you were right.” Joe said, eyes unblinking, comfortably staring.

Both satisfied and full after an early dinner, the two of you laid out on Joe’s sofa - the one that took six weeks and then two more to arrive - and both looked at the bouquet up on the kitchen island. You were tucked into his side, with one of his arms slung around your frame. You held one of his hands with both of yours and absentmindedly played with his fingers.

 “I don’t know how this works but they kind of make the whole room look better.”

“They do.” You agreed, smiling, because you did that. You turned your head, tilting up to look at Joe’s face. “Please let me pick out a vase for you, though.”

Joe’s grin slowly grew as he said, “Absolutely not. Might just keep the pitcher for flowers only, I kind of like it.”

“Ugh,” you grimaced. “This is such a boy’s flat.”

“Well,” Joe started, raising his eyebrows, finally breaking eye-contact with the fresh bloom, tucking in his chin to look down at you. “I am a boy, so, that checks out.”

For a moment you just looked at each other, smiling, cuddled up into the corner like you always were cuddled up into the corner together. When you saw Joe flick his eyes down to your lips, you pulled the hand you were still holding closer to bite right into the skin between his index finger and thumb.

Joe pretended to flinch, but you were barely leaving marks as you smiled through the bite, big eyes looking up at him. Joe took a moment to just take you in. The way you looked at him had him biting his own lip before he tried to grab hold of one of your hands to pull into his mouth.

You were already scream-laughing and trying your best to pull your hand away before he even got close. It left you in a wrestling pile of limbs, Joe with his mouth open, growling and ready to bite at whatever got close enough. He ended up getting at bit of your sleeve in between his teeth, pinning you down into the soft seat-cushions and he felt drunk with joy.

He was so fucking happy.

Pretty girl in his flat, giggling away on his sofa, and she’d brought him flowers. It was kind of disgusting how he’d turned to goop on the inside.

Joe didn’t wait for your giggles to die out to get his lips on yours and kiss you silly.

There was something living inside Joe’s chest.

It was sticky and sugary sweet and Joe loved the taste it.

Loved how it bubbled over and leaked into his stomach.

Loved how it swirled into his limbs and made him reach for your hand to hold when you were walking outside.

Loved how it made him put his arm around your shoulders to pull you tightly into his side as you waited to get your coffees whilst the barista prepared them.

Loved how it grew as he took the lead on this new way of being together the way you had done before when you still lived together.

It made Joe want to introduce you to someone as his girlfriend, knowing full well that you hadn’t had that conversation yet, and that you’d likely have a melt down, but God.

It was just what he wanted to do, he couldn’t help it.

He wouldn’t.

There was a high probability that you’d actually murder him if he pulled a stunt like that.

The fact that you were kissing like this outside of your flat right now was already sort of stretching it, Joe knew.

You let Joe kiss you on his sofa for a minute. Let him slide his nose around yours with an open mouth that hovered over yours inbetween kisses. He made you work for it, having to lift up your head for more when he teased you for too long.

When you felt how Joe started readjusting his position on top of you, you knew you had to break it off.

“Hmm– Joe, no, I gotta–”

“Hm?”

“I gotta go, there’s– stop, there’s a potential flatmate coming over in a bit, I gotta– Joe!”

Joe finally broke away with an annoyed grumble leaving his throat as he did.

“Fine.”

“I can... I could always come back after?”

Joe shifted enough to let you escape the sofa.

“Hmm, you could, but I do have an early morning, so it’s probably not worth the trouble.” Joe sighed, lying back with an arm curled behind his head, watching you twist your clothes so it all sat right again.

“No?”

“I’ll probably be asleep by the time you make it back here.”

“Well,” you started, slinging your arms into your coat. “All depends on how long this is going to take. If it’s another 19-year-old trying to negotiate for a 30-70 rent split first thing, I’ll only be a second.”

“God, for your sake, I hope it’s not another student. But for my sake...” Joe made big eyes, giving you a suggestive look that broke into a smile when you laughed.

You gave Joe a last quick kiss as you bent over the sofa and told him you’d see him later, all casual.

Joe’s smile lingered as he watched you walk out.

“Call me when you get home!”

Yea... there was something living inside Joe’s chest.

And it was cuddly and fuzzy and comfortable and good...

For now.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @bylermaxmayfield, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

So you woke up in your own bed the same way you’d gone to sleep; by yourself, all alone, tired as fuck, and being stared at by Joe’s little plant.

Joe’s little plant that, deep sigh, desperately needed watering.

With a low grumble stuck in the back of your throat, you got up and out of bed and went to feed that little plant. Meanly whispered, “You don’t even belong here.” to it as you poured some water from the cup that held your toothbrush in your ensuite.

You immediately felt bad for it, and followed it up with a soft, “No, I’m sorry, you do. I just haven’t slept well. Sorry.”

Idiot.

Talking to a plant.

You needed some coffee.

Joe’s bedroom door was closed, which checked out, he was probably sleeping off a hangover. But halfway through breakfast, you heard the front door open and frowned in confusion. Your mind shot over who the fuck that could be besides Joe. Who else had a key beside both your mums?

But then, a sweaty, wet, rosy-cheeked Joe walked in, all out of breath, already pulling his T-shirt over his head that he then used to rub at his curls before pushing them back.

You nearly chocked on your bite of toast.

Joe smiled, still panting, and leant both arms on the island right next to you. Bent all the way down to do some stretching, and then stood up, only to lean over and take a bite from the piece of toast you were still holding.

If you’d have been more alert, you’d have moved it out of his way.

But, clearly, you were not more alert.

Not your fault, though. Clearly.

“Morning,” he grinned, breathing through flared nostrils as he chewed.

You comically blinked and checked your wrist that didn’t hold a watch for the time.

“What the... are you still drunk?”

Joe laughed as he opened the fridge, fishing out something to drink. He found a bottle of water and you watched him closely as he gulped some of it down.

“What time did you even get in?”

“Not that late,” Joe shrugged, “Two-ish, I think?”

You saw how he eyed the breakfast you were still holding, and yea, you weren’t that hungry anyway. You dropped whatever there was left onto your plate and slid it across. Joe happily went for the scraps.

“And already all alert and awake at,” you tapped your phone to actually check the time and grimaced. “Oh, never mind.”

It was nearing in on half 9.

Felt much earlier. Probably because you’d barely slept.

“You should try it,” Joe said, eyes on what he was about to shove into his mouth, all casual, like he wasn’t half naked and shiny with his own sweat. Wet curls trying to creep onto his forehead like their life depended on it. Cheeks all red and blotchy. “Come running with me sometime. Really makes you feel useful first thing.”

You scoffed at him despite how good he looked.

Shit. He looked so good.

But Joe had said that like you didn’t get up early to go to work five days a week. Like you didn’t leave him in his bed only to turn over and go back to sleep once you’d left.

“Um, I’ve been useful plenty, mind you.”

“Oh yea?”

“Watered your plant first thing.”

“My plant?”

“Your plant.”

Joe’s eyes scanned you for a second, and you almost grew shy.

“It’s in your room.”

And with that, Joe rounded the island and bent to push his face into your neck where he left a wet raspberry that made you squeal before he left for a shower.

You didn’t talk about how you’d slept in separate beds for the first time in ages. You didn’t mention how your arm had reached across several times in search of him, and how you’d felt stupid for it every single time you remembered he wasn’t there.

At least breakfast hadn’t been awkward.

He was insane for walking in like a wet dream, sure. But it was ultimately all fine.

And it wasn’t like you ever talked about anything ever before. If anything, this was as normal as it had ever been between the two of you.

So you went about your day. Had many important activities to do. All crucial business. Almost too much for just one girl, but you know, you were a real go getter.

You moved the little plant from your dresser to your windowsill where it would get some actual sunlight, and then fell asleep on the sofa to some bad TV.

Like you’d said; crucial business.

The evening came around fast, and after your shower, you found yourself sat on the floor by the foot of your bed. Your nose stung from the open bottle of nail polish remover by your feet, and you felt how it dried the absolute shit out of the skin of your toes as you’d forgotten to get the acetone free kind.

Across the hall you could hear Joe brush his teeth in the bathroom, and you silently prepared yourself for another night of shitty sleep.

You didn’t know if you could muster up a stupid excuse to sneak into his bed tonight, and after sleeping apart, it felt like there was a new threshold in place. One that was too high. If Joe wasn’t going to invite you over, you probably wouldn’t.

You’d moved onto your second foot when you heard footsteps coming closer, and then Joe appeared in the doorway to your bedroom.

Obviously, you immediately noticed him.

Didn’t mean that you also had to immediately acknowledge him, though.

You kept eyes on the task at hand, using a thumb to really push down on a cotton round that tinted pinker with every swipe.

Joe just stood there, leant against the side and you tried to imagine what Joe was looking at. You were sat on your rug like a dirty little gremlin, inhaling chemical fumes that would leave you loopy if you didn’t close that bottle soon.

You eventually cracked and went, “What?” without looking up.

You could feel Joe smile.

“Looks good there, in the window.” he commented, and that did make you look up, finally. You followed Joe’s gaze and turned to look at his crispy wave that you’d placed there.

You knew Joe was just making conversation, but you didn’t really know what to say. For a moment, it was quiet and you both just... look at the plant.

Then, you let your filter drop a second and surprised yourself when you said, “We got caught yesterday.”

You said it before you looked at him, and you were glad for it. When you did turn your head his way, he was already frowning in confusion. You were glad you hadn’t seen him go from a cheeky smile into that muddled glower.

“What do you mean?”

“I told her. Had to, tell her. She asked.”

You didn’t even say what you told her. You trusted he’d get it. So many things went unsaid with you, surely, this could be one of them.

You were right, because in true flatmate fashion, Joe didn’t ask.

Instead, you watched his face change back into a soft amusement as he lowly chuckled to himself. Looked down at his bare feet. Nodded and sighed. Visibly dropped his shoulders.

You didn’t understand what was funny.

But you also didn’t ask.

And then, Joe turned and just... left. Walked back over to his own bedroom.

What the fuck did that mean?

You should’ve just asked.

You didn’t. Of course.

You had a task to do. Two of your toenails were still red. And the skin of your fingers was starting to stain now too.

You finished up, cleared all your toenails of the chipped polish and kept your ears pricked up. You could hear Joe’s wardrobe doors slide a few times. The clinking of his metal hangers. Things being dropped to the floor.

Weird time for a wardrobe clear-out, but, you kind of got it. You’d just mentioned it for the first time... ever? In front of him. Said you’d spoken to a friend about it. You’d just told Joe you’d talked about something intimate and secret between the two of you that you had never even spoken about to each other. It was at least a little unsettling, wasn’t it?

You remembered the last time you’d gotten weird news at a similar time of day and had decided that you needed to clean the kettle at half 11 on a Thursday.

People coped how they coped.

It was fine.

You double checked if the rug had any pink marks on, were glad to find that it hadn’t even though you hadn’t exactly been very careful, when you heard Joe’s wardrobe doors slide shut.

You paused.

Waited for the noise of him getting into bed.

The rustling of his duvet.

But then he suddenly called, “You coming?” and despite yourself, you smiled. Tried to bite it into your mouth to hide it, but that made it only grow wider.

“One sec!” you called back and hoped that the excitement wasn’t so noticeable through your voice. You quickly went and made your bed, so it looked all tidy. Got rid of the dirty cotton rounds that stank up the whole room and turned off the lights before making your way over to Joe’s room.

There you saw that Joe had neatly stacked all of what was inside of his wardrobe in piles on the floor just outside the wardrobe.

Awful.

Men were messy and awful.

But men also had warm beds they wanted to share, and Joe was holding up his covers so you could go and sneak in, and so you didn’t waste any time. Snuck right in on your respective side of his bed.

And then... it was awkward.

Kind of. Maybe.

You both laid on your backs, arms above the covers, and stared up at the ceiling and... now what?

Why was this suddenly weird?

You could think of a few reasons, but they were nothing to delve into right now.

After a short moment, Joe turned his head to look at you, and so you did too. Looked at him. Saw how he looked at your shoulder. Your arms. Your chest, probably.

"Nice T-shirt."

Oh.

Yea, that was his.

“Looks good on you.”

If the goal was to make you smile, he had succeeded. With flying colours.

But then his face turned serious, and he said, “But you know, it probably would look a lot better on my bedro–”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You’d already rolled your eyes at him before he’d even finished the cheesy pick-up line and stopped him before he got to complete the punchline. It made him laugh, and you were quick to roll yourself half-way over him because how could you not kiss that pretty mouth shut?

And this was it.

This was the answer.

All hints at awkwardness vanished the moment you pressed your lips to his.

The moment Joe’s arms wrapped around you.

The moment he kept you in place with a tight grip, right on top of him.

The moment he let a hand wander to grab at your ass.

The moment he encouraged you to alleviate some pressure over one of his thighs.

When you felt how hard he was.

When you lost all control over your breathing.

Felt how Joe kept holding his, only to release it in shudders every couple of inhales.

You had never had actual sex before. No, wait, you did. What you had seen and felt and tasted of each other already did also count as actual sex. But it had all been hands, fingers, mouths. You'd never let Joe inside with more than his fingers. Twice his tongue.

Joe was just as aware.

He was happy to just make out for a while. Touch your tits. Help you ride his thigh. Have you sneak a hand into his boxers after, to make things wet and sticky inside of the cotton.

You know. Normal flatmate things.

But you kind of wanted more.

You’d never had more, and Joe’s hands were good. His fingers were nice. No complaints at all. But you wanted more.

Joe stilled when you pulled him out of his boxers. Pushed them down a little to reveal all of him.

"Are you–..." Joe whispered, and it was so soft, you could barely hear it over your own breathing.

You were already lining yourself up.

"Wait– are you sure you want– did you– ahmm..." Joe let his head fall back into his pillow and groaned when you used him to rub at yourself. To make yourself feel good a second.

Drove him fucking insane.

You liked that.

Liked how Joe so easily showed you the effect you had on him.

Liked how audible he was when you pressed him there a little harder. Moved him there a little faster. He almost sounded pained.

He started looking more and more like he did that morning when he’d come back from his run.

“Are you sure?” you teasingly asked when you moved him to where he could slip inside with just a simple thrust of his hips.

Joe made eye-contact and you laughed at the deadpan sarcastic glare you got. Of course he was sure, were you fucking joking?

Your laughter died fast as Joe did exactly what you wanted and pushed up, slipping inside.

“Shit.” You moaned.

“Yea, shit.” Joe confirmed.

And yea.

This could be a new flatmate thing.

Sure.

Riding your flatmate was fine.

So normal.

You cuddled on the sofa and had pizza together because it brought the both of you comfort.

And this brought comfort all the same, didn’t it?

Made your legs cramp a bit quicker, sure, but intimacy was intimacy and if you both liked it, then why not?

What was stopping you?

Joe came first.

Gargled, “Oh fuck!” before pulling you up to free himself, and it fucking went everywhere.

His fault, he panted, followed by a quick apology. He shouldn’t have held onto your waist to keep you in place and shouldn’t have started thrusting up into you like a fucking animal, he explained.

You didn’t mind.

Joe coming first didn’t feel like a mistake.

It was actually kind of hot that he got so into it that he couldn’t hold it back any longer. Maybe not the sperm exploding over fucking everything, but you knew Joe didn’t think this flatmate activity was done until you’d orgasmed as well. That was how it had worked up until then, anyway.

You expected him to maybe get his hands in between your legs, and you were already sort of moving into a position to make that easy work for him, but then Joe surprised you when he said, “Go get your toy.”

You froze and looked at him.

“No?” he asked when he saw your face.

“I– What? Have you snooped–... wait. Do not answer that.”

Joe had never snooped. Wasn’t a snooper. He still didn’t know where most the things in your kitchen were kept.

That meant that he’d heard it.

Mortifying.

But there was no time to feel mortified.

Joe nodded his head towards your room, casually said “Go get it, let me play.”

And, okay. Fine.

Joe was allowed to play.

Twice.

Joe got to play twice.

He pushed for a third time, but you had to put your foot down. Had to push his arms away from you pleadingly.

Too much.

Good though.

This was definitely  going to be a new flatmate thing. You’d personally see to it. Surely, Joe was on the same page.

You got a kiss to a sweaty temple and were instructed to put that toy back, go for a wee, have a sip of water, and come back to bed.

You did as you were told, body still buzzing when you got back in between his covers where you saw Joe reach for his phone and set an alarm.

Half 6.

“Are you going to get up early to feel ‘useful first thing’ again?” you joked, moving your hair to where it wouldn’t hurt when you lied down on Joe’s pillow.

Joe huffed a laugh and placed his phone on his bedside table before saying, “If I were, would you join me?”

“No.” you simply said as Joe turned around and pulled you closer. “But change it to a walk, and it’s a strong maybe from me.”

Joe cuddled up close and used his nose to push at your cheek until there was enough space there for him to burrow into your neck.

“No, you’re the worst to go on walks with,” he mumbled all close to your ear.

That tickled you, and you giggled as you acted outraged. “What?”

“You have zero spatial awareness,” said the boy who was giving you zero personal space at the moment. “You keep bumping into me every four steps, it’s so annoying.”

You laughed and tried pushing him away, but it only made him burrow deeper.

It was quiet for a second then.

Just his breathing in your ear.

Darkness surrounded you and, shit, it was so nice to have an arm over your waist. A leg pushed in between yours. You never wanted to sleep alone again.

Maybe you could just turn your room into a huge walk-in wardrobe.

Or an office.

Joe could read scripts and practice lines in there, and then this bedroom wouldn’t have clothes all over the floor like it did now.

Maybe you’d talk about it tomorrow.

You felt like you’d made a good attempt at communication today.

Baby steps, you know?

“Well,” you whispered, ready to let yourself drift off into a deep sleep. “Enjoy your run all alone by yourself, then, loser. Good night.”

You felt Joe’s stomach tense with silent laughter as he squeezed you even closer to him. You used a lone finger to trail soft lines up and down the arm that held you. It took mere seconds for you to feel how it gave him goosebumps there.

It was disgusting how you were about to fall asleep with a smile plastered onto your face.

Absolutely vile.

You fucking loved it.

“M’not going for a run,” Joe then replied on the back end of a sigh, of a sleepy satisfied hum, words slightly slurry with how close to falling asleep he already was.

This was the good stuff.

All warm.

All cosy, toasty and so stupidly comfortable.

His face in your neck and your body surrounded by all of his.

Sheer bliss.

“I’m moving tomorrow.”

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @bylermaxmayfield, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma77645, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

For in the corner. Or, wherever else Joe wanted to put it. He got to decide that for himself. You knew where it would go best, but, it wasn’t your flat, so you weren’t going to push your opinion. Not unless he asked. It would absolutely look best in that bit of dead space by the–

No.

His flat. His plant. His choice.

A big plant. A gift from you to him. Former flatmate to former flatmate. To be friendly and kind and normal.

To say sorry.

But, without words.

Joe could just accept the gesture and not mention it and then you could go back to normal. Or, well, find a new normal. That would be best.

People gave people plants for house warming gifts, didn’t they? This was normal. If someone would ask, it wouldn’t be weird. And the little plant that you carried in the tote around your shoulder was technically his, so that wasn’t strange either.

“Here you go!” someone else entered the shop just as you left, and held the door open for you.

“Yea, got it! Thank you!” you tried to sound more upbeat than you were whilst you carefully manoeuvred yourself out. Polite smiles got exchanged and you adjusted your grip a little, the big kentia palm heavy in your hands.

House warming gift.

Normal.

You were a normal friend, making your way over to your normal friend who was  moving into his new normal flat and you were bringing normal house warming gifts.

If his dad was still there you could say that you just went out to go and replace what you’d accidentally broken.

You really hoped he would be there still, weirdly. His dad. Wished for the barrier of another person there.

And your panicked walk-out from earlier was easily explained too. You’d made a mistake and had felt embarrassed.

Normal. Hauling a massive plant across London, maybe not so normal. But fine. With every step you took the plant grew heavier and you grew more uncomfortable. Two nights of barely any sleep really weren’t working in your favour here. But, it was fine.

Walking up, you noticed the moving van was gone.

When you rang his doorbell, you waited to maybe hear Joe’s voice ask who was there, but the door just buzzed and you were let into the building.

You didn’t have to wait for the lift, and you kind of wished that you did. That you’d had a minute to collect yourself.

But no.

Second floor.

And Joe’s door was already open, the flat all quiet. Bin bags filled with what seemed to be just plastic wrapping were placed to the side and all boxes seemed to have made their way into their new respective rooms.

And, then, there was Joe. Stood in his kitchen. On his own. Busy with– something. You couldn’t see what he was doing, since he had his back turned.

He’d obviously heard you come in, but he didn’t turn around. Even after you cleared your throat, he delayed greeting you and made you feel like a fucking idiot.

“Surprise,” you said in a small voice, far more shaky than you wanted it to be. “Got you a house warming gift, and,” you put the plant down and reached for your tote. “And, also, this. This is yours, too.”

Little crispy wave.

You put it down and gestured a nervous hand Joe didn’t even see. It felt stupid and awkward.

It took another moment before Joe turned around.

He didn’t even look at the big plant. Or the little one. Just looked right at you and kept his face all serious.

“Can we talk?”

No.

“Sure.”

And then you just looked at each other a moment. Shared unsaid things with looks, the way you always did, but you remained frustratingly closed off as Joe tried to pry you open.

He copied the way you were standing then.

Crossed his arms over his stomach and then pulled his shoulders up to his ears and kept them there as he made big eyes at you.

Was he making fun?

You shrugged as a response. Nodded a little and pretended to be nonchalant about it. Yea you were closed off. Had Joe forgotten he hadn’t told you he was moving out? That everything about the current situation you found yourselves in was unwanted and uncomfortable because of him?

And, okay, sure. Yea. You had your hand in this way of being with each other too. But you were the way you were inside of your flat, never out.

So you remained distant.

Kept your arms crossed and stayed right where you were, even though what you craved most right in this moment was the exact opposite. But you couldn’t just step closer and hug Joe right now. Couldn’t just be hugged by Joe right now.

“I don’t–... what am I to you?” Joe asked, genuinely curious.

The sun, you thought. The light when everything else was dark. Softness when everything else had sharp edges. The bit of comfort amongst all the excruciating grief. The fix.

Joe was the fix to every single problem you’d ever had since you’d moved into your flat with him all that time ago.

You said none of those things, of course.

Couldn’t.

So you just blinked rapidly, and hoped you wouldn’t actually cry. It didn’t feel like Joe was in a mood to be very comforting right now, so you really tried your hardest to keep a straight face.

“Tell me. What are we?”

You very nearly said flatmate. But your throat grew thick, and you shook your head. Unable to answer. Flatmate was the wrong answer, anyway.

“No?”

More head shaking. Couldn’t say shit. Joe was no longer your flatmate.

“Well, what... what do you want me to do?” Joe sounded kind, but defeated. You were making this unnecessarily difficult, and Joe didn’t have the answers.

So, you tried your hand at one. At an answer.

“To, um...” you had to stop, clear your throat before you continued, “To water that plant at least once a week.”

You deflected just like you’d done earlier that day. When Joe’d laughed and had hugged you and you hadn’t hugged him back because you weren’t alone in your flat and you never hugged outside of your flat, and fuck off, you were such a stupid bitch, you should’ve just hugged him back then.

“Keep it out of direct sunlight–” your voice wobbled as Joe cut you off.

“No, stop it. Don’t, you’re– baby, please.”

Baby.

That shot you right in the chest. Made you drop your head as your face scrunched up and tears fell right to the floor.

Baby.

“What do I do? What do you want?”

Concern flitted across his face, and if Joe thought that this was going to help you get your words out, he was dead wrong. The want to just leave once more was there. You felt it in your legs. In your feet. In the way the corners of your mouth got pulled down by emotion and exhaustion and– you weren’t made for this shit. You wanted out.

But Joe was quick.

Before you could even bring a hand up to your face to hide your pout, Joe was there. Curled arms around your back and tightly squeezed you against his chest so you got to hide your pout in there. Rested his head atop yours and softly shushed you.

You weren’t even really crying, but Joe’s embrace was welcome anyway.

It always was.

“I know you see it. You see it right? Feel it?”

You nodded. You did see it. Did feel it. But that shit was terrifying, and so, no thanks. You could just be blind and void of feelings forever and everything would be fine.

It wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. Obviously.

And Joe was just shoving your face into the fact that it wasn’t and would never be. Needed you to admit to it. Or at least acknowledge it. Something.

“So then talk to me. What do I do? What do you want?”

Your face scrunched up in a mixture of both hurt and anger. You wanted a lot of things. You wanted to crawl inside Joe’s clothes and tell him to shut the fuck up and simultaneously wanted to slowly push him down the stairs the way you’d pushed that plant to its demise earlier that day.

He was an idiot that was trying his best to fix something he’d caused.

He wasn the fix this time.

He was the cause of the hurt.

The second you realised that, you opened your mouth to speak, yet all that came out was a sob.

A pathetic small little sob that shook you by the shoulders more than it made an actual sound.

It made Joe squeeze you tighter as he shushed you more, but the shushing just fueled the anger.

Did he want you to talk to him or not?!

“You’ve never been– you’re not meant to be the cause, you– you’re the cause now.”

You got the words out and felt how the anger was fleeting.

“I know, baby. I know.”

Baby.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to be the reason you– you know, hence the... you need to know that I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have gone about it like that, I just...”

You loved being able to feel Joe’s voice as he spoke, but the words gave you anxiety.

You never talked, and this was a lot.

You were so fucking tired.

“I’m sorry, I should–...”

Should leave? Get out? Stop this awkward chat because you were crying and it wasn’t slowly ebbing away but was very persistently setting up camp right behind your eyes where you knew it was going to stay put and hurt your throat and it took effort the whole time to not burst into louder sobs and–

“What do you want?”

Joe didn’t let go. Didn’t let that stupid question go either. You still hadn’t answered it yet, and Joe desperately wanted you to.

You had to say it. Had to use your voice, no matter how hoarse and barely-there it was.

Where you hated how small and stupid and weak you sounded, this was the type of stuff Joe fucking lived for.

Did he hate that he knew exactly why you were emotional right now? That he was responsible for the state of you right now?

Yes absolutely.

Guilt ate away at him from the inside out, but look, he was fixing it, and you were outside of the flat, and you’d come back after you’d left in a hurry earlier, and he had already been trying to accept the idea that maybe he wouldn’t see you for a while, you know?

Yet here you were.

All wrapped up in his arms.

All safe.

He couldn’t exactly protect you from himself, but he knew that what was done was necessary and important. He’d just done it wrong.

He’d kiss it better though.

Joe pressed soft kisses into your hair and then whispered, “Hmm? What is it you want?”

And you only really had one answer.

“To sleep.” you murmured, and you weren’t lying. Joe was holding you and he was warm and he smelt nice and you really wanted to go to sleep. “I’m tired.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but, all right. You’d answered his question.

“Mhmm. Go to sleep then. Get some–”

Joe stopped when you shook your head no and stuttered through breathing that grew more erratic as you tried to stiffle your sobbing.

“I can’t, it’s...”

God, it was so stupid.

Saying this shit out loud was so fucking awkward and lame and everything sounded daft and wrong, and not at all like the actual thoughts and feelings you felt inside, and Joe wouldn’t understand what you actually meant.

You couldn’t fucking sleep without Joe there.

Stiffling sobs only built them up until larger ones slipped out.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Joe shushed, pressed his lips into your hair, squeezed you tighter and rocked a little from side to side.

You felt like a fucking child.

It wasn’t okay.

But Joe shushed you, and swayed you, and if you closed your eyes it was kind of like you were both at home where this was totally fine and okay and just how you were.

Joe was making light of something heavy because he was so good at making light of all things heavy.

You had been what you were for so long that now the prospect of no longer being that felt so foreign to you, it only made you duck into Joe’s grasp even more.

Joe wanted to ask the same question again.

Wanted to whisper it into your hair. What do you want, and, what am I to you exactly, because you were no longer flatmates now, and, what did you tell your friend, how did you explain to her what you were together, what words did you use?

He could tell you what he wanted you to say, but that wouldn’t count. It didn’t work like that.

What did it work like, though?

Forcing you to fucking speak?

Making you cry so he could swoop right in and kiss it better like a manipulative twat?

Outside of the flat you shared it only became more clear to Joe that this wasn’t normal, and that a new normal was desperately needed. One where you lived in your own spaces and had a little distance and would then meet up every once in a while and have dates in the outside world like normal people.

Necessary and important.

You stood in Joe’s kitchen for a while.

Joe held you until you stopped shaking and your breathing evened out. He knew for sure you’d stopped crying when he felt one of your hands search for the hem of his T-shirt to sneak under and touch the bare skin of his back.

Had you been at home, this is where he would’ve walked you over to sit down on the sofa.

But there was no sofa to go sit on.

And sure, Joe’s bed had been put together, but it wasn’t made, and there were so many boxes to go through still. Shit to unpack. He had mates coming ‘round later that were going to help with the flatpacks and, did he want to just find his covers and lay down with you for the rest of the day? Yes. Absolutely. But he couldn’t.

Joe let go of you and reached for your sneaking hand. Pulled it from under the fabric and broke his own heart when he watched your face, tear-stained and blotchy, as you came to terms with there being no familiar next steps.

Not this time.

It was enough to make your breath hitch in your throat once more, but you were quick to calm yourself down. Joe got to see from up close how you closed your eyes and took slow deep breaths through your nose.

And then, surprising both him and yourself, you answered Joe’s earlier question.

What do you want?

“I want you to sell this place and come back.”

A bold joke. Not not true, but definitely silly. You knew that was never going to happen, and you opened your eyes only to see Joe trying his hardest to fight a smile off of his face.

“I’m not going to sell this place and come back.” Joe said in his gentlest voice, playing with the hand he was still holding onto. He held it by your index finger and your pinky and just shook it about a bit.

“Imagine if I did,” Joe carefully tried a joke in return, and he thanked the fucking stars when you smiled.

“Tell you what will be going back with you, though.”

Joe let go of your hand and picked up the small asplenium. His crispy wave that he placed in your bedroom that he liked so much he decided to get his own one, for his own flat, so you’d have a matching set, which you then went and broke.

“No, it’s... they’re buddies.”

You pointed at the big kentia palm with a little pout and Joe was about to fucking die at how cute you were being.

“Yea, all right.” Joe said, but still moved to place the small pot back in the tote you left on the side. “They can be buddies. But they’ll just... they’ll live at different flats.”

Joe took your hand and moved the straps of the bag up your arm. Pushed them onto your shoulder with soft care and made sure they laid flat.

“But they’ll miss each other.” you tried, obviously no longer talking about the plants.

Joe smiled.

“They won’t need to. They can still see each other all the time. They can text. Call. Have dinner– have pizza together. Sleep over. Stay the night. They wont have to miss each other.”

And that was that.

You were told to go get some rest. Joe would call you later.

And sure.

You could do that.

Didn’t like it.

But you could do that.

Kind of had no other choice, anyway.

With your little plant in your bag and the promise of seeing each other later, you left his flat, and felt... sort of numb. Still exhausted and somewhat empty, but, you got to keep the plant, so that was one thing.

You still didn’t want to look at all the empty in your flat, so you beelined it straight into your bedroom when you came home. Placed Joe’s plant back in the window and tried to get some rest.

And it really should’ve been so easy.

You were tired. Had had two consecutive nights of barely any sleep and the emotional rollercoaster you’d just experienced left your brain absolutely functionless.

Just, defective. Error 404.

And you’d nearly fallen asleep standing up in Joe’s kitchen forty-five minutes ago as he’d held you, but somehow... it just didn’t work on your own. In your own bed.

But you tried.

You really fucking tried.

You tossed and turned for ages until tears of frustration slipped into your pillow.

Fuck Joe.

Fuck him and his ways of making you feel so cherished. You weren’t feeling very cherished right now, how fucking foul of him. To be around at your disposal for ages, letting things naturally progress, and to then just vanish? Leave you without the ability to sleep in your own bed? Could only get some actual shut-eye in his room?

And, well. A drowning man will clutch at a fucking straw, won’t he?

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

In a wave of fury you slung the covers back and hauled yourself up and out of bed.

If Joe wasn’t going to fucking fix this, you were.

You heard a key slide into your front door just after dragging your heavy mattress over to what used to be Joe’s bedroom and you froze in a panic.

Joe still had his key.

Of course he did.

Shit.

You were stood in the doorway of your bedroom, pillows under your arms and a corner of your duvet in your hand.

The door opened and just like you’d expected, Joe stepped into view, looking all soft with fluffy hair and big eyes and soft skind and– and actually... yea, this was perfect.

Just what you needed, actually.

Joe saw you before he closed the door behind him.

Mess of a girl. Hair everywhere. Bags under her eyes. Clothes twisted around her body. Holding as much of her bedding as she could hold with just two arms.

You slowly blinked at him.

“Hey... what are you...”

Joe was holding a pizza box.

Brought dinner.

It was a bit late for dinner, but he hadn’t been able to stop looking at the texts you’d sent that he never responded to.

“What’s going on?”

You dropped what you were holding and stepped forward. Joe thought you were going for a hug, maybe, but instead, you reached for the pizza box. Took it from him and the put it down onto the floor right next to him.

Didn’t need that.

Just needed Joe.

“Are you all right? Hey. Look at me.”

Without saying anything you then took hold of Joe’s arm and pulled him along. Into his old bedroom. Pushed at his shoulders and made him sit down onto the mattress before you turned and went to get all the bedding you’d dropped.

You didn’t care he had his coat on still. Had his shoes on still.

It took a second for Joe to fully understand what was happening.

What was going on right now.

Why you seemed so fucking out of it and why you didn’t answer any of his questions or his confused looks.

Joe watched as you walked back into the room and stepped onto your mattress, duvet dragging on the floor behind you. He held an arm out, said, “C’mere,” and you didn’t need to be told fucking twice.

Dropped all you were holding once again, but this time, it turned your mattress on the floor into somewhat of an actual bed. Not a made one; it was a whole heap of soft on one side, and then just Joe on the other.

But he said come here, and you only had so much brain capacity left, you know?

You let yourself fall onto your knees and crawled until you found Joe’s lap. You shifted and turned and wiggled yourself onto him and then Joe let himself fall back, legs splayed out on the floor, but enough of him on the mattress for you to curl up on properly.

You laid chest to chest. Soft stomach to soft stomach. Heart to heart. Your head on his shoulder, your nose nudging into the squishy flesh under his chin, and your eyelashes tickled into the scruff on his jaw.

“Yea? Is this better?” Joe whispered and patted a searching hand around until he found the duvet. He pulled it across until you were both covered with it and you hummed on the exhale of a contented sigh.

This was it.

This was what your body had been craving. Was exactly what you needed.

“You comfy, baby?”

Baby.

“Mhmm,”

Joe shifted his hips, and your crotches were also definitely right on top of each other, but it went ignored. Not important right now.

Sleep was important right now.

Warmth, and comfort, and Joe’s velvety soothing voice were important right now.

His heartbeat, and his smell, and his stroking fingers that found the soft warm skin of your back to leave goosebumps on as he trailed fingertips all the way and all the way back down were important right now.

“That’s it, just relax.”

You couldn’t even properly hum anymore, your throat just made a little noise, and when Joe felt you sink into him even deeper, his chest hurt with unexpressed affection.

You were falling asleep.

The light in the hallway was still on, his bedroom door wide open, shoes and coat still on, but you were falling asleep on top of him and God, if that didn’t make him question every single choice he’d made over the past few months.

He dipped his chin a little and planted a little kiss on wherever it landed. Side of your nose, Joe thought.

You accepted it and nudged him back into place and Joe had to squeeze his eyes shut at how fucking adorable that was.

He was going to tell you in the morning.

Promised himself he would.

He wanted exactly this, the way you were inside the flat, but, have that elsewhere.

Not just here.

Have that outside.

In his new flat.

In front of other people.

“Hey,” Joe whispered, but he got no response. The only noise that filled the room was your shared breathing, and, good, Joe thought. Sleep.

He was going to say the words anyway.

“It won’t always be like this.”

You heard them.

And Joe was right.

But you were immediately aware of how fucking cruel that sounded. Because, obviously, it wasn’t always going to be like this. Joe wasn’t always going to be showing up at your front door with a box of pizza and a bunch of time on his hands. He wasn’t going to be around for ever. Let himself be pushed onto a mattress so you could sleep on top of him. Life would eventually run away with him.

You’d only been flatmates once, and the probability that any of what that meant remained was astronomically small.

Joe’d had flatmates before he no longer spoke to. So did you.

Of course, you knew it wouldn’t always be like this.

But, it also wouldn’t always be like this.

There would be other guys, other men, that would try to provide you with the same idea of comfort and safety and it wouldn’t be the same, but it’d be just as nice. Just different.

There’d likely be new flatmates, different people to share living space with, new people to share pizza with, and it wouldn’t be like this.

Not as nice.

Not as effortless and fucking easy as it was with Joe.

Where everything meant nothing and something at the same time.

It wouldn’t be like this.

“I know.”

You surprised Joe with your barely there whisper, and it startled him enough for you to feel it in his body. To cover it up, he quickly wrapped tight arms around you in response.

He’d tell you in the morning.

He’d tell you he wanted to hold hands as you walked from your flat to his and back.

He’d tell you he wanted to be able to curl up on the sofa together the way you always did in front of his friends. In front of yours.

He’d tell you that the safe space of your flat could be extended and, as long as you and Joe were together, it didn’t matter where you were; he could be the safe space.

Moving out was the first step to the expanding of the comfort zone.

Tomorrow, it was time for the second step.

Joe vowed that this promise wouldn’t vanish with the sunrise, the way that promises made late at night always were so wont to do.

Swore that it would be the first this he’d do when he’d wake.

I’ll start on Monday.

I’ll wake up early, do it in the morning.

Thing’s will be different when the sun rises.

They never were.

Not really.

But he’d tell you. And he’d see if you were willing to listen. the end

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @bylermaxmayfield, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma77645, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

Flatmates was such a safe way to describe each other.

It just meant, yea, we live in the same space. We share our comfort zone. We see each other a lot and are kind of like family a little, just because of that.

People never asked questions.

There was no need to explain how well you knew each other. How much time you spent together. People would hear 'flatmate' and would assume.

They would assume wrong, because there definitely was more there. But it wasn’t weird when they witnessed you laughing at inside jokes together. Or if they heard you ripping each other to shit until you ended up in a weird wrestle that didn’t stop until someone knocked an elbow to a table top too hard. Or if they heard you casually talk to Joe through a door whilst he was sat on the toilet without acknowledging that he was, you know, actively sat on the toilet.

The term flatmate was safe.

But it was also scary.

Because how many of the other flatmates you’d ever had did you still speak to?

Precisely none.

Not that you’d had many previous flatmates. But still. You didn’t speak with any of those people anymore. They were now merely vague acquaintances that held a spot on your Facebook friend list, which was utterly meaningless, because who even still used Facebook these days?

They’d been chapters in your life that you’d so easily moved on from.

People who, if you’d see them down an isle in a shop, you’d avoid them at all costs and pretend you hadn’t seen them.

You’d never even fully considered that Joe would also one day turn into a chapter of your life that you’d have to avoid in a supermarket and wasn’t that just the most fucked up stupid thing you’d ever even heard?

You knew you were avoidant.

Didn’t really dabble in foolish shit like confrontation.

So it made sense that you weren’t exactly doing so great now that you were being confronted with how avoidant you actually were.

Joe said he was going to move out.

The pile of clothes outside of his wardrobe suddenly made sense.

Had he not said anything before? Had you just not paid attention? Not registered what you didn’t feel like registering? Was your brain working against you with that much conviction?

Felt wild.

But it took you maybe five seconds to decide that you were not going to freak out.

You could be totally cool about this.

Have a night of cuddled up sleep like Joe hadn’t just said he was going to leave you after you’d properly fucked for the first time and, if you wanted to freak out later, you could do that by yourself in a locked bathroom with the shower running after he’d moved out.

So you tried to sleep.

Couldn’t. Because your mind kept going.

But you tried.

Tried relaxing every time you noticed that your fingers were digging into his flesh.

Couldn’t.

But you tried.

And Joe’d just fallen asleep like he hadn’t just dropped a huge bomb into his bed. Like everything wasn’t suddenly shattering all around you. Wasn’t all falling apart. Wasn’t forcing you to slip on your armor, your mask, your disguise. The one you’d wear when you and Joe were around others. Where you pretended to be normal and helpful and friendly and not touching and kissing and essentially licking each other all over.

You’d have to wear the disguise for Joe.

What a disgusting turn of events.

Could you blame him? Yes.

Were you going to? No.

You could be the cool girl. Keep Joe around. Not scare him off with questions like, “How long have you known about this?” and, “Is this legally even allowed?” and, “What the fuck do you even think you’re doing?”. Questions that definitely all needed answers, but you weren’t going to ask them.

You’d learn the answers along the way, you were sure.

Cool girl.

Come dawn, you had managed to stuff your own emotions down somewhere deep. Hoped they’d stay down there until you decided they could bubble back up.

You also hoped that where your cheekbone pressed into his hair would somehow leave a bruise there. On both of you. So he could feel and see how fucked up this was.

Joe’s alarm went, and you swallowed all feelings even further down.

Closed your eyes and felt Joe stir.

Felt him remove the arm that had stayed in place around your waist to turn the alarm off.

Heard him groan and move back to snuggle up close again, and for a minute, you decided to fully just enjoy it for what it was. Closeness with the guy you liked.

Fuck.

The guy you liked.

You let a hand snake into his hair as you felt him burrow back into your neck. Classic five-more-minutes move. When you softly scratched at his scalp, Joe moaned.

All drawn out.

All sleepy.

“Gon’ make me drool,” he croaked, voice hoarse and low. “Fall back asleep.”

You could burst at the seams with how much you wanted that.

Tightening up a leg around his, you used your other hand to lightly stroke fingers up and down his back and felt how Joe sank deeper.

Was this not the nicest thing ever?

Was Joe not going to fucking miss this?

Why the fuck was he going to move?

Joe allowed himself your touches for a few more minutes before a forced deep inhale pulled him from your grasp on him. It was still dark outside, and when Joe disappeared for a morning shower, you contemplated your next move.

Go to your own bed, fall back asleep, and then hopefully sleep through the whole day?

Or go wash your face, do your make-up, and get ready for the day?

Or have breakfast now, and disappear into your bathroom when Joe would have his?

Yea.

That seemed smart.

Breakfast now and then get ready for the day when Joe would come in to have his.

You got out of Joe’s bed, let your eye fall on the big pile of clothes and decided that, in some weird sort of passive-aggressive-possessive way of feeling, that you deserved one of his hoodies.

That you could wear that today.

Make him see something.

You didn’t fully know what, exactly, but it felt right.

You fished one out, not even one that sort of looked like one of yours, and took it.

Get fucked, Joe.

You only just finished a bowl of granola when Joe stepped into the kitchen, his phone and a balled up pair of socks in hand.

“Movers should be here soon,” he checked the time on his phone, tried to make conversation maybe, but you didn’t know what to say. Didn’t want to talk about it.

You watched him hike one knee up to put a sock on, balancing unsteadily on one leg, and then as you walked past him to leave the room, you couldn’t help but let a hand slide across his back.

Last time you got to do that? Maybe.

Shit.

About 10 minutes later the doorbell went and you checked out the window to see a large moving van waiting outside.

When you moved house, you did that by forcing your friends and family to come haul cardboard boxes for you, and you’d thank them by having cheap beers in your new place that didn’t have any unpacked furniture yet.

Not Joe.

Joe got a company to come do all the work for him.

Three men brought in stacked up big industrial strength plastic moving bins and big rolls of plastic sheeting and... it was actually real.

Joe was moving out.

You didn’t even know where to. You could guess. But you didn’t know anything.

You hid in your bedroom for most of it. Made tea with your back turned to all the chaos at one point, but truly didn’t involve yourself in any of the chaos.

From your bedroom you heard Joe pointing out what needed packing. What didn’t need packing. What needed extra care.

It didn’t take all that long. Just as well. Joe was paying these people.

You listened to Joe tell one of them that someone was at the other address, so they were good to head over. Said he’d meet them there later.

The front door shut, and you stared at your bedroom door for a moment. Tried to imagine what Joe’s bedroom looked like now, all empty. And the living room, now without the big cabinet Joe kept old DVDs in that he never watched but didn’t want to get rid of, because teenage-him had begun a collection, and these were the best films.

You kind of didn’t want to see it. The new emptiness.

But then a soft knock on your door pulled you from your thoughts.

“Yea?” So casual. So laid-back.

Slowly, your door opened, and Joe got to see how you sat on the edge of your bed, heels on the frame, knees to your chest, wearing his hoodie.

Joe leant in the doorframe, head tilted to the side, hands in his pockets, and he looked at you like he felt sorry a little. Apologetic in the worst way. You kind of hated it, but you didn’t want to let him see.

Cool girl.

“Wanna come see the new place?” he asked it like he really hoped you’d say yes but fully expected you to say no.

Which was exactly why you were not going to say no.

“Sure.” you shrugged.

“Yea?”

You got up and grabbed your phone, took it off its charger and pretended to check something, mostly to avoid eye-contact and seem all casual as you said, “Yea, why not. I can help you unpack. Don’t have anything better to do.”

Joe didn’t move aside when you stepped closer, and when you looked up, you were met by his little smile, tongue pushed into his cheek whilst his eyes scanned you up and down a second.

Be cool.

You didn’t know if you wanted Joe to say anything about the hoodie you were wearing.

“Or not, if you don’t want my help?” you shrugged again, face blank, and Joe fucking saw right through you.

He chuckled to himself as he removed his hands from his pockets to grab hold of you by the fabric draped over your shoulders, and he pulled you in for a hug.

One that you didn’t return.

“Don’t have to help,” Joe muttered as he squeezed you tight and, yea okay. So, you didn’t get your arms involved, but you could definitely rub your face into his chest a second.

Feel his strong embrace and close your eyes a second.

Smell him a second.

“Won’t put you to work, just want you to come see.”

Cool girl.

Just friends now.

Future acquaintances.

Strangers, eventually.

Joe hugged you even tighter until it became so tight it was funny.

“Fine.” you sarcastically complained, voice all constricted because Joe wasn’t letting up. “Won’t lift a finger.”

You avoided looking at the empty spaces in your flat that used to hold Joe’s things and then left the flat together.

On your way to Joe’s new place you walked side by side and you kept your eyes on the pavement for most of it. Kept your arms crossed over your front. Made sure you were extra spatially aware, because Joe had said that you always bumped into him when you walked together, and you were ready to prove him wrong, prove that you were actually an excellent walking-partner.

Like that was something that was on Joe’s mind right now.

Like he wasn’t in the middle of moving house.

And then, Joe talked.

And you just listened. Nodded along. Went, “Oh, all right.” and, “That’s cool.” and, “Mhmm.” a bunch.

There were several months left on the lease, and Joe offhandedly said it was taken care off, that you didn’t need to worry, like it wasn’t a huge sum of money he was talking about.

Said it would give you some time and space to find someone else, a new flatmate, no rush.

Said his new flat was really nice, and Joe said that like your flat wasn’t.

Said his new flat was in a really nice area. Like your flat wasn’t.

It was.

But, you understood that this one was likely nicer.

You didn’t comment or ask any questions. It just was what it was and you were going to have to deal with the reality of the situation whether you wanted to or not.

No point in pushing anything.

Best to just go with the flow.

You weren’t enjoying the flow, but you were definitely letting it float you downstream.

Joe’s dad was over at his new place now, and halfway there, Joe got a call from him. The movers had arrived, and was there a way to prop the front door open, did Joe know?

Joe didn’t know, but he said he’d be there soon.

Said he was bringing an extra pair of hands and looked at you as he said it. You raised your eyebrows in surprise, and Joe quickly said, eyes.

He was bringing an extra pair of eyes.

However, you were absolutely going to be helping, you knew. Roll up your sleeves and do some heavy lifting, if only to keep yourself busy. And you’d be silly about it, rolling eyes and sighing loudly, all heavy with pretend annoyance, sarcastically exclaim “I thought I was meant to just come over and get a tour?” and then his dad would make fun of Joe for being less of a help than you, and Joe would scoff loudly and stumble through excuses, and then you would flex an unimpressive bicep, and you’d all laugh.

Nothing was going to be a problem unless you made it one.

And then it sort of went like you had predicted.

You walked past the moving van, ended up helping getting furniture into the lift, and the first thing his dad saw of you was your back as he held a door open so you and Joe could carry a cabinet inside.

Then, quickly, before his dad could launch a million questions at him, Joe invited you on a grand tour of the place. Made his dad smile as he listened to his son saying stupid things like, “This is the living room that won’t have a sofa for at least six more weeks because apparently delivering sofas takes for fucking ever...” and, “Here we have a lovely view of, just... other flats, no, don’t actually look, it’s not a nice view, but it’s fine, I didn’t buy the place for the view, looking outside is overrated...” and, “Instead, be impressed with the size of the kitchen, and ignore the mystery drawer that we’ve not been able to open yet.”

Idiot.

Fuck.

Joe was really moving into his own flat. One roughly the same size as yours. Not even that much nicer, you thought, as he showed you ‘round.

But it was all his, and he seemed proud and embarrassed about it, which was devastatingly cute.

You were obviously going to kind about it. Be all impressed. Be a good friend. Postpone the supermarket-avoiding by actually being friendly.

“This is so nice!” you said after you’d gotten to see all rooms. His bed had been taken apart and movers had just placed the pieces of it in a stack alongside one of his bedroom walls, mattress wrapped in plastic stood upright next to it.

Felt stupid, because that wasn’t your bed, but... that was kind of your bed.

“Yea, you think? Not too flashy?”

It wasn’t flashy at all. The bathrooms didn’t look like they’d been redone since 2004, maybe.

“Just that you were able to buy it,” you joked, but weren’t wrong. Buying property in this area of London was absolutely the most ostentatious thing Joe’d ever done. “Everything else? Shockingly normal. There’s Ikea flatpacks in the hallway for fuck’s sake!”

Joe laughed, which in turn made you laugh, and fuck off, you were sort of killing this cool girl thing.

Made Joe laugh when in all honesty you didn’t think he was allowed to feel all joyful right now.

Well, he did.

This was a big deal.

And it wasn’t like you were going to be flatmates forever, were you?

People moved on. People found new phases of life. Next steps. Onto bigger and better things.

In Joe’s laughter, he bent. Leant back with his eyes squeezed shut, reached a hand out to balance himself and it was fine when he just grabbed your arm. You had your arms crossed over your chest, protective and closed off, so a hand gripping a bicep just to keep a body from falling over was fine. You were laughing too, it was fine.

But then Joe used his grip to pull you closer and slung his other arm over your shoulder, and with your arms still folded, Joe pulled you right into him as he hugged you.

You accepted it, but you didn’t.

Wanted to unfold your arms and make your fronts touch, but you didn’t.

Wanted to violently push him away and scream and cry because why hadn’t he fucking said anything.

But you didn’t.

Instead of all those things, you just tensed up in Joe’s hold. Locked your shoulders and bit at the inside of your lip and prayed Joe wouldn’t notice.

Joe immediately noticed.

Without letting go, Joe moved his head back just far enough to get a look at your face. He could easily detect the upset. Could easily see how exhausted you were. Joe saw the anger, the frustration, the sadness all covered in a light sheen of fatigue. And Joe also witnessed from up close how you were working really hard to hide all of that.

Like you could ever hide shit from him.

Like Joe wasn’t fucking trained to snuff it out on you.

Like he hadn’t felt you grasp onto him for dear life all night. Like he hadn’t seen the hunched up shoulders. Like your arms hadn’t been protectively crossed, literally hugging yourself, since you’d left your flat.

And he’d been waiting.

Always waited.

You always took the lead on everything. Steered this ship over dark seas with waves so high, Joe couldn’t see past them until whatever new thing you’d introduced into your friendship became normal and routine. It was safer that way. Have you call the shots.

But he understood waiting had been the wrong move here, and it was already too late when he realised he should’ve said something so much sooner. He just hadn’t wanted to have that awkward conversation. You never talked. But he should have. He knew he should have.

And now seemed as good a time as any to still try his hand at it.

“Hey,” Joe soft said, and gave you a little shake.

You took it as a way of Joe trying to cheer you up and get you to smile.

So you did.

Just smiled.

“No, don’t– you can be honest,” Joe pulled away a little more, getting a better look at you. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

An invitation to yell at him.

But your smile only grew, and for a moment, Joe almost believed it was real.

“Well, I’m thinking...” you said it in a humorous way, and stopped the moment before it could even become sincere.

Joe gave it one more try, though.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how I–...”

“I think that wall needs a splash of colour. Bit of paint.”

You didn’t want to talk about it.

You and Joe never talked.

Not talking felt important now.

You needed the not-talking now more than ever and Joe couldn’t taint what you barely even had right now with talking. You were trying so hard, and having him try to suddenly talk seemed so unfair.

So you looked past him, looked at one of his bedroom walls and changed the course of conversation to safer waters.

You felt how Joe’s eyes scanned your face a second. Saw him give in. Felt like he owed it to you to let you call the shots, because he’d made the mistake of not saying anything.

Joe turned around and looked at the same wall for a second before he turned his head to squint at you, countering lightly, “Do I really need to?”

You squinted right back, “I don’t think you really want my honest opinion.”

You knew Joe was going to keep all his walls white. Keep it safe. Keep it boring.

“But you know what would look really nice? Big palm in that corner.”

You tried to keep the mood fun and playful and hoped you could make him laugh again. Which, he did. Joe did laugh. But only for a second, because, “Oh! That reminds me!” and without explaining what reminded him of what, he walked out.

You hesitated to follow, unsure if you wanted to continue this weird interaction with other people present. The hesitation was only short, because it only took a few seconds for Joe to jog back down the hallway and–

Your stomach dropped.

No.

The small crispy wave plant.

What?

Joe proudly raised the little pot he was holding in his hand and walked it over to place it in the window. Then he stepped back and admired it and–

No.

That was– no but, that was yours now. That had gotten moved into your bedroom and, yea, all right, you kept calling it Joe’s plant, but he was the one that kept correcting that it was in your bedroom.

When had he even taken that?

Had he just gone in and grabbed it in those three minutes you’d gone to make tea?

What the actual fuck?

Then Joe turned to look at you, smiled and said, “It's a start?” as he shrugged one shoulder and, no. It fucking wasn’t. That couldn’t be a start. That plant didn’t belong in here.

And neither did his bed, all taken apart.

Neither did he.

All of this was yours, everything inside of this room belonged to you, and if you had arms big enough you’d grab everything and haul it right back, what the fuck was he even thinking?

But then, “Joe?” his dad called him to the living room. Movers had questions. With a final squeeze of a shoulder, you were left in Joe’s new bedroom by yourself.

With his disassembled bed.

Wrapped up mattress.

And that stupid plant.

Which, not yours, apparently.

But you know what?

If not yours, then also not his.

You stepped closer. Touched a leaf with a careful hand. It really was a nice little plant. So vibrantly green. You knew Joe was so pleased with the pot he’d chosen. It was nothing special, but he’d mentioned it a little too often to know he wasn’t being normal about it.

But if not yours, then also not his.

Like a cat, you pressed a finger to the side and slowly pushed it. Made it slide across. Watched as the sun danced over the wavy leaves until it just... slipped off.

Just like that.

Crashed to the floor.

Potting soil spilled.

Plant pot cracked right down the center.

Good.

If not yours, then also not his.

You left right after that. Walked straight out. Ignored Joe as he called after you and took the stairs instead of the lift. Were quick, moved your legs as fast as they could go without turning it into a run.

A deep frown stayed etched into your forehead until you got home, where you angrily shook your coat off like your coat was the one that told you it was moving less than eight hours before the movers showed up.

Where you then also angrily pulled off Joe’s hoodie because fuck him.

Where you rushed into your bedroom and let yourself drop down onto the bed face first.

Where you let yourself cry in heaving sobs.

Where you heard your phone ring and pushed it off the bed when you saw it was Joe trying to reach you.

Where you finally looked up to look at your window.

And saw Joe’s stupid little plant there.

Unmoved.

Uncracked pot. Soil still inside. Leaves soaking up the sunlight.

And–

Fuck.

So much for being a cool girl.

---

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