#djo fluff

The upside down is nothing like you’d expected. It’s simultaneously worse and better than you’d expected.

It smells damp, the air is thick like smog, and you can’t bring yourself to look down to where you’re walking, the sound of your converse dragging through the sludge is enough to have you feeling nauseous.

Everyone else seems to be handling it much better than you—probably because they’ve done this before. It’s hard not to feel somewhat resentful that Steve had only brought all of this up to you by pure chance.

You knew he’d been hiding something. He was secretive, holding that goddamn walkie-talkie with him like it was the second coming of Christ and most obviously, never let you meet his friends.

Besides Robin, you liked Robin. Though it had been practically unbearable to sit politely and smile as they both regaled you of stories of Dustin, or any of the rest of The Party. It all festered underneath your skin, why did he never bring you around them?

Until the night you’d just happened to be over at his house when Dustin had attempted to recruit Steve to help find Eddie Munson. Eddie, drug dealer Eddie, who was now accused of murder.

“Steve he didn’t do it, it’s the upside down—” Dustin babbles incoherently, you can barely keep up. None of the words coming out of his mouth make sense to you.

The upside down?

“Steve?” you whisper to your boyfriend, who’s staring at the highschooler before you in dawning horror and grim acceptance.

“I’ll drive. Get in the car—I have to—” Steve waves over to you in a vague gesture and Dustin’s eyes grow wide as his jaw slackens.

“You haven’t told her?” He sounds horrified by the idea of it. Told you what.

“Car Henderson. Now.” Steve states firmly, throwing the curly haired teen his keys as he turns to you with a solemn expression.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You’d like to think you’d taken the news of a sadistic other-worldly demonic creature hellbent on killing pretty well, considering the fact that you were currently in his…world? Plain? Planet?

You had been rightfully angry with Steve for not telling you but given that there were bigger stakes than your feelings involved, you’d decided to lay your argument to rest.

Only for you to subsequently discover that Nancy Wheeler knew. Nancy Wheeler that Steve had fallen in love with. The same Nancy you watched Steve grow glassy eyed when talking about.

The same Nancy you tried to measure yourself up against and fell short on all aspects no matter how hard you seemed to try. You watched him with her, as much as it pained you.

He looked so happy, like the fate of the world wasn’t resting on his shoulders. Granted, Nancy was in a relationship, that was a point of contention amongst the two. You assumed some sort of shared history.

Nancy was sweet to you, checking in on you, asking if you needed anything. You couldn’t fault her for your own feelings. Hell, if you were in Steve shoes, you’d probably also have fallen in love with her.

You heard them talking in the van on the drive back from the hardware store, huddled in the back with Eddie and Dustin. It doesn’t feel like a conversation you should be listening in on, but you can’t help it.

“It’s—it’s silly but I—I’ve actually um—I always had this dream that I’d always have this really big family. I’m talkin like full brood of Harringtons, like 5, 6 kids” Steve confesses, laughing alongside her.

Your heart thumps louder in your chest. He’s never told you that. Why wouldn’t he tell you that? It’s not like you’ve been dating long enough for that to have been a conversation but—just why wouldn’t he have said something to you?

Why would you have to listen to this from the backseat of a stolen van as he confesses his hopes and dreams to a girl who he claims he “used” to love?

“Six?” Nancy asks incredulously. You crack a smile; you can’t help it. She’s funny, you think to yourself. Funnier than you’ve ever been.

“Yeah, six little nuggets. Three girls—” you drown out Steve’s voice as you watch their silhouettes.

They would make pretty babies, you think. Beautiful babies, full of Nancy’s intelligence and Steve’s smile. They’d play basketball or do ballet. Steve would be their coach—and Nancy would be working at some big corporate office and they’d be—they’d be so happy.

Bile rises in your throat. You can’t even compete with her. She’s perfect, pretty, smart, witty—what do you have? You have the boy, plus one for that—but what good does that do when he looks at a her like she’s hung the moon and the stars.

You wonder if he’s ever looked at you like that.

You think you might be better off not knowing.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You’re embarrassed to admit that overhearing their conversation makes you distance yourself from the both of them.

You find yourself flocking to Eddie’s side,  joking and laughing with each other.

“You’re a good guy Munson.” You murmur softly as you both watch as Dustin and Mike duel with fake swords and shields, yelping each time they catch each other.

“You’d be the first to think so.” Eddie replies to your left, humour masking the insecurity in his tone.

“I highly doubt that.” You contest, smiling up at the older boy. “Dustin certainly thinks so.”

“Yeah well the munchkin’s biased,” He scoffs with a smirk, leaning back against the stump of wood behind the both of you.

You snort, “He thinks you’re the greatest. He talks about you all the time.” You insist.

Eddie’s expression melts softly, something adoring taking place of what was once anxiety and manufactured aloofness. “He’s a good kid. Don’t know why he likes me so much, but I’m lucky to have him.” He admits.

“You treat him like he’s a person. He’s always going on about how you ask him about his opinion, how you actually listen.”

Eddie blows out a breath, nodding slowly as he digests your words. He turns to you slightly, “You’re a sweet girl,” he tells you seriously and you look up at him in slight shock.

“Don’t lose that, would be a damn shame if we didn’t have you around.” He smiles, slinging an arm over your shoulder as he calls out for Dustin to fix his posture.

You snort with a smile, leaning into him.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Steve watches the two of you from higher on the hill with a scowl on his face.

“Scared Munson’s gonna steal your girl?” Robin teases, huffing as she tugs a rope from the backdoor of the van.

Steve scoffs, irritation bleeding into his tone. “No,” he replies shortly “Munson wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Robin hums suspiciously high, “Seems to me like he’s doing pretty well for himself.” She mentions, gesturing back over to the two of you.

Steve’s glare grows as he catches sight of Eddie’s arm slung over your shoulder. His irritation rising as he spins to glower at Robin, “Who’s side are you on?” he growls.

Robin holds her hand up in surrender, “Just saying. You two haven’t spoken since you arrived—you’ve spent more time with me and Nancy than you have with her.” She says conversationally.

Steve frowns. Has he actually? Sure, he’s been pretty focused on getting things ready to go into the upside down, so he didn’t really have the time to be checking in on you.

It was purely coincidence that he, Robin and Nancy ended up working together considering they were carrying the bulk of the ammunition and knew how to work them.

“She’s fine.” Steve mutters uncertainly. “We’ll talk after.” He insists.

Robin frowns, saying nothing but glances between the two of you in concern.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The tension between you and Steve as you enter the upside down is undeniable. The growing distance seemingly seems to stretch between the two of you the longer that you walk.

You’re side by side, walking in silence as Nancy, Jonathan and Robin walk slightly ahead of everyone whilst Eddie and Dustin remain slightly behind.

“Okay,” Nancy starts firmly, stopping in front of the group in a small expanse of land. The small group forms a circle in front of her, all watching her in rapt attention.

“You all know the plan yes? No deviations, we can’t take any risk that this doesn’t work.” 

You’re all nodding, you listen as she goes over the plan for Max to bait Vecna, the Creel House and the demobats. It’s perfectly planned out, Nancy Wheeler style.

When you all break off, you grab hold of Steve’s arm, who turns to look at you in confusion, “I uh—I’m going to go with Dustin and Eddie alright?” you say softly, avoiding eye contact with him.

Steve frowns, watching your face closely before scoffing, making you look towards him in perplexion, “Yeah, sure. Fine.” He says sarcastically, shrugging your arm off of him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve’s voice is hard and angry, “It means that if you wanna go run off with Munson while the rest of us are trying to save the world—be my guest.”

You blink, staring at Steve with your mouth agape, “You think—Eddie?”

Steve snorts, rolling his eyes, “Yes, Eddie. I see the way the two of you have been…canoodling,” he offers weakly.

You scoff, “Real mature Steve.”

Nancy and Robin stop in front of the two of you when the notice you’ve both stopped following them. They’re far away enough to not being able to hear but close enough to notice the start of an argument between you both.

“What? You have a problem?”

Your expression morphs into hurt, “Six little nuggets?” you ask him accusingly as he stares at you, unflinching.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

It’s the weakest argument you’ve heard from him yet, “Why?” you push. “Because it involved Nancy, that it? I didn’t fit into your white picket fence suburban dream?”

Steve flinches, his expression turning uncertain and dread fills your very being.

He doesn’t see you there.

“Can we—can we not do this now?” he asks, pleadingly.

You shake your head, “No, Steve. I want to know.”

“Know what?” He argues, throwing his arms up in the air.

“If you love me Steve!” you burst out, your voice echoing lightly through the vast expanse of the Upside Down.

“Guys—” Eddie calls hesitantly, but you both pay him no mind.

You shove your finger into Steve’s chest hard enough to make him flinch, “I want to know if you see a future with me! Do you? Do you see me in that big old family picture? Because—” your voice breaks, tugging at Steve’s heart strings.

“Because I love you, and if you don’t—if you don’t see that future with me, then maybe we’re not meant to be together,” you whimper, lifting your hand to your mouth to try and muffle your cries.

Steve slumps in shock, looking as if you’ve just torn his heart out from his chest.

“You’re breaking up with me?” he whispers desperately, scanning your face like he’s searching for something, anything.

You shake your head, your teary gaze meeting his shocked one. “I’m asking you if you’d choose me Steve, if given the chance.” You whisper.

“Baby, of course I—"

“You can’t even say you love me Steve.” You scoff with a laugh, self-deprecation coating your tone.

He stands in shock, like he’s not sure what to do.

“Steve!” Nancy calls from the back, frustration in her voice from being held up.

Steve watches you pleadingly as you school your expression, taking a step back when he turns to look back at her.

Always her, you think bitterly.

“I—” Steve pleads, panic in his tone.

“Just go Steve.” You reply tonelessly, turning to walk towards Eddie and Dustin who have been watching the both of you in concern.

“Baby—” You hear him call after you, desperation in his voice as you walk away. You shake your head, sniffling before looking towards the two boys in front of you.

“Are you okay?—” Dustin asks hesitantly.

You force a smile, “Fine.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

If you thought you knew pain before, the sting of walking away from Steve was worse. Every bone if your body wants to turn around and run back into his arms, but you refuse to subject yourself to any more humiliation.

You walk with Eddie and Dustin in silence, setting up the amp and Eddie’s guitar with little fanfare.

When the time comes, Eddie plays like a man possessed. You think he was made for this, a true metal rockstar. He looks almost godlike in view.

The bats swarm the trailer with almost no time to spare. Eddie, Dustin and you rush into the trailer as it rocks with the force and sound of flapping wings.

You almost think you’ve done it before they start flooding in. One after another they come through the vents, met with your handcrafted weaponry.

Dustin grabs the rope leading back into the real world, but when you catch Eddie’s gaze watching him, you already know what’s going to happen. What’s more rockstar than saving the world.

He looks at you and then back to the bedsheets, offering you a way out. You see the determined look on his face, and with a shared nod, he cuts the rope.

“What are you doing?!” Dustin screams to the both of you, watching as you both grab your weapons and Eddie’s shield.

“Buying more time.” The two of you chorus, launching yourselves out of the trailer in tandem as Eddie rides the bike with you running behind him.

The bats follow you like a moth to a flame, swarming around the two of you within minutes. You feel it before you see it, the sound of your flesh tearing and ripping open as the bats latch onto your skin.

You feel the warmth of your blood pool around you as you swing and crush the bats that fly towards you. You find Eddie doing the same in your peripheral vision. You watch as the bats sink their teeth into him, drawing a guttural scream from his chest.

Your wounds start to get the better of you as you stagger on your feet, slumping over onto the ground as you crash to your knees. You can hear Eddie calling your name and you turn to see him slumped a few meters behind you.

You crawl over to him, mindless of the bats still latched to the two of you. Your eyes meet and you share a bloody smile.

It’s then that you notice the silence, the bats that fall around the two of you. “They did it,” you croak, blood bubbling through your throat.

Eddie groans, “We did good,” he affirms, turning his head to look at you.

You hear footsteps rushing your way, and a small part of you hopes that its Steve. The curly hair however in unmistakable.

“Henderson,” Eddie coos, coughing slightly as blood stains his lips.

“Eddie—Y/N, no no no.” he chants, falling to his knees.

“Hey,” you whisper dazedly. “We’re okay,” you reassure him.

“You’re bleeding—” he chokes out.

“Can either of you stand?” he asks Eddie abruptly, turning to look at him. Eddie frowns, looking down on his leg before looking at you, “Dustin, buddy you can’t take both of us—"

“I don’t care,” he bursts out. “I need to know if you can stand, if I can get you back to the trailer, we can alert the rest of them that Y/N is down and—” he babbles.

“I—” Eddie blows out a breath, looking hesitant. You both knew when you’d left that trailer than you’d had no intention of coming back, it was a suicide mission.

“Please,” Dustin begs. Eddie hesitates before nodding abruptly, “Okay,” he concedes. “Okay—we’re coming back.” He tells you seriously.

You smile, nodding softly. Your clothes are starting to stick to your skin with the amount of blood pooling from your wounds.

It’s too dark for them to see, they can’t possibly know how bad your injuries are. Eddie looks by far worse than you, his wounds uncovered by his clothes.

“Okay,” you say.

They leave, Eddie hobbling beside Dustin as they walk towards the trailer. You’re not sure how long you spend staring at the sky before rushing footsteps are coming back to you.

You think you might already be dead when you see Steve rushing to your side instead of Dustin. “St’ve?” you slur, your eyelids drooping from exhaustion.

“Oh baby,” he moans desperately as he drops down next to you, his hands hovering uncertainly as if he’s too scared to touch you.

I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you.

“You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay,” he chants to himself as he lifts you into his arms despite your loud groaning in complaint of being jostled.

“You gotta keep your eyes open for me honey, c’mon look at me—look at me baby.” He pleads with you, rushing towards the trailer as yo9ur blood starts to soak his own clothes.

“I’m getting’ y’u d’rty.” You complain breathlessly as your head lolls to the side. Steve whimpers, reply wetly, “That’s okay baby—I—I don’t mind, I’ll put it in the wash when we get home okay?” he says consolingly, sounding panicked.

“’kay,” you agree mindlessly, your eyes drooping.

“Think ‘m gonna sleep now—”

Steve shakes you awake, making you cough as the feeling of the liquid filling your throat.

“Sorry—sorry honey, you can’t—fuck, baby you can’t sleep. Haven’t even got to tell you how much I love you yet sweetheart, you don’t even know,” He says, simultaneously awestruck and horrified.

“You don’t even know how much I love you baby, God, I—I was so dumb earlier, I shoulda run after you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—never gonna make that mistake again. But you’ve gotta stay awake for me okay? Because I’ve got a lot of making up to do huh?” He chokes up, muffling his sobs.

“Cause you can’t die—I, we have so many things left to do—can’t leave me alone—I can’t do this alone, you—you have to stay,” he sobs.

He almost chokes on the relief he feels when he sees the trailer, stumbling as he runs as fast as his feet can carry him towards the silver home.

Your breathing is shallow in his arms, and he would think you were already dead if not for the slow rise of your chest.

“Please,” he chokes out the paramedic he sees when he gets back to the real world. He holds you out, begging for them to take you. “You—you have to help her. She—she’s lost so much blood—oh god, please help her.” He begs desperately, succumbing to his own tears.

They take you immediately, transferring you to a stretcher as they rush you to an ambulance whilst Steve follows behind them, refusing to let you out of his sight for another second.

Whilst they load you, Steve pleads with them, “Please let me go with her—I’m the only one she knows, she’ll be so scared I need to be there—”

“You can ride with her, but we need to go now.” The paramedic rushes him in, letting him take the seat next to you as the strap you to a heart rate monitor and place a breathing mask over you.

He clenches his hands around your own as you blink slowly at him, “Hey,” he whispers into the silence of the ambulance, the paramedic watching the two of you in concern.

“I love you,” he blurts out again, frantically hoping you hear him. Your small smile calms a small portion of his fear, and he feels you shakily trace a pattern on his palm.

"More pwetty." She gestured dramatically at the pile of autumn leaves you'd been slowly collecting, as if you were personally offending her with an insufficient quantity.

You laughed, the sound carrying across the yard, and Joe - who had been helping man the grill - felt it hit him right in the heart. That laugh. God, that laugh. He watched you rake together another pile, your hair falling loose from its clip, your sweater riding up to expose a stripe of skin at your waist that his eyes were trained on.

"Ready?" you asked Cora, and she nodded on time with the gravity of a judge delivering a verdict.

"One… two…"

"Fwee!"

You fell backward into the leaves together, Cora's shrieks of delight mixing with your own breathless laughter. She immediately climbed onto your stomach, bouncing with that destructive toddler glee, sending red and gold leaves fluttering into the air like confetti.

"Again!" she demanded.

So you did it again. And again. You gave her piggyback rides across the lawn, your knees had become grass-stained, your voice hoarse from neighing like a horse at her request. You pushed her on the swing until your arms ached, higher and higher, catching her at the apex of each arc while she threw her head back and squealed at the sky.

Joe flipped burgers and tried not to stare. Tried not to memorize the way you looked with his niece's hand tucked trustingly in yours, the way you slowed your pace to match her stumbling steps, the way you listened to her endless, nonsensical stories with genuine interest, crouching down to meet her eyes like her words were precious.

"She's relentless," his sister said, appearing at his elbow with a platter of buns. "You don't have to let her monopolize your girlfriend, you know."

"She's fine," Joe said, too quickly. "They're fine."

His sister followed his gaze, saw the soft, stupid expression he wasn't bothering to hide, and smiled knowingly. "Oh, I see."

"You don't see anything."

"I see my little brother mentally picking out baby names, but go off I guess."

Joe threw a napkin at her. She laughed and walked away, victorious.

The afternoon wore on in that drowsy way autumn afternoons do. The sunlight slanted lower gradually, turning everything honey-colored and slow. You could feel the day settling into evening, the air growing cooler, the energy of the party softening into contentment.

You and Cora had migrated to the base of the old oak tree at the yard's edge, its trunk massive and gnarled, its leaves a canopy of rust and gold. She'd had found a "fairy house" in the roots - a small hollow between two thick tendrils of wood, carpeted with moss and last year's acorns.

"We nap," Cora announced suddenly, her eyes heavy, her earlier frenzy finally catching up with her small body.

"You want to nap here?" you asked, amused.

"Wif you." She climbed into your lap without waiting for permission, her familiar weight settling against your chest. She smelled like grass, sugar and that particular warm scent of clean. "You be da bed."

"Okay, bug." You adjusted your back against the tree trunk, finding the most comfortable angle you could. "Just a little rest."

She tucked her thumb in her mouth, her other hand finding your hair, winding a strand around her finger the way she had all afternoon on the piggybacks. Her eyelashes fluttered, fought, failed. Within minutes she was heavy and limp against you, her breath deepening into the rhythm of sleep.

You should move. You should find her mother, deposit her in a proper bed, rejoin the adults. But the tree was supporting your tired back, and Cora was radiating warmth like a small furnace. The afternoon had wrapped itself around you like a blanket. Your own eyes grew heavy without you really even noticing. The sounds of the party faded to a pleasant murmur. The last thing you felt was Cora's hand relaxing in your hair, her thumb slipping free of her mouth as she settled deeper against your heart.

You let yourself drift off for just for a moment.

Joe found you twenty minutes later.

He'd been looking, though he told himself he was just checking, just being responsible. The grill was cleaned, the burgers eaten, the sun sinking toward the horizon in a blaze of rose and amber. He'd grabbed a throw blanket from the couch - just in case, it's getting chilly - and followed the path you'd worn through the grass.

Then he stopped. And stared. And felt his heart physically clench in his chest.

You were asleep under that oak tree that held so many of his own memories, your head tilted back against the bark, your mouth slightly open, your chest rising and falling in the deep, even rhythm of exhausted contentment. And Cora - his niece, his sister's daughter, not yours, not yet at least - was curled into you like you were the safest harbor she'd ever known. Her face was smushed against your collarbone, one hand still tangled in your hair, her legs drawn up to her chest and held close by your arm.

The blanket fell from his hand.

He should take a picture. He knew he should take a picture. But he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but stand there and let the future crash over him in waves.

He saw it all, suddenly, with devastating clarity. Not abstract imaginings but specific moments, textured, colored and real.

You, seven months along, too uncomfortable to sleep in the bed, reading on the couch at 2 AM while he rubbed your feet and promised this would all be worth it. The nursery you would obsess over, every detail perfect had to be perfect, while he teased you about nesting but secretly loved watching you prepare. The way you'd look at him across a hospital room, terrified, fierce and ready, right before everything changed forever.

He saw you like this - like you were now - but in their living room, their child asleep against your chest while you dozed in the glider they'd bought secondhand and refinished together. He saw himself covering you with a blanket, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to the soft forehead of their baby's head. He saw years of this. Soccer games, skinned knees and bedtime stories. He saw you teaching their daughter to braid hair, their son to be gentle. He saw the tantrums, the milestones and the million ordinary moments that made up a life built together.

And he saw himself, older, standing in a doorway much like he was now, watching you with grandchildren maybe, still looking at you like you were the miracle he didn't deserve but got anyway.

This, he thought, his throat tight with want. I want this. I want her. I want them. I want everything.

He didn't realize he'd made a sound until Cora stirred, murmuring something against your neck. You didn't wake - too far gone, too trusting in your surroundings - but your arm tightened around her instinctively, protective even in sleep.

Joe crossed the grass quietly, retrieved the fallen blanket, and approached with confidence of a man who finally understood what they wanted. He draped it over both of you, tucking it around Cora's small feet, around your shoulders. Then he sank to his knees in the grass beside you, close enough to feel your warmth, to hear the soft twinning of your breath.

He reached out, hesitantly, and brushed a leaf from your hair. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of your ear, the line of your jaw. You sighed in your sleep, leaning into his touch, and something in his chest broke open and rebuilt itself, stronger, oriented entirely toward this - toward you, toward them.

"I love you," he whispered, even though you couldn't hear. "I love you, and I want to build everything with you. The mess, the noise, the sleepless nights, the tiny shoes by the door. I want to be scared with you. I want to be tired with you. I want to watch you be a mother and be the one who gets to support you, learn from you, grow with you."

He looked at Cora, at the peaceful slackness of her sleeping face, and imagined your features there. Your eyes, your smile. Or his. Some perfect combination that would make him weak every single day.

"She's not even ours," he murmured, half-laughing at himself, "and I can't - I can't breathe looking at you. How am I going to survive our own kid?"

You shifted, your eyes fluttering open, unfocused and drowsy. You found him immediately, like you always did, your lips curving in a sleepy smile.

"Hey," you mumbled. "How long was I out?"

"Not long." He stroked your cheek with his thumb. "You looked peaceful. Didn't want to wake you."

You looked down at Cora, still heavy against you, and the tenderness that softened your face made his heart physically ache. "She crashed hard. Poor bug wore herself out."

"She's not the only one." He stood, holding out his hands. "Come on. I'll carry her inside. You can have the chair by the fire, I'll bring you tea, and you can pretend to be social for twenty more minutes before I make excuses and take you home."

"Such a good boyfriend," you teased, but you took his hand, let him pull you up while carefully transferring Cora's weight to his chest.

She stirred, protested weakly - "Bee?" - but settled quickly against him, recognizing family even in sleep.

"I've got her, bug," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her curls. "Go back to sleep."

You walked beside him across the yard, your hand in his, the blanket draped over your shoulders. The fairy lights were flickering on as the sun said its finally goodbye, painting everything in soft, forgiving glow.

"You okay?" you asked, noticing his silence, the intensity of his grip on your hand.

He stopped at the patio door, Cora warm and real in his arms, you radiant and glowing beside him. He looked at you with everything he felt laid out bare in his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, and his voice was rough, honest, open. "I'm just… I'm really happy. And I really want to keep this. All of it. With you."

You didn't ask what he meant. Maybe you knew. Maybe you felt it too, the weight of potential, the shape of a future pressing close enough to touch.

So you just squeezed his hand and said, "Me too, Joe. Me too."

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You swipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, exhaling as you set the last box down with a soft thud.

Finally.

New York.

The word alone feels too big for the small apartment you’re standing in—half-unpacked boxes, bare walls, the faint hum of the city leaking in through the windows. New job, new environment, new people. It should be terrifying.

It is, a little but there’s something else too—something lighter, brighter. Excitement, maybe. The kind that sits in your chest and refuses to settle, stretching your smile wider no matter how tired you are.

The landlord had called you lucky. “Last unit in the building,” he said, handing over the keys. “Sixth floor. Elevator works…most days.”

You didn’t mind.

Then came the warning, “Only two neighbors up there. One’s a musician. The other—old guy. Walks with a cane.”

You had just nodded. “That’s fine.” and you meant it.

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

After months of touring in South America, Joe Keery is more than ready to be home.

New York greets him the same way it always does—loud, restless, alive in a way that never quite lets him breathe properly until he’s behind his own door.

He drags his suitcase down the hallway, keys already in hand, when something feels… off. Well not wrong, just different.

A lights coming from the little space on 6B. 

Right.

The landlord did mention something. A new neighbor.

Joe glances at the door beside his for a second longer than necessary before unlocking his own, curiosity flickering briefly before exhaustion wins.

He’ll deal with it later.

Night settles in slowly, like the city never fully commits to sleeping.

Joe lies sprawled across his couch, a book resting open on his chest, one arm thrown over his eyes. The quiet is almost unfamiliar after weeks of noise—crowds, music, constant movement.

Then, a music. .

Soft at first. Barely there. A voice drifts through the wall, warm and honeyed, wrapped in the faint crackle of what sounds like vinyl.

Let’s fall in love…Why shouldn’t we fall in love…

Joe lowers his arm, listening.

Jazz.

Old jazz.

He lets out a quiet huff of amusement, staring up at the ceiling. Well, That answers that. New neighbor’s probably, what—seventy?

He doesn’t mind, though.

If anything, it’s… nice. Different from the usual bass-heavy, wall-shaking nonsense he’s used to. The song continues, filling the space in a way that feels oddly comforting. Joe closes his eyes again, letting it play.

Morning comes earlier than you’d like but you’re already up.

There’s something about a new place that makes you want to start right—make it yours, make it warm.

And what better way than baking?

Flour dusts the counter, the faint smell of vanilla and butter already curling through the apartment as you move around your tiny kitchen. It’s familiar. Grounding.

By the time the cupcakes come out of the oven, golden and soft, the space feels a little less empty. A little more like home.

You carefully arrange them into containers, wiping your hands on a dish towel before heading out into the hallway.

First stop: 6D, the old man with the cane.

You knock twice. There’s a pause, then the slow shuffle of footsteps before the door creaks open.

A frail man peers at you, brows lifting slightly in surprise. “Oh, hello.”

You brighten instantly. “Hi! I’m Y/N—I just moved in yesterday. I made some cupcakes and thought I’d introduce myself.” You hold the container out.

His expression softens, something fond slipping into his eyes. “Well, aren’t you a sweet thing,” he says. “But I’m afraid I can’t…doctor’s orders. No sugar.”

You perk up immediately. “Oh! That’s okay—I made a few sugar-free ones too, just in case.”

Then he chuckles, shaking his head. “Prepared, aren’t you?”

You grin. “Well… I try.”

He accepts the container this time. “Thank you, dear.”

“Of course.”

The door closes gently, and you step back into the hallway, already turning toward your other neighbor’s door.

You knock.

Once.

Twice.

Nothing.

You wait a moment, tilting your head slightly. Still nothing.

“Hm,” you murmur. They’re probably asleep. 

You glance down at the container in your hands, frowning slightly at the thought of just leaving it on the floor.

No, that won’t do.

You slip back inside your apartment, returning a second later with a small chair, placing it carefully beside their door. The container goes on top, safe and steady.

Then, after a second of hesitation, you grab a pen and a scrap of paper. Your handwriting is quick, a little messy:

To: 6A Just moved in yesterday, please accept this as a small hello :) – 6B

You tuck the note neatly under the container.

There.

Satisfied, you give the setup one last glance before heading down the hall, the faint smell of sugar trailing behind you.

It’s 8:30 am when joe came back after his morning run, when he notice at his door. A cupcake on a chair the definitely not his. 

He steps closer, cautious for no real reason, eyes landing on the container sitting neatly on top.

Oh, right, the new neighbor.

Joe huffs out a quiet breath, something like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leans in, spotting the note tucked underneath.

He pulls it free, reading it once and again.

6B.

So that’s you.

“‘Small hello,’” he murmurs to himself.

He glances briefly at the door beside his, sillent. Then back at the container. Carefully—like it might somehow be a trap, he lifts the lid.

The smell hits him first.

Sweet. Warm. Vanilla, maybe a hint of butter. It’s… ridiculously comforting. The kind of smell that doesn’t belong in a hallway like this, it belongs to a home. 

Inside sits a cupcake, frosting piped on top in a slightly uneven swirl.

Homemade.

Joe stares at it for a second longer than necessary, something soft flickering across his expression. “Huh.”

He picks it up, turning it slightly in his fingers like he’s inspecting it. This, paired with the music from last night? Yeah, That tracks.

He glances back at your door again, brows lifting a little as the idea settles more firmly in his head.

Definitely an old lady. A nice one, though.

The baking kind. The jazz kind.

The “leaves pastries outside your door” kind.

Joe lets out a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he finally unlocks his door. “Guess I’ve got a grandma neighbor,” he mutters.

Inside, he drops his keys by the table and sets the container on the kitchen counter. For a moment, he just stands there, staring at it again like he’s debating something.

“Alright,” he says to no one. He peels back the wrapper and takes a bite.

His brows lift immediately. “…okay.”

Another bite, bigger this time. “Okay, damn.”

He lets out a small, surprised laugh, glancing toward the wall that separates your apartments. “You’re showing off now,” he says under his breath, like you can somehow hear him.

He leans back against the counter, finishing the cupcake slower this time, actually tasting it.

It’s good. Really good.

Too good for store-bought. Too good for casual. He wipes a bit of frosting from his thumb, still smiling faintly, something warmer settling in his chest now. The apartment doesn’t feel as empty.

Not with the lingering sweetness in the air. Not with the faint memory of jazz still stuck in his head.

Joe glances at the wall again, thoughtful. “…Yeah,” he murmurs, definitely a grandma.

The thought sticks with him longer than he expects. Long enough that he ends up standing in his kitchen ten minutes later, staring at a blank sticky note.

He taps the pen against it once..

Then writes: Thanks for the cupcake. It was… really good. – 6A

He pauses and frowns, “that’s boring.” He sighs, peeling it off and trying again.

Thanks for the cupcake. I think you just ruined store-bought desserts for me. – 6A

Better.

Still, He glances around his apartment, then toward the small stack of photos sitting near his camera. His fingers hover for a second before picking one up.

A mountain.

Early morning light spilling over the ridges, soft and golden. He flips it over, hesitates—then adds beneath the note: Small hello back to you.

It’s nearly 9 p.m. when you finally make it home. The day had been long, but good. New routines settling in faster than you expected, conversations easier, the unfamiliar already starting to feel… manageable.

You unlock your door, stepping into the hallway—and pause. There’s something on the floor.

A photograph.

You bend slightly, picking it up. A mountain stretches across the frame, bathed in soft light. Calm. Still. Beautiful in a way that makes your chest tighten just a little.

It reminds you of home. Not exactly the same—but close enough. You turn it over.

Thanks for the cupcake. I think you just ruined store-bought desserts for me. Small hello back. – 6A

A smile spreads across your face before you can stop it, so this is your other neighbor. You glance briefly at the door beside yours, like you might somehow see him through it. Then back at the photo. 

“Cute,” you murmur softly.

Inside, you set your things down, carefully pinning the photo onto your corkboard—right where you’ll see it.

You’d already eaten dinner outside, so the night is yours. It settles around you gently, like something waiting to be shaped.

You wash up, letting the warmth of the water ease the day from your shoulders—long hours, unfamiliar faces, the quiet effort of fitting yourself into a place that still feels slightly too big, too new. The kind of tired that isn’t heavy, just… lingering.

When you step back into your room, it feels softer somehow.

More yours.

You change into something comfortable, fabric brushing against your skin like a quiet reward, then reach for the candle on your bedside table. The flame flickers to life, small but steady, casting a golden glow that fills the corners of the apartment turning bare walls into something warmer, something closer to home.

Your record clicks softly into place.

You make me smile with my heart…

The sound spills into the room like honey, slow and warm, wrapping itself around everything, the dim light, the quiet air, the steady rhythm of your breathing. It softens the edges of the day, blurring the sharpness of unfamiliar things.

Your looks are laughable, un-photographable…

You hum along under your breath, a small smile tugging at your lips as you move absentmindedly around the space, adjusting a book here, straightening a corner there.

…yet, you’re my favorite work of art.

The lyrics linger, hanging gently in the air like they belong there. Like they’ve always belonged there and maybe it’s silly but you’re aware of it.

The walls aren’t that thick.

Whoever lives next door can probably hear every note, every crackle of the vinyl, every quiet hum you don’t even realize you’re making.

You pause for a second, glancing toward the wall.

Listening.

Nothing comes back. No complaints. No knocking. No sign that you’re bothering anyone. Just silence. A soft exhale leaves you, something between relief and amusement.

“Well,” you murmur to yourself, voice barely louder than the music, “I’ll take that as approval.”

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It’s been a month.

A whole month of passing the same hallway, the same doors, the same quiet space between you and apartment 6A.

And still, you haven’t met him.

You know he exists. You hear it sometimes—soft guitar drifting through the walls, not loud enough to intrude, just enough to remind you he’s there. A presence without a face.

It’s strange, in a way. To feel like you know someone’s habits, but not their name.

Still, you don’t push. Everyone has their own rhythm. Their own life unfolding behind closed doors. You’ve learned not to interrupt that.

So instead, you bake.

On your days off, the kitchen fills with warmth—cupcakes, cinnamon rolls, brownies. The kind of things that make a place feel lived in. The kind of things that are easier to share than words.

And when you’re not baking, you’re here. Sitting across from the old man in 6D, a chessboard between you, the afternoon light stretching lazily across the table.

He moves slowly, but never uncertain. “Have you met your neighbor yet?” he asks, eyes still fixed on the board.

You shake your head, nudging your pawn forward. “No, not yet.”

A small pause. “I leave baked goods sometimes,” you add, almost sheepish. “And he leaves notes. That’s… kind of our thing, I guess.”

Your pawn lands on C4, a quiet offering.

The old man hums, considering, before sliding his knight into place. “Yeah,” he says. “He’s a good man.”

You glance up briefly. “You know him?”

“A little.” Something is known in the way he says it, but he doesn’t elaborate.

You look back down at the board, tapping your finger lightly against the edge.

“I guess we just never catch each other,” you murmur. “Even in the hallway.”

A beat, “sometimes I hear him play guitar, though.”

The old man smiles faintly at that, shifting another piece with careful precision. “And I hear your music every night,” he says. “That old jazz.”

You smile, a little brighter now. “Yeah, Ella Fitzgerald. She’s my favorite.”

“It reminds me of my wife.”

That makes you pause. Not in surprise but in the way something soft settles into the moment, asking you to slow down.

You look up.

He’s not looking at you anymore. His gaze is somewhere else entirely, distant in a way that feels… familiar. Like he’s seeing something that isn’t here.

“Do you miss her?” you ask gently.

He lets out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh—but softer. “My soul yearns for her,” he says. 

The words don’t feel heavy just hones, like something he’s learned to carry.

You don’t say anything for a moment. Just nod, letting the silence sit between you—not empty, but full in its own quiet way.

Then, he moves his queen. Smooth. Certain.

“Checkmate.”

You blink, looking down at the board—then let out a surprised laugh. “Wait—what? No, that’s…” you lean forward, scanning the pieces, realization dawning too late. “You’ve been setting that up this whole time.”

He smiles, just a little. “Patience,” he says.

You shake your head, laughing under your breath as you lean back in your chair. “Remind me never to underestimate you again.”

“Too late for that,” he replies.

Your laughter fades into something softer, your gaze drifting briefly toward the direction of your apartment.

Toward 6A. Toward the quiet, unseen neighbor who exists somewhere just beyond your reach.

“Maybe I’ll meet him eventually,” you murmur.

The old man follows your gaze, something knowing flickering in his expression. “Oh,” he says quietly. “you will.”

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Joe’s phone is propped up against a stack of books, his sisters’ faces filling the screen as they talk over each other, as usual.

“Are you eating properly?” one of them asks.

“Are you sleeping?” the other cuts in.

“Do you even know what sleep is?”

Joe huffs a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, I’m eating. Yes, I’m sleeping. I’m alive, I promise.”

“That’s not convincing,” one of them says.

He rolls his eyes, leaning back against the couch. “Okay, fine. I’ve been surviving off baked goods lately.”

“Oh?”

“My neighbor,” he adds, something softer slipping into his tone without him noticing. “She’s—uh… probably someone’s grandma. Loves to bake. Leaves stuff outside my door.”

His sisters immediately light up.

“Oh my god.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Right?” Joe says, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Her cupcakes are insane. Like, life-changing. I don’t even think I can eat store-bought anymore.”

“Have you met her?”

He pauses “…no.”

“What?” they both say at the same time.

“I mean…we just, you know. Miss each other.” He shrugs. “Schedules.”

They stare at him.

“Joe.”

“What?”

“Go meet your grandma.”

He groans. “I’m not knocking on her door like some weirdo.”

“You literally eat her food.”

“Exactly,” he says. “That makes it worse.”

They laugh, he shakes his head, smiling despite himself. “Alright, I gotta go,” he says, reaching for his phone. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Go meet her!” they call before the screen goes dark.

The apartment feels quieter after the call ends. Joe glances toward the door without really meaning to.

Toward 6B.

He thinks about the last note he left. The way you’d written back before that—simple, warm, easy. It’s a little strange. To feel like you know someone through scraps of paper and sugar. And it’s making him miss home, his family. 

It’s been a week of no cupcakes. no brownies. no cinnamon rolls. not even a note. Joe doesn’t mention it because who would he even say it to? but he notices.

Every morning, when he steps into the hallway, there’s a small, stupid part of him that looks down automatically. 

Nothing.

He opens his fridge one afternoon, staring at the plastic container of store-bought cupcakes sitting untouched on the shelf. He bought them two days ago.

They’re… fine. Too sweet. Too perfect. No personality.

Joe shuts the fridge with a quiet sigh. “Yeah,” he mutters to himself. “Not the same.”

He leans against the counter for a second, arms crossed. Maybe you’re busy. Maybe you got tired of baking. Maybe, he shakes his head slightly, cutting the thought off, “It’s not like she has to,” he says under his breath.

Still.

The hallway feels a little emptier.

A few days later, on the first floor, Joe stands waiting for the elevator, headphones hanging loosely around his neck. The doors haven’t opened yet when he hears the slow tap of a cane.

He turns, “Hey,” he says, recognizing the old man from upstairs.

“Well, if it isn’t the musician,” the old man replies, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “How are you, Joe?”

“I’m good,” Joe says. “You?”

“Still alive. That’s something.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh. A pause settles between them, comfortable.

“Have you met our neighbor yet?” the old man asks casually.

Joe shakes his head. “No. But she keeps me fed.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Joe says, a grin forming. “Cupcakes, pies, muffins… I’ve got a whole bakery situation going on upstairs.”

The old man hums, amused. “A very sweet woman,” Joe adds, clearly entertained by himself.

“Very,” the old man agrees, watching him closely.

Joe glances at him, catching the look. “What?”

“Nothing,” the old man says. “Just wondering why you haven’t asked her to coffee yet.”

Joe lets out a short laugh. “Oh—no. Nope. Not happening.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Joe shrugs. “Feels… weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. Like what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, thanks for the baked goods, wanna hang out?’” He shakes his head. “Hard pass.”

The old man studies him for a moment, something amused and knowing sitting just beneath the surface. “You might regret that,” he says.

Joe smirks. “What, I’m trying to set you up here?”

The old man raises his cane slightly, pointing it at him. “Careful, boy. My wife might come back and haunt you.”

Joe laughs. “Yeah? I’d like to see her try.”

The elevator dings, doors sliding open. They step inside, still smiling.

 Later that night, Joe sits on his bed, guitar resting against his thigh, fingers idly strumming as he works through a melody that refuses to settle.

The apartment is quiet, then the melodies finally made it, faint at first.

There’s a somebody I’m longin’ to see…

Joe pauses for half a second, fingers hovering over the strings before continuing.

Someone who’ll watch over me…

Ella Fitzgerald again.

He almost smiles. It’s been a week since he’s heard it. A week since—laughter cuts through the song, a bright, unrestrained, and close. 

Joe’s hand stills completely this time. The sound carries through the wall, through the slight crack of his open window. Not soft. Not quiet.

He frowns slightly, tilting his head. “She’s got someone over,” he murmurs. That must be it. That’s why the baking stopped.

Why the hallway’s been empty.

His fingers press absently against the strings, but he doesn’t play. The laughter comes again, lighter this time, fading into the music. Joe leans back slightly, staring at nothing in particular.

“…yeah,” he mutters. Makes sense but something about it sits strange in his chest. Not bad, just different. 

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Three days have passed since you invited the old man from 6D over for dinner.

In exchange, he told you stories, long, winding ones about his late wife. The way she laughed, the way she danced in the kitchen, the way she filled a room without trying.

You’d listened the whole night, chin resting on your hand, smiling softly. It lingered with you. That kind of love that stays, even after.

Now, you’re in the elevator, balancing two grocery bags in each hand, the plastic handles digging slightly into your fingers.

Your headphones sit snug over your ears, music playing low—just enough to keep you company, not enough to drown the world out completely.

It’s been a long day. You just want to get upstairs. The elevator doors begin to close, and then a hand appears trying to get between them. 

You look up. For a split second, you catch a glimpse of someone on the other side. Tall. Slightly out of breath. Familiar in a way that makes your brows knit together.

You’ve seen him before. You’re sure of it but before your brain can place it the doors slide shut.

The elevator continues upward. You blink “…huh.”

You shift the bags in your hands, the plastic rustling softly as your mind tries to catch up. Where have you seen him? Not in the building—no, you would remember that.

Or… would you?

On the other side, Joe exhales, dropping his hand as the elevator doors fully close in front of him. “Seriously?”

He lets out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. He was right there.

The girl inside, he frowns slightly. He knows that face. Not personally. Not exactly. But there’s something about it. Something that feels… close.

He shakes his head. “Whatever,” he mutters, stepping back as he waits for the next elevator.

By the time you reach the sixth floor, your arms are starting to ache. You step out carefully, adjusting your grip as you make your way down the hallway.

Almost there, almost, then one of the bags slips.

“—shit.”

You barely catch it before it hits the floor, but a few items tumble out anyway—an apple rolling a short distance, a box of something sliding across the tiles.

You sigh, crouching down awkwardly, trying to gather everything without dropping the rest.

The elevator dings behind you. You don’t turn, too focused.

Joe steps out, already reaching for his keys then pauses. There’s someone crouched in the hallway. Groceries scattered slightly around them. He hesitates for half a second.

Then,  “Hey—uh, wait,” he says, stepping forward. “I got it.”

You glance up, startled.

It’s him.

The guy from the elevator. Up close, he looks even more familiar. Before you can think about it, he’s already crouching beside you, picking up the apple and handing it back.

“Thanks,” you say, a little breathless.

“Yeah, no problem.”

There’s a small pause as you both reach for the same item at the same time—your fingers brushing briefly.

You pull back first. “Sorry.”

“No—my bad,” he says quickly.

Another pause, not uncomfortable. Just… unsure.

You stand, adjusting the bags again, and he does the same—except he doesn’t have anything in his hands, so now he’s just standing there. Looking at you like he’s trying to figure something out.

“You live up here?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” he nods, then gestures vaguely behind him. “Uh—6A.”

You blink.

Oh.

Oh.

Something clicks; it might be a stupid and rude move, but you immediately go inside your apartment. Trying not to embarrass yourself more in front of Joe Keery. 

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The hallway smells like sugar again.

Joe notices it before anything else—warm, soft, something like vanilla and butter baked into the walls. It’s been like that for weeks now, always in the evenings. Always paired with the low hum of old music bleeding through the floorboards—brassy, smooth, something that sounds like it belongs in a different decade.

He’s halfway to convincing himself to knock when the door across from his opens.

You step out, not even close to eighty. You’re holding a small plate, a cupcake perched neatly in the center, frosting swirled a little uneven like it was done in a rush.

Joe just… stares.

“Oh—uh,” you say, offering a small smile, holding the plate out toward him. “Hi. I am the one who just moved in and I want to apologize for my rude behavior aside from, you know… assaulting the hallway with baked goods.”

He blinks. Once. Twice.

“Right. Yeah. No—yeah, that’s… that’s okay.” He takes the plate automatically, still looking at you like his brain is buffering. “Thanks.”

Then, because his mouth always moves faster than his thoughts.  “Tell your grandma thanks too,” he adds, nodding toward the door behind you. “She’s been, uh… really generous with the pastries.”

Silence.

You blink at him. “My… what?”

“Your grandma,” Joe repeats, suddenly less confident. He gestures vaguely. “The music, the baking..I just figured—”

There’s a pause. Not awkward yet. Just confused. Then your brows knit together, and you let out a short, almost disbelieving laugh.

“I don’t—” you shake your head a little, like you’re trying to catch up to him. “My grandma’s dead.”

Joe freezes, completely, “Oh.”

The word drops like a brick between you.

“I mean....not like recently,” you add quickly, not unkindly, but definitely trying not to laugh now. “I just…there’s no grandma in there. It’s just me.”

Joe looks at the cupcake in his hand. Then back at you. Then at your door. Like, maybe an elderly woman will magically appear and save him.

She does not.

“…I thought you were, like, seventy,” he admits.

That does it. You laugh, eally laugh this time, shoulders shaking, hand coming up to your mouth.

“Seventy?”

“The music!” he defends, pointing at the wall. “And the baking! And, there’s vinyl, right? I heard—”

“I like Ella Fitzgerald, oh my god, is that illegal now?” you shoot back, still smiling.

“No! No, it’s just most people our age are playing, I don’t know, depressing indie music and eating instant noodles.”

“I do that too,” you say. “Just… with better snacks.”

That earns a small, helpless laugh from him. “Okay. Yeah. That tracks.”

A softer pause settles this time, less awkward more curious.

“I’m…Joe, by the way.”

“I know,” you say, a little too quickly then wince. “not in a weird way. You’re just… you know.”

He raises a brow. “Yeah?”

You gesture vaguely. “Well-known”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Right.”

You nod toward the cupcake. “You should try it before you decide I’m secretly an old lady.”

Joe peels back the wrapper, still smiling a little to himself. “Tastes like something a seventy-year-old would make,” he says, taking a bite.

You gasp. “Rude.”

He grins. “Really good, though.”

He shifts his weight slightly, glancing at you, then away, then back again.like he’s deciding something.

“Hey uh…” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “This might be… kind of random, but”

You tilt your head, waiting.

“I feel like I owe you,” he says, holding up the cupcake a little. “For all the baked goods. And the, uh… emotional damage from thinking you were someone’s grandma.”

You laugh softly.

“So…” he continues, a little more sure now, “would you maybe want to grab coffee sometime?”

You study him for a second just enough to make him a little nervous.

“Only if you’re willing to teach me how to play guitar.”

Joe blinks then smiles,  “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I can do that.”

You nod once, satisfied. “Then we’ve got a deal.”

Another beat lingers between you quiet, warm, something new settling in the space where there used to be just a wall.

The hallway still smells like sugar but now it feels like something else, too. Something just beginning.

the girl next door (is not a grandma) masterlist

you told yourself this was like any other acting gig. sure, you hadn’t had many, you were still starting out. but your were going to be joining a show you had watched since the beginning in its fourth season as a new character. the stakes felt high.

your character, katherine miller, was the new girl in hawkins. already, you related to her. you just hoped that, like catherine, you weaved your way into the group seamlessly.

when you showed up to the table read, you thought you were going to puke from nerves. but, to your surprise, that feel disappeared the second you walked intro the room.

never had you met such a kind and welcoming group of people. they instantly made you feel like you had been there the entire run of the show.

you thankfully got along instantly with maya and joe, who you’d share most of your scenes with, turning their on screen duo into a trio.

what surprised you the most was joe. he was the first one to approach you, the first to invite you to dinner with the core group, the first to fill you in on any inside joke thrown around.

joe was just a good guy. the kind of good no one believed existed anymore. the kind that seems unattainable, that lived only in female written romance novels.

it was overwhelming, really. you sometimes had to discreetly pinch yourself when spending time with him.

which you did a lot of.

you sort of had to. your character, katherine (or as steve so lovingly called her, kat), was not only the newest addition to the monster hunting group in season four. but she was also the new love interest of steve harrington. one meant to put an end to the tired love triangle between him, nancy, and jonathan.

though, hanging out with joe never felt forced or strictly professional. the two of you had a lot in common, but at the same time perfectly balanced each other out. maya often joked that you two were like yin and yang.

your relationship with joe shifted like the seasons.

when you met, there was a period of time you spent learning each other. learning not only how the other person worked and ticked on set, but learning each other.

joe learned your coffee order, you learned which toppings he preferred on his pizza but would settle for anything to please everyone else. you learned his favorite niche bands and albums and he learned your favorite authors and foreign films.

you danced around each other in a warming newness, equal parts shy and welcoming. all the while, something more was blooming. something beautiful beneath the surface, like spring flowers.

by the summer months, you had fallen into a routine.

summer in georgia was hot and sticky, making set somewhat hellish. but the june sun couldn’t compare to the warmth you felt standing next to joe.

in a way, joe radiated warm energy. he was like the sun and you were some planet drawn to him, orbiting him in awe.

joe also filled you with a different sort of warmth. the kind that settled in deep, causing butterflies to erupt in your belly and your heart to skip a beat.

it was just your characters, you’d tell yourself at the end of the day, when you were melting with exhaustion into the chair in the makeup trailer.

when you caught joe’s soft gaze lingering a little too long, when he smiled brightly at you, when he would playfully nudge you between takes. it was just method acting. right?

as your characters fell in love in small moments between the bigger plot, it all felt a little too real. when the cameras cut, the feelings didn’t fade.

you almost wanted to chase that feeling. you wanted the scenes to keep rolling, if that meant you could stay in joe’s embrace. you could keep hearing his soft professions of love.

even if it wasn’t joe talking. even if, in reality, it was steve saying those things to kat.

meanwhile, joe was going through it.

he liked to think of himself as a professional. he never caught feelings for a coworker, in acting or otherwise.

but now, as he stood on set with you without the cameras even rolling, his heart raced. he felt lighter around you, happier in a quiet, content way.

“you’re in looooove.” maya had told him jokingly one morning before you had gotten to set.

“you’re ridiculous. we’re just best friends. who, you know, happen to play two characters falling in love. if it’s convincing, it just means i’m doing my job right.” joe insisted.

but maya shook her head. “you don’t need to do your job when the camera isn’t rolling. not to mention when you’re not even on set. face it, joseph.”

joe sat quietly, letting maya’s words settle in while the girl proceeded while a dramatic wailing of “so this is love” from cinderella.

joe was conflicted. he had never had the lines blur for him while acting. he thought back to previous on screen love interests. did he feel this way when he and natalia shared romantic scenes? or when his characters in other projects had to flirt or kiss someone?

but he kept getting the same answer. no. joe had never felt this way while acting in romantically driven scenes.

then it hit him like a ton of bricks.

fuck. he was falling in love with you.

joe decided, at least for the time being, he would keep his discovery to himself. the last thing he wanted was to cross boundaries, ruining your friendship and making you uncomfortable at your place of work all in one fell swoop.

but there were moments when joe wanted to risk it all. moments that came all too often.

like during downtime on set on long days, when you and joe sat cross-legged on the ground in the corner of set, knees knocking together as you played cards to pass the time. and you won go fish again, smiling widely as you laid down your last match and wiggled your shoulders excitedly. it took everything in joe not to lean in and close the small gap between you, kissing the grin off your face.

instead, joe settled for smiling at you fondly, letting the feelings simmer inside unbearably.

or when you were at joe’s apartment in a small town outside of atlanta on a night off. the two of you a bottle of wine in, music playing softly from a speaker and joe’s guitar laying across your lap.

your fingers strum, playing a chord you completely made up yourself. truthfully, it sounds awful, and you know it. you’re just goofing off. but it was music to joe’s ears.

you play something wonky that bounces off the walls and laugh, making something twist pleasantly in joe’s chest. he echoes your laugh and, against his better judgement, reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ears.

you meet his gaze and blush.

“how do i sound, mr. music man?”

joe snorts softly. “horrendous.”

you gasp playfully. “rude!”

the two of you giggle before you knock your shoulder into his.

“if i’m so horrendous, teach me.”

joe’s heart leapt in his chest. he moves to make room in front of him, pats the cushion. you bite the inside of your cheek and roll your eyes, but slot yourself in front of him nonetheless.

as joe wraps his arms around you and the guitar, he guides your hands along the strings. your faces are inches from each other, enough for his breath to fan across your cheek.

both of you are trying to keep your cool, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re both going through it.

at one point, after a little while of trying and failing to play something, you sighed defeatedly. you throw your head back against joe’s shoulder with a groan.

“i have zero musical bones in my body.”

joe chuckles turning his head to look down on you. he prayed you couldn’t feel his heart pounding against your back.

“you just gotta keep practicing, sweetheart. we’ll get you there.”

you roll your head to the side, looking up at joe. but your faces end up closer than anticipated. your noses almost brush and your breath catches in your throat.

you don’t know how long you hold each other’s gazes, but joe’s eyes flicker down to your lips and something snaps in him. he pulls away quick, leaving your cheeks burning.

you clear your throat, moving to the opposite end of the couch after setting his guitar down. joe put on a movie and the tension dissipated as soon as it appeared.

but the elephant in the room remained.

it all finally came to a head a few months later.

it was technically fall. but early fall in georgia was still warm. the nights faded into a slightly cooler breeze that felt a little more like autumn.

you’d had a rough week. you had gotten to the more intense scenes as you neared the end of the season. there was more drama, more action, and, of course, the scene where steve finally confessed to katherine.

you supposed the stress was finally getting to you. it didn’t help that you were tired, thanks to months of long days, late nights, and chaotic sleep schedules.

and you felt like you just couldn’t nail this scene.

your character was overwhelmed. between the “murders”, learning about the dark truths beneath hawkins, looking after max (whom she quickly grew a soft spot for), fighting a dark wizard named vecna, and your feelings for steve. it was all a lot.

and it was something you wanted to perfect.

the pain for steve throwing himself into danger. the desperation of wanting him to see her instead of nancy. all the feelings that bubble over and reach a breaking point before the final battle plans.

you were trying to run your lines in your head while final adjustments were made to the lighting, but your gaze was locked onto joe across the field as he had his hair touched up.

it was take three of your confession scene. one of the duffers called for places, you were sure which. it wasn’t important to you right now.

you took your spot sitting on a crate and joe flashed you a smile and thumbs up, which you halfheartedly reciprocated before locking in.

the scene started with catherine sharpening knives, having a moment alone. steve enters, trying to make a lighthearted joke that doesn’t land. reality was too real at the moment.

“hey, you okay?” joe recited his line effortlessly, falling perfectly into steve’s character.

“how can you joke right now?” you scoff, sharpening the blade harder.

joe, steve, frowned, taking a seat next to you. “talk to me.”

you sighed, pausing your movements.

“you almost died, steve. you could still die. all of us can.”

steve couldn’t help himself. “if you knew many times i’ve almost died in the past few years, you wouldn’t be so upset right now.”

you drop the blade and the sharpener to the ground, both clattering to the ground. the camera moved in closer but you tried to ignore it.

“you don’t get it, do you? you almost died steve. hell, i thought i lost you! and here you are making jokes like we aren’t risking our fucking lives! god, you know, sometimes i really just wish you’d get your head out of your ass. you’re a real idiot sometimes. but i guess we have that in common.”you laughed bitterly, your voice cracking as you dug deeper into the scene.

joe reacted perfectly, just like he’d done when rehearsing and during the previous takes. he wore that confused, hurt puppy dog look of steve’s so well.

“kat-“

“no, steve! this is insanity. i feel like im going crazy. last week, i was passing notes about mr. lewinsky’s bald spot with robin during calculus and eating all the popcorn at family video while you sorted the tapes that keith specifically asked me to do because he said i have been slacking off. and now i’m fighting a monster from another dimension that’s been terrorizing and killing my classmates. all the while, i have to sit here and watch you make heart eyes at snooty nancy wheeler, who totally hates me, by the way!” you had run out of breath by the time you finished your rant, avoiding joe, or well, steve’s gaze.

the tension that settled over you felt all too personal. those lines between real and acting were beginning to bleed together.

“i think i love you, katherine.” steve replied, but all you could hear is joe. blame it on your exhaustion, but this was were you began to fall apart in the scene. every take, without fail.

because you were desperate to hear joe say those words to you, but you knew you would have to settle for his character confessing to yours. you’d have to live vicariously through her.

and that did something to your psyche.

when you lifted your gaze to find joe’s eyes burning into you, so fully in character, it made your heart leap and your mind blank. your mouth opened but your lines didn’t come out.

“CUT!”

it was ross and matt had thrown cold water over you with that one word. they might as well have.

“let’s break for lunch. i think we need a breather to regroup.” one of the called out.

you bolted from set faster than anyone could register. you didn’t even stop for joe as he called out for you.

you found a quiet spot behind one of the farthest trailers parker in the lot and sat there for a while. you talked yourself down, telling yourself it was just nerves and exhaustion taking their toll.

your thoughts are interrupted by a small tray containing a sandwich and some chips being held out in front of your face.

you followed the hand, which you recognized instantly, up the arm and to the face of joe smiling down at you, holding his own plate in his other hand.

“brought you lunch.”

“how’d you find me?” you asked with a slight pout, but still mumbling a thanks as you take the food. joe sat down next to you, placing his plate on his lap.

“i think i would be able to find you anywhere.”

you didn’t let yourself read into that answer, no matter how much if made your stomach flip.

you pick around at the sandwich, peeling the crust off in little bits to eat slowly. joe watched intently for a moment before he knocked his shoulder against yours.

“talk to me. what’s going on?” his voice was so soft it instantly soothed you. it always had that effect on you.

“i’m just tired and overwhelmed. things are getting more intense.” you shrugged.

“what about this scene are you finding so difficult? we can work it out.” you wanted to hate joe. everytime he opened his mouth or he’ll, even existed, he made it more and more difficult not to love him.

and that was something you couldn’t do. and you certainly couldn’t tell him you did. so you shook your head.

“like i said, it’s just a lot. i’ll be fine after lunch and a break.”

joe frowned, unconvinced. see, what you failed to consider was that over the past however many months, joe had come to know you like the back of his hand.

joe knew you in ways your oldest friends or your family didn’t know. he knew that when you lied, your left eyebrow twitched upwards ever so slightly. he knew that when something was weighing on you, you got that far off look in your eyes and you chewed on the inside corner of your mouth.

all three of which were happening as he looked at you.

“sweetheart, you can tell me anything. you know i’m here for you. always am. i just want you to not bottle anything up that’s bothering you.” joe’s words made your eyes prickle with tears. the softness of them. the sincerity. the stupid pet name guys definitely don’t casually call their best friend slash coworker, and yet, joe had called you that from the beginning.

“fucking hell.” you mumbled as you rubbed your hands harshly down your face. “i don’t know how much longer i can keep doing this.”

joe furrowed his brows. “what? the show? acting?”

“no, joe. this. i don’t know how much longer i can be around you.”

joe’s face fell.

“what? did i do something?”

“everything, joe! that’s the problem! everything you do drives me crazy. at first i thought, surely, i only feel this way because my character is in love with yours. but that’s not true at all. and maybe i’m a horrible actress for letting the lines become blurred in my head but you’re you and you’re perfect and i just couldn’t help it!”

joe stared. mouth agape. his brows were knitted together in the way they do when he’s processing something. you knew that look, of course you did. joe wasn’t the only one who knew someone like the back of his hand.

“what exactly are you saying?” joe’s voice softened into a tone you only heard in quiet moments together. when everything was warm and soft around the edges.

“you know what i’m saying joe. and i’m sorry this happened now instead of after filming. i don’t want to make things uncomfortable or ruin our friendship but i’ll just have to deal with the consequences.”

then joe laughed. a bubble of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered idiot to himself under his breath.

you wanted to shrink away. close in on yourself and shrink away into nothingness. you rolled your eyes, mostly in effort to subtly rid the tears forming in them, then go to stand up.

but joe caught your wrist, keeping you sat next to him.

“sorry, i’m the idiot. not you. i mean, hell, do you know how many times i’ve wanted to kiss you these past few months? way too many for me not to grow some balls and do it. but i was scared.”

you could barely hear joe over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. surely, this was some kind of joke. some sick hazing prank on the newbie, month later. but the look in joe’s eyes made any doubt fade.

because you knew joe. you knew that there wasn’t a malicious bone in his body. you knew he loved and cared deeply about anyone that crossed his path. you knew the way he looked at you, that look reserved for only you. this was your joe.

so instead, you scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “yeah, you are an idiot.”

“hey! let’s not forget this is a two way street miss i’ve been in love with you for months!” joe defended with a chuckle.

“i never said that i was in love with you.”

“you kinda did.”

“not specifically.”

you watched as joe stared at you, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from lifting fondly. you couldn’t help it, that look he gave you triggered something in you and made you lower all defenses.

“i’m in love with you, joe. a ridiculous amount. so much it hurts.” your voice now came out as a whisper, almost like you were still scared to admit it. because you weren’t scared of loving joe. in fact, it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. you were scared of the repercussions had he not felt the same, even now.

joe’s face crumpled into the softest look you’d ever seen. his hand found your cheek and cradled it gently.

“i’m in love with you too. and i’m a fool for not saying anything sooner. but you’re such an amazing woman and i didn’t want to jeopardize anything we already had. i’d rather pine after you for the rest of my life than tell you how i feel and lose you because you didn’t feel the same.”

“you could never lose me, joe.”

“i know. but the thought of it alone terrified me.” joe brushed his thumb across your cheek and you leaned into his touch.

“from now on, we don’t keep anything from each other. i’m not gonna run away from you or us.”

joe nodded his head. “deal.”

“deal.” you echoed then looked at him expectantly. “okay, you can kiss me now.”

joe laughed, the kind that made your heart feel light, then leaned in.

“i love you.” he said gently before pressing his lips to your in a long awaited kiss. but it was well worth the wait. because really, you’d wait several lifetimes just to kiss joe. you smiled into the kiss at the thought.

he didn’t say hello immediately, just took in the same view before he spoke.

“did you know the sign used to say ‘hollywoodland’?” joe said, glancing over to you.

your eyes snapped away from the view, looking surprised joe keery was talking to you.

you blinked, taking in what he just said. “oh, i didn’t know.” you gave him a polite smile as you looked back at the sign.

you knew of joe keery, liked his music even. but you couldn’t keep up the small talk anymore tonight.

he nodded, taking your short answer as a sign not to bother you further, so he took a cigarette in between his lips, looking for a lighter in his pocket.

you noticed how he tapped every possible pocket he had, but no lighter. so you dug into your purse, holding one up. you snapped it open and sparked it, flames casting a shadow on both your faces on the dimly lit balcony.

his eyes met yours as he leaned forward a bit, letting the cigarette between his lips touch the flame. when it wouldn’t lit, he put his hands around the lighter, shielding it from any wind, eye contact never wavering, his hands touching your hand.

you’d be lying if you said that didn’t give you butterflies.

“thanks.” he said, blowing out smoke, offering you a drag.

you just shook your head. “you’re welcome.” you looked at him as he turned to face the railing again, taking him in.

after another beat, he turns to look at you again.

“i’m joe by the way.” he extended his hand to you. he didn’t need an introduction, you knew all about him.

you chuckled softly, taking his hand in yours, shaking it. “i know who you are.” you replied, giving him your name after.

“well, still feels a bit rude to assume you knew it.” he says, holding your hand a litte longer than necessary.

a moment passes, you look back at the party that’s happening inside, then at him. “are you not enjoying the party?” you ask.

he took a breath as he shook his head. “..bit too crowded in there. plus it’s all just less party, more networking. not really my type of thing.”

you just nodded, understanding him.

“shouldn’t you be in there? best new artist? congrats by the way.” he said, looking at you, smiling.

you huffed out a smile hesitantly. the title ‘best new artist’ didn’t sound real yet. “thank you. probably should, yeah.” you answered but honestly you had no desires to be back in that room. “i just feel a bit out of place there.”

he took another drag of his cigarette, eyes roaming over your face, like he’s trying to see you more clearly. “yeah? i mean, you deserve to be there, you know.”

in a way you knew it was true, your debut album had gone viral and the last year had consisted of interviews, concerts, fans approaching you on the street. you’re even invited to be on a talkshow next week. yet, you still felt like the girl who wrote songs in her childhood room because she wouldn’t get a text back.

joe could tell you were unconvinced. “they’re mostly nice people,” he said, his head nudging to the door. “i mean, speaking for myself, i don’t bite.”

you chuckled ever so softly. “not even a little?” you meant it more as a joke, but it definitely sounded like a flirt. a faint heat creeping up your neck from.. embarrassment?

all he did was grin as he took another drag from his cigarette, head shaking a little as he blew out the smoke.

a beat passes before he speaks again. “i really liked your album by the way.” he said.

“really?” joe keery listened to your stuff?

“yeah really,” he leaned back against the railing, running a hand through his hair. “you sound surprised.”

“wow, i guess i just.. didn’t expect you to have heard it.” you answered. it’s true, you really didn’t. his music is pretty different from yours. “i like your music.”

by the look on his face he’s surprised that you like his stuff too. “you do?”

“mhm.” you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, should you go as far as telling him you own one of his records?

“well, thank you.”

there’s a small pause again, but this one feels different. less awkward, more… aware.

he studies you for a second, like he’s deciding something.

“what’s your favorite song on it?” he asks, nodding slightly toward you.

you blink. “on your album?”

he hums, taking another drag. “yeah. don’t say the popular one just to be polite.”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “i wouldn’t do that.”

he raises a brow like he doesn’t fully believe you.

you lean back against the railing beside him, a little closer than before. “probably fly,” you admit after a second. “it’s… calmer than the rest. i like that.”

he goes quiet for a beat.

not in a bad way, more like you caught him off guard.

“huh,” he exhales, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “most people don’t pick that one.”

“most people don’t listen properly.” you shrug lightly. you’ve had that song on repeat. when you’d go to bed, when you were writing. it was calm, cleared your head on occasion.

that earns you a look though. a real one this time. there’s something softer in it now.

“you always this honest?” he asks.

you tilt your head slightly. “you always this surprised when someone is?”

he lets out a quiet laugh, looking down for a second before glancing back at you.

“no,” he admits, voice a little lower now. “just didn’t expect it from you.”

“from me?” you echo.

his eyes flick over you, your dress, the jewelry, the whole polished image, before settling back on your face.

“yeah. you look like you belong in there,” he nods toward the party. “not out here… hiding.”

your breath catches a little at that.

“maybe i don’t want to belong in there,” you say softly.

another beat.

closer now, somehow, even though neither of you moved much.

he flicks ash off his cigarette over the railing. “then where do you want to belong?”

your eyes meet his, and for the first time tonight, you don’t feel overwhelmed.

just… steady.

“not sure yet,” you admit. “but this is better.”

his lips twitch.

“yeah?” he says, a little teasing again. “just the view, or…”

you smile slightly, a humorous scoff escaping you but you’re not looking away this time.

“depends,” you murmur. “are you part of the view?”

he’s about to respond when the balcony doors slide open, a couple giggling celebrities who’ve had way too much to drink, come out for a smoke, interrupting the moment.

one of them spots you. “oh. my. god.” she says as her steps are now headed towards you as she pulls whoever guy she’s with, with her.

“i am just, utterly obsessed with you!!” she says, her hand on your arm. you’ve seen her before on tv, some reality show you occasionally put on if you really feel like frying your brain.

you greet her, smiling politely. but you’d desperately want to go back to flirting with joe keery.

“your win is so inspiring. like, it really shows anyone can make it.” she says.

you blink. did she just give you the most back handed compliment ever? you shoot a look at joe, who already has his eyebrows raised.

the girl rambles on some more, the slurring in her words getting more noticeable as she speaks. the guy with her, completely spaced out.

finally when it’s taken too long, joe steps in slightly. “this grammy winner has somewhere to be, excuse us.”

the girl’s face turns a little sour, an obvious hint of jealousy tainting her face.

you can’t help the surprised smile on your face as you quickly step back in to your heels.

joe takes your hand in his and starts walking, guiding you to some other place.

“where are we going?” you ask, looking at his hand holding yours as he’s walking in front of you.

“just trust me.” is all he answers.

“grammy winner?” you recall, smirking at the way he had ‘casually’ mentioned it to the girl.

“grammy winner.” he just replies.

when you’ve walked up a staircase, you realize you’re going up to the rooftop. this felt so random, so thrilling? joe keery is taking you to a rooftop.

when he opens the door, it reveals a beautiful pool, accompanied by some lounge chairs and a bunch of little lights, creating warm glows all across.

“wow.” you say, when you’re both stood still at the edge of the pool, hands still intertwined.

he hums, almost proud of himself for knowing about this place.

“are we even allowed to be here?” you look around, settling your eyes on his.

“i don’t know. probably not,” he says, the ambience lighting creating soft shadows on his face. “but it’s better than hearing that girl give you one more ‘compliment’.”

you chuckle. “anything is better than that.” you let go of his hand and when you do, you’re already missing the warmth of it.

heels are kicked off again as you sit down, dangling your legs in the water.

for a beat, it’s just quiet as he sits next to you, facing you. you’re unsure of what to say, the silence growing heavier.

you finally turn your face to look at him, his eyes already trained on yours, making your heart skip a beat.

his eyes roam over your face.

“what?” you ask, voice a lot softer than intended, a blush creeping up on your neck and face.

after a second, his hand reaches up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, causing your breath to hitch.

his hand lingers on your jaw, thumb drawing circles against your cheek.

“is this.. too much?” he asks, voice soft and a little rougher than before.

all you can do is gently shake your head no, all words lost when those brown eyes are piercing yours.

his eyes look like he’s still silently seeking permission, so you lean in the tiniest bit, lips parting ever so slightly.

he couldn’t hold back any longer, from the moment he’s found out about your existence he was intrigued, it started off with enjoying your music, finding out you’re charismatic from the occasional clips he’d see passing by on his phone.

then when he saw you get on that stage and accept your grammy? he realized he definitely had been harbouring some sort of celebrity crush for you, so getting to talk to you on that balcony couldn’t have worked out better for him.

the pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip gently, before finally closing the distance. his hand goes to cup your jaw again, your eyes fluttering shut as you move your mouth against his.

angling your body more towards him, you lift a leg out of the pool, tucking it under you as you lean more into it, your hand at the nape of his neck.

your heart is racing, mind going blank as you feel his tongue against your teeth, lips parting further to grant him access. you can faintly taste the smoke on his tongue, clashing with the champagne on yours.

the kiss is full of pent up desire and heat, and despite the cold air of the night, your body feels hotter than ever.

his other hand moves to grab your waist, tucking you a little closer to him. he kisses like a man who loves, rather than a man who lusts and it takes you by surprise. his lips were soft and warm, tongue brushing against yours.

when you’re parting again, you’re breathing a bit heavier, eyes still shut for a second as you bite at the bottom of your now kiss-swollen lips.

his hand stays at your waist as he finally opens his eyes too, thumb moving up and down. it was intoxicating, and you’d kill to kiss him like that again.

“god, you’re beautiful.” he says, eyes so soft and slightly dazed.

though, the moment is cut short by the sound of the rooftop door creaking open.

you barely have time to pull back before your manager steps through, eyes widening when she finally spots you.

joe reluctantly removes his hand from your waist, giving you some more ‘respectable’ space, though the warmth of his touch still lingers.

“i have been looking everywhere for you, the people want to see you!” the manager says, voice raised as she just stands in the door opening. with the way her eyes are wide, brows furrowed, arms folded, she’s pissed.

you look at her, and back at joe.

you don’t want to leave, not now.

but when your manager calls.. you answer.

“i guess that’s my cue.” you say quietly.

joe stands, extending his hands to help you up. you take them, and for a second, neither of you lets go.

“yeah,” he says, softer this time.

you look at his face, unable to read his expression.

you hesitate but you decide to speak again. “…i don’t want this to be one of those things people forget in the morning.” you say, feeling a little vulnerable.

you didn’t just ‘kiss’ around, so you prayed he thought the same.

he blinks, a tiny smile at the corners of his lips. “good,” he says. “me neither.”

and just like that, the tight feeling in your chest loosens.

because somehow, you know this isn’t where it ends.

the next morning...

"You know what, man, we'll figure it out on our own," he said, sarcasm lacing his words. Hanging up and throwing his phone into the backseat, gripping the steering wheel as if it might help him stay on solid ground and for the anger to convert into leather and plastic.

She only heard him mutter an, "This is so stupid," before a cold shot of air shoved itself inside the vehicle. He appeared again in her peripheral vision, the sound of his shoes on angry ground audible through the metal of the chassis. The hood of the car got pushed up into her view, wrinkles appearing on her forehead as her eyebrows knit together.

Fiddling with the handle on her own side for a few seconds as her fingers repeatedly slipped from it before letting the cold air treat in through her side too. It was colder than anticipated. Wrapping her arms around herself, she walked over next to him.

"If you're actually attempting to fix this, try not making it worse than it already is," she said, concern in her tone as she watched him shift and check different canisters that neither of them could put a name to. Tilting her head as if it might help figuring out the thought behind his actions—if there even was one.

A small hiss was heard from somewhere under the hood—whether it was him or the engine, she couldn't tell, but she hoped dearly that it was the first. Shaking the pain out of his hand, Joe dove back up, holding out his hand towards her. Rubbing the motor oil that stuck to his knuckles off on his white shirt, the stain creating a pattern of his ribs and the flesh that laid over it. The curve of his waist visible in the uneven stripe of black.

"If you actually get anything in there to spit smoke, I might just throw you into the river. At least then I'd have better chances at surviving." Handing him the pack of cigarettes she stored in her jacket pocket and the fire that was decorated with his initials in rhinestones, slightly shoving him with the movement before going back inside.

Leaving the door open in case of needing to flee or help, tapping her foot against the fabric embracing the door in an uneven beat she heard coming from him in the studio an hour prior, staring out into the sky that seemed to get darker the longer she hoped for times to get better. Everything seemed to go against her will these days.

Light blocked her thoughts from continue tumbling down a hill of the unknown as Joe pushed the hood back down. The burning cig still in between his lips, ever glowing as he breathed in the poison. Hands stained heavier, the stark contrast capturing her focus for longer than necessary. Every crease was now defined. Every rill was now identifiable.

Opening her mouth to say something in return to the annoyed look on his face as he sat back in the driver seat, door closing with a harsh force, he spoke before she could. "I don't want to hear it."

Falling back into the seat, resting her head on the edge of the backrest. Looking his way as if the highway wasn't stretched out in front of her with nature to admire. "It wasn't even going to be something bad," she tried defending herself, holding her hands up in defense. Shrugging like it would make her testimony more believable.

Silence stretched like the dark clouds over them, the rain pouring harder up to the point where she had to sacrifice the fresh air that carried out the tension between them for the interior of the car not getting wet.

Neither knew exactly why they were on bad terms. It was one word spoken too soon and another too late. The apology never coming from either and saying nothing became more convenient than potentially making matters worse. Though he still insisted on taking her home instead of her catching a ride with the other guys and she didn't complain when she had to stay longer in the studio to wait for him to finish up.

The memory coming back, the melody still lingering in the back of her head.

"What was that song you played around with back in the studio?" she tried again, lifting her leg high enough to nudge his thigh and get his attention on her. Stretching it out over his lap, smiling when his hand caressed her calf without thinking twice about the action. Soft massages easing the muscles in her body and the strain in her brain.

"Nothing worth dwelling on," he brushed it off.

Pulling her leg closer, leaving enough space for the other one to follow. Untangling the laces of her shoes, pulling them off gently and readjusting her socks when they came down with it. Throwing them into the legroom without hitting her. Drawing little shapes and incoherent words on to her skin as the melody came back into his head. A heart following her name. Some sort of lightning traveling down her leg as he changed the tone of his voice while humming.

"It sounded good, a bit calmer than the other stuff you've been working on lately," she said in between his thoughts, trying to catch his attention without catching him out of his train of thought. "It's a nice contradiction, some soft contrast that still hold weight when you look at it."

"You like it?" he asked, finally looking over at her. Squinting as if he couldn't believe what she was saying to him.

"Of course, I do." Reaching out to play with the hair that grew out for too long so now it stood up against his ear, she could feel him lean into her touch. "I like all of your stuff."

"It's about you," he confessed, closing his eyes to hold the memories back that came before her. The stuttered out excuses and laughter that held too much weight to make him laugh too. But she was nowhere close to comparison. Instead of stretched out silence and hesitated movements, she hummed while her hands traveled further down. Outlining his jaw and the shape of his lips.

"Can you sing it again?" she requested, nuzzling deeper into the passenger seat. "This time clear enough for me to follow you."

Looking over, he could make out the genuine interest in her eyes. The rain still falling heavily onto the roof. Accompanying the rapid beating of his heart.

Reaching behind himself into the backseat to get to the guitar case that was still closed, he opened the metal clasps, taking it out with a sort of care he reserved for those things that seemed too precious to harm in any kind. Placing it in his lap, her feet now drawn back, knees against her chest, he started strumming the chords that were stuck in his head for the last couple of days.

Humming the soft melody that she could already imitate perfectly, adding a new layer to it simultaneously, he started pulling broken words and phrases from his mind. Lines he'd written months back in the past at midnight when she was already softly asleep beside him and he couldn't help but her beauty into poetry and rhymes. Focusing on the chords and how his fingers moved instead of her gaze that was pinned to him without the needle intending to harm him.

It didn't feel complete when he finished it. Letting his hands fall to his side, draping them over the outer-body of the instrument, he turned his head far enough to see the faint blush that crept up on her face during the duration of the song. She never understood how he could make her flustered so easily, all it took was his smile and a soft dedication that would slip over everyone's head who wasn't intentionally looking for it.

"You still like it?" he asked. Somewhere in between the promises and rose-coloured pictures of their future, he still had a voice in the back of his head, nagging him about her chance of rejection and unwanted affection.

"It's perfect like this," she nodded. "I don't think there should be more than you and the guitar. Maybe a soft piano melody but only in the background. You should be the focus."

"I thought about one more thing," he said, placing the guitar back in its case. "I want you on it."

Bonus: The Studio

Her nerves had been up since the night before as he told her about his plans for the upcoming studio session. Drenched in low lights and a soft humming of static and technology, it was a place that usually eased her mind. Joe's sound engineer, Matt, was already waiting for the pair. Smiling reassuringly as they entered.

"It'll be alright," Joe comforted her, running his hands up and down her back, trying to soothe and saddle her mind. "It's just us, no one else."

Settling in the booth next to him, her fingers trying to become familiar with the sheet music and the black and white keys, Joe sat waiting patiently. Going through his own notes, talking with Matt to set up the mics and amplifiers.

His hand on her thigh, squeezing it once to get her attention. "You good?"

"What if I mess it up?" she asked, looking at Joe in panic as the thought settled in: she would be responsible for the outcome of this song.

"You’re gonna be great. You always are."

Several eyes burned into your back as you gathered your things. The sweet smell of your favorite incense wafted through the studio. What once was your favorite, quickly became everyone's favorite after you'd brought it to one of the studio sessions when Joe first started recording. The room felt a bit empty, lacking spirit and you knew Joe needed a comfortable environment to let his creative juices flow. It started with incense, but pretty soon cozy pillows, blankets and a small cactus followed. All intended to help boost the creative process of your ever loving boyfriend who was working his ass off to finish the album.

"I'll be fine baby." You said as your hand reached out to your glasses on the coffee table where multiple pairs of feet had taken refuge during the much needed break. "I know you'll be fine, but I still think it'd be nice if someone came with you." Shaking your head, you look into the eyes of your golden retriever boyfriend who's currently trying to talk you into having a plus one to come with you to see your favorite indie artist. "Joe, it's a sold out show. I'm not gonna try to smuggle someone inside the venue and then leave them outside when it fails. Plus no one is really into the music, so I'm not gonna force it down anyone's throat."

You turn back to fetch your purse but out of the corner of your eye, you see him shrug. "I'm sure there's some tickets available from people who had to cancel last minute." A sigh escapes your lips, trying really hard not to smile at his overthinking. The light tapping of your footsteps is loud in the now quiet studio, everyone either scrolling, minding their own business or following the conversation between you and Joe. Your hands find his face and you move closer, feeling his breath on your lips as he exhales. "I'll be fine babe, it's one show." He lets out a groan, but doesn't do anything to pull back, on the contrary, he leans in closer, lips nearly touching. "Just... Text me when you get there, and keep me updated so I know when I have to come get you. I'm not letting you take the subway home afterwards." Your eyebrows lift for a second, thinking about the suggestion before smiling wildly. "Don't look at me like that." "Like what?" "Like you've won the argument." At that a laugh breaks out of you. "Well baby, it was never an argument, and it's not about winning anything. I'm my own woman and while you're really sexy when you're protective, I also enjoy doing things on my own."

A sigh leaves Joe's lips. He loved that about you. He loved you being independent but because of his caring nature, it sometimes clashed with his own values and need to take care of you. He was learning to find that balance, but then it sunk in what you'd just said. "Sexy huh." He started smirking. "Baby, half your band is here, I don't think now's the time to get into that."

That got a laugh out him, throwing his head back while grabbing your waist softly. "You're gonna be the death of me. Like, how are you real? With your stupid pretty eyes, your stupidly cute dimples, that fucking smile... If our kids take after you I'm just gonna be royally fucked for the rest of my life. A pushover for the rest of my days." At that, you leaned in, pressing your soft lips to his, the coarse hairs of his growing mustache tickling your skin. You deepened the kiss 'till he was at the brink of a moan, before pulling back and subtly biting his earlobe when you started hugging him. "Don't act as if you're not a pushover already."

A desperate little cry leaves his lips and you give him another peck before adjusting your purse, his hands falling to his sides when you put some distance between you two. Teddy stands up, speaking first. "You know, I'm pretty sure Isabelle would love the band." He tried, looking at Joe behind him while directing his statement at you. "You forget me and your fiancé are close as fuck. I know for a fact she doesn't like them." He immediately puts his hands up and shrugs at Joe, an - I tried- look on his face.

"Alright alright. Phone?" You wave it in front of him. "Wallet?" You point to your bag. "Keys?" You shake your hips, making the keys attached to one of your belt loops jingle. He grabs your hips again, making you look up from checking your keys. "Anything's up, you call me okay? Like, I don't care. Any single thought that pops up into that brilliant brain of yours that makes you wanna talk to me, text me." You jokingly put your hand next to your temple and salute him. "Sir, yes sir." A weak smile creeps up on his features. "Yeah, already royally fucked with you." He whispers before giving you a kiss and pulling back before you can deepen it. A cackle escapes your lips when you pass him and he jokingly slaps your ass. "Have fun." He yells as you walk through the studio door towards the hallway. "Love you." He hears you yell before a silence falls over the room.

"You guys are disgustingly cute." Wes exclaims, getting up and moving towards the recording booth to record his drum solo but Joe just gives him the finger before getting back to work, hand moving towards his pocket to check his phone is still there in case you do end up texting him.

"I'm here." You text Joe as you walk into the venue. You hadn't been to this one before so it was a bit of a maze even if it wasn't necessarily the biggest venue, your directional awareness never having been your strong suit. You'd gotten tickets on the balcony, not really being a fan of being in the middle of a large body of people on the floor. As you took your seat and got comfortable, you realized you were smack in the middle of two friends. You could tell they wanted to ask you something but were hesitant to do so. "Are you guys friends?" Your eyes switch from your left to your right. "Yeah," the left girl says. "We got last minute tickets yesterday because we didn't know they were playing here, but these were the only two left available in this part of the venue." You nod understandingly. "Also not a big fan of crowds?" The right girl shakes her head, before shyly speaking up. "Claustrophobia and anxiety isn't really a good combo for these kinds of things." "If you want I can switch with you so you can sit together?" You didn't even have to think about it, they looked nice enough and you felt for the girl trying to overcome her mental health struggles, not letting it stop her from living. Why wouldn't you accommodate so she has the nicest time possible. "Would you?" The girl on your left asks hopeful. "Of course!" You were already stood up before the girl slid into your seat. "I'm Emma and this is Ruth by the way. Thank you so much for switching with us." They looked so appreciative it melted your heart. "Honestly it's my pleasure. It takes a lot of guts to not let anxiety and mental health take over life sometimes so I hope you have the best time." Ruth nodded at you, gratitude still written all over her face.

You enjoyed talking to the girls some more before the lights dimmed and the show started. You'd sent some pictures and videos in the group chat but then put your phone away to actually enjoy the show, nodding along to the music. Since you were feeling more and more comfortable with Emma and Ruth, you decided to have some alcoholic beverages. You weren't usually big on drinking, not really enjoying the taste, but Emma offered you try some of her cocktail and you had to give it to her, it was good.

As the show went on so went your alcohol intake. To say you were buzzed was an understatement, but you weren't drunk enough to embarrass yourself. "Show's almost over baby." You texted Joe, knowing how bad traffic could get and honestly looking foward to going home. Even though you had fun, you were also exhausted. "I'm leaving now, stay inside until I get there." "So bossy." you muttered to yourself, but couldn't help a smile taking over your features.

"It was so lovely meeting you guys! We should hang out sometime!" You exclaim excitedly as you hugged Emma and Ruth. "Yeah, absolutely! And thank you again for switching seats with us!" You pursed your lips and smiled, waving them goodbye. You stood near the big windows near the exit of the venue. New York had been drowned in that very specific scent of a mellow summer night. You scrolled through pictures of you and Joe when you got a new notification.

"You take my breath away every time I see you." You instantly looked up and scanned the area. Where was your charmer boyfriend? Smile lines appeared on your face when you saw him walking towards you, instead of going to the door, he stopped in front of you, the glass window of the venue separating you. He put his hand on the glass and smiled softly, eyes worn from working the entire day. "Hi." he said, although you couldn't hear him. You lifted your hand and put it against the glass, mimicking his gesture. A tilt of your head and a bite of your lip were all it took for him to stare at you more intently. The soft alcohol flush was obvious to him, and he was glad you'd felt comfortable enough to really let your hair down for once.

He begrudgingly broke eye contact with you and walked over to the door, taking you into his arms once he was actually inside of the venue. "Hey bud, had fun?" He asked, lips near your ear but muffled because of your hair. "Yeah, would've been better if you were here though." "I know baby I'm sorry." "Don't be, I wanted to do this on my own." "I met some lovely girls though, I think we're gonna grab brunch next week." He looked at you, big hand cupping the side of your face. "Of course you made friends, you're like my grandma. Always the sociable one." At that, you scoffed. "I love your grandma, but excuse you??" A laugh escaped his lips, thumb rubbing over your cheek. "You're adorable." "I know." "Oh do you now?" You shrugged. "Someone has to be in this relationship." He liked it when you were cheeky, since it was usually so random and out of character for you. "Okay so then what am I?" "Pretty much everything else. Kind, gentle, funny, smokin', smart,..." You paused. "Actually no, I'm the smart one, but all of the above, yes that's you." With a shake of his head, he flung an arm around your shoulder. "Alright alright, let's get you home firecracker."

The drive home was peaceful. He left the windows down because he knew how much you enjoyed the night. For some reason, you found it fascinating when the sun dipped below the horizon and all that was left was darkness. You felt it had a certain mystery to it. The vibe, the smell, the people, the sounds, everything was so much more interesting. Your head rested against the side of the door, looking outside while Joe rubbed your thumb comfortingly. He couldn't help but sneak glances at you. You seemed so content it made his heart want to jump out of its ribcage knowing he was part of your world.

"What do you wanna do when we get home?" You ask, not taking your eyes off of the outside world. You can feel his hand squeeze yours, not having expected that question. "What do you mean? Do you not wanna go to sleep?" He watched you shrug from the corner of his eye. "We could, or we could be adventurous, like go climb a mountain." At that, he belly laughed and you sternly looked at him, instantly shutting him up. "I think that's a great idea darling, but don't you think it's a bit dangerous in the middle of the night?" "Of course not, I heard Todt Hill is pretty fun!" He laughed again. "Baby that's hardly a mountain. I'll tell you what, how about we go home, get cozy, and tomorrow we can properly look at which mountain you wanna climb?" With a roll of your eyes and a deep sigh you caved and he just squeezed your hand again. Boy you were gonna have a killer headache tomorrow.

"I got it Joe." Your voice small as you try to climb out of his car, yet somehow your shoe got stuck on the bottom of the car seat. "Yeah it don't look like you got it sweet cheeks." "Let's just take these off," he says while bending down and grabbing your ankle, starting to undo the strap of your heel. "Have I mentioned you're hot already?" A chuckle leaves his lips, momentarily looking up at you before focusing back at the task at hand. "Only a couple time but hey, don't stop on my account." You bit your lip as he moved to your other foot, the soft skin of his fingertips grazing your ankle as his fingers struggle with the tiny shoe buckle.

He groans as he gets back up, but pauses when he sees your face. "I severely have the hots for you mr. Keery." "Okay, you're so gonna regret this tomorrow morning. Can you stand? Actually never mind, I'm not taking chances with you. Also don't call me mr. Keery, makes me think of my dad." "Well your dad's a very charming man." "Alright, you can call me mr. Keery if I can call you mrs. Keery." You squeal in excitement. "Deal." He just shakes his head as one arm slips under your thighs while the other curls around your waist. You assume he closed the car door with his foot but you were too busy staring at his freckles dotted around his face. "These are like the galaxy." Softly tracing invisible lines between the birthmarks. "You're funny when you're drunk." "Am not." "What? Funny or drunk." "Both, I mean neither, I mean, wait..." While you keep confusing yourself he's carried you into the apartment. Softly setting you down onto the couch before fetching some water and painkillers. When he gets back, he stops in his tracks and does a double take. Surely you haven't decided to dress down to your underwear and lay upside down on the couch, head almost touching the floor. "What the hell are you doing?" "I just figured maybe the world would stop spinning if it's upside down." "Alright we're going to bed." You sighed heavily but didn't stop him from taking your hand as he led you to the bathroom. "Make up first, you're gonna be grumpy with me tomorrow morning if I don't do this." "I'm never grumpy." At that, he just deadpan stares at you while you try to pull an innocent face. You catch the shirt you usually sleep in (his shirt to be precise) as he grabs it off of the bathroom rack and throws it at your face. Before grabbing your make up wipes. You grab it out of his hand before he can put it to your face. "I'm a strong, independent young woman." Amused, he watches you struggle before you change your mind and start pouting. "Baby can you do it for me? I promise I can do it myself but I kinda just wanna feel you touch me." He swallows loudly at that, intentionally ignoring the double meaning in your request. "Jesus babe. How many drinks did you have?" Although he wasn't complaining, you were usually a very composed individual so this was definitely out of character for you. "Not enough, maybe too many, I'm not sure anymore." You throw your hands up in the air dramatically. He chuckles while he finishes taking off your make up, squeezing your waist when he's done. Slowly, you make your way to bed. You can feel his eyes burning in the back of your skull, making sure you don't stumble on your way there. Once you're safely tucked in bed, he joins you after finishing up in the bathroom. Immediately he drags your upper half on top of him, knowing how much you crave his touch when you get like this. As your fingertips start drawing patterns on his cool skin, he can feel you slipping away into a light slumber already.

Quietly, he confesses: "I wrote a song about you today." "Hmm?" You're out of it, so so out of it, yet you still react. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, peppering your scalp in light kisses, feeling his heartbeat fall in line with yours before he too drifts away into a comforting haze of love and safety.