Anchor
I feel like this is all over the place. I started writing it to just write off an icky feeling and it turned into something completely different. I feel like I accidentally wrote two different people. The sassy playful person and the worried, anxiety driven person. But then I realized I feel like that's a pretty accurate representation of anxiety for me, so I left it. Apologies if it throws you off when reading.
Joe becomes your anchor when your worries start taking a run with your peace. Soft comfort, no big crash out, nothing dramatic. A small moment in time.
Word count: 1,158
Masterlist.
Request.
Warnings: mentions of anxiety, worries, doubts, nothing cray cray though.
It'd lingered all day. The second you opened your eyes you felt like you were fighting a losing battle. You hadn't been able to pinpoint it. A slight buzz in the back of your heart. A familiar warmth caught in your throat. Scattered thoughts, like wasps looking for that sweet nectar to feed on, frenzied, hungry, yet never breaking through.
It'd been a quiet day, fortunately. Not much happening at work that could set off the buzzing and turn it into something more aggressive. Yet you felt it, the lack of peace trying to make its way to the front. You didn't let it, but it wore you down. More than you realized.
Morning had been soft. Joe cuddled into your chest before you could open your eyes. His arms around you, like marble pillars that withstood the test of time. There was something so undeniably powerful about him when it came to you. He was your biggest supporter and your fiercest protector. His defiance to anyone who might cross you turned from a heavy waterfall into a gentle stream when you were alone. Like he didn't have to hold up the weight of the world when it was just you two in the comfort of messy bed sheets and tangled legs.
He'd groaned, refusing to let you go even when the blaring of your alarm disrupted any leftover sleep trying to seep back into the cracks of your consciousness. His lips. Soft. Warm. On your skin. Feathery light. If it wasn't for the soft, steady breaths accompanying his light touches, you'd think you were still dreaming. "I don't wanna." "Well baby, you're gonna have to." You felt him shake his head and cuddle even deeper into your chest, seeking shelter from the impending day lurking around the corner. "Why do you sound like a mom already?" He slowly lifted his head, one eye open as he squinted at the sunlight peeking through the curtains. "Why do you sound like a 5 year old? Regression?" A smirk painted your features, softness slowly making space for your usual playfulness. "You're too awake." He said whiny, to which you shook your head but let it be.
After snoozing your alarm for the fifth time, he knew it was over. You'd stretched out your little piece of calm for a far as it could go and it was evident you both would have to start facing the real world again. But it was alright, as long as you could step back into that bubble of comfort at the end of the day.
Both of you got ready separately, but still hovered. Doing your skincare while he was showering, complaining at the condensation you had to wipe from the bathroom mirror and him trying to drag you into the shower with him. Brushing his teeth behind you while you were doing your make up. It never felt boring, it never felt like an invasion of personal space. You coexisted so perfectly, it'd felt at times as if your DNA had merged together.
The drive home was as uneventful as the day itself, allowing you to disassociate while making your way home. He had already come back from the studio. The front door stood slightly open as you approached it.
Another thing about Joe was his ability to take things in. Not everything. But the things that mattered to him. How he'd collect hairbands he found across the house and in the car, knowing you'd run out of them and curse at having to buy more. How he learned your schedule, he didn't mean to really, a logical cause of paying attention. As a result, the door was left ajar for you every time he got home earlier.
You heard the fridge door close when you stepped closer, Elvis Costello playing softly in the background as you watched Joe lost in his own little world. Swaying, he hummed softly to the music, whisking some heavy whipped cream since you'd agreed on fettuccine Alfredo for dinner. Your footsteps didn't announce your arrival when you got closer, having left your shoes on the shoe rack near the front door. Like he had a sixth sense though, he turned around, face instantly lighting up when you walked up to him.
He didn't even realize he'd opened his arms until after you stepped into them without saying a word. He clocked your hesitant gaze, your slow movements as if you were lost in thoughts you couldn't make sense of. "Missed you." His breath tickled the top of your scalp. "Mhm." He kept swaying, taking you along in the calm of the song. God knows you needed it.
"Sometimes this scares me."
His ears perked up at that. A plot twist and a half for his peaceful mind to process.
"You make it seem so easy."
He tilted his head to look at you. "Where's this coming from sweet?"
The nickname he only used for moments like this. Where you opened up to him without inhibitions. For moments where you laid everything bare . The good, the bad and the ugly.
"It's just... I was anxious today... And I didn't know why. I still don't."
A pause settled between you two as you gathered your thoughts.
"Sometimes I'm just worried. Worried that it will take over. Worried that love some day won't be enough. Worried that one day, we'll wake up, and be different people."
He squeezed you a little tighter as you continued.
"I'm worried this is taking up space that I'll never get back. Our space. No one sees me like you and I don't want to waste us."
Elvis Costello closed out your little monologue, leaving a couple seconds of silence before an instrumental piece filled the room. His brown eyes filled with an emotion you couldn't really place, a hand slowly rubbing your back.
"I know it's always busy in that head of yours. And I know we'll change. It's what we're supposed to do. You and me, we're not meant to be stagnant."
He swallowed, not sure how to balance comfort and truth. Because truth wasn't comfort, and comfort wasn't always truth.
"I can't promise you things will be perfect. You might wanna throw your shoe at me once or twice in your life, probably more if I'm honest. And I'm probably gonna wanna put too much milk in your coffee when you've made another incredibly valid point on what color we should paint the baby room, even though I don't agree."
"I can't promise you we'll never fight. Especially not with your temper." He says jokingly, but quickly follows up when he sees your stern eyes looking up at him. "And my stubbornness." A smile cracks through.
"I know I won't always be able to shush that mind of yours. Sometimes, I might even rile you up without meaning to."
"But I can promise you I'll choose you. I'll choose you when you're being swallowed whole by empty thoughts. When you feel restless, when you need an anchor."
"You just have to let me."
