The black, elastic band snapped against your fingers as you tied it around the end of your braid. Your dark hair was a perfect addition to the look you were going for. Hot, badass, but not cringe. Pretty much your entire costume was thrifted, which in your opinion made it all the cooler. Kaki shorts, black top, couple of belts and a slick, effortless make up look that screamed natural beauty.

Lara Croft was ready for Halloween in New York City.

✨ Friends ✨

You: Guys what’s your ETA? Heading out now. Should be there in 20.

Court: We were supposed to already be on our way but my loser boyfriend is still doing his make up.

Jules: Same here. They really are helpless baby birds.

Javi: It’s not my fault your eye pencil tried to blind me.

Court: Eye pencil? That’s adorable.

Jules: Eyeliner babe…

Jake: I only got access to the bathroom 15 minutes ago, blame Court. We’ll be there soon.

Joe: I’m already here. I’ll keep your beer cold and your corner empty.

You shook your head. The ongoing joke of your friend group really was annoying sometimes, but it’d been such a staple it inevitably became part of your personality. You liked your circle small, quality over quantity or whatever they say. Ironically enough, your friend group consisted of a couple of the most sociable, artsy people you’d ever laid eyes on, which in turn, forced you out of your bubble.

Naturally, the term wallflower became a staple term of endearment.

You’d known about Joe for close to a year before you actually met him. Schedules never aligning somehow before finally meeting him at some dive bar in Bushwick.

Since then, his name had been saved as “Joe (Wes’ friend)” until he gradually became more than just Wes’ friend. 

During that one night in October when the beer was flowing and the karaoke tunes were borderline bursting your eardrums, something had shifted. People talk about sparks flying as if it doesn’t sound ridiculously dreamy and over the top, but ever since then, you knew what those dreamy, over the top people meant. The banter, the lingering eye contact, the arm thrown around your shoulder as you both gave your best rendition of Hungry Eyes. Honestly, you couldn’t have thought of a more cheesy night than that one. If it was anyone else, you would’ve bolted for the door and deleted their number. But not Joe. He somehow stuck around, and you let him.

There was the summer his AC broke and he’d shown up at your door at around 11 pm with a six pack and zero shame. Both of you had ended up sprawled out on your fire escape, watching the city lights flicker in the dark of the night. His shoulder was pressed to yours, close enough that you were sure he could feel your pulse jump every time his voice dropped to that familiar octave.

“You know this counts as a booty call right?” You told him half joking.

“Does it?” He’d turned his head, close enough that his breath stirred a couple of hairs framing your face. “I just came for the AC.”

“Sure you did. That’s why we're sitting outside in the heat.”

He’d pursed his lips at that, knowing you were right but refusing to admit it.

“You offering something better?”

“Depends what you’re asking for.”

He hadn’t answered. Just let his eyes drop to your lips for one second before looking away, towards the skyline he’d grown to love so much. Like he hadn’t trusted himself to stick to the invisible boundaries you’d both put up for yourselves.

And then, there was that time just 2 months before the Halloween party, when you’d both ended up doing shots at a bar Wes had dragged the group to, and Joe had steadied you with a hand on the small of your back when you stumbled off the barstool, his lips right at your ear.

“Careful,” he’d said, voice low enough that only you could hear it over the other intoxicated people singing along to Forever Young as it blared through the speakers. “Keep looking at me like that and I’m going to stop behaving.”

You’d turned your head just enough that your mouth was almost at his jaw. 

“Who said I wanted you to behave?”

For a second, his hand tightened at your waist, just barely, just enough that you felt it, and his eyes had gone dark in a way you hadn’t seen before, like the joke immediately hit bullseye.

“Say that again and we’re not making it back to the group tonight.”

You hadn’t said it again. Wes had called it a night and the moment slipped away before you had a chance to turn it into something you both craved.

You’d thought about it, more than you ever felt comfortable admitting to yourself.

The building you were heading to had a rooftop, one of those Manhattan luxury apartments where the outdoor space cost more than most people’s rent, and every year a friend of Wes threw a party up there that half the borough seemed to hear about.

The twin holsters around your thighs, the black boots and the shorts that kept riding up made you feel like a new woman. Your posture, your attitude, there was something more edgy to your persona, which was only amplified by the small mask on your face. It’d been a little twist the host came up with. Everyone had to wear a mask. It didn’t really do much for your outfit, but you’d obliged.

You spotted Joe near the string lights, and for a second you didn’t recognize him. Broad shoulders in a leather jacket that was just too tight, a skull mask glowing faintly under the rooftop lights, the collar dusted with flecks that were probably supposed to be ash but looked more like old toothpaste splashes. Ghost Rider. Of course he’d gone with something dramatic.

"Look who it is," he said, voice muffled slightly by the mask, but you'd know it anywhere. "Croft."

"Rider." You grabbed the cold beer bottle from his outstretched hand. "Didn't know you owned leather."

"Don't know a lot of things about me." He tilted his head, and even through the mask you could feel him looking at you in a way that made the noise of the party fall back a little. “I like your braid.”

“Out of all things, you decide to comment on my braid?”

He’d opened his mouth to reply, but got interrupted by the chaos of your friends finally arriving, forcing you to let the moment go.

About three hours in, you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder at the drinks table, masks discarded somewhere throughout the night. 

"You know," he said, pouring you a drink you hadn't asked for, "Lara Croft could probably kill a man twelve different ways."

"Fourteen," you corrected. "I've done my research."

"Should I be worried?"

"Depends." You took the cup from him,letting your fingers overlap his just a beat longer than necessary. "What are you planning on doing?"

He didn't answer right away. His eyes dropped to your mouth, unhurried, like he wasn't bothering to hide it anymore. "Nothing yet." 

"Yet." You held his gaze, let the silence sit there instead of filling it. "You’re staring, Joe.”

"Am I?"

"You are."

He stepped in, close enough that you had to tip your head back slightly, his voice dropping to something quieter, meant only for you. “You’re letting me."

“Maybe I am.”

Later, near an empty corner on the dance floor, half tucked away by one of the huge speakers he pulled you in by the wrist. He didn’t ask, he didn’t have to, he knew you’d follow.

His hand settled low on your back, warm through the thin fabric of your top, and when you looked up at him you realized how close you actually were.

"This isn't how we usually dance," you said, voice pitched higher than usual under the music.

"No," he agreed, not an inch of space between you. "Should I stop?"

You answered by curling your fingers into his jacket instead of letting go.

“Mr. Keery, don’t make me pull my guns on you.” You said in his ear as you noticed his hand traveling further and further down your back.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t mind seeing them up close, they look pretty dangerous on you.” His hand traveled a couple of inches further down in response to the choked breath you let out. 

“Do you kiss your mother with that suggestive mouth?” 

“Why? Are you going to school me on Halloween party etiquette when you’re dressed like that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my outfit. Have you seen the playboy bunnies near the DJ booth?”

That got a laugh out of him, but his eyes remained dark.

“In all transparency, I’d love to see those guns up close, they look pretty cool.”

You couldn’t tell if he was actually being his nerdy actor self or if he was just being suggestive as fuck, but you didn’t have to wait long to find out, his hand already moving towards one of the gun straps on your thigh.

His finger traced the fabric, making sure not to make contact with your skin as he traveled back and forth over the inside of your thigh. The pressure shot straight to your core and you could tell he noticed. His serious, focused expression turned into a knowing grin and he couldn’t help but smirk as he pulled the strap away from your thigh, before releasing it, making it snap against your skin. The yelp you let out was sharp, not having expected the sudden action and he laughed. He had you right where he wanted you.

All thoughts left your brain when you pulled him in, your hand on the back of his neck, his eyes already closed, knowing he’d given you that final push. His lips were soft and tasted like the red velvet cupcakes you’d had earlier. The kiss turned more heated as you fought for dominance, but he was putty in your hands when you took his bottom lip between your teeth, biting down slightly. The moan he let out was nothing short of breathtaking and both his hands now cupped your ass, squeezing with need turned into desperation.

He begrudgingly broke the kiss but gave your ass a reassuring slap.

“I think we need to take this somewhere more private.” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and while you’d find it endearing in any other situation, now, it set you ablaze.

His hands left your backside, one of them grabbing your wrists as he pulled you towards the elevator, not caring to say bye to any of your friends.

Your eyes widened when you saw where you were going. The restrooms on the 14th floor.

“This is what you consider less public?” 

He squeezed your hand reassuringly.

“Any room with a lock on the door will do right now.”

A giggle escaped your lips as he pulled you into the restrooms.

“Someone’s eager.”

He groaned when you instantly palmed his crotch through his leather pants as he closed the door behind you before pushing you up against it.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. Always giving me those flirty remarks and fuck me eyes,” he paused, observing your expression, “and stop biting your damn lip.”

You giggled again, his sexual frustration proving to be not just extremely hot, but also quite entertaining.

“Whatcha gonna do about it?” You challenged him, gliding your middle finger over the cold leather of his jacket.

“Well first I was thinking I’ll have an entree, then we can have our main and then because I’m just that nice, I’ll let you have dessert.”

“Only you would start talking food just before we fuck.”

“I don’t hear any complaints.”

He shuffled you towards the spotless looking sink, perks of a high end building, and lifted you up on the marble top.

Goosebumps appeared on the exposed skin of your thighs and he slowed down, fingertips ghosting over the peach fuzz as he looked into your eyes.

“Do you want this?” His voice sounded sincere, lust momentarily shoved to the side to create a pocket of safety in between needy touches and louder-than-necessary gasps.

“I’ve wanted this ever since you bought me that ring pop in the back of O’Leary’s during comedy night.”

He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes as a lopsided grin took over.

“Weird kink but alright.”

Your hand slapped his leather coated chest as you pulled back.

“You’re lucky you have a pretty face.”

“Yeah?” He leaned in, kissing your cheek affectionately before whispering into your ear.

“You wanna see it between your legs?”

The reaction was instant, his hips felt the squeeze of your legs trying to close around him. Anything to feel some sort of friction.

He didn’t wait for a reply, your body doing the talking way before you could as he lowered himself down.

“Up.”

You lifted your hips at his command, so eager you’d feel embarrassed if it wasn’t for his puppy dog eyes begging to make you feel good.

He pulled your khaki shorts off together with the gun straps and they fell to the ground with a harsh thud. Neither of you batted an eye at the sound. You, too obsessed with his dark brown eyes flicking from your underwear to your eyes and back, him, too occupied with the pressure of your legs squeezing his head in anticipation and the glistening, soft skin of your core peeking through your panties .

“Think I can make you come without my fingers?” He asked while slowly taking off your underwear.

Your eyes met and you bit your lip again but he shook his head. 

“I just told you not to do that. No fingers it is, I guess.” He scolded you before lifting his hand, index finger tapping your lip. The second he felt your lips part, his finger entered your mouth and you couldn’t help but close your lips around him as you started sucking lightly.

His groan almost sounded pained if it wasn’t muffled from him starting to kitten lick your sensitive bud. The sensation sent bolts of pleasure throughout your body and you accidentally bit down on his finger, which earned you another groan from him.

The licks turned more intense, added pressure, moving in circles while he explored every single part of you before heading down towards your entrance and dipping his tongue in.

“Joe please.” Your voice was airy, you weren’t gonna last. The built up tension from the last months accumulating to this made you more than ready for him.

“No.” He pulled away as he started feeling you contract.

“The only way you’re gonna come is around me.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the thought and you pulled him up by his collar. “Off.”

He obliged, his jacket falling to the floor before you started grabbing the ends of his shirt, pulling it over his head.

Meanwhile, his hands were all over your boobs, kneading them as he kissed you before he unbuckled his pants and slid it down together with his underwear. You nearly started drooling at the sight of him. Hard, pointing upwards with an angry red head that begged to be covered in you. 

You tried to pull him closer by wrapping your legs around him, but he resisted, his hand grabbing your chin softly.

“We can’t go back after this.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d wanna go back. Unless you want to.” 

The sliver of insecurity in your voice was easy to miss if he hadn’t been his attentive self.

“Not in a million years.” He beamed, a content smile with a mischievous glint in his eyes painting his face. 

He pulled you in for a kiss while his hand grabbed a fistful of your top, exposing your black lace push up bra.

“It unclasps at the front.” You breathed in between kisses and he nodded approvingly.

“So ready for me you even dressed for the occasion.”

All words left your brain when he attached his lips to your neck, suckling just below your ear while you felt him get rid of your bra, both hands now on your boobs as he moved even closer to you, the head of his cock catching on your clit.

“You wanna do the honors baby?”

He was out of breath, air was an afterthought the second he’d felt your lips on his.

He twitched in your hand while you pumped him a couple of times, not that he needed it, you just wanted to feel him before he stretched you open.

Your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth opened into an o shape yet no sound came out. Too overwhelmed by him entering you to do anything but be consumed by the fire he lit inside you. Every ridge, every vein massaged your walls in just the right way. You could feel him everywhere and it was the hottest thing you’d ever felt.

“God dammit.” His voice reduced to a whisper, trying to make eye contact as he cupped your cheek.

“Open your eyes baby.” His thumb stroked the soft skin just under your eye, trying to pull you back to him.

With great effort, you looked into his big brown eyes and a breathy laugh followed.

“Never in a million years.” You confirmed back to him and he smiled, having forgotten about the little moment.

“Never.” He nodded happily as he pulled back and snapped his hips into you again, this time with more force, it made you move a couple of inches up onto the cold, stone surface.

As he picked up his pace, he hid his face in your neck again, craving to be close to you, craving to breathe you in as your braid tickled his cheek.

Abruptly, seemingly out of nowhere, he pulled out causing you to whine in protest as he pulled you forward, off of the hard surface that was now slippery with your slick.

He didn’t say anything, instead, he grabbed your hips and turned you around, facing the mirror. His hand rested firmly on your shoulder for leverage as he pushed back into you. Bottoming out instantly, walls immediately welcoming him back.

He hit deeper than before, and with every thrust, he punched the air out of you, involuntarily little grunts left your lips as you took everything he gave you.

His hand crawled down your back and grabbed your braid, wrapping it around his hand once before yanking on it, pulling you up with it.

You yelped at the force, back arched as he made you look at yourself in the mirror.

“You should braid your hair more often. Looks good on you.” He nipped at your earlobe while his other hand wrapped around your tummy and pressed down slightly, making you arch into him even more as you felt the pressure of his hand add a new sensation with each thrust, intensifying the feeling of his cock deep within you.

That, along with the dark eyes and suggestive whispers sent you toppling over the edge, not able to stop the moans as he punched into you even harder to allow you to ride out your orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” His eyes observed you as you came, fully taken aback by the reflection in the mirror. The way your eyes turned glassy, your little gaps, the way he watched your abs flex and your hand claw at his for support. The way he felt you squeeze him, the way you pulsed around him like sound waves obliterating everything in their path. He knew he was royally fucked. He knew it with every fiber of his being.

“Where do you want me?” 

“I’m on the pill.” 

You didn’t specify which made him focus on your face. Your fucked out gaze told him everything he needed to know and he rolled his eyes in response. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You laughed lightly, still riding out your orgasm while Joe’s thrusts intensified. The breaths you took in sync with his pounding, since the only time you felt able to breathe was when he pulled out to give it to you harder. His hands went back to your boobs squeezing them hard as he rolled his fingers over your nipples.

“Come on baby. Give it to me.” The way you said it pushed him over the edge, groaning loudly as he felt your walls contract post orgasm. His head fell onto your shoulder, too fucked out to keep upright as he released inside of you.

The silence was all that was left while you both took a minute to compose yourselves, the events that just took place settling somewhere deep between you. You couldn’t help yourself, your hands gently cupping his, still on your boobs. A sign of tenderness, a sign that you were completely okay with what had just transpired.

His voice was muffled when he spoke.

“I’m gonna pull out now okay?”

You nodded, he couldn’t see you, but he felt the movement next to him as his head hadn’t moved from your shoulder.

He heard you wince and he immediately looked up, apologetic expression painting his features.

“Your make up’s a disaster,” Joe murmured, thumb tracing under your eye where the black liner had smudged. 

“I’m sure yours would’ve been too if you’d actually bothered to put some on.”

“You know I hate Halloween, plus I was committed to the concept of a costume. Execution’s a separate skill. Why do you think I got a mask.”

“That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

He leaned over, reaching past you to get some tissue paper before cleaning you up. Silent apology on his face when you winced before pulling your underwear and shorts back up.

When you were both fully dressed again, he grinned and pulled you into a loose hug, one hand splayed warm against your back, his chin tucked over your shoulder. Neither of you said anything for a moment. 

“So what happened to dessert?” You joked, trying to keep the mood light. The last thing you wanted was awkwardness.

His expression turned surprised. “You can’t get enough can you.”

He observed you as you shrugged and slowly walked backwards towards the door.

“Dessert’s my favorite.”

Before you could even reach for the door handle, the white, wooden door swung open without so much as a knock, exposing Jake standing there with a bewildered expression, not having expected you in the men's restroom.

"Jake?" What are you doing on the 14th floor?” Joe’s voice was shaky, awkward even because not only did he just realize he never locked the door to begin with, he also knew what this looked like.

“Someone barfed all over the upper floor restrooms.”

You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly when you felt him take in the sight. You, looking like you’d just come back from an expedition, hair completely tangled and make up halfway down your face, Joe, looking like a deer caught in headlights, face flushed red and leather jacket still on the ground, a couple of feet from your pistols laying lost on the marble tiles as if they were thrown carelessly, no interest in where they’d land as if they were an afterthought (which they were in the moment).

His eyebrows unfurrowed as he put two and two together, smiling like the Cheshire cat.

“Shut the fuck up.” His tone was light, half shocked, half relieved.

“I can’t believe you guys finally had the balls to do something about it.”

“About what?” you asked, trying to seem oblivious to the whole situation.

“The sexual tension between you guys since like… forever.”

Joe opened his mouth to protest, but Jake already turned on his heel. 

“Please don’t let me stop you, I’ll go to the 12th.”

You watched him walk away and turned your head towards Joe.

“They’re gonna be insufferable tomorrow.”

Joe dropped his forehead against your shoulder, shaking with quiet laughter.

“We’re never gonna hear the end of this. For what it’s worth, it was worth it though.”

You shoved him, but you were laughing too. He caught your hand instead, lacing his fingers through yours, and for a second, neither of you said anything, just grinning like idiots in a bathroom that Jake was definitely, right now, telling the entire party about.

“So… Your place?”

The album was finally coming together. Wesley was arguing with Jake over a note for what had to be the tenth time, Matt was making coffee, and Javi and Dalton were telling three different stories at once. Joe leaned back in his chair, laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

Then his phone buzzed.

Wifey Honey 🍓🎀 calling...

He smiled instinctively as he answered. "Hey, honey—"

"Joe..."it was your barista. His smile disappeared instantly. "Can you please come to the hospital?"

The studio fell silent, Joe sat upright. "What happened?"

There was a shaky breath on the other end. "Just... please come. She needs you."

The line went dead. For a second, Joe simply stared at his phone. Then he was moving. He didn't say goodbye or explain. He grabbed his jacket, nearly dropped his keys, and was already halfway out the door before anyone managed to call after him.

The ride to the hospital felt endless. Every red light lasted too long. Every slow driver felt personal. By the time he arrived, his heartbeat was pounding so loudly he could barely hear himself think.

He ran inside, wrong elevator, wrong floor, wrong hallway. He apologized to a nurse after nearly crashing into her, mumbled another apology to a family sitting outside another room, then finally spotted familiar faces gathered near the end of the corridor.

Your barista looked up first, relief washed over her face. "Joe."

He didn't even stop walking. "Is she okay?"

Your barista nodded quickly. "She's okay." Those two words let him breathe for exactly one second. Then she quietly added, "...she's really upset."

Joe swallowed hard before pushing open the hospital room door. You were sitting upright on the bed. your left hand was wrapped in thick white bandages, resting carefully on your lap.

Your eyes were swollen. You looked like you'd been crying for hours. The moment you saw him, you tried to smile that lasted barely a second. Joe knew immediately it wasn't real. He crossed the room in three long strides and knelt beside your bed.

"Honey..."

His voice came out much quieter than he'd intended. He carefully reached for your forearm, terrified of hurting you. "What happened?"

You stared at your bandaged hands for a long moment before answering. "pies."

Joe frowned gently. "What?"

You blinked rapidly, trying not to cry again. "The handle..." Your voice cracked. "the handle of the pot broke." You shut your eyes. "The filling...it just splashed everywhere." A shaky breath escaped you. Your shoulders trembled. "I don't even remember what kind of pies I was making."

The words dissolved into a quiet sob. Joe immediately moved closer, wrapping one arm around your shoulders as carefully as he could. 

Your barista quietly stepped inside. "We were getting ready for the afternoon rush," she explained softly. "Everything happened so fast."

Her own eyes had started to water again. "We just heard this loud crash." Joe listened without taking his eyes off you. "When we turned around" she whispered, "...her hands were covered in mango-peach filling."

"She didn't scream." Joe's heart clenched. "She just stood there so pale like she couldn't understand what had happened. We got her hands under cold water immediately, called an ambulance..."

She reached into her tote bag and placed a small pouch in Joe's hands. "I grabbed these before we left."

Inside were your bracelets. The little rings you wore every day, your customized My-Melody bracelets, and carefully tucked into the corner, your engagement ring.

Joe looked down at it for a second before gently slipping it into his jacket pocket for safekeeping. "I'll keep it," he murmured.

A gentle knock interrupted the room. The doctor stepped inside, clipboard tucked beneath one arm. "The burns are healing well," he explained, examining your dressings. "They're second-degree burns, but fortunately they aren't deep enough to require surgery."

Joe nodded, absorbing every word. "We'll need daily dressing changes, ointment, and plenty of rest." Then came the sentence neither of you expected to hurt so much. "And absolutely no baking for at least three weeks."

The room became impossibly quiet. Your ears rang, three weeks of no kneading dough, piping frosting, rolling pastry, pulling warm pastries from the oven.

Three weeks.

Your eyes stayed fixed on your hands, one stupid accident. And suddenly, you couldn't do the one thing that had always made the world feel right. A tear slipped quietly down your cheek. You laughed once. "wh-what...I can't bake."

Your voice was barely audible. "I can't..."

Joe looked at you, and his heart shattered. You weren't crying because your hands hurt, God, you can handle any burns. You were crying because you'd lost the language you loved people in.

He gently brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Honey..."

"I can't even make your favorite cinnamon rolls." Your shoulders finally gave out. "Baby, I can't bake." The words came out like grief.

Joe didn't think he simply leaned forward until his forehead rested gently against yours. "I'm sorry."

You looked at him through tear-filled eyes. "Why are you apologizing? It’s my fault, not yours. It’s all me, I’m not careful enough."

His own voice shook. "I wasn't there, you needed me. I should've—"

You shook your head before he could finish. "No, Joe." Your forehead stayed pressed against his. "You were exactly where I wanted you to be.”

The first week wasn't easy.

The pain in your hand had dulled into something manageable. The dressings became smaller every after few days, and the doctors assured you the burns were healing beautifully, but healing wasn't the same as feeling better.

Joe noticed it almost immediately.

Every morning, you'd wander into the kitchen without thinking, only to stop in the doorway. Your eyes always found the familiar things first—the cream-colored stand mixer, the wooden rolling pin worn smooth after years of pie crusts and cinnamon rolls, the little ceramic jar where you kept your vanilla beans.

You never touched any of them. You only stood there for a few quiet seconds before walking away. It happened so often that Joe stopped pretending he didn't notice.

So he did everything else.

Breakfast was already waiting by the time you woke up, even if the pancakes came out slightly lopsided. He carefully washed your hair whenever changing the bandages became too difficult. He learned how to button your cardigans without tugging at your healing hands. The dishes never stayed in the sink long enough for you to reach them.

Ponkan and Cookie were always fed before they had the chance to complain.

Every evening, he'd gently unwrap your bandages, clean the burns exactly the way the nurse had shown him, apply the ointment with careful hands, and wrap fresh gauze around your fingers as though they were made of glass.

You thanked him every single time. He smiled and kissed you every single time.

But something was missing, your laughter. Not the polite little chuckles you gave him whenever he burned toast or accidentally seasoned scrambled eggs with far too much pepper. He missed the laugh that made your shoulders shake. The one that filled every corner of the apartment.

One quiet morning, Joe found you sitting at the kitchen island, absentmindedly watching sunlight spill across the countertop.

You looked peaceful but your eyes kept drifting back to the mixer.

He followed your gaze. You looked up as he walked toward the cupboard, pulling down a large mixing bowl. He placed it on the counter with a determined little nod. 

"Teach me again." He looked back at you with that familiar, earnest smile. "Teach me how to bake and this time..." he added with a tiny grin, "I promise I'll actually listen."

Despite yourself, the corners of your mouth lifted. "No fooling around?"

He raised his hand and crossed his heart.  "No fooling around, I promise, crossed my heart..."

You laughed softly through your nose. "That's a big promise for you."

"It is but I mean it." He rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

Your smile faded just a little. "Are you sure?"

"You have the album," you said quietly, absentmindedly scratching behind Ponkan's ears as he sprawled across your lap. Cookie was asleep on the couch across the living room, blissfully unaware of the heavy conversation happening above her.

"You've been spending every day taking care of me." Your eyes stayed on your cats. "I don't want to be...a burden." You hesitated.

Joe's expression softened so quickly, he crossed the kitchen and knelt beside your chair. "Honey."

He gently cupped your face. "I can always go back to the studio. The album will still be there. The band understands." He smiled sadly. "But if something happened to you again and I wasn’t here…" His voice cracked ever so slightly, he swallowed. "I don't think I'd ever forgive myself."

Your heartstrings pulled. Without thinking, you leaned forward until your noses brushed together. "I don't need you to stop your life for me."

"I'm not." He smiled. "I'm just choosing where I want to be, and you’re my life now." Silence settled between you.

Then you sighed dramatically. "Okay."

Joe's entire face lit up. "Really?"

"You get one lesson."

"I'll take it."

You slowly stood beside him. "Okay..." you began, slipping back into the familiar rhythm your body knew by heart. “Prepare the tools and ingredients!” 

“Wait wait where’s the aprons?!” 

"Measure three and a half cups of flour." Joe carefully scooped the flour, leveling each cup with complete concentration.

You couldn't help smiling. "Good, now crack four eggs."

The first one landed perfectly. The second...shell. The third...more shell. By the fourth, he looked at you with genuine panic. "Sweetheart, I think the chickens are fighting back."

You laughed, a real uncontrollable one that made him froze. He hadn't heard that sound in days. He smiled so widely his cheeks hurt. "There’s my love," he whispered.

The lesson continued. "Now cream the butter and sugar together."

Joe nodded confidently. "I've got this."

Five minutes later, you stared into the mixing bowl. "We’re doing good so far, now taste it."

He blinked. "Does it supposed to be this salty?"

Your eyes slowly drifted toward the containers lined up on the counter. Then you spotted the one he'd used. “Baby, it’s salt.” 

Joe looked at the container, looked back at the bowl. "That would explain a lot."

You burst into laughter again, Joe laughed with you until tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. For a little while, the apartment sounded like itself again.

But as the days passed, something quietly shifted. Every lesson became harder. You found yourself stopping mid-sentence. Your hands instinctively lifted to demonstrate a folding technique, only to pause halfway, pain reminding you they couldn't.

You wanted to show him how the dough should feel beneath his palms. How soft butter should look when it was perfectly creamed. How to know a pie crust was ready without even looking at it. Instead, you could only explain. It wasn't the same.

One afternoon, Joe looked up from the counter after waiting several minutes for your next instruction.

You weren't beside him anymore. You were standing in the doorway watching him in the kitchen, wearing his beautiful smile. 

Your eyes shimmered. "I know, I'm not a very good teacher.” Your voice barely rose above a whisper. God, you cannot face him, you want to teach him everything, but you just can’t. You don’t want to disappoint him. 

Before Joe could answer, you quietly turned and walked out of the kitchen. The apartment fell silent once again. Except this time, it wasn't peaceful. 

The following week, you finally asked Joe if he could stop by the café.

You truly missed everyone. Your staff checked on you almost every day—bringing flowers, soup, handwritten notes, even little trinkets they knew would make you smile.

But you still couldn't bring yourself to see them, not yet. Not while your hands were still wrapped in bandages. Not while walking into the kitchen felt like saying goodbye to a part of yourself.

The old man from 6D was already waiting in the hallway with a chessboard tucked beneath his arm. "I'll keep her company," he said with a knowing smile.

Joe smiled gratefully. He knew you, if you were left alone for even ten minutes, you'd probably wander into the kitchen and convince yourself you could frost cupcakes one-handed.

"I'll be back before dinner," he promised, kissing your forehead.

You nodded. "I'll behave." You laughed softly as he disappeared down the hallway.

The little bell above the café door chimed as Joe stepped inside. Business had slowed after lunch, but the familiar smell of coffee and fresh bread still lingered in the air. Your staff looked up almost immediately.

"Joe!" The youngest employee waved enthusiastically while your cashier was already pulling out a chair for him.

"How's she doing?" your barista asked gently.

Joe smiled. "Better…some days.” He paused.

Everyone understood exactly what he meant. After a few minutes of chatting about the café, Joe cleared his throat.

"Can you teach me how to bake?" Four heads snapped toward him.

"What?" your co-baker asked, blinking.

Joe scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking much more nervous than he'd expected. "I don't care what it is. Cinnamon rolls. Strawberry cake. Brownies. I'll burn all of them equally."

A few quiet laughs escaped around the room.

Then his smile softened. "She's trying so hard to be okay, and I cannot sleep properly knowing she misses something while I can’t do anything about it." His eyes dropped to the wooden countertop.

Nobody interrupted.

Joe looked around the empty café before quietly admitting. He smiled sadly. “I miss our apartment smelling like home."

Your barista was the first to sniffle. Your co-baker quietly wiped beneath one eye before clapping her hands together. "Right! We're closing early."

The cashier looked at the remaining pastries. "I can sell these in thirty minutes."

The youngest employee grinned. "I'll start cleaning!"

Within minutes, everyone was moving. Not because Joe had asked, because they loved you, too. 

An hour later, the café doors were locked. The kitchen buzzed back to life.

"Apron," your co-baker ordered. Joe obediently put one on.

"Wash your hands."

"Already did."

"AGAIN! If boss was caring and soft teacher, I’m not so you better wash your hands properly while singing Happy Birthday twice."

Your barista leaned against the espresso machine. "Interesting."

Joe looked over. "What?"

"Not once have you asked me how to make coffee."

Joe shrugged. "I can survive without coffee."

"Nah," the youngest employee laughed. "If he learns coffee, you'll make him cover your shifts." Everyone burst into laughter.

The kitchen felt alive again. Flour ended up in Joe's hair within ten minutes. He cracked eggs like they personally offended him. Mistook cinnamon for cocoa once. Nearly forgot the yeast. And managed to get icing on the ceiling.

"How?" your cashier asked, genuinely impressed.

"I honestly don't know."

By the time evening arrived, Joe carefully carried a small pastry box all the way home. He opened the apartment door as quietly as he could. Before he even spoke, you smelled it. Your head lifted immediately from the couch.

He stepped into the living room with the biggest grin you'd seen in weeks. "Tada!"

He proudly opened the box. Inside sat a slightly uneven tray of cinnamon rolls. The icing had slid off one side. One roll was noticeably larger than the others. Another had somehow become square.

Joe rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I know they're not perfect." He looked down at them. "And I'm about ninety percent sure they're safe to eat."

You didn't even glance at the cinnamon rolls. Instead, you walked straight to him. Wrapped your arms around his waist as carefully as your healing hands allowed. Buried your face against his chest.

Joe blinked. "Honey?"

Your voice came out muffled against his sweater. "I love you." He smiled immediately. "So so so much." You looked up at him, tears already gathering again. "No matter what you make, whether it's perfect or completely inedible. I will always love it."

Your eyes searched his. "I don't think I've ever told you just how lucky I feel." A tear escaped before you could stop it. "I’m so thankful that you’re the one I get to marry."

Joe's composure shattered. "Sweetheart, you cant just say things like that." He laughed through watery eyes. He carefully shifted the pastry box into one hand before wrapping his free arm tightly around you.

"I need you to hear me." His forehead rested against yours. "You are not a burden. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever."

His thumb gently brushed your cheek. "You've spent your whole life taking care of everyone else, taking care of me. Making sure I eat properly. I’m not overworked or stressed. Every single day you remind me you love me and are always waiting for me ." He smiled softly. "Now, it's my turn."

Another tear slipped down your face. Joe kissed it away before whispering, "And besides..." A tiny grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "We're getting married in six months. I take the 'in sickness and in health' part very seriously."

You let out the smallest laugh through your tears. He kissed your forehead, then your nose, and then your lips. The kiss was slow and deliberate, it tasted faintly of cinnamon and icing.

When the two of you finally pulled apart, The old man from 6D cleared his throat loudly from the dining table, where he'd somehow become completely invisible.

"I believe that’s my cue to leave." He slowly stood, taking his chessboard under one arm. You and Joe looked at each other then burst into laughter.

Life slowly found its rhythm again.

Joe never stopped taking care of you, even after the bandages became smaller and the doctor finally allowed you to use your hands a little more each day.

Some afternoons, you tagged along to the studio with Ponkan and Cookie tucked inside their little carriers. The ban lasted exactly thirty-seven minutes after Cookie discovered guitar cables were surprisingly fun to chew, while Ponkan proudly knocked three guitar picks off an amplifier before settling down for a nap on Wesley's jacket.

Your first day back at the café felt almost as emotional as opening day. The little bell above the door rang the moment you stepped inside.

Before you could even say hello, your youngest staff member threw her arms around you, carefully avoiding your still-sensitive hands. "We missed you."

"I missed you more."

Your regulars were just as excited.

Mrs.Tillman insisted on showing you pictures of her grandchildren you'd apparently missed. The college student who ordered the same latte every Monday proudly announced he'd finally passed his exams. Even the little girl who always asked for extra whipped cream had drawn you a picture of you, Ponkan, Cookie, and "Uncle Joe."

The old man from 6D never stopped inviting you to Wednesday Chess, insisting you could beat him with no hands at all. 

Almost a month passed before the doctor smiled during your follow-up appointment. "You've healed beautifully."

Just like that, you were allowed back into the kitchen. The first thing you baked wasn't for the café. It wasn't for an order. It wasn't even for Joe. It was simply because you could.

Later that evening, the two of you lay across the bed while Ella Fitzgerald drifted softly through the apartment. Your head rested against the pillows as Joe lazily traced circles along your back.

After a long moment of comfortable silence, he spoke. "So..." He turned onto his side to look at you. "when dough is kneaded properly what's it supposed to feel like?"

 Slowly, you reached over and intertwined your fingers with his. "It should feel soft, Gentle even, like it wants to spring back when you press it." Joe listened as though you were explaining the greatest secret in the world.

You laughed quietly. "You look like you want to say something"

He lifted your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. "You’re so beautiful. Can the honeymoon go first before the wedding?"

You stared at him for a second. "That's not how weddings work."

Joe dramatically grin. "Who made that rule?"

"You can't honeymoon before you're married." You pouted your lips, while Joe kept himself from laughing. 

"I think we should challenge the system." Joe couldn’t resist your lips, especially when he can have this for the rest of his life. 

issy talks: this is the last drabble under chapter 7, and i can start to write chapter 8 (prep and wedding), which i also think will be the longest. thankiess a lot for the ideas, i'll try my best to include it all. i love y'all so much!! ⭐💗 AAAAAND THE REQUEST IS OPEN AGAIN FOR DRABBLES

regular customers: @bdllvr @sensiblyfreshtroll @roseosstuff @valentine-night @batmanssssss @eller41 @dramallama9 @psicodelica-me @fionaisinlove @helaenabugmom @harringt0nangel @yerxm @songkangslvr @bluehexagon8 @offbrandhandymanny @eli0eli0 @storietilman @justalongfortherideee @wtfaidhblog @dopeysunflowers @joekeerysbicep @b1uegemz @keery-poynter @nakano-nanami @missnxthingg @jajabsvsjsja @projections-mortal @simsimstay2017 @purplerainx1 @msdankworthpotter @twilight-sparkle67 @redvelvetcupcke1 @princessofthefrogss @aquariusmermaid2626 @needylittlebabyintherain @thisisourforest @s3xytosomeone @oohlillie @tsuubakill @willyoucry13 @ladybuugg @litlmissss @unclejeezysblog @leisilver @brrrainst3w @cliffuckingdovahkiin @whoxoxovi @miahslt91 @fornitebuckleynerd @aniicorn @i-got-the-cinema @lizzyygrace @kissedbyabee-30 @4v3rybl0zz0m @bambi-lia @stoneyggirl2 @zuzixix lmk if you wanna be on taglist

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⋆˚࿔ the girl next door (is not a grandma) masterlist 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“Need anything else babe?” Joe asked as he set the mason jar with water down on the table. “I don’t think so baby, thank you.” His fingers ghosted over your back when he came to stand behind you, eyeing the white canvas in front of you. “Whatcha gonna paint?”

“I’m not sure yet, might do an abstract painting of your face.” You teased, looking back at him and grabbing his cheeks. The corners of his lips turned upwards, he’d never admit it but even though he knew you were joking, the thought of being your muse made his heart do little jumps every time it crossed his mind.

“Well whatever it is you’re going to make, I’m looking forward to hanging it in our bathroom.” He joked, hands climbing upwards to rest on your shoulders before squeezing them.

The muscles instantly relaxed, the tension dissolving as he continued after he noticed your reaction. Your head involuntarily leaned back to rest on his collarbone, eyes closed as you enjoyed the little moment. You chose to let the joke slide, his hands making you feel too good to do anything other than succumb to them.

The soft pecks he placed on your neck made you hum, body fully relaxing into him now.

“If you continue like that we’re gonna have to go to Walmart for some shitty bathroom art.”

The chuckle that left his lips was airy, and he paused his light kisses.

“I’ll be inside on call with Adam, just gotta finish the bridge and then I’ll come join you. Yell if you need anything, I’ll have the window open okay?” He placed a final, more thoughtful kiss on the top of your bare shoulder, signaling his departure as he stepped away from you.

The kiss lingered, his scent lingered, everything about him lingered. Everywhere. It was one of your favorite things of having days off. You got to enjoy all of him, in all of his simplicity. A normal man, enjoying the good things in life.

The weather had been horrendous and today was the first day in about a week the sun actually made an appearance. The heavy rain of the past couple of days did wonders for your garden however and everything appeared brighter, even when you had your sunglasses on. You took a sip from the lemonade Joe’d made that morning and adjusted the strap of your dress that had fallen down during his loving assault on your neck.

You hummed along to a lost guitar riff floating outside through the open window of Joe’s music room. You’d heard it enough to memorize it to some extent and he’d played around with it so much, it became a small piece of comfort whenever you heard it, your brain automatically linking it to him. The painting came along nicely, different colors flowed smoothly into each other, but you hadn’t decided on how to take it further yet. No hard lines, no clear shapes, nothing set in stone just yet. Just the way you like it.

The crack of your back as you stretched made you groan in enjoyment. Nothing beats a good stretch. The hair tie that was previously on your wrist, you now held between your fingers as you went to collect your hair to put it into a ponytail. A sharp sting in your index finger made you halt your movements. The initial sting was painful, but when you looked down at your finger, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. If it didn’t throb the way it did, you’d definitely gaslight yourself into thinking you were imagining things. For some reason, you didn’t think much of it, sometimes you got these weird little bolts of pain in the most random places. Nothing crazy, nothing serious enough to see a doctor about, just a little quirk your body had had all your life.

So you put your hands up again to try and collect your hair, however the sting returned, this time in your neck. 

“What the hell?” Your fingers ghosted over the sore spot, feeling nothing unusual, no bump, no extra pain except for the same throbbing in your finger. Not really knowing what was happening, you decided to call it a day on the painting and go inside to have a look at your neck.

Considering you’d felt fine, there was no point in hurrying. You collected the paintbrushes and cleaned them out in the mason jar Joe had put down for you before emptying the water in your garden. Perks of the biological paint he got you for Christmas since he knew you’d been looking into more sustainable ways to practice your hobby.

Things changed however when your head started feeling fuzzy and the world started spinning. You reached towards the mason jar to pick it up, but your limbs no longer felt like an extension of you as you accidentally knocked it over. You tried to catch it, but before your body responded, it’d rolled off of the table and shattered onto the terrace tiles.

For a second you just looked at the shards, confused on what had just happened before Joe’s voice pulled you back.

“Babe?” His voice was distant, but loud enough for you to know he’d raised it to make sure you heard. The back of the chair you were sat on earlier now offered you much needed support when you felt the dizziness worsening. You opened your mouth to yell back at Joe, but no sound came out, your throat feeling uncomfortably tight. 

A pair of footsteps approached you, but you were too focused on trying to regulate your breathing. Not easy when it feels like you’re breathing through a paper straw.

“Honey, what happened?” Joe eyed you up and down as he assessed the situation. You were leaning heavily on the garden chair, slightly hunched forward. Your mouth opening and closing, trying to form words as you looked up at Joe with a panicked expression.

“What’s wrong?” He sounded more alarmed now, stepping forward quickly. He grabbed your elbows to try and get you to focus on him and that’s when he noticed it.

The bee sitting on your shoulder, dangerously close to a reddening spot on your neck.

“Shit.” 

Immediately, his hand swatted the bee away and he tilted your head to the side slightly to check on your neck. 

“Okay okay, you’re okay. Focus on my voice baby.” 

You felt his hand cup your cheek and you instantly leaned into him, eyes closing as you tried to focus before you lifted up your swollen index finger. Hoping he’d get the hint. He did.

He didn’t even have to look twice at it. Your finger now an angry red and double the size of your other fingers.

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll get you sorted baby.”

He carefully guided you to sit on the garden chair, crouching in front of you while he kept his hands on you at all times trying to emphasize that you weren’t alone.

“Baby, I need to go inside for just a moment to get your epipen okay?”

The sound you made, made him backtrack immediately. You sounded overwhelmed, panicked, scared even.

He didn’t even bother warning you before one of his arms wrapped around the underside of your thighs and the other snaked around your waist.

“Up we go.” He whispered into your ear as he lifted you up into his arms.

“Top cupboard.” You muttered, feeling his chin rest on the top of your head.

“I know baby, I know.” His voice was soothing, like comforting a child that doesn’t want to go to bed because that’d mean the end of playtime. Joe seemed a lot more calm than you’d expect for a first time emergency like this.

You’d told him about the allergy when you first started dating, but even you felt detached from it, since you’d never experienced an allergic reaction that you could actually remember.

The first and only time it’d happened, you were about two years old and playing in the park with your grandpa when a bee picked you for its target. Ever since that day, your parents had always carried around an epipen, always extra vigilant on hot summer days, or when walking past bushes of lavender. You were too small to have any trauma or recollection of the event, but the look on your parents’ faces as they retold the story made you take it serious enough to inform Joe about it. 

The cold marble from the countertop made you shiver since your entire body felt like it was burning up.

“Joe, I feel sick.”

“I know sweetheart, you’ll feel better soon.” He said comfortingly as he grabbed your wrist before placing his middle and ring finger on your skin, looking for your heartbeat.

Silence enveloped you for a good 20 seconds as he counted the beats. Rapid, but stable. That’s good, at least your heart wasn’t fully tweaking out yet.

“Okay, 120,... could be worse.” He muttered to himself while opening the cupboard with way too much force than the busted handle could endure.

“Hey hey, open your eyes.” His voice was more commanding when he noticed your eyes drooping and your head beginning to sway from side to side.

Your forehead fell onto his shoulder, not able to keep upright any longer as you slowly drifted in and out of consciousness. You still heard everything around you, it felt a bit like falling asleep, but scarier.

Joe took a deep breath before unscrewing the cap and plunging the needle into your thigh, having lifted up your sundress far enough to expose the muscle of your upper leg.

The groan that left your lips was equally heartbreaking as it was comforting. It indicated that it hurt, but also that you were still okay enough to form some sort of a response.

“You’re good baby, you’re good.” Joe said absentmindedly, keeping your upright as he fished out his phone from his pocket.

“911 What’s your emergency?”

“Yeah hi, I’m with my girlfriend right now and she just had an allergic reaction to a bee sting. Her heartrate’s about 120 bpm and I’ve just administered her epipen.”

“Okay sir and is she conscious right now?” 

“In and out of it.”

“Okay and how long ago did she get stung?”

He lifted his wrist, trying to gauge the time but everything happened so fast.

“I wasn’t with her when it happened, but I’d assume around 15 to 20 minutes ago.”

“Alright sir, I want you to have her sitting upward if her breathing is labored. If she loses consciousness, put her in the recovery position. Are you familiar with that position?”

He nodded, even though the lady on the other end of the phone couldn’t see.

“Yes ma’am.”

“We’re sending an ambulance your way now.”

By the time the ambulance showed up, the epipen had done its job and you were able to hold a conversation with him rather than mutter a couple of words under your breath.

“I don’t wanna go.” Your voice was soft and airy, awake but so sleepy you were sure you’d keel over if Joe wasn’t stood in front of you.

“I know baby, but they gotta check you over. Make sure you don’t end up having a follow up.”

The ride to the hospital was uneventful, you were stable and falling asleep in the back of the ambulance while Joe drove behind it.

Joe’s mind however, was reeling.

His mind was racing with doubts. Should he have done anything differently? Should he have called the ambulance first? 

He knew at the end of the day, it was too late, and you seemed to be coming to pretty quickly after the shot but he couldn’t help but go over the what ifs.

He should’ve been there. The bridge could wait. He’d promised you he’d spend time with you on one of the rare days you both had off work. But no. Adam unexpectedly had a free spot in his schedule and he really wanted to finish the bridge so they could get the song mixed and mastered.

You hadn’t complained, you never did. You were pretty much the most accommodating person he’d ever met, and while he loved you for it, he felt like he could be doing more.

He wanted to give you the world, but at the end of the day, he couldn’t even give you a full day without work.

As the ambulance pulled into the hospital's garage, he quickly looked for a parking spot and made his way to the entrance, not having much difficulty in finding your cubicle.

Since you were still at risk for anaphylactic shock, they’d already put you on a heart monitor when he walked into the room.

You smiled weakly at him, but he moved shyly, looking mostly towards the ground.

“What’s wrong?” You croaked, instantly noticing his mood change.

“Nothing. How are you feeling?” He pulled a chair closer to your bed and leaned his elbows on the mattress, interlocking his fingers as he held them in front of his mouth so you couldn’t see the obvious frown that painted his face.

“Tired, but fine. Now spill. What’s up?”

A deep sigh left his lips, he knew you wouldn’t let it go.

“I should’ve been there. The song could wait. This was our first day off in forever and I chose to spend it inside, away from you.”

You bit your lip, his mind was reeling, overthinking, triggered by what had happened.

“Joe, babe, you were gonna take two hours to finish up a song that you’ve worked so hard on for months. It wasn’t a big deal. I’m a big girl, I can go two hours without my strong, beautiful, sexy boyfriend.”

You tried to make light of the situation, but the look he gave you made your heart drop. He seemed even more beat up about it.

“Baby, look at me.” Your fingers grabbed his chin softly, making him look up from burning a hole into the sheet.

“You do realize you saved my life right? I wouldn’t have been able to get anywhere near the kitchen if it wasn’t for you.” 

His eyes turned glassy, the thought of actually losing you too much for him to handle.

“And you did so well, kept so calm, so sweet,... You were perfect.”

You didn’t mean it in a cringe way. He really did everything perfectly for never having handled a medical emergency before.

“Also, the way you stabbed me with that epipen? Hurt like a bitch but it was so hot…” You bit your lip, vaguely remembering the moment.

“You’re actually unbelievable,” he laughed through foggy eyes.

“I see what you did there! Beeautiful pun!”

His shoulders shook as he laughed, a stray tear falling from his eyes as he smiled.

“I really fucking love you dude.” 

“Babe just wait up.” Joe scrambled from behind the wheel while you were already unbuckling your seatbelt with one hand and grabbing the door handle with the other.

“It’s fine Joe, stop stressing.”

“I’m not stressed but I know you. You’re gonna try to get out by yourself and fall.” Oh he definitely sounded on edge.

“I’m not gonna fall.” You replied while you turned your body towards the door.

“Jesus Christ, you have absolutely no patience, woman.” He groaned while he leaned back in his seat, trying to reach one of the crutches laying on the backseat. He figured that’d be quicker than running over to your side, since you’d already made your mind up you weren’t going to wait for him.

He paused when he noticed the glare on your face after you’d turned your head to look at him, the rest of your body still angled towards the door.

“Call me woman again and see what happens Joseph.”

He bit his lips trying not to smile.

“Whatcha gonna do? You’re not even able bodied right now.” He couldn’t help the smirk making its way onto his face while he delicately placed half of the crutch he grabbed on your lap, the other half rested on the middle console since it was so long.

Your eyes darkened. “You wanna find out?” It was your turn to smirk, which had the opposite effect on Joe.

“No… look I’m just trying to stop you from getting yourself hurt… Again.” He put the emphasis on the last word, making you roll your eyes.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“You rolled off of the back of a golf cart.”

“How was I supposed to know Matt was gonna floor it?”

“You were drunk.”

You lifted a finger before you corrected him. “Tipsy.”

He cocked his head towards you and lifted his eyebrows, making you bite your lip as you thought back to last night.

“A series of unfortunate events really.”

“We spent 7 hours in the emergency room.”

Your lips turned downward into a pout. “I know baby, I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m glad you’re okay.” He smiled, before his expression turned stern.

“I’d like to keep it that way. Wait for me before you get out of the car.”

With that, he grabbed the steering wheel to have some leverage to get out of the car, the seat springing back a little as his weight was no longer pressing it down.

He took his sweet time to walk around to your side, smiling happily at you through the windscreen while you shot him the best glare you could muster under his happy gaze.

“Stop being grumpy.” 

“‘M not grumpy.”

“Then why do you look like a Girl Scout who just got told by the old lady at the front door that she wasn’t gonna buy her cookies.”

That got a laugh out of you as you looked down. Joe had opened your door all the way before crouching down in front of you. He grabbed your hips to turn your body the rest of the way so you were angled right to get out of the car. 

“Do you wanna walk or piggyback.”

“What do you think?” 

“Piggyback it is.” He said loudly before turning around and grabbing your thighs.

“Nooo Joe!” You let out a high pitched, surprised yell. He knew you hated being carried but he was doing everything he could to tease you.

Honestly you deserved it, you’d been whiny ever since the doctor told you you’d have to wear a cast for at least six weeks.

The timing had been impeccable. Middle of summer, heatwave in full swing… Not to mention Joe’s summer shows and Courtney’s bachelorette coming up.

“Grab my keys for me, babe.” He squeezed your thigh as he stood waiting at the front door. 

“Oooh are you asking me to feel you up?” You said, tone instantly a couple of octaves higher as your hands instantly started roaming over his torso, jokingly squeezing his pecs.

He turned his head to look at you. “As if you ever need an excuse for that. Don’t pretend you’re not a filthy little thing.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it.” You pecked his lips before your hands make it towards his back pocket. Instead of fishing the keys out, you reached your hand in there, cupping his ass cheek.

“Hmmm I can’t find them… lemme check some more.”

He nodded, playing along.

“Try the other one.”

Relying solely on your abs and with the help of Joe bending forward a bit, your arm moved towards his other back pocket and repeated the process, squeezing his ass again.

“Hmm nope…”

“Alright alright you vixen, get them out or do you want me to put you on the pavement like a toddler in timeout?”

You sighed in response.

“No fun.”

You stared at Joe as he put the cutting board in front of you. 

“You want the onions or the tomatoes?”

“You’re making me pick between two of the worst vegetables to cut.”

“Technically tomato’s a fruit.”

You stared at Joe, making him put his hands up.

“Alright alright, well I already prepped the rest and I want you somewhere I can see you while I make lunch.”

“Why are you acting like I’m a toddler that needs watching.” At that, he put his hand on his hip.

“I’m not honey, but I know how bored you get when you can’t do anything. And you, bored, is a bad idea for all parties involved.”

He tapped the kitchen table as he watched your reaction. Not much you could say to that really. He had a point 

“Onions please, and can you grab a lid from one of the pots you’re not using?”

His eyebrows knitted together at that.

“I already gave you a bowl to put the peel in?” It came out as a question, but he obliged and offered you a glass lid.

“It’s not for that.” You said while you put the cap of your hoodie over your hair, but leaving it fully open. The lid actually was a perfect size, you noticed, as you placed it infront of your face while simultaneously pulling on the straps of your hoodie, making your cap close around the edges of the lid.

A satisfied nod later with the strings tied, your hand went towards one of the onions, completely in your own world until you heard the sound of a picture being taken, shortly followed by a notification on your phone.

Group chat✉️🦆

Joe: Is it too late to run? *insert picture*

Jake: What kind of drugs did they give her?

Javi: I think she’s just like this.

Joe: @matt You broke my girlfriend.

Matt: I swear I didn’t mean to, she just rolled off. But I’m with Javi on this one.

You: Yeah guys, please continue like I’m not also part of this group chat.

Joe snorted at your message before looking up from his phone. “You really are a little weirdo aren’t ya…” 

“Well I refuse to let these onions make me cry.”

You started dicing them and low and behold, you didn’t cry.

“See! I’m not weird, I’m inventive.” You smiled in success, pointing the sharp edge of the knife towards the lid.

Joe instantly sprung forward in response.

“Can you not point a sharp object at your face please.”

“My face is protected.”

He just shook his head, grinning at you, knowing better than to argue.

The floorboards creaked with each awkward jump you made around the kitchen.

Joe had left to go to the store and you refused to go anywhere near the gray crutches currently residing on the couch. 

Your leg had started itching so much it drove you insane.

Joe tried to distract you from scratching your leg like a babysitter trying to keep a child from eating mud. Great efforts, however futile in the end.

You nodded to yourself as you fished out a long butter knife. The itch was near the top of the cast anyways, this should do the trick.

Thank the lord Joe wasn’t home cause the moan that left your lips would’ve definitely gotten his attention in more ways than one.

Speaking of, was that the front door you hear open?

Still distracted by the orgasmic feeling of scratching that itch, you only realised as he walked into the kitchen, one bag in each hand.

The pep in his step came to an abrupt halt when he took in the sight before him. You. Grabbing onto the edge of the kitchen counter. On one leg. The other bent at the knee. The silver handle of the knife sticking out of your cast.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” It made you feel better that his tone was more disbelief than actually scolding you, and you smiled sheepishly. 

“That was a quick run, babe.”

“I don’t even wanna know the shit you would’ve come up with if I took longer.”

He walked forward grabbing your waist tightly cause he could just see how unstable you actually were, the weight of the cast throwing off the already limited balance you naturally possessed.

He bent down slightly towards the knife sticking out, but you grabbed one of his shoulders.

“Wait. Can we just pretend this is an alternate universe and I’m in a sexy leather dress and you're pulling a deadly ass knife out of my leather boot. That’d made me feel a lot better than… this…”

At that he laughed and squeezed your waist affectionately.

“You know, what you lack in tact, you make up for with imagination that’s for sure.”

“I’m dating an actor slash musician slash golden retriever. Of course I’m gonna be creative.”

“Golden retriever huh.” He held eye contact while he slowly pulled out the butter knife and you bit your lip. It was still a butter knife, and you don’t think you even owned a pair of knee high leather boots, but the eyes he was giving you sure as hell left you feeling anything but embarrassed.

“I think I’m obsessed with you.” You blurted out, letting go of the counter before both your hands rested on his shoulders, his muscles flexing at the contact.

The lighthearted moment had a sudden edge to it. 

“I’m obsessed with you… and those shorts I’ll be seeing a lot more of.”

He squeezed your waist before his hands slid towards your lower back, inching close and closer to your ass.

“Did you intentionally pick out the sluttiest pair you have, or was that just dumb luck?” His voice dropped a couple of octaves and his eyes turned that familiar dark shade you’d grown to adore so much.

“And you said I lack tact huh.” The lightheartedness of your remark broke the intensity, but he couldn’t help but squeeze your ass, sliding into your pockets like you’d done with him a couple days prior.

“I’d get on my knees for you right here and now, but we gotta keep that leg elevated.” He picked you up suddenly, and a squeal left your lips.

“Lucky for you I know plenty of ways to keep that leg elevated.” He whispered, before kissing you hungrily as he made his way to the bedroom.

“Can you stop squirming?” Joe said drowsily, squeezing your moving thigh to keep you still.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Yeah no shit.”

“Hey it’s not my fault! Too much leftover energy from doing nothing all day.”

He rolled onto his side, one eye half open as he was still getting used to the glow from the lamp on the bedside table he switched on abruptly.

You stared up at the ceiling, not looking at Joe while you felt his eyes burn a hole through your skull.

“Alright, get up.” The covers were thrown off of you before he could finish his sentence.

“What?”

“You heard me.” 

 The bed dipped as he moved towards the edge, feet patting across the wood floor while he grabbed one of his sweaters and threw it at you, before grabbing a light vest for himself.

“What are you scheming?”

“We’re going for a drive.”

You scrunched your nose at him, not what you expected.

“Come on.”

He crouched down in front of you, putting on your shoe on your good side before offering his hand for balance.

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere.”

Rain pattered softly on the window while you drove around the suburbs of New York. When you first moved in with Joe it’d surprised you how much green there was in such a short distance of the city. Now, it came in clutch.

The slowly, rhythmic sounds of a random indie artist you’d found filled the car. Joe’s hand was comfortably in yours, running slow, soothing circles on your thumb.

His other arm rested on the car door, his hand relaxed on the steering wheel while the flashes of the street lights you passed illuminated his face.

“You know,” he spoke softly, voice reduced to nearly a whisper, “I was actually scared when Wes called.”

You turned your head towards him, the seriousness in his voice demanding your attention.

“Of course everything turned out to be alright, but there was a second there where it sounded really bad.”

He let out a sigh when he felt you squeeze his hand.

“I know you live life to the fullest, and I love you for that and I wouldn’t want it to be any different. But always make sure you come home in one piece, alright?”

The sincerity in his voice shook you to your core. It’s true, you were a live now, regret later type of person. Never really thinking about the consequences of your actions. Not that you went around doing crazy things, but you’ve definitely made some questionable decisions in the past.

“Joe, I’m so-” “No, no. Don’t apologize, I don’t wanna make this into something bigger than it is. People break bones all the time. I guess it just made me realize that even though you seem invincible sometimes with your go-getter attitude, you’re not.”

He paused, looking at you briefly before his eyes found the road ahead again.

“I’m just saying, you’ve got a lot of people rooting for you. A lot of people that love you, a lot of people that would be very lost if something happened. Admittedly I’m one of them.”

Your throat closed up at the sudden hit of emotion. You hadn’t thought of it that way. Sure it was just a broken leg, but you could imagine Joe getting the call, not knowing what had happened, not being anywhere near you, it must’ve worried him when he had limited info. You know you’d be worried if the roles were reversed. 

“I’ll be more careful.” You lifted his hand in yours and kissed the back of it slowly, before wrapping your other arm around his underarm, hugging it close to your body.

In a weak attempt to lighten the mood, you changed the subject.

“So why are we driving around in the suburbs of New York at 1 am?”

At that, he grinned and shook his head.

“Because selfishly at some point tonight, I wanna sleep. And I can’t, if I know you’re stuck in that pretty little head of yours.”

There were signs. The irritability lurking underneath the surface. The tummy ache, barely noticeable but still there, making it obvious your period was gearing up to wreak havoc on your body that day. With work, Joe occupied with a new project and trying to keep the apartment livable, you hadn’t really paid attention to the time of the month. It’d only been when you noticed Joe’s behavior that you’d taken the time to put two and two together.

He’d been softer, more attentive. You noticed the small things. Putting away the clothes when the dryer had finished, picking up your favorite foods from the supermarket. What he focused on the most however, was being subtle about it. He knew you could handle yourself, but you didn’t have to. Not by yourself at least. Not when you’d both agreed this relationship was a team effort.

Slow music played as you walked into the kitchen. Joe was sitting at the kitchen island, strumming his guitar lowly, waiting for you to finish getting ready before leaving to go to the studio.

“I’m almost ready baby, let me just quickly make our coffees and we’re good to go.” You hummed as your hand rubbed his back affectionately while you passed behind him, making your way to the coffee machine.

“I’ve already made them.” His voice matched the volume of the guitar. Light, pleasant, just loud enough to break the silence, perfectly matching the city ambience you couldn’t keep out of your apartment, even with all the windows closed.

“Oh,” you did a double take as you saw two cups standing there on the counter.One had drops of condensation sliding down the glass, the other had steam coming from the lid.

“Thank you baby.” You walked back towards him, this time holding the two cups before putting them down in front of him. 

You crossed your arms around his shoulders, slightly leaning like you would on your counter as you listened to him chat away about his day. He looked up from his guitar, new riff long forgotten as he felt the weight of your hands on his sweater. “Of course darling.”

His dark brown eyes took you in before darting to your lips for a split second and you gave in by planting a sweet kiss on his lips.

He hadn’t noticed the shift of his guitar as he let go of the neck, completely invested in the kiss, until you noticed the headstock move towards one of the cups you’d placed down.

“Careful.” you interrupted as your hands shot out to the cup, trying to keep it from spilling all over the island.

“Sorry, had a bit of a distraction going on.” He said sheepishly as he got up to put the guitar in its case.

“Oh I booked us an Uber by the way.” 

That made you halt. He always used public transport. “Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Didn’t feel like taking the smelly subway today.”

Joe watched you as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“But you always take the smelly subway.”

“I just figured it’d be easier since I’m bringing my guitar today.” 

That was in fact, not at all the reason, but his quick answer seemed to do its job when he saw you take in his reply and decided to let it go.

Secretly however, you were grateful. Your back had been killing you, and standing for half an hour on a subway was not how you wanted to spend the first part of your morning in the city. It’d only been recently that you started noticing possible patterns that synced with your period, and only because Joe was as observant as a man with four sisters could be.

You’d gotten a period tracker, but forgot about it majority of the time, only really looking at it when Joe brought something up.

He’d installed it after you talked to him about it, not really believing it would make a difference, but unbeknownst to you, he used it. Alot.

Often you could manage your period just fine, but whenever it was a particularly rough one, it looked like he knew before it even started, picking up the signs in the week before it hit like a tsunami washing away any comfort you had.

Not only did he find it interesting, it also shocked him to find the information to be so accurate. Of course it wasn’t always on point, but most of the time, he knew what he was walking into after a long day of work, which obviously helped when you were feeling particularly spikey.

The studio smelled like coffee and old carpet, the kind of low-lit, cluttered comfort that always made you feel like you were intruding on something sacred, something only few in the world got to experience.

He’d set you up on the couch before even taking his jacket off, blanket first, then the good pillow from the office chair nobody ever sat in, then the lamp in the corner switched on so the overheads wouldn’t have to be because you’d mentioned once, ages ago that the bright lights made your head hurt.

“You don’t have to fuss,” you told him, watching him hover a second too long before finally retreating to the mixing desk.

“Not fussing.” He didn’t even turn around. “Just setting up my studio the way I like it.”

“Your studio doesn’t usually have a blanket on the couch.”

“My studio doesn’t usually have you in it either. Things change.” He said it so lightly, so easily. He didn’t hesitate to admit he wanted you warm and comfortable, like it was the most normal thing in the world, because to him, it was.

You curled up on the worn leather couch in the corner, blanket draped over your knees while he ran through the same four bars for the fifth time, frowning at something only he could hear was missing.

“That’s not it,” he muttered to himself.

“Sounded fine to me,” you remarked from the couch.

“You say that about everything I play.”

“Because everything you play is good, Joe. Except for that one time where you nearly gave my niece a busted eardrum when you forgot to check the volume of the amp before you started playing. That wasn’t so good.” You joked, trying to ease the tension his perfectionist brain was building.

He shot you a look over his shoulder, something between amused and unconvinced, before turning back to the guitar. You watched him work, chin propped up on your fist, the low ache in your stomach dulled just enough so you could enjoy this quiet quality time.

Around hour three he wandered over under the guise of checking his phone, dropping down next to you just long enough to press two paracetamol into your palm and the mug of tea you’d placed on the coffee table earlier into your other hand.

You shot him a questioning look as he was already standing back up, settling his guitar strap back over his shoulder. 

“Thought you might want ‘em. No pressure."

You almost called him out on it, on the suspicious timing, but the words dissolved somewhere between your affection and the sheer exhaustion behind your eyes.

Instead you just swallowed the pills and let yourself sink further into the couch, watching him fall back into the song like the interruption had never happened. He kept the volume lower than usual for the rest of the session. You didn’t mention that either.

By the time you left, the sky outside had gone that particular shade of orange that meant golden hour was already halfway over, and you were fairly certain you’d fallen asleep against his shoulder for at least twenty minutes while he was fixing arrangements on his laptop without either of you mentioning it.

The apartment was dim when you got home, streetlight filtering softly through the blinds and Joe had the lights on low before you’d even finished toeing off your shoes.

“Sit,” he said, nodding toward one of the kitchen island stools. “You’re not lifting a single pan tonight.”

“Joe, I can help…”

“Sit.” He repeated, softer this time, but there was no room for objection.

“You got me tea in the studio today and pretended you weren’t in pain doing it. Let me have tonight.”

You sat.

He moved around the kitchen with the specific, unhurried focus he usually reserved for a new song. Pulling out his favorite pan, the one with the good handle, boiling water for the pasta you always defaulted to on bad days because it required nothing from you but showing up to eat it. He talked the whole time, easy and unbothered. About the riff he still hadn’t cracked, about Wes’ car, about nothing that really mattered, filling the kitchen with noise purely serving as a distraction so you could focus on anything but the pain, which was now roaring within you.

“You didn’t have to cook,” you said quietly, chin propped in your hand, watching him stir the sauce.

“I know, I wanted to though. Stop acting like you’re forcing me to take care of you. You’d do the same for me if I had a uterus.” He visibly cringed when he said it, but it got you to laugh so it was worth it.

When the pasta was ready he plated yours first, set it down in front of you with more care than the dish required and then almost as an afterthought, like it hadn’t been the entire point, pulled his stool toward you so he could sit close enough that your knee knocked against his.

“Good?” he asked, watching you take the first bite and waiting for the verdict.

“Good.” You nudged his knee with yours. 

“Better than the studio snacks at least.”

“Low bar. Those crackers have been in that cabinet since before we started dating.”

“That explains alot.”

He laughed, low and easy, and reached over without thinking to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before going back to his own plate.

After cleaning up, when you forced him to let you help him load the dishwasher because you were in pain, not dying and he begrudgingly let you, he asked: “Couch or bed?”

“Couch. We still gotta finish Tiger King.”

“Couch it is.” He confirmed, already steering you in the direction of the living room, hands softly on your shoulders.

He disappeared into the kitchen while you sank into the cushions, and came back four minutes later with a hot water bottle wrapped in a clean kitchen towel because you’d complained once that the cover was scratchy.

You didn’t have to do all this,” you said, as you took it gratefully, pressing it against your stomach with a small, involuntary sigh of relief.

“I know.” He dropped down next to you, pulling your feet into his lap without asking. His thumb already working slow circles into your arch. “Wasn’t a big deal though, just heated some water.”

“Joe.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

He didn’t answer directly, just reached for the remote, flipping through your watch list like the conversation was already over, though the corner of his mouth was fighting a smile the whole time.