╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ drops of jupiter (in your hair) ˚.🎀༘⋆
002 Dimples of Venus ೀ Part One
❤︎ black ! fem oc ℘ joe burrow
✉︎ word count • 12,581
ꫂ ၴႅၴ
⋆ ͘ . ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 an early-season injury acts as the catalyst dragging bengals quarterback, joe burrow, into constant proximity with one of the team's physiotherapists—dahlia. someone steady, intelligent, and observant whilst maintaining complete detachment to the gridiron. what begins as routinely care, slowly shifts into an impossible-to-name attraction.
⋆ ͘ . ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 hurt , comfort , slight angst , fluff , conflict of interest , ethical dilemmas , injury details , mentions of medical appliances , mental health references , zac taylor being disrespectful ( not accurate to his true character !! ) , and referenced conflicts.
⋆ ͘ . ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝑑𝑦𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑐𝑠 athlete/quarteback x physiotherapist, slow burn romance, mutual connection, crushing, mutual yearning, pining, ja’marr being our no. 1# dahlia defender, joe being a grumpy man (act one + two) & dahlia being the sweetest soul ever, tiny power imbalance (unsure of this one?), forced proximity, media instigation (pr & hr are genuinely so annoying in this for plot purposes).
ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐ ྀི 𓈒 my di𝚊𝚛𝓎 𓈒 ୨୧ ! credits to rupi kaur for one of the lines i took inspiration from, from this poem. anyways this is purely indulgent for me buttt i’m honestly glad to write this, i think it’s very intriguing and i wanted to stay as true as possible to joe’s character/morals etc. also i indefinitely suggest using cailee spaeny’s voice as dahlia’s voice, something light, softened around the edges, and southern but not overtly southern yk? also i indefinitely projected all my anger into zac taylor in this! otherwise, enjoy reading my loves :) !! IN ADVANCE, i apologize for the crappy spacing, tumblr only allows us writers to do so much ☹️🤍!! 💌 pinterest board
act four — exposure.
♪ Bullet Proof Soul • Sade
“i know the end before the story’s been told.”
the hostility of cincinnati’s media room was almost always nonexistent, rather it buzzed with the need for competition against other teams. they admired each team’s success in wooing fans—philadelphia and new york had their fandoms in the palm of their hands.
so naturally,
they scourged for a new storyline.
sat two rooms down from the hallway that led to the outdoor practice field, small. tall paned windows. three monitors hooked up along the table and a table cluttered with coffee cup and memory cards.
practice footage rolled silently across the screen.
most of it was routine.
warm ups,
browning and flacco throwing short routes.
linemen joking about crude details between drills.
one of the interns, blonde—hair thrown into a messy clip style scrubbed through every clip under the sun for today. stopping occasionally to tag something usable.
“any decent angles yet?” someone asked from another desk.
“just stuff, nothing eye catching.” the intern said, “burrow’s jogging, chase warming up. usual things. i mean we’ve got a clip of andrei flipping his hair out of his face—surely the ladies would love that.”
she dragged the timeline forward again, particularly around five minutes in. the frame froze, causing her to raise a brow since filmography never did that. not on a impressive play, this was sideline action.
joe stood near the equipment trunk, helmet tucked under one arm, leaning down slightly to hear someone speaking to him.
someone paused the video, trailing beside the intern. “go back again then zoom in.”
the messy haired woman rewound just mere seconds.
there she was.
dahlia.
curls loose, sleeves pushed up, ankle tape fiddled around in her short-yet-manicured hands which would loop shortly around her wrist. she was speaking to joe, earning an infectious smile from him.
joe wasn’t even looking at the field.
he was watching her. intently.
not exactly strange, just very attentive for a man who’d rather maintain eye contact with whatever object is near than a person. he’s been told his eyes are a bit expressive, so he toned it down—a lot.
but here, he’s looking to her.
cheesiest grin on his face.
like the conversation mattered more than expected.
one media coordinator leaned forward, “who’s that?”
“she’s on physio.” another answered without peering up from a tiktok not received well by fans, “beaumont’s her last name. been here for a minute now, all’s i remember is that she rehabbed trey.”
the coordinator hummed with enthusiasm,
“huh.” he lets the clip loop.
joe laughed at something she said—brief but genuine—and she shook her head at him, clearly telling him something he unintentionally wanted to hear.
“pause it one more time, kid.”
the intern did.
this time the coordinator rose from his chair, walking closer to the screen with pocketed hands and a shit-eating grin. when opportunity knocks, you open the door. “they look good on camera.”
no one responds immediately, rather a hum in unison is offered in agreement. coordinator melrose always says the obvious, always.
he goes into further detail,
the height difference. her calm posture next to joe’s rather restless energy. the way in which joe angles himself towards her without thinking—like a gravitational pull.
melrose stood back, proposing an idea as a question with a guaranteed response. “we’re filming the white board series this afternoon, right?”
“yes.”
he nodded toward the paused frame, “bingo. bring physio girl.”
“bring her?”
another blinked, “beaumont?”
melrose rubbed his beard, waltzing back over to his seat with an air of pure arrogance. “why not?” he shrugs matter-of-the-factly, “fans eat this stuff up. it humanizes joe. we’ve got one too many fan girls comparing him to a damned psycho—so you know what i say? humanize him.”
the intern hovered over the orange mouse with black stripes, “should i tag this clip?”
“go ahead, blondie.” he leans back in his spinning chair, “caption it sideline interactions, tag ‘em both. i’ll need one of you to find her instagram.”
the video resumed, out on the big screen, joe straightened his posture, adjusted again to the metal plate inserted inside his cleats before jogging back.
dahlia lingered behind, already speaking to a nearby trainer about something on her clipboard.
this all felt normal, very normal. routinely, even.
while inside the media room, coordinator melrose leaned against the cushy cushions of his spinning chair with folded arms. “smile, people. we’ve got a story line.”
later that afternoon a large whiteboard hooked and propped up on a metal frame stood awkwardly in a corner of the media room.
someone had written questions & answers across the top in particularly thick bold-black lettering.
joe sat manspread, leaned back in the chair given to him. one ankle crossed over its opposite, his demeanor became more relaxed in the way one would adapt when you spend years around cameras.
whereas dahlia looked.. shy. as if she had wandered into the wrong room and now was stuck here. a bit casually dressed like her not-so patient.
dahlia wore a muted brown two piece set, her glasses, minimal jewelry mostly masked by sleeves covering her hands. her hair sat a bit shrunken in length due to humidity, settling thickly at her shoulders.
“okay,” the videographer said with a sprinkle of hope in his eyes, “first question.”
joe glanced at the board which read: favorite post-practice snack.
dolly felt her cheeks warm, this so obviously did not apply to her. she was a physiotherapist not a ravenous athlete.
“easy,” joe glanced at dahlia, “the same protein shake i make in the morning. its got blueberries in it.”
a studio camera cinematically shifted to her as the media team attempted to create something ambient, homey. like you were there in the room with them.
she hesitated. “uh.. i’m no athlete but ideally something with carbohydrates, antioxidants, and protein to support muscle recovery?”
joe slowly turned towards her, brow raised.
she blinks.
“..oh! like yoghurt.” she added quickly, “i should’ve said fats instead of antioxidants, sorry.”
he broke into a grin, chuckling hysterically as he patted her leg. “you see what i deal with?”
the room laughed softly,
joe noticed how dahlia almost flushed immediately. her complexion gaining a more prominent glow under studio lighting.
“joe,” she shakes her head, “i’m being serious.”
he bit back, still smiling, “i know.”
another question appeared on the board, written in orange marker instead. dahlia squinted despite wearing her glasses.
who is more stubborn during rehab?
joe didn’t even pretend to think, pointing to himself immediately. dahlia shook her head in agreement, “absolutely him.”
behind the camera,
several media admin could see the trajectory of the video changing. which finally gave them a glimpse of their dynamic.
“wow,” the dirty-blond faked his pout. “betrayal.”
“you argued about the importance of our stretches.”
“because they’re boring.”
“they’re necessary, joe.”
with much amusement, coordinator melrose instructed the media videographer to lower the camera just slightly. capturing a more personal angle whilst joe and dahlia went back and forth.
every question flew by, answered in rapid fire before the final one appeared.
what is your current impression of each other?
“she’s—,” joe pondered for a moment, lips curling into a tiny grin. “i really like her, dahlia’s a great physiotherapist. very patient.”
his eyes locked on his physiotherapist’s face a bit longer than necessary, unknowingly biting the inner corner of his fleshly coloured lips.
dahlia sweetly smiled, now facing the camera. “joe’s a very resilient player. he’s got a lot of love for what he cares about, i think he is very admirable.”
“ew, don’t flatter me.” he bursts out into a fit of laughter, causing her to swat his hand off of her knee. “see this is what she does to me!” holding up his hand as evidence for a mark that is clearly not there.
in response, the curly-haired woman tried very hard to not grin.
the camera had caught it anyway.
dahlia spent her evening aimlessly scrolling, productively though. hundreds of anatomical references, player records, injury reports, stretching mechanisms. she made it a mission to freshen up on unretained knowledge.
but,
she wasn’t a robot. she was curious. very curious. naturally seeing the ninety second interview spike in viewership, stacked comments, and clear positive feedback left her nauseous.
to be perceived, consumed, and spit back out in a free-roam situation is nauseating.
within an instant, comments felt like darts into her back. some good, some confusing.
𓍢 🤍 ׅ ⬞ ִ ⠀︵⠀⠀⊹⠀
. . . loading | 🎬• Cincinnati Bengals: “Whiteboard Q&A, Back to the Drawing Board.”
250K likes
1,128 comments
4,007 shares
╰┈➤ top comments
@/user 1 why he looking at her like that..
@/user77 she’s so awkward i can’t 😭
@/randomuser bro’s smiling for once
@/andreiiosivas burrow looks overly happy 🥹
⤷ @/user4 i’m crying why is andrei so supportive
@/user 4 i get why burrow been out for this long
@/user9828 she’s lowkey pretty
@/cincystan doesn’t this break confidentiality?
⤷ @/burrowlvrgirl ur funny for thinking cincy cares 😭
@/cincystan tf that’s still weird though??
@/lahjay10_ gotta be favoritism, ian been in a media video for weeks now ☹️
⤷ @/jamarrsbabymama ho bye..
⤷ @/12636 ja’marr u overly played last sunday
⤷ @/user1 ik you’re not talking about my man????
⤷ @/12636 tee’s been the better receiver w flacco/burrow/browning & you aren’t ready for that convo 💔
@/brr9 nah because if joe dates her i’m crashing OUTT
@/user55 burrow don’t know how to act around some fine shit
⤷ @/cincystan now yk you’re dead wrong for that
@/user55 sorry i don’t converse with the unemployed
⤷ @/cincystan OH??
@/user55 that username speaks for itself babes
@/ravens4life so we’re just going to avoid ja’marr getting flamed rn…
@/medstudent005 to the ppl worried about confidentiality, it is VERY obvious joe consented to this video.
⤷ @/burrowlvrgirl bby i swear no one cares that much
𓍢 🤍 ׅ ⬞ ִ ⠀︵⠀⠀⊹⠀
dahlia picked at her salmon & caesar salad for another minute before settling with no longer reading the sheer amount of intrusive behaviors being displayed in front of her.
she slumped into her stool, already having second thoughts about having this video recorded and posted to the internet despite the semi-positive public reception.
after closing the tab, dolly forced a mouthful of salad down her throat despite it tasting awfully bland. her phone buzzed again, vibrating against her counter top.
a text from ‘joe’ with a smiley face emoji right next to his name.
you survived your first media day.
another buzz.
proud of you.
she stared into her phone’s screen blankly, typing back reluctantly.
never doing that again!!
three dots instantly appear.
they’re asking if we’re willing to do another video
you were good, lmk whatever you think and i’ll tell them.
no pressure though.
dahlia didn’t bother to respond right away, deciding to reopen the ninety second video again. her eyes track each expression he makes, how his hand finds her knee and grounds itself there, and something she couldn’t see initially—
every time she spoke,
joe looked at her.
not the camera.
just her.
dahlia.
shutting off her phone, she slumped forward. arms crossed as her plate slid across the slightly scuffed marble surface, creating a gratingly familiar sound.
stadium noise had finally softened into something looser on the ears. not quiet—never quiet in a colosseum full of cheering tension on both sides of the crowd. baltimore’s cool air settled deep into dahlia’s lungs as a balm to any sharp tension felt throughout.
especially from earlier in the game. joe’s first sack left her a bit agitated, she physically felt an aversion once defense and offense cycled.
luckily, that energy fizzled into the knowing that tonight was well and over. the score settling at twenty nine and fourteen for now. joe dropped onto a bench near a few equipment trunks and gatorade cartons, helmet hanging lowly behind two fingers.
his chest rose slowly as he caught his breath, joe’s curl pattern always straightened when damp with the sweat which came from game day exertion.
a few yards away, teammates were already laughing. helmets off, slapping each other’s shoulders and pointing out obvious mistakes made by baltimore’s tense offensive resolve being crumpled.
dahlia approached with the small medical bag slung over one shoulder. her legs looked particularly longer in the opaque material of her flared leggings. she made everything look awfully darling on her.
who looked that good in flared leggings and a lululemon define jacket anyways?
but the camera angle from across baltimore’s field was unforgivably distorted, it looked like she stepped right between his legs. in reality, dahlia only stood close to hear his voice over a sweltering crowd.
joe’s rehabbed foot was propped upon the bench beside him, needing room to stretch it after having it confined in his new orthotic shoe.
“how’s the adjustment feeling?” dahlia asked gently, leaning down to check basic mobility.
joe allowed her to roll his ankle around, once experimentally. “better than last week.”
“any pain? especially with the new carbon fiber plate stuff?”
“not really. just pressure—it’s uncomfortable.”
she nodded with a tiny sigh, fingers lightly brushing against every edge of his lower leg. dahlia could feel a slight muscle growth around joe’s shin, he wouldn’t need to favor one leg as much anymore.
dahlia felt stupid for the sudden tenderness now accumulating in her eyes.
he admired her while she worked, “hey. i’m fine.”
she nods, pulling away with her hands on her hips.
“you saw that third down run?” he softly laughs.
“i did.” dahlia caved in soon enough, preemptively choosing to dab her eyes carefully from how glossy they became with unshed tears. “and you know you’re not supposed to be cutting like that yet..”
joe grinned faintly, “i made it work, baby.”
dahlia looked at him properly, eyes wide with how he simply dropped the term of endearment as if he weren’t mic’d up right now. her bashfulness was caught under the glare of cool stadium lighting, or maybe it was just the cold.
“you did more than making it work,” her whisper became aflush in the sweetest way; pink, sweet, almost innocent in its tone.
joe tilted his head, he knew her to never compliment or flatter outright. effortlessly, dahlia spoke clinically. measured. professionally. even in their most vulnerable encounters, there was a wall.
tonight, it lessened itself.
“the way you adjusted your footwork in the pocket,” she continued, quite resplendently. “that’s not something most quarterbacks could do coming off a turf toe injury.”
he nods once, stumped and surprised by the validation.
joe liked validation.
she gestured vaguely towards the field. her memories were similar to of a photograph, pointing exactly to where he scrambled until the play ceased. “you compensated through your hips like i always tell you. instead of a basic toe pivot, it kept the torque off of the joint.”
joe stared at her, eyes full of something comely. something dazzled.
then laughed under his breath. “you were watching my hips, dolly?”
she gasped instantly, covering her face. “mechanically! i was mechanically—not because they’re anatomically perfect for your composition or anything!”
his grin widened. “sure. you like that, hm?”
dahlia crossed her arms defensively, “joe, i’m being serious.”
“i’m aware.”
he leaned back slightly on the bench. still looking up at her with those precious baby blues, a former grey sadness once replaced the current glint of excitement in his eyes.
stadium noise meant nothing as defense forced another stop, another fumble, another mistake.
it was just them. here.
her standing close, him sitting with his leg no longer propped up.
“you played well.” dahlia concludes softly, as if the words jumped out of her mouth to mock her.
joe held her gaze in the palm of his hand, figuratively of course. because that one line landed right into a tender cove deep into his heart more than any of her earlier comments.
because this was simple. unorchestrated. its own note.
completely.
“thank you, dolly.” the nickname slipped out on his tongue easily now, no preventatives lying in wait. dahlia doesn’t even bother to correct him anymore.
this gave a stray camera even time to capture the angle, a borderline poetic shot:
her standing between his knees, weakly masking her joyed expression. leaning slightly towards him as joe stared up with that quiet mix of attentiveness and adoration.
adoration.
then the shot cut back to the field,
but you couldn’t scrub away a clip like this. someone saw it.
the hallway outside of the away team press room still buzzed with commotion as joe stepped inside. every face had a smile, feigned or not, plastered on its face. the revival of cincinnati’s quarterback yet again.
he couldn’t feel the ugly, corrosive feeling deep inside when surrounded with certainty. when he was filled with certainty.
this moment was pivotal.
someone from media relations gestured to the podium with a tiny stick-like microphone provided. he ran a hand through his hair, it had become habit with his new length.
he stood a bit loosely, microphone shifted closer, reporters leaned forward.
hundreds of faces he knows but now sees a bit differently.
once simple conversation ceased,
a question was asked. “joe,” a man with glasses and thinning hair began. “how did it feel being out there tonight, coming back the way you did?”
“it felt great, you know obviously. first half was a little shaky, i expected myself to play better. it got a bit emotional towards the end of the game,” he paused in his train of thought, hearing some music in the background, “it’s just good to be back with the guys.”
another voice cut in, “you looked pretty comfortable out there, might we add. was anything surprising?”
joe shook his head slightly.
“not really. we adjusted a few things as the week went on. just trusted the work.”
pens scratched across notepads, a typewriter clicked in a familiar rhythm for a good minute or two. a third reporter chimed in too.
“during recovery, who—uh—who helped you the most getting to this very point?”
the answer came out before joe’s media training could filter it down into something digestible. “dolly.”
her name simply hung in the air, taking joe seconds to register exactly what he said as his finger tips brushed back disobedient strands of hair.
then it dawned on him. showing all over his face, his shoulders stiffening just by an inch.
across a table, one reporter took off their glasses. another was stunned, nudging someone who clearly took the accidental bait.
“who’s doll-y?” the reporter blatantly stretched out the word, mockingly. earning soft chuckles from fellow journalists and colleagues.
joe exhales through his nose. too late now to undo anything, he leaned on the podium’s open arch slightly. one of his hands goes back to rub his neck. “she’s my lovely physiotherapist.”
a few more reporters join in laughing. joe’s sarcasm clearly landed well enough to reroute whatever question they’d push next, dahlia didn’t have to say it verbatim—he could feel her nerves.
he opted for her comfort over media attention and appearances, because that mattered to him most.
unfortunately a follow-up came anyway.
“so she played a big role in your rehab.”
running a hand through his slightly damp hair, he evenly spoke. “yea. but the whole medical staff did, they kept me moving.”
the answer closed the topic, at least for him as papers shuffed around the room—their crinkly sounds catching under microphones.
unlike cincinnati’s star quarterback having a full room of eager reporters and journalists, the commotion would die down for their head coach—zachary taylor.
cameras adjusted, a media intern checked several mics again.
zac finally stepped up to the podium with a grim look written across his face, folder tucked neatly behind his folded arms, and his expression couldn’t be any tighter.
“evening,” he muttered.
a few journalists repeated the saying.
their first few questions thrown at him were predictable, routinely. critiques mostly, things the team needed to sharpen so as to not let any more chances through their shaky foundation.
others were casual.
offense execution with burrow and flacco switching in early fourth quarter.
red zone efficiency.
defensive adjustments and the tightened force on baltimore to ensure offensive halts.
zac answered each one smoothly, hands resting against the plastic and wooden podium.
then, someone in the middle tested his resolve.
“coach, joe mentioned someone named dolly during his presser—he claims her to be his physiotherapist. how involved was she in his two and a half months of recovery?”
he didn’t dare to hesitate, “uhm. joe’s recovery was a full organizational effort,” zac paused, “medical staff, trainers, strength and conditioning. you know everyone has to play their role. trust me, it’s not a one-woman show in cincinnati.”
the reporter tests him again, another rebuttal.
“so she is a part of the rehab team then?”
zac narrowed his eyes, stepping back from the podium just by an inch. “like i said, our entire medical team supports the players. nobody’s working in isolation here. it was a collaborative effort,” he politely replies.
pens scratched against pads.
before zac was given an opportunity to exhale, some voice in the back spoke up ambitiously.
“there was a sideline moment. seemed brief, but broadcast caught it where she appeared to be checking his rehabbed—”
the head coach cut in under a disguise of gentleness, “our medical staff evaluates players throughout the game. standard procedure.”
an feeling opposite to prior hostility eventually set in, they knew this section of their discussion was well closed now. earning whatever reactions needed for media dispute and attention from zac taylor, sure, his words on the surface were appropriate — but deep below there was something to be turned, twisted.
zac nodded once toward the moderator dressed in cinncinati attire, “next question. i came to speak about our team,” he amuses the room yet again.
the conversation gravitates towards football again.
blitz packages. third down defensive plays.
her name hadn’t come up again, not daring to.
hours later, joe’s house filled itself with solemnity and an unnerving knowing. his phone glowed faintly in dim lighting, notifications stacking like hundreds of responsibilities begging to be ticked off a list.
teammate messages; a blown up group chat.
fans infiltrating his instagram messages.
someone clipping the sideline moment of the ‘century’ from tonight’s game broadcast.
he tapped the photo, deliberately zooming in to capture every detail he could with his tired eyes.
dahlia standing close infront of him, hands planted firmly on her hips, her lips curled into a tiny smile—quite tiny but there. him sitting on the bench, helmet dangling under his fingers, head lightly craned up to her.
from the unforgiving angle it posed her like she stood between his legs, quite romantically.
although he knew this moment to be the opposite; her quiet, tender voice laced with honeyed things he could not describe himself. how she studied his footwork like an art.
you played well. still rang like a mantra inside his head.
joe snapped a screenshot of the photo. cropping each border cleanly, to caption it: thankful, tagging her instagram handle right below.
straight to his account became its final resting place, he locked his phone soon after. leaning his head against the intricately-carved wooden bedframe.
inside the app was a warzone,
likes soaring in. comments multiplying.
and beneath the post, a common theme rang—
who’s dolly?
practice had that early winter bite to it, promising uncertainty for the upcoming battle against buffalo. cold air sat low to the earth, frosting even the tips of turfed grass. breath fogged icily before every helmet like a cloud of dust.
joe stood behind the line, flexing his fingers inside gloves he rarely used while the offense reset and rotated for the next rep.
the drill flew by quickly, each pass done with a precision that became autonomous to joe. whistles blew certainly, players scattered towards paycor’s sideline—ragged with cleats tearing its flesh apart.
zac taylor leaned against a nearby equipment cart, “joe. c’mere.” he calls, not loud. just enough to intervene on his well needed water break.
joe turned, releasing his gatorade bottle from his grip.
zac paced before walking closer, slowly. face unreadable as his hands settled into the pockets of his quarter zip.
a few assistants nearby pretended to not watch.
“quick word?”
joe nods, “yea.”
his head coach glares briefly towards the medical field opposite to them on the field. dahlia stood there with two trainers, reviewing basic medical reports, examining players from a distance to assess development.
then his gaze returned to his starting quarterback. “we gotta be mindful of optics right now.”
joe pressed his lips together into a neat line.
zac continued. “that post? the other night, or your behavior during the presser. man, the attention it’s brought.”
“mhm.” joe shifted his weight to one leg, “everything i do brings attention.”
zachary couldn’t help but eye his quarterback suspiciously, he knew joe to be a man of not many words. but he waited, waited for a response—nearly hoping for an ounce of defensiveness coming his way.
nothing. it didn’t come.
“the focus should remain on football, joe.” he huffed a cold exhale out, “not.. sideline narratives.”
joe shifted again, “it is on football.”
zac chuckled, “joe.”
he ignified sharply, “staff relationships should stay professional. you know this. you read rule books for fun. this isn’t rules, this is ethics. morals.”
joe’s focus flicked to the wintry haze of this afternoon, then to the medical sideline. dahlia would never know the details of the conversation, never know anything above her precious laughs right now to whatever a fellow physician said.
refocusing on zac, still calm, he mutters. “this is professional to an extent.”
zac held his gaze, waiting for an opening to swoop under and save the day. being the voice of reason most days and nights, he couldn’t be that man right now.
“our organization doesn’t need distractions right now.”
the blond nods, not shrinking in the midst of his superior. he acknowledges the sentence absentmindedly, “she’s good at what she does. healing, understanding, fixing.”
zac blinks.
joe shrugs.
“it’s why i posted it, zac.”
uncomfortably so, their conversation came to an obvious halt for any outsiders external vantage point. even nearby receivers like mitch and andrei slowed down the tying of their cleats, pretending to not overhear.
zac tightly nodded. “just keep it professional.”
joe hadn’t said another word, watching the grey-haired man step away. practice resumed a bit later, loud whistles soaring high. routes crunching against the ground. shouting resuming at shitty mistakes.
under the circumstances of regular practice was a shift, a myriad of unnoticeable, non-theatric changes lingering as tension everyone recognized.
across the field was another story.
dahlia glancing up from her iPad, not filling out her report sheet anymore as she completed it. she and joe made warm eye contact, a surge of knowing filled her knowing he lacked something today—
that forlorn, exhausted look.
shedding its wings a little more than usual.
he lifted his hand briefly, a small wave to her. she smiled without a doubt, really smiling—lips curling, dimples poking.
she shooed him off with a tiny gesture, quite fondly. reminding him to turn toward the huddle again and he obeyed.
“alright,” he says to the offense, “let’s run it again. tee go more in on the slant though.”
like nothing had happened at all.
act five — rupture.
♪ Rocket Man • Elton John
“‘til touchdown brings me ‘round again to find, (ooh) i’m not the man they think i am at home.”
every second half was posed as a threat towards cincinnati on all sides of the game, defense, offense, and special teams all suffered under the scrutiny of what dahlia observed to be fault lines.
broken wires bleeding electrical currents into the sky, or the second half decline. the opposing team continued to push and joe’s team began to bend before they could break.
and nothing about the bengals ever broke even.
this was the quarter with the weight to it, sinking or swimming. far away, a scoreboard glowed overhead inside the frigid stadium—elements of blinding snow only exacerbated stress felt by everyone.
she watched joe disappear into the offensive huddle, adjusting his helmet by a little bit more, hand coming up immediately to the side of it. waiting for signal to come in.
he waited.
“he adjust anything?” ja’marr asked, hands firmly placed on his hips as he paced a little bit. he looked uncertain of this play’s outcome.
joe didn’t answer.
he was still listening, nothing came through but static.
not the usual clipped cadence, not the quick adjustment and correction to formations, before all the static died out. just a hollow absence to where his head coach’s voice should have been.
he taps the side of his helmet again, once more.
“yo?” tee slightly leaned in, “you got it?”
joe’s jaw set, he tries again a bit quieter, knowing time was ticking. “hello?”
this time—
another flicker of static set in, but it was indecipherable enough for joe to know this had turned gravely dangerous.
silence follows yet again.
the play clock ticked down.
18.
19.
and now cincinnati’s entire offensive starters looked at him.
orlando shifted his stance briefly, glancing towards the sideline and then back to their team’s leader.
“aight. joe, we need—”
joe looked past them, past the coaches. to her. dahlia.
dahlia stood near the boundary, iPad tucked neatly against her chest, watching him in that observant, focused way she had adapted to over the years—always tracking something below what was provided on surface level.
he tilted his head slightly, a question.
her brows pull together.
she couldn’t understand his motion, not fully, but enough to see visible hesitation.
and for a second, dolly shrugged. a bit small, even a little uncertain of herself. her lips curled to form a word. go.
joe inhaled slowly, his ribs aching.
suddenly, the weight of zac’s play was fully diminished. it wouldn’t work under buffalo’s enduring defensive philosophy that always seemed to flourish later into the game.
he devised a plan clean enough to guarantee more completed passes, arguably sharper than any zac taylor play.
“alright,” he spoke into the huddle, steadily, slowly. “we’re not running that.”
soon after confusion set in. mass confusion.
“what?” ja’marr’s eyes widened slightly.
“we just practiced that all week—” andrei protested.
joe shook his head firmly, “trust me. we’re not running that.”
the play clock hit twelve, by now cincinnati would’ve been in formation with certain glints in their eyes. riling up each section of the stadium.
stepping closer into the huddle, joe read off of his wrist coach with a lowered voice. he spoke precisely, “we’re flipping it. same shell, different read. okay? uh—you,” he points to a receiver, “—cut inside on the second step. not the third, give me the window early.”
tee blinked, processing the image visually. “joe, that’s not—bro i’m gonna get locked up at the—”
“i know,” joe cracked his knuckles briefly, “just trust me.”
he didn’t raise his voice.
didn’t waste time overexplaining.
there wasn’t enough seconds in the world right now to undo whatever he’s created.
“line—i need you to hold a bit longer.” he glanced to ted, “i’ll get out on time. don’t worry about me.”
he waited to see if he’d adjust anything else, but nothing pricked joe’s brain enough to induce a new thought.
then—
he nodded.
“aight. zac gon’ kill us.” the main receiver laughed despite his own nerves.
they broke off.
as always, the snap came. cleanly. joe dropped back, eyes already moving like chess pieces across a board to gauge whether he had time.
everything felt so quiet, not on the hostile battlefield. but inside, decisions weren’t stacking on top of each other anymore. they just happened and unfolded.
tee cut in earlier than usual as instructed.
a window opening perfectly in front of joe’s vantage point, extending his arm to cleanly sling the ball down several yards before a completion.
first down.
across the stadium, voices cried. loud enough to understand the weight of a momentum switch, but quiet enough to be mistaken as pure noise.
they lined up again, faster this time. joe didn’t touch his helmet, didn’t look to the sidelines—he just called it. “same look, but we’re going tempo.”
ja’marr let out a short breath, almost a laugh. “okay, burrow.”
snap.
completion down the left side of the field to chase. yards piled up quickly, beautiful numbers that induced sideline reaction. players stepping forward, already cheering.
dahlia felt change before she understood change.
it is how she is wired.
she lessened her grip, setting the iPad down as she couldn’t believe the image set before her. for weeks, she became accustomed to a zac taylor offense—brilliant under minimal pressure, restless under added pressure.
joe resets again.
there was a gut feeling; exhilaration. watching a person away at their craft, it was different. not some awe inspiring show, but an innate knowing of how complex their mind works.
he looked freer.
his movements were so much quicker, less restrained by an invisible force much earlier.
but dahlia wasn’t wooed, or swooped off from under her feet by joe’s charming works. she frowned, eyes narrowing enough that her lash extensions made things blur a little more.
and so, the drive continued to build. first down. another.
the offensive linemen knew to adjust without a spoken word. risner, karras, and brown anchoring harder ultimately blessing joe with an extra second to flow.
“keep going,” joe muttered to himself subconsciously. because subsequently he knew the team would lead themselves to the ‘promised land’—the red zone.
and when they reached their so called ‘promised land,’ the crowd had caught on fully. announcers on televisions nation wide absolutely befuddled by the monstrous play.
noise swelled with belief, belief that joe burrow was truly back.
joe stepped up into the huddle again, getting clapped on the shoulder by ja’marr. “we’re finishing this shit.” joe said simply, fighting the urge to smile a little more than he usually would during a game.
for he knew one thing.
touchdown.
highmark stadium screamed the second tee brought the bengals home to their happy place, the end zone.
ja’marr shoved joe, laughing outright and practically bouncing around with increased optimism. “where that been all game?”
joe exhaled sharply, something like adrenaline catching in his chest—but it didn’t settle into celebration.
“had to improvise a little.”
his eyes flicked, instinctively—
sideline.
coaches.
then away again.
“a little?” the receiver cackled, “man. shut up and take some credit, you saved us. we was bleeding out there.”
naturally, the fourth quarter began with defense.
joe stood near the bench, helmet tucked into his arm. one hand resting on a sore hip as he watched. nothing registered to him at all, just another possession.
the bills lined up. josh allen received the ball.
clearly, something had been cleaned. the motion—or whatever, the motion was too tight. precise.
josh allen adjusted quickly at the line, already predicting cincinnati’s next move. quickly, an air of confidence oozing out of him.
communication was landing exactly where fault lines met.
joe’s eyes narrowed, the second play was the exact same. no adjustment on the left tackle’s obvious gap. yet, buffalo adjusted, executed, and gained.
he shifted his weight.
he knew this all too well.
not buffalo. joe knew the structure, the timing, the abrupt changes that never completely connect.
connection regained.
he glanced involuntarily toward zac on the sideline, headset on. communications with the defensive coordinator were done easily, no tension. no break. just the smooth sailing.
joe swallowed, slowly.
a third down easily converted into a touchdown, just too easily.
it all clicked then, not all at once like a freight train. but enough to know he’s back. whatever flame was lit, blown out in the icy atmosphere of new york.
he couldn’t bring himself to pry his eyes away watched the defense try to adjust, instead everything felt a major few steps behind now.
not because they were worse. cincy’s never been know for these defenses anyways.
because the other side was fully connected again.
fully directed. fully in command.
and when he returned to the field, he knew whatever rhythm he had promised the team was fully dismantled. offense returned to a slow drag, only looking a little less brilliant.
it’s seen better days.
playoff games.. afc championships.. wins.
the voice came through so clearly, telling him exactly where to run it. joe closed his eyes for half a second, feeling the weight of the huddle’s disappointment.
back to the drawing board, some say.
rinse, wash, and repeat.
snap, drop back, hesitation, incomplete. next drive, same process, same voice, same alterations. a blind person could read each crack.
they were stuffed.
everyone felt it, the timing was off by inches of little gaps and closed windows. decisions delayed by seconds burrow wasn’t given to even think clearly.
no more promised land.
but yes, a field goal is exactly what the team wanted. precisely.
on the sides, dahlia watched him come off again. hands in his hair, his hands looked cold—calloused by the elements come sun, wind, or snow.
“joe,” she called, stepping into his path.
her words brought him to a halt.
she searched his face, pulling him aside. dahlia’s eyes tracked him with a fervor far from her typical elegance, she lowly spoke. “tell me—what did you do out there?”
she hadn’t accused him, or penalized him like a criminal. she merely wanted to understand what created such a rise to only come to a fall. a tipping point.
joe glanced past her, up into the barely visible sky blocked with masses of clouds. then back to her, “i had to do something.”
her brows pulled together, noticing he wasn’t fully speaking to her. rather his head was literally planted into the game, “what does that mean?”
he shook his head, a bit of snow flaking off of his curls. “my mic went out.”
she nibbled on her bottom lip, “when?”
“last few minutes of the third quarter.”
her expression twisted, taking in the sight of a person she couldn’t recognize for a second. a long second.
barely containing her shock, “did you at least—” dolly tried to recalibrate herself, “those plays—they weren’t—”
“no.” joe confirmed.
her brown eyes went round, “joe.”
“i didn’t have anything come in,” he added desperately, beginning to pace a little. “i wasn’t gonna—i couldn’t just stand there.”
she stared through him, processing as much as she could. “who called that sequence?”
he held her gaze, letting out a shaky breath.
“i did.”
the claustrophobia of stadium noise began to cave in, barely feeling distant or fleeting as buffalo ran cincinnati through the mud. dahlia’s palms came up to her forehead, fingers splayed to soothe her headache.
she couldn’t bring herself to be angry. a part of her shared his guilt, she just told him to go—she deemed his worry to be nerves.
“be careful.”
now she understood the risks, not a physical issue but years of underlying fractures. she understood everything else.
someone shouted for joe and he looked over to them, already stepping back.
as he turned, he slid on his helmet again hearing the same hauntingly unchanged voice. not a sliver of animosity or anger in his tone.
34 to 39 was a haunting loss, a haunting loss of what could’ve been against what transpired. no music lingered, no scattered chatter amongst every man.
just a slow, low murmur of post game coverage bleeding out of a mounted television above and the sound of athletic tape tearing, pads shifting, and equipment scrapping against flooring.
ja’marr sat forward, elbows firmly placed atop his knees, eyes fixed towards the screen which replayed several mistakes.
zac’s face appeared after a channel switch, some lineman was curious as to what he’d say, probably ted.
“..we have to be better about maintaining professional boundaries,” they probably caught zac in the middle of a sentence on the broadcast, “there’s been unwanted external attention connected to a female staff member lately. it doesn’t serve our team ultimately.”
a few heads lifted.
“everyone has a role.” zac stresses, “and when those lines blur, it gives leeway for distraction.”
ja’marr’s jaw shifted, raising a brow in suspicion. he leaned back on the bench, back to the locker. he wasn’t by any means close to dahlia—but he knew her enough. polite, a little quiet when she’s on her own, and from what joe tells him—she’s rarely ever the perpetrator.
“aight, be like that.” he muttered. enough to receive a pause in ongoing conversation inside the locker room.
on the screen, zac didn’t have to fully blast dahlia’s name.
he didn’t need to.
“what i’m trying to convey is that we are solely football focused.”
ja’marr nudged tee directing his attention away from wrist tape and to the streamed press conference, looking back down to the floor and then back up.
and that is what led to another tiny spark. a flick.
“you hearing what taylor’s saying?”
a couple guys shifted closer.
tee shifted slightly, turning back to the locker he claimed for the away game, only giving him a look to signal that ja’marr shouldn’t let this worry him.
ja’marr stood, “taylor could’ve just said what he meant. he fucking hates that girl, humiliating her for people to hear because he’s pissy that joe and him ain’t been right since last season.”
deliberately he stepped closer to the screen, eyes narrowing slightly before changing the channel to joe’s ongoing conference.
“‘marr, c’mon man..” tee sighed.
the main receiver shook his head once, “nah. nah. i’m good.”
footsteps followed as a door swung open with a soft whoosh, zac entered—quarter zip still on, headset gone, and his expression poised in that staged, practiced, postgame way.
he took in the clearly unhappy room, preparing himself to announce and discuss his own takeaways from this afternoon. but he stopped himself, zeroing in on ja’marr.
“something you wanna say before i begin?” zac dryly spoke.
directly, ja’marr turned to face him. arms crossed, “yea.”
“go ahead, chase.”
ja’marr gestured lightly to the mounted television a few feet away, “you got up there and called her a distraction without saying it.” plainly, ja’marr stressed each word.
zac’s expression hadn’t changed, although it seemed he aged in mere minutes. “i addressed the team.”
“no,” immediately the receiver countered his coach, “you didn’t. you humiliated her.”
reeling from the whiplash of his receiver’s blunt words, a piece of the coach hadn’t believed how quick he was to defend her. he sharply exhaled, hands sliding to his pockets. “watch you’re talking, chase.”
ja’marr let out a humorless laugh, nearly resembling a small breath.
“i am. i’m being real clear with you, actually.”
a couple linemen and backups shifted in their stance, listening too.
“her name dahlia, ain’t it? but you’re so scared to say it, because you know full well she didn’t do anything to be put in this mess.” ja’marr inched forward, “so please, please don’t stand up there and make it sound like she’s the reason we’re off.”
there it was.
the perfectly drafted response to eat away at a man and his ego. because, when you give a man too much power—he forgets his lofty throne can be taken from under him.
zac raised his chin, giving ja’marr a dismissive expression. “i didn’t say that.”
“you implied that.” the taller male responded, “and everybody in hear heard it the exact same way.” he didn’t bother to turn to face the room, to seek approval he already had.
in response,
zac came forward firmly.
“we lost because we didn’t execute. and because he lost sight of where focus needed to be—‘he’ being your quarterback. you know this, chase. don’t be fooled.”
ja’marr rubbed his forehead, “so then keep it there. a team fault,”
he paused.
“don’t drag her into this.”
zac’s composure flickered easily, another bruise to his headship—his authority as head coach.
“this ain’t me dragging anyone into anything. this is me begging for accountability, you need accountability, the team needs accountability. you all should take accountability.”
ja’marr shot back, “nah. don’t redirect this on us when you need to be accountable too.”
“you’re crossing a line, chase.” he gave a mirthless laugh.
tilting his head slightly, the receiver taunts him. “or what? enlighten me.”
zac’s tone dropped a good octave or two, less controlled now. eyes devoid of anymore clarity, just crumpled amity.
“or you can sit your ass down on that damn bench, stop talking like you know everything that goes into this, and let me address my team.”
instigative words filled the atmosphere, a lack of courtesy in every sentence.
‘marr you’re gonna let him talk to you like that?
that’s crazy.
if i were you i would—
with a roll of his eyes, ja’marr lowered his tone in mimicry. “i know enough.”
“i know that she’s been doing her fucking job. i know she’s the reason he’s been above to even move like himself again. and i know that you don’t get to stand up there and paint a picture that joe’s some defenseless man and that she’s some problem—just because you don’t want to say what went down today.”
not a soul interrupted.
not even those who indulged in drama.
zac stepped back, his chest fell and rose with rapid breaths. “that is not your call to make.”
“it is when you make this more public than what it is.” ja’marr replied.
sharpening his words, he pressed further. “and don’t act like we didn’t see how you sabotaged us with those shitty plays in the fourth—”
the air tensed, a couple linemen refused to wait with baited breath and straightened immediately to step between.
orlando shot up first. stepping between them before zac could fire another round of disrespect. “alright, that’s enough.”
not moving back, ja’marr spoke again. “i’m not wrong. someone had to say it.”
“i didn’t say you were,” steadily orlando nudged him out while zac straightened himself up. “i said that’s enough.”
dalton shifted in beside him, reinforcing the space. everyone simply hovered unsure of the next decision made which could lead to collapse—or mutiny.
the door swung open again and tee prayed it would be admin.
joe stepped in, freshly returning from his conference. jacket and sweats slightly wrinkled, headphones plugged in to tune out noise.
as he took them out, he could only notice how scattered everything looked. a blockade separating zac from ja’marr, bodies too close and too still.
noticing orlando’s tired expression—then past orlando—
to ja’marr, his best friend.
to zac.
he had heard only muffles drowned out by tame impala and possibly a sentence along the lines of:
“you don’t get to make her the problem—”
“what’s going on?” asked joe.
no one dared to speak initially, until ja’marr locked eyes with him once. exhaling slowly as his shoulders couldn’t help but tense again.
“he just got done putting her on blast without saying her name.”
ja’marr’s words were plainly spoken, not a drop of exaggeration.
“you really said that stuff?” joe groaned, burying his hands in his hair.
a piece of zac still saw joe as the short haired rookie, fresh off of national victory, basking in hopes of bringing cincinnati to glory.
a pretty sweet image in hindsight, now jaded by years of misremembered promises and lost prospects. so, zac chose to stand his ground to hopefully woo what may be left of twenty three year old joe. “that’s not what i said.”
much to his dismay, the dirty blond tilted his head in contempt. “but that’s what you meant.”
zac flexed his jaw, hoping to bridge to him. “i said we need to maintain boundaries and..”
“and?”
“i—”
letting out a cutting breath, joe couldn’t help but be amused. “you know, you picked a real specific time to care about that.”
“this isn’t about the physiotherapist.”
“no, no.” the quarterback tutted, “she has a name. and i know it is about her.” calmly, joe shoved his hair away from blocking his view.
“because you didn’t have any ‘issues’ with it when we functioned, as a team on thanksgiving—one fucking week ago. you just spoke terribly of her, yea?”
perpetually, joe maintained eye contact. stepping closer to not escalate but enough to be heard without raising his voice. “so don’t switch it now. and don’t make it about her, dahlia, my physiotherapist.”
zac insisted, “it is about the team. what don’t you get, joe!”
“why is it so hard to keep it about the team—what is it? i did all i could, they did all they could. we tried. but what you did to us in the fourth quarter once connection restored fucked everything up.” joe refused to take what zac dished to him.
the dirty blond dragged his hand briefly over the back of his neck, already done with the situation in full. zac’s arrogance, being pushed into bringing their team success only to be dragged for it, and bearing the burden of unnecessary scrutiny to someone he cares for.
he was done.
“we lost, zac.” joe stated, “that’s it. just take it for what it’s worth.”
zac attempted to retaliate, only to be haunted by a face he hoped to not see. a voice he despised to hear.
dahlia beaumont, in the flesh—materialized in this very cramped locker room.
“joe! knew i’d find you in here. uhm, a trainer noted you were limping after today’s game—”
she took in the room’s tension, “—can you come with me for a second?” her gaze flicked to ja’marr, zac, and then back to joe. her eyes lingered for a moment longer.
joe hadn’t bothered to argue, “yea.”
as he moved past ja’marr, their shoulders brushed, and with unsaid words he’d expressed gratitude for all that ja’marr had said before he entered.
the baited breath the room held finally dispersed. messily and uncontained with a knowing that irreparably this team wouldn’t be the same.
“man—” ja’marr muttered, running a hand over his face. he knew joe to be a leader, he also was a man of little words.
“you good?” tee nudged him, unnoticed to how zac looked utterly shook.
before ja’marr could reassure his teammate—
sudden movement occurred a few lockers away.
andrei has his phone raised, still in his hands and posed as if he was busy.
or, he had his phone.
chase snatched it clean out of his grip, attempting to delete the video which depicted ten minutes of sheer frustration. “nah,” the running back reprimanded, “don’t record stuff like that.”
andrei started, “i wasn’t—”
“that’s ridiculous, andrei.” chase cut in, “and you not posting that cause imma go in that recently deleted.”
finally, the back door swung open again. this time—staff, human resources, administrative support, and a few other managerial positions involved in the bengals organization appeared. someone must’ve reported disunity in the locker room.
all of their faces were tight, moving and shuffling to reinstate some sort of control.
“good evening, gentlemen. we’re gonna need everyone to sit and talk.”
her room was impossibly quiet in juxtaposition to how amplified in sound the day had been. it hummed like a whisper in your ears. her rose quartz salt lamp glowed and flickered, a blend of cashmere & vanilla in a candle burned low, and the city outside glimmered faintly in her window.
dahlia didn’t turn on the overhead light. only a tiny lamp that could barely fill the room anyway, enough to soften everything.
joe sat on the edge of her bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands loose between them—barely clasped like an unspoken prayer. his hoodie strewn across his lap, like he’d started changing and stopped midway through.
tired didn’t even begin to cover it.
he couldn’t bring himself to be.
he watched her without a word as she moved—setting a glass of water on the nightstand, then turning to see him. her smaller hands cupped his face slightly. “you were still limping when you came in..”
dahlia hadn’t accused him, but joe bristled slightly. a part of him still had to remember he was a patient—to an extent.
he frowned, “‘m fine, dolly.”
she moved her hands from his jaw to cup his cheeks, pressing a small, shaky kiss to his forehead. as she pulled away, dahlia took that moment to decide something.
simply, she mumbled. “lay down.”
he exhaled through his nose, something close to a quiet laugh, and shifted back onto the bed without protest.
her eyes flicked to his messy ringlets, remembering exactly why she tucked a spare bonnet into her baggy yoga pants pockets. “..hold still.”
joe stared at the pink satin in her grasp, mouth gaping slightly. “seriously?”
mindlessly, she smoothed out any wrinkle in the small bonnet. “yes. i’ve got too much hair for it now—you keep it.”
he fiddled with a ringlet, observing the barely-there pattern. “i don’t even have—”
“you do. the ends are curling inward.” she cut in, a tut laying saccharine on her tongue. dahlia stepped closer, “and it’ll get frizzy if you don’t. your hair follicles will appreciate my efforts.”
there was no argument left in him tonight. no witty line. not bite.
so joe chose to lay there and let her slide it over his hair with care. fingers brushing gingerly against the curls at the nape of his neck, slightly tucking annoying strands in, adjusting it until it sat right.
her touch lingered more, trusting herself with the newfound viewpoint she had on their dynamic. a little romantic, if she’d allow it.
“there.” she murmured, giggling at her masterpiece.
joe looked up at her, not trying to look down as that would be where her cleavage peeked out in her tank top—
he drew in a long deep breath, “thank you.” he whispered as if anyone could hear them.
dahlia treated it like nothing stellar in particular, sliding into her cotton sheets beside him.
minutes ticked by wordlessly, laying there and facing each other. close, not close enough to touch which maintained an intentional amount of space.
like they pondered on closing the gap, yet neither crossed the threshold.
until joe shifted first,
tentatively.
he hadn’t made a thing of it, sliding his muscular arm around the curvature of her dahlia’s waist. pulling her a bit closer for his own comfort. a stubborn smile tugged away at his visage in knowing she melted right into his hold.
joe felt her nestle as if this was second nature for her, her head coming up to lightly rest against his pectoral. he adjusted himself slightly, letting her place a bit more weight atop him.
he let his hands tangle in her freshly done bohemian braids, looping his pinky finger around every springy curl. absentmindedly his path trailed lower, carefully locating itself at the small of her back, and even lower to the arch.
“today was bad..” she said after a while, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne. only being able to recall each fresh note, and vétiver—dahlia hoped it was vétiver.
joe noticed a hint of fragility in her cadence.
quite un-dahlia.
“yea.” his cheeks flushed a darker hue as her lips accidentally traced against the bony structure of his clavicle.
dahlia’s button nose flattens ever slightly as she squished herself, attempting to get comfortable. joe hadn’t taken her for the squirmish type when tired.
“i heard about the locker room too. admin came in after we left.”
his hand found the back of her head, tilting it upward enough to make eye contact. “it wasn’t—” he stopped himself, biting his lip in deep thought. “it wasn’t what it looked like.”
she tilted her head to an angle, ever confused.
“well. i don’t think it looked good in there.”
easily, dahlia drew out another easy, exhausted smile out of him. “fair.”
she felt her basal temperature rise as his hands wandered with an unfed curiosity. without an ounce of sexual need, he ghosts his palm just under her breast’s underside.
joe looks to her for added consent, and when she hummed sweetly in response, he continued his path.
her fingers gripped the collar line of joe’s shirt, grazing something without realizing it. her eyes were closed shut, lashes fanning a tiny shadow onto her upper cheek bones.
“you didn’t have to say anything. in there.”
joe’s brows pulled together slightly, “what?”
“to him,” she clarified. “about me.”
he went still.
ensued with a considerable amount of confusion. “why wouldn’t i?”
she didn’t answer exactly within a good timeframe.
and that was the answer he needed.
joe’s hand slowed from where it was, tracing her nape in circles. “dahlia, love.”
she withdrew herself slightly,
“i don’t know.” the physiotherapist admits, “it just—”
hesitation wouldn’t bring her any solace to a sudden stillness within her that she couldn’t make fizzle out. she forced out her words like throw up, “it’ll pass. this. it feels like something that’s going to pass.”
joe frowned, slightly looking down to her due to their blatant gap in height even in bed. he attempted to tilt her chin upwards, “hey.. look at me,” he pleads, “what do you mean?”
dahlia swallowed the lump sitting in her throat.
“this, joe.” she shut her eyes again. not wanting to literally face the fear laying in bed to her, “you’ll go back to practice fully, things will level out, life won’t feel so hard, the ache in your foot—it’ll become a once in a while feeling,” she trailed off. “i did my job. i won’t need to be apart of this anymore.”
she hadn’t posed her words as accusation, but her tone was awfully and humanly selfish in the most understandable of ways.
joe came in a wilted flower, irritated to the touch, a bit cold to her, and unwilling to let her know who the man under pads and cleats is. but that flower bloomed under a newer perspective, different methods, it bloomed beautifully so.
and joe? couldn’t reconcile with the concept of how she got there.
he tenderly held her chin up, “you think i’m just—what? passing time?”
dahlia glanced away, her eyes became overwhelmed in a glossiness, blocking a clear view.
“no. i didn’t mean it like that.”
“then how do you mean it?”
her breathing became ragged. it felt like her conscience came back taunting her decisions she made throughout these months—to not get emotionally attached, to be the good physiotherapist, to set boundaries.
“i don’t know, i just—”
“—i don’t want to be something that exists only because you were hurt. but that doesn’t make sense either.”
the earthy scent from her salt lamp nearby created a thick layered fog in joe’s mind, it mixed with dahlia’s familiar sweet scent of cocoa and patchouli; vaguely he felt trapped.
his hand dropped from her chin, planting firmly against her side instead.
joe chose his words calmly instead of letting them flow out of him, “you’re not.”
dahlia’s eyes squeezed shut.
“you’re not a phase.” his voice hadn’t wavered nor become mushy and vague to bring her a false sense of security. joe fought to keep himself steady, certain.
her face had relaxed slowly, unfurling her brows slightly in the wait for impending doom. she hadn’t expected any of that, any of the simplest words possible.
“joe.”
“i mean it,” he affirmed.
beholding the sight of her, joe took in how her eyes opened up in uncertainty. moonlight pouring over her features to highlight the inner corner around her eyes, then the slightly frizz at the root of her head, and how her lips curled anxiously.
“this isn’t just because i got hurt. it’s because of you.”
“you don’t have to—” she initiated.
“i know.” joe brought two fingers to her lips.
dahlia’s shoulders loosened themselves, she allowed herself to shift closer to him without much hesitation like before. before the deepened conversation that left her naked and bare in her vulnerability.
joe’s hand slid to her hair, tucking braids behind her ear with a deliberate expression. bringing his lips to her temples and pressing tiny kisses there.
“i want to. i want you.”
this wasn’t supposed to be a love story,
but dahlia guessed it could be one now.
act six — clarity.
♪ Just the Way You Are • Billy Joel
“you always have my unspoken passion, although i might not seem to care. i don't want clever conversation i never want to work that hard, mmm, i just want someone that i can talk to. i want you just the way you are.”
what a lovely way to be exiled from post-season continuation, in an ugly blowout the ravens pushed and pushed until they couldn’t anymore.
paycor emptied awfully slowly, grief-stricken by tumultuous loss. nothing could have been changed in their favor, after all gridiron didn’t gift the ‘almost’ and the losers, if you won—you won.
joe didn’t slam anything around, or dragged his feet across in the hallway like an impetuous child. he didn’t raise his voice and quite frankly he hadn’t looked particularly angry.
he sat longer at his locker, gaze burning at the same spot on the floor like it could give him something back.
it couldn’t.
around him, the room moved in fragments. fragmented conversation, fragmented sounds of equipment dropping and showers running. no one choice to speak the obvious out loud, but they accepted that this was it. another loss to tick off.
“you good?”
joe returned his attention from where he was buried deep inside.
ja’marr stood a few lockers down, already changed into his former outfit, a towel was thrown over his head—attempting to dry his coarse curls.
joe hummed.
automatic.
“yea.”
unconvinced, his best friend decided to not push it further. “aight. talk to me when you ready.”
joe stayed another ten minutes after that.
maybe he had stayed for longer, possibly thirty from how the clock’s numbers began to change rapidly.
long enough for the room to thin out, bodies exiting one by one in a blur.
not much noise filled the locker room, a distant whisper of dull silence and old memories fighting to drown him in lonesome nostalgia.
when he stood, he had already made his mind up. not a reaction to his environment but a made decision, but he did not go immediately to her.
that would have been too easy.
instead, he went home.
showered again until his nostrils filled to the brim with fresh notes of sea spray and bergamot.
sitting on the edge of his bed, he pondered again and again. posture dampened from thoughts that looped. throws he wanted back, reads he could’ve made faster, the injury, the timing.
the psychology debate, the first time he stood again properly, the way her nickname sounds on his lips for the first time, the flower—when he cut his cast off and dahlia couldn’t help but sigh at his previous appointment—everything continued to stack.
joe dragged his calloused hands over his face.
exhaled.
and stood.
grabbed his keys.
unable to face his fears any longer.
his phone read in bold numbers half past midnight, ironic. he recalls their first call being just seventeen minutes after twelve-thirty.
he knocked; now was late, later than he usually came over.
joe considered not doing so. stood there for a minute, hand still hovering near the door like he could take it back.
he knocked again.
dahlia opened it like she’d been expecting a visit from him, thought he came unprompted. he was not bearing flowers, nor pity.
“hey.” his voice had a different quality, roughened around the edges of vowels.
she opens her door a bit more, rubbing her eyes.
“come in, joe.”
her apartment hadn’t changed in his absence. lamp on, white washed walls, blush toned throw pillows on her cashmere-coloured sofa.
a warmth that didn’t beg anything from him.
soft jazz hummed, he thinks it’s sade.
joe didn’t say much as he stepped inside. kicked his birkenstocks off near her door. leaning against her kitchen counter, stumped with what to do next.
dahlia didn’t rush him.
“you know.. we’re out.” he said finally.
flat, devoid of his usual mannerisms.
dolly acknowledged that, not forcing any immediate comfort down his throat to balm the pain, she could not be his saving grace tonight.
“i know.”
“i should’ve played better.”
her arms folded loosely, leaning slightly forward against the counter, her simple necklace under her nightgown glinted.
“maybe.”
joe tilted his head a fraction, a bit of his pride bruised under her words. he hadn’t expected that answer.
“that’s not the only reason why things unfolded the way they did,” she remarked tenderly. “you know that.”
he huffed a quiet breath through his nose, “felt like it.”
dahlia flicked the chrysanthemums inside a cylindrical vase near her, pushing off of her counter and walked around to be closer. her hips switched with each step.
not touching yet.
“you’re allowed to feel like that,” she assured. “just don’t make it the only truth you keep.”
joe knew he couldn’t push back, his shoulders dropped in final resignation. hating himself for how he handled this, he felt reduced—vulnerability was a language he never spoke, vulnerability is a language he learned.
“i hate this,” he uttered.
“i know.” her words slurred sweetly, her hand came up lightly against his arm, “you don’t have to be anything right now.”
he cracked a tiny smirk, despite his morose demeanor. “uh-huh.” sarcasm acted as his guard, his armour.
dahlia pressed the side face against his shoulder, “not for me, joseph.”
joe instinctively rested his chin atop her head, dahlia felt the slow rise and fall of his each breath against her scalp. his chin anchored against the crown, and for minutes on end cyclical sade tracks played.
eventually, she shifted herself just enough to ensure looking to him without breaking physical contact. “sit with me,” gesturing to the flooring.
joe hummed, a little amused. “on the floor?”
dahlia tugged him down with her anyways, he lowered himself first. back against the side of the counter, legs in criss-cross. she settled beside him, a strand of her nightgown slid down her shoulder, knees drawn up a bit.
the silky gown adorning her body bunched loosely around her ankles; his sweats did the same—slightly exposing his white nike socks.
close enough in proximity so their arms brushed each time one of them breathed.
for a while they just sat like that. no eye contact. no pressure to speak. the lamp cast a low gold glow across the room, catching the edge of her glasses and the faint sheen on his curls.
joe broke first, again. “i keep thinking. i can’t stop—at first this seemed unimaginable. i was an unreasonable, kinda selfish—”
“you were very injured,” dahlia turned her head, a bit peeved when he brought his fingers to her lips.
“i was selfish. you put up with me,”
“i didn’t put up with you.”
dahlia’s inflection remained soft, but she refused to yield.
he glanced at her, faint crease in his brow, “no?”
“no.”
“it is my responsibility to be there, to help heal the remainder of what a surgery cannot do.”
joe stilled, believing in how she unknowingly validated what he said.
“yeah,” he replied quietly. “that’s what i’m saying.”
dahlia, unconvinced by his former selfishness, or this apparent evolutionary change within him—to her joe was layered. layers undone by weeks of work as a result of hurt.
she tilted her head slightly. “what does that mean then?”
he adjusted how he sat,
facing her completely. hands finding their spot at her jawline, cupping it.
“it means you’re not just—” he gestured vaguely between them, searching, then gave up on wording it perfectly. “the someone who fixed my foot. you’re the only person who ever saw the rest of me and didn’t run.”
dolly’s cat-like eyes widened a fraction, then instantly flooded with a familiar, aching warmth. the guarded set of her shoulders vanished as she surrendered to the curve of his palms, her face softening into a look of such raw empathy as if the words spoke into her soul.
spoke into a newer phase not bred from infatuation.
“i like you, dahlia. i really do.”
simple. a few syllables blended together that felt too light for the gravity of the floor pulling them down and together. no weight added to ensure meaning which lay there, it anchored joe more than injury could, more than lost opportunity could.
“not because i was hurt. not because you were my physiotherapist—”
he let the words hang in the air, competing with the low hum of her vinyl’s echo. a pause where the only sound is rhythmic, synchronized hitches of breath.
“i like you because you are so incredibly smart, gorgeous, and frustrating. it’s frustrating—you’re just pure. there’s this,” he rambles, “..this kindness to you. i can’t find it anywhere else. i don’t want to. i want to find it in you.”
dahlia held his gaze, her pupils tracking the slight tremor in his jaw.
she wasn't rushing to respond—to match the intensity of his devotions; she was diagnosing the sincerity of it, only being able to conclude it as surrender. utter surrender.
joe’s hand moved without much thought, a reflex born of weeks of physical proximity.
his fingers brushed the pulse point of her wrist—finding the frantic, tachycardic rhythm she couldn't hide—before catching on the cool metal of her golden hued bracelets.
“be my girlfriend,” he didn’t place a question mark at the end, not deflecting in his firmness. just a newer reality he laid down in front of her.
she blinked once, stunned. a small breath left her, her cheeks growing glowy in the dim lighting of her apartment. part of her didn’t want to believe it—the morality, the ethics, the conscience deep inside refused it.
“you’re not joking?” her voice minimized, eyes flicking away.
“yea.”
“okay,” her dimples poked on the sides of her cheeks girlishly.
he leaned in, gently tilting her jaw to give her more access, peppering two small kisses on her lips. she could taste a hint of mint on his tongue and a warmth resembling complete adoration.
their kiss was lingering, sweetly perfumed in honey and a longing sensation of eternity. contemplating to mean something, a language only they spoke.
and when they part, their foreheads almost touched.
it took time for dahlia to process, and then everything clicked a honeyed disbelieving giggle escaped her.
“what?” asked joe, his hand slid to cup her cheek as dahlia adoringly took in the sight of him. the other hand firmly planted inside his hoodie pocket, slowly sliding out a golden locket looped over his index and ring finger.
as she giggled, it was unbeknownst to her how he clasped it perfectly above her sternum. cold metal sitting daintily against her skin.
joe hummed inconspicuously, knowing she’d notice it there soon.
still oblivious, she utterly elated, “i never took you for a poet—”
“or my boyfriend.”
act seven — clarity.
♪ Who Knows • Daniel Caesar
“you’re pure, you’re kind, mature, divine, you might be too good for me, unattainable.”
tunnels spread heat far and wide, a thick smog of miami humidity lingered and dispersed like rain droplets in the air, sunshine beating down on every surface.
dahlia stood off to the side, half-turned to all the trainers, listening more than speaking.
she hadn’t chimed in, rather gave out soft smiles and polite laughs to anything light and easy they’d say.
sunlight spilled like ripples of waves meeting the coast from the far end of a nearby corridor, daring to catch itself along each swooped baby hair and her curly yet braided hair.
the sunshine continued to pour down, outlining her wispy lashes in plain shadows.
she hadn’t noticed him at first.
joe did.
he slowed without meaning to,
taking in the view set before him. she still had the petite orange hibiscus tucked into her braids, her dimpled cheeks, her easygoing aura—shoulders relaxed and open.
unguarded in sunny weather.
she turned then—feeling a presence nearby, but unable to name who she felt linger near. dahlia was still mid-sentence, retelling an old college story about how she failed her first exam ever.
still mid-laugh in attempting to explain how desolate she felt, unknowing to how many more quizzes she’d barely scrape by to pass—no one said physiology was easy after all.
and her eyes captivated him, enchantingly. the inner corners barely lined with dark brown lining, irises glowing a near honey colour due to the sun’s incessant rays.
a flicker of familiarity and keen warmth painted across her face.
unsurprised by the sight that now took her breath away more than she’d like to admit.
“excuse me, for a moment. sorry.”
“joe..”
her voice was barely a susurrus.
he closed the distance first.
his hands found her waist easily, settling there as she moved into him, her arms thrown around his neck carefully.
the contact wasn’t careful or measured. no, he melted into her light, her radiance. sort of like an ice cube in direct sunlight, defenseless.
joe’s lips greeted hers, gingerly smudging her brown and soft pink lip makeup. she tastes like fairy tales and pinky promises, miniscule shooting stars and things beautiful beyond all things innocent—all things formerly estranged to him.
soft, but not fleeting—warmth lingering, honeyed nectar dripping from her mouth into his.
dahlia leaned into it instinctively, her body answering before her thoughts could catch up.
she pulled away first, not caring for how damp his jersey was against her skin.
a loose bohemian curl had slipped forward in the movement, resting against her cheek.
joe’s gaze caught on it.
his hand lifted, slower now—fingers brushing along her jaw before tucking it back, deliberate and gentle in a way bringing her closer to something she called serenity.
yellowed sunlight caught there.
gold against brown, faint and scattered, light had continue its settlement in her hair.
dahlia traced her finger against his defined bicep, nail booping lightly against the muscle in front her. anatomically, her brain spoke with each drag—biceps brachii, a hinge lower sat brachialus muscles as a whole, on the interior was his tricep.
“hi.” she was the patron saint of silent adoration in joe’s mind.
his mouth curved slightly.
“hey, baby.”
a quiet pause settled between them, easy and unforced.
“you’ve got sunlight in your hair,” he spoke in knowing this was the woman who dueled with the sun for its beauty. and for the first time, it didn’t feel like he were to be the one orbited. for he could orbit this, her—
his hand slipped from her waist, unintentionally his locked with hers. her pulse point located in the median of her wrist thumped against his—thump, thump.
voices echoed faintly deeper in the tunnel, laughter folding into the hum of everything still in motion as a result of a mixed celebratory yet somber feeling.
near, but obscure.
here, in the warmth, with the light resting softly in her hair and his thumb brushing once against her hand—
“should start calling you sunshine girl instead,” his murmur earned a full bodily reaction from her. from the base of her neck, to her darling eyes he’d grown to love, to the inner lining of her soul.
here, nothing felt temporary.
its a beautiful phenomenon. central sensitization.
