well yes

None of those things meant anything.

At least, not to the two of you.

To everyone else, they seemed to mean absolutely everything.

By the time Joe finishes the set, the venue has already begun emptying into the streets outside, people spilling through the doors in clusters still talking about the show as amps buzz faintly somewhere behind the stage. He disappears backstage with the rest of the band, towelling the sweat from the back of his neck while somebody passes him a bottle of water, but even as everyone else is talking over one another about the crowd and joking about the one song they'd nearly derailed halfway through, his phone is already in his hand.

you coming?

Your reply arrives almost immediately.

ten minutes away :)

Joe smiles before he even realises he's doing it.

Matt notices first. "Oh, there it is."

Joe looks up. "What?"

"That face you make whenever she texts you."

Joe frowns. "I don't make a face."

Dalton snorts from the other side of the room. "You literally grinned at your phone."

"I grin at lots of things."

Jake folds his arms. "Name three."

Joe opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

Wes bursts out laughing. "We rest our case."

Joe rolls his eyes. "You guys are unbelievable."

"No," Matt replies, grabbing his jacket. "We're just observant."

Ten minutes later, the band have claimed the corner of a small bar a few streets from the venue, the sort of place with sticky wooden tables, faded concert posters covering every available wall, and music just loud enough that conversations blur pleasantly into the background. Drinks have barely arrived before the door opens again.

Joe looks up automatically.

And then you walk in.

The change is immediate.

The tiredness that had settled over him after the show disappears completely, replaced by something so bright and instinctive that nobody at the table even bothers pretending not to notice anymore. Before you've had chance to take more than a few steps inside, Joe is already on his feet, weaving effortlessly between tables until he reaches you.

"There you are."

He wraps you in a hug before you've even managed to shrug your coat from your shoulders, lifting you briefly off the floor.

You laugh. "Hi to you too."

"You made it."

"I said I would."

"I know."

He still doesn't let go straight away.

When he finally does, it's only because you gently laugh and nudge his shoulder.

"I need to actually take my coat off."

"Oh."

Joe immediately takes it from you before folding your coat over one arm, grabbing your hand, leading you back to the table, and pulling the empty chair beside him away from the table with his foot.

"There."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

By the time you sit down, the two of you have already disappeared into your own conversation. You ask how the show went. Joe immediately launches into the story about the audience member who somehow ended up onstage during the encore. You laugh. He laughs because you're laughing. You steal a sip of his drink without asking. He doesn't even look up, simply reaches across to pull your own glass a little closer when the waitress sets it down out of your reach.

At one point, your hand lands absent-mindedly on his forearm while you're telling him something, and neither of you seems remotely aware you've done it.

Around the rest of the table, however, everyone is watching. Again.

Dalton slowly lowers his pint onto the table. "This is getting ridiculous."

"They're literally flirting," Matt says.

Jake shakes his head. "They've been flirting for two years."

"Closer to three," Wes mutters.

Joe finally notices the suspicious silence.

"What's up?"

"Nope," Dalton says.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"It isn't nothing." Teddy, who has been quietly watching the entire interaction unfold with the exhausted patience of someone who has seen this exact scene dozens of times before, finally speaks. "You know you crossed the entire bar the second she walked in, right?"

Joe blinks. "I was saying hi."

Matt nods solemnly. "By picking her up."

"I hugged her."

"You lifted her."

"She hadn't even taken her coat off yet," Dalton adds.

Joe looks down. Realises he's still holding your coat over one arm. "...Oh."

"You carried it for her," Jake says.

"There wasn't anywhere else to put it."

"You pulled her chair out."

"I was being polite."

"You've looked at her," Wes says, pretending to count on his fingers, "roughly fifty times since she sat down."

Joe laughs awkwardly. "I have not."

"You absolutely have," Matt replies.

"I don't think we were flirting," you say carefully.

Every single member of the band groans in unison.

"They're doing it together," Dalton sighs.

"They're validating each other's delusions," Wes adds.

"It's honestly fascinating," Jake says. "Like watching two people insist water isn't wet."

Joe looks completely bewildered. "You guys are reading way too much into this."

Matt pinches the bridge of his nose. "Joe."

"What?"

"You drove four hours on your only day off because she said she missed you."

"It wasn't just because-"

"You learnt to make her favourite pasta."

"She was sick."

"You cancelled plans because she had a bad day."

"She needed somebody."

"She is the first person you call after every show."

Joe pauses. "...I call my mom."

"After her," Dalton says.

Another pause. "...Yeah."

Matt looks around the table. "I'm done."

"So am I," Wes agrees.

Then Adam, who has spent the entire conversation quietly sipping his drink with the expression of a man who has reached the absolute end of his patience, sets his glass down with a decisive clink.

"Oh, for God's sake."

The table falls silent. He looks directly at the pair of you. Then, loud enough that several nearby tables glance over, "Will one of you PLEASE just kiss the other one so the rest of us can all move on with our lives?"

Silence crashes over the table. The music keeps playing. Someone laughs somewhere near the bar.

Joe stares. You stare.

Then, almost perfectly in sync, the two of you slowly turn to look at each other before facing everyone else again with matching expressions of complete and utter confusion.

"...What?"

Nobody says anything for a few long seconds.

Joe is still staring at Adam as though he's waiting for someone to laugh and reveal the whole thing has been an elaborate joke. You aren't faring much better, your gaze drifting slowly around the table, only to discover that every single person is looking back at the pair of you with exactly the same expression.

Not smug. Not even particularly surprised. Just relieved.

Matt is the first to break the silence.

"Thank God."

Joe blinks. "For what?"

"Somebody finally said it."

"You all... agree with him?"

There is a chorus of incredulous laughter.

Dalton actually looks offended. "Joe."

"What?"

"You seriously think Adam just invented this?"

"I mean..."

Jake lets out a long sigh and leans back in his chair. "I don't think either of you realise how exhausting you've been."

"What does that even mean?" you ask.

"It means," Wes says, pointing between the two of you, "that we've spent the last two years watching the slowest burn in human history."

Joe opens his mouth to protest. Nothing comes out.

Matt beats him to it.

"No, actually," he says, holding up a hand. "Don't argue. I want to try something."

Joe immediately looks suspicious. "...Matt."

"No. Just listen."

He points at Joe first. "Last November. Chicago."

Joe frowns. "What about Chicago?"

"It started raining after soundcheck."

"So?"

"You gave her your jacket."

Joe shrugs. "She was cold."

"You spent the rest of the evening freezing."

"I had another hoodie."

"You absolutely did not."

Joe hesitates. "...Okay."

Matt turns towards you. "And you."

You immediately point at yourself. "Me?"

"You spent the entire night trying to secretly warm his hands every time nobody was looking."

Your eyebrows pull together. "I was not."

Dalton laughs. "You literally tucked them inside your coat."

"Oh." You blink. "...I did do that."

"Exactly."

Jake joins in next. "Remember Nashville?"

Joe groans immediately. "Oh, come on."

"What happened in Nashville?" you ask.

Jake looks delighted. "Joe lost his voice after the show."

You nod. "I remember."

"You cancelled your own weekend plans, drove six hours with homemade soup, then stayed until he felt better."

You look genuinely confused. "He was ill."

"Yeah," Jake says. "Exactly."

Before either of you can respond, Wes jumps in.

"What about Christmas?"

Joe rubs a hand across his face. "...Please don't."

"Oh, we're absolutely doing Christmas." Wes grins. "You spent three days trying to find the out-of-print vinyl she'd mentioned wanting once in passing."

Joe shrugs. "It made her happy."

"You drove to three different record shops."

"...Yeah."

"You called my mom asking where she'd seen it."

Joe looks down into his drink. "...Maybe."

Matt points triumphantly across the table.

"And she." He looks at you. "Baked Joe's favourite cookies and posted them overnight because he said rehearsals had been stressful."

You feel your cheeks warming. "I just..."

"You decorated the box."

You say nothing.

"You drew little guitars on it."

That is admittedly true.

"You wrote 'don't forget to eat' on a Post-it, which Joe still keeps, by the way."

Joe slowly turns to look at you.

"You still have that?" you ask quietly.

He laughs once. "It's on my fridge."

Silence surrounds the table. It's not awkward, per se. Just... different. The room suddenly feels much smaller than it had ten minutes earlier.

Javi, who has hardly spoken all evening, finally sets his glass down.

"You know what the weird part is?"

Nobody answers.

He looks between the two of you.

"None of those stories are about grand gestures."

Joe frowns. "What do you mean?"

"They're all tiny." He smiles. "That's why everybody noticed before you did."

The table falls quiet again.

Because he's right. None of it had ever felt extraordinary.

Not the late-night phone calls. Not driving across states because one of you was having a bad week. Not remembering birthdays, favourite meals or coffee orders. Not automatically reaching for each other's hands in crowds. Not the hoodies. Not the hugs. Not the way Joe looked for you in every audience before he looked anywhere else.

They had simply become... normal.

Slowly, almost cautiously, Joe turns towards you. You're already looking at him.

"...Have we really been that oblivious?"

You hold his gaze for a long moment before a small, helpless laugh escapes you.

"I think..." You shake your head, still smiling in complete disbelief. "...maybe we have."

For the first time all evening, nobody around the table says another word. They don't need to.

The teasing is over now. They've already made their point.

All that's left is for the two of you to decide what to do with it.

Soon after, the others very conveniently disappear.

There is no grand intervention, no theatrical announcement that you've both clearly got something to discuss. Instead, the evening simply seems to rearrange itself around you with suspicious efficiency. Matt announces he's going to order another round despite the fact that everyone's glasses are still half full. Dalton remembers somebody recommended the pizza place next door and insists on investigating immediately. Wes suddenly decides fresh air sounds like an excellent idea, Jake volunteers to go with him, and within the space of barely a minute, the table that had been so loud only moments earlier has dissolved into organised chaos.

Joe watches them disappear with narrowed eyes.

"...They're doing this on purpose."

"They're absolutely doing this on purpose."

He looks back towards the bar, where Matt catches his eye from across the room. Matt raises his glass. Then, with absolutely no shame whatsoever, points meaningfully towards the front door.

Joe laughs under his breath. "They're unbelievable."

"They've earned the right, I think."

"I hate that you're right."

"You don't hate it."

"...No."

A few minutes later, the two of you step out into the cool night air together, leaving the noise of the bar behind. The streets are quieter now, washed in the amber glow of streetlights and still carrying the lingering warmth of the day, and for the first time since Adam's spectacular outburst, there's nobody else filling the silence for you.

You start walking without really deciding which direction you're going, and Joe falls into step beside you.

For several minutes, neither of you says a word. Not because it's awkward; it never has been. If anything, it feels unusually comfortable, both of you quietly turning over the same conversation in your minds, trying to fit years of ordinary memories into an entirely new shape.

Eventually, Joe lets out a quiet breath. "I keep thinking about what they said."

You glance across at him. "Me too."

"I've been trying really hard to prove them wrong."

"And?"

He laughs softly, shaking his head. "I don't think I can."

You smile to yourself, eyes dropping briefly to the pavement beneath your feet. "No."

"I keep replaying all those stories."

"So do I."

Another silence settles between you. This one feels different. Less uncertain. More thoughtful.

Joe rubs absent-mindedly at the back of his neck, a habit you'd watched him do a hundred times before whenever he was trying to untangle something in his own head.

"I always thought..." He trails off, searching for the words. "I don't know. I thought I was just lucky."

You look over. "Lucky?"

"To have you."

His answer comes so naturally that he doesn't seem to realise what he's said until it's already hanging between you.

He stops walking. "So that's what it was."

Your heart stumbles. "What?"

Joe laughs once, quietly, more at himself than anything else.

"I think..." He looks down at the pavement before lifting his eyes back to yours. "I think I've been in love with you for a really long time."

There is no flourish to it. No carefully rehearsed speech. No dramatic declaration. Just the truth, spoken with the kind of quiet certainty that only arrives once somebody has finally stopped arguing with themselves.

For a second, neither of you moves.

Then you find yourself smiling. Not because it's funny. Because it's such an unbelievably Joe thing to say.

"So have I."

His eyebrows lift. "You serious?"

You nod slowly. "I just... I don't think I ever knew that's what it was."

A laugh escapes both of you at almost exactly the same moment. Not because anything about this is particularly amusing. Because the relief is so enormous that laughter seems to be the only place it has left to go.

"God," Joe mutters, dragging a hand through his hair.

"What?"

"We're such idiots."

You grin. "The biggest."

"I've spent years convincing myself I just really liked hanging out with you."

"I drove to Toronto because you texted me saying you were having a bad week."

"I know."

"I learnt how to cook your favourite dinner."

"I know."

"You've got one of my hoodies."

"I've got three."

Joe closes his eyes. "Jesus Christ."

"You've only just realised?"

"I think everyone else realised somewhere around 2023."

The two of you dissolve into laughter again, the sound echoing softly along the otherwise empty street.

When it fades, Joe looks at you differently. Not because his expression has changed. Because now he isn't pretending not to. His eyes drift slowly across your face, lingering in a way they never have before, and something inside him seems to settle.

"So..."

"So?"

"Can I kiss you?"

The question is so earnest, so quietly hopeful, that your heart aches.

You smile. "I was wondering how much longer it'd take."

His own smile arrives slowly, almost disbelievingly, before he steps closer.

The first kiss is impossibly gentle.

Not tentative because either of you is unsure. Tentative because you've both imagined this moment so many times, whether consciously or subconsciously, that neither of you quite trusts it's actually happening.

His hand rises carefully to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin as though he's memorising the feeling. You smile into the kiss before you even realise you're doing it, and Joe immediately laughs against your mouth.

"What?" you murmur.

"I can't believe this is real."

"I was just thinking the same thing."

He kisses you again. A little longer this time.

When you finally pull apart, it's only far enough to look at one another.

Then one of you smiles. The other starts laughing.

And somehow you're kissing again almost immediately.

The years between you don't disappear in one dramatic moment. They unravel slowly, kiss by kiss, smile by smile, every quiet laugh dissolving another layer of restraint until it feels impossible to remember why you'd ever pretended this was just friendship in the first place.

By the time Joe reaches for your hand again, the gesture feels exactly the same as it always has.

Except now you both understand why he'd never really let it go.

Neither of you could have said afterwards whose idea it had been to go back to Joe's.

One minute you're wandering aimlessly through quiet streets, still laughing every few steps because apparently the entire world had known before you did.

The next, you're standing in the doorway of his flat, neither of you making any real attempt to go inside, before he's kissing you again, and then again, every kiss somehow carrying years of unsaid things that words had never quite managed to reach.

The front door barely clicks shut behind you before the rest of the world quietly ceases to matter.

For a moment, you simply stand there in the quiet of Joe's flat, the silence almost startling after the noise of the bar. Your coats are abandoned somewhere near the door, neither of you bothering to hang them up, your foreheads resting together as though you both need a second to catch up with what just happened.

Joe laughs softly. "I still think I'm dreaming."

"You've said that three times."

"I know. I keep hoping it'll start sounding less ridiculous."

"It won't."

His smile widened, though there was something wonderfully vulnerable about it now. The confidence he wore so easily on stage had vanished somewhere between your first kiss and the journey home, replaced by a kind of quiet awe that made your chest ache.

"You really meant it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "When you said you've been in love with me too?"

You answer with another kiss. Slow, patient, certain.

His hands settle carefully at your waist, almost hesitant now, as though everything that happened outside suddenly feels infinitely more real within the privacy of his own home. Every touch carries a question. Every kiss seems to ask if this is still okay, if you're still here, if either of you is about to wake up and discover the evening had been imagined.

When you finally pull back, you smile.

"I don't think I could've made it any clearer."

Joe laughs, the sound warm and breathless.

"You'd be surprised how oblivious I've apparently been."

"You and me both."

The laughter fades naturally into another kiss, and this one lingers a little longer. Your fingers disappear into the curls at the nape of his neck almost automatically, and Joe lets out a quiet, involuntary sound that makes you smile against his mouth.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You made a noise."

"I absolutely did not."

"You absolutely did."

He rolls his eyes, though they soften almost immediately when you look at him like that, your smile somehow making his heart race even faster than it already was.

He kisses you again before either of you can say anything else, his hands slipping a little lower against your back as yours trace absent-minded circles beneath the hem of his T-shirt. The room seems to grow smaller around you, until all that exists is the warmth of his body, the quiet hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, and the overwhelming relief of finally being allowed to touch each other without pretending it doesn't mean anything.

"I don't think I'm ever gonna get used to this," he murmurs.

"To what?"

"Being able to kiss you."

You smile. "Better start practising."

He laughs softly before kissing you once more, slower this time, the smile lingering between your mouths until it naturally deepens. His hands settle more confidently at your hips now, drawing you a little closer, and when he instinctively begins to guide the two of you towards the bedroom, neither of you questions it.

It feels less like a decision than the inevitable continuation of a conversation that has been waiting years to happen.

The bedroom is dimly lit, the bedside lamp casting everything in warm amber light as Joe closes the door quietly behind him. For a second, you simply look at each other again.

Neither of you seem in any hurry. There is no urgency now. Only years of wondering what this might feel like, finally giving way to the reality of it.

You reach for the buttons of his shirt first. Joe watches your hands for a moment before looking back up at your face, and whatever he sees there makes his expression soften all over again.

"You sure?" he asks gently.

You nod. "So sure."

He smiles, relief and affection blending so completely that they become impossible to separate. You push his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, and Joe reaches up almost tentatively to brush a loose strand of hair away from your face.

"We don't have to rush," he says quietly.

You laugh, though it comes out softer than intended. "I know."

"I mean it."

"I know."

You cup his jaw. "I've been waiting years, Joe. Another thirty seconds isn't gonna kill me."

The kiss that follows carries all of it with it.

Years of almosts. Years of lingering hugs that lasted a second too long. Years of reaching for each other's hands without understanding why. Years of convincing yourselves that friendship was explanation enough.

Your hands drift over his bare chest slowly, every touch unhurried now. The conversation outside the bar changed something - not between the two of you, because nothing fundamental has changed there at all - but within the moment itself. Whatever pressure there might once have been to impress one another has quietly disappeared. The only thing left is the remarkable ease that has always existed between you, now stripped of the final layer of restraint.

Joe smiles into the kiss.

"I love you."

The words slip out so naturally that he doesn't seem to realise he's spoken until after they hang between you.

His eyes widen slightly. "...Too soon?"

Your heart swells, and you laugh softly, cupping his face in both hands.

"No." You kiss him once. "I love you too." You kiss him again.

Joe leans down until his forehead rests lightly against yours, then exhales softly through his nose, beginning to peel the hem of your shirt upwards.

He pauses, smiles, looks at you, and asks quietly, "Can I?"

You lift your arms in a silent yes, and he pulls your shirt over your head, your fingers sliding automatically into his curls. His eyes visibly widen as he looks down at you. You suddenly feel very thankful you decided to wear your favourite lace bra this morning. Joe seems pretty thankful, too.

“You’re staring,” you tease.

“Can you blame me?”

You grin slightly.

Joe kisses you slowly. Once. Twice. Then deeper when your hands tighten in his hair.

The room seems to grow warmer as his hands settle instinctively at your hips, his thumbs brushing slow circles there as though he's trying to commit the feeling to memory.

For a moment, he begins to sink towards his knees, his fingers catching lightly at the waistband of your jeans before you stop him with the gentlest pressure against his chest.

He looks up immediately. "What?"

You only smile. "Sit down."

His eyebrows lift. "You sure?"

"So sure."

He searches your face for another second, looking for even the smallest flicker of uncertainty, and whatever he finds there finally convinces him. A smile tugs slowly across his mouth as he lets you guide him backwards until the backs of his knees meet the mattress, sinking obediently onto the edge of the bed without taking his eyes off you for even a moment.

His hands hover uncertainly for a second before settling carefully against the backs of your thighs, as though he's still asking permission despite everything that's already happened.

You step between his knees, looping your arms loosely around his neck before leaning down to steal another kiss. It's slower than the last one, unhurried, and you feel him smile almost immediately.

When you pull back, he's still looking at you. Not at your body - at you.

He blinks once. "...Hi."

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. "What?"

"I just..." He shakes his head, smiling to himself. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do right now."

"You seemed to be doing alright a minute ago."

"I was kissing you."

"And?"

"I've had years to think about kissing you."

You grin. "This bit's new?"

"This bit's very new."

He laughs quietly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck before looking at you again with an expression that is somehow equal parts nervous and completely, hopelessly in love.

You kiss him again, smiling into it halfway through, and for a few seconds neither of you seems particularly interested in doing anything except proving to yourselves that this is real.

That is, until you sink down to your knees in front of him.

Your palms slide slowly up his thighs, and you hear him draw in a sharp breath. His eyes never leave your face for long, even as your hands continue exploring, repeatedly lifting back to meet your gaze as though reassuring himself you're still smiling.

He swears he blacks out for a second when you gently run your hand over him through his jeans, the other hand scratching lightly through the hairs of his happy trail.

His hips buck upwards instinctively into your touch, and you glance up at him with a smirk.

Your fingers trace the waistband of his jeans, and he gives you a nod before he lifts his hips to help you pull his jeans and underwear down in one go.

You can't disguise the way your eyes widen, pupils dilated as you take him in for the first time. You aren't sure if you're more flustered by the size of him or the adoring, blissed-out look on his face.

When you finally look up again, your own confidence falters for a second beneath the weight of his expression. Definitely the look on his face.

"What?"

Joe smiles. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

You feel your cheeks redden immediately. "You really know how to make a girl self-conscious."

"No." His smile softens. "The opposite."

He reaches out instinctively, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before letting his hand linger against your cheek for the briefest moment.

“You sure this is okay?” he manages, though any further words die in his throat immediately when you wrap your hand around the base of him.

He hisses, his head falling back back, and you watch his throat move as he swallows, watch his hands find the edge of the bed to brace himself. You stroke him once, twice, learning the feel of him in your hand - the heat, the velvet skin over the hard length, the way his breath hitches when you tighten your grip at the tip.

Then you lean forward and take him in your mouth.

Joe makes a sound - a broken groan that's almost your name - and his hand finds your hair again, not pulling, just holding. You move slowly at first, tasting him, feeling his pulse against your tongue. The salt of his skin, the musk of him, the way he fills your mouth - you want to memorise this too.

"Honey-" the word falls from his lips, strained and desperate, and you take him deeper. You feel him hit the back of your throat, and you breathe through your nose, steady, letting yourself adjust. His hips make a small, involuntary thrust, and you feel the thrill of it - that you could make him lose control like this.

You set a rhythm. Your hand at the base of him, your mouth working the head, your tongue finding the spot under the ridge that makes his legs tremble. You learn his body as you go - the way he breaths faster when you hum, the way his hips rock forward when you suck harder, the broken syllables of your name that fall from his lips like prayers.

"I'm close," he said, and his voice was wrecked. “Baby, I’m- I’m not gonna last if you keep that up,” he groans, weakly pulling you off him by gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

For a few seconds, he just stares at you, panting heavily, completely overwhelmed by the sight of you beneath him.

Then suddenly Joe's helping you back up from the floor, one hand cupping your cheek almost instinctively before guiding you gently onto the bed. There isn't any urgency to the movement anymore. If anything, the pace seems to slow with every passing minute, as though both of you are becoming increasingly aware that you've got nowhere else to be.

You unhook your bra while he crawls back over you, his thumb brushes lightly beneath your eye, and you reach up to kiss him, instinctively now.

His hands find the waistband of your jeans, though this time he hesitates just enough to look back at you, a silent question in his eyes.

You answer by nodding, smiling so warmly that he has to laugh under his breath before carefully helping you out of them, his attention returning to you immediately.

For a second, he simply looks at you. Not in the way he had before, not with obvious hunger. With quiet amazement. The way he's looking at you as though he's trying to memorise every detail of your face, and despite yourself, warmth rushes into your cheeks.

You kiss him again, and he melts into it almost instantly.

He slowly lowers himself down your body, pressing a trail of kisses as he goes.

One of his big hands palms at one of your breasts, teasing the nipple with his thumb, while his lips latch onto the other, and the dual sensation has you keening.

Joe groans deeply into your skin before continuing on further down your stomach, until he reaches your inner thighs.

"This okay, baby?" he asks for what feels like the hundredth time this evening, and every time you just can't wrap your head around the fact that this is really happening.

You can't help the grin that pulls at your lips as you nod at him, and then his hands are on your bare thighs, pushing them apart, and you let him. You want him so bad you can barely breathe. Want his mouth on you, want to feel the thing you've been dreaming about for years become real.

"Yes," you whisper, and the word comes out like a prayer.

His fingers hook the edge of your underwear - a simple cotton pair, nothing special, and you almost apologise before he pulls them down your legs, slow and deliberate, kissing the inside of your knee as he goes. The fabric slides away, and you're left bare on his bed, the air between you thick with anticipation.

Joe looks at you. You see him looking, his hazel eyes dark in the dim light, and you feel yourself flush - not from shame, from wanting. From the weight of his gaze on the most intimate part of you.

"You have no idea," he says, his voice rough, "how long I've wanted this."

Then his mouth is on you.

The first touch of his tongue makes you gasp - a hot, wet stroke that parts you and finds the place you've been aching for him to find. He groans against you, the vibration sending a shock through your body, and his hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer, opening you wider for him.

Joe takes his time. He tastes you like you're something to savour, his tongue circling, dipping, pressing. You hear yourself make a sound - a low moan that seems to come from somewhere deep in your chest - and you don't care. Your fingers find his hair, tangle in the dark mess of it, and you hold him there as he works you closer to the edge.

"Joe-" His name is a plea, and you feel him smile against you.

"I've got you." Three words, murmured into your skin, and then his tongue finds your clit, pressing, circling, and your hips buck against his mouth. He holds you steady, his grip on your thighs firm, and you feel the orgasm building - a hot, tight coil in your belly that you let yourself fall into.

He doesn't stop. He keeps going, pushing you higher, and you're gasping, your nails digging into his scalp, your thighs trembling against his ears. When you come, it's with a cry that breaks out of you, a sound you've never made before, raw and honest and his.

He doesn't pull away. He works you through it, gentle now, his tongue soft against your sensitive skin, and you feel aftershocks ripple through you as you collapse back against the mattress. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your body loose and trembling, and you feel him press a kiss to the inside of your thigh before he crawls back over you.

Joe's mouth is wet with you, and in the dim light, you see the satisfaction in his eyes. He doesn't look smug, just... complete. Like he's wanted something for so long and finally has it.

"You ready for me, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, Joe," you whisper, and he leans in to kiss you again.

Softer this time. Slower. Like both your nerves have finally caught up with you. Like it’s suddenly dawned on both of you what the next step actually is.

Joe presses gentle kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, grounding your nerves as he grabs his cock to line himself up with your entrance.

The groan he lets out against your neck sounds almost carnal as he pushes inside in one slow, steady thrust. You're so dripping wet he's met with no resistance, but the stretch burns regardless. He stills inside you for a moment, attentive, waiting for you to let him know he's okay to carry on.

"Move, Joe. Move," you plead.

His thrusts are steady, deep, his eyes locked onto yours, lips brushing gently over each other as hushed gasps make their way from one mouth to the other.

He grabs your thighs to lift them over his shoulders, the position so intimate, pressing your knees almost to your chest as he fills you over and over, and the angle makes him hit a spot so deep inside you nobody else has ever touched before. You're seeing stars as he kisses you breathless, swallowing the loud moans and whines you're sure would embarrass you in any other situation, but right now you couldn't care less.

Not when he lifts his thumb up to his lips, sucking on it for a moment to get it wet, before bringing it down between your bodies to start rubbing steady circles on your clit.

You're coming apart on his cock, what feels like mere seconds later, your legs quivering over his shoulders, tears of ecstasy streaming down your face.

"Where, baby? Where do you want me?"

"Inside, Joe. Please, need to feel you," you plead. His hips stutter with a loud moan, the loudest you think you've ever heard him, as you feel him finish deep inside you.

He collapses on top of you seconds later, letting go of your legs to fall to the bed, his head resting on your breasts, rising and falling with your unsteady breathing.

Your fingers find his hair, as Joe presses one last lazy kiss against your sternum, then shifts just enough to look up at you properly, curls a mess, lips swollen from kissing you, eyes soft in that way that gets you every single time he looks at you.

"You know I'm never getting over the fact you love me, right?" he murmurs.

Your chest aches warmly as you smile down at him, fingertips brushing slowly through his hair.

"Good," you whisper. "Wouldn't want you to."

For a long while afterwards, neither of you says anything.

The room has settled into that peculiar quiet that only ever follows something life-changing, the bedside lamp still casting everything in warm amber light while the city carries on somewhere beyond the window, blissfully unaware that the entire shape of your world has shifted in the space of a single evening. Joe lies sprawled beside you with his head still resting comfortably against your chest, one arm draped lazily across your waist as though he's worried you might somehow disappear if he lets go for too long. Your fingers drift absent-mindedly through his curls, scratching gently at the nape of his neck, and every now and then he lets out the smallest contented hum without seeming to realise he's doing it.

Eventually, he tips his head back just enough to look at you properly.

His hair is a complete mess, his lips still pink from kissing you, and there is something so wonderfully open about his expression that it almost catches you off guard. He looks happy in the uncomplicated, almost disbelieving way people do when something they've wanted for so long has finally happened and they haven't quite caught up with it yet.

"You know what's funny?" he asks quietly.

"What?"

"I genuinely thought I was doing a great job hiding it."

You can't help laughing. "So did I."

"No, seriously." He shakes his head against you with a groan. "I thought I was being subtle."

"You thought driving four hours because I texted you saying I'd had a bad week was subtle?"

"I was being supportive."

"You learnt to make my favourite dinner."

"You were stressed."

"You remembered the name of my primary school teacher because I mentioned her once."

"...That one might've been a little weird."

"A little?"

He laughs, covering his face briefly with one hand. "Oh, God."

"What?"

"We're never living this down."

You already know exactly what he means. "Matt's going to be unbearable."

"Dalton's gonna make a spreadsheet."

"Wes will somehow claim he predicted it first."

"He absolutely will."

"And Jake's going to spend the next six months reminding us we argued with them."

Joe groans dramatically before burying his face back against your shoulder. "I hate that they're right."

Your fingers find his hair again, gently combing through the curls that have become increasingly impossible to tame over the course of the evening. "I don't."

He looks up again, eyebrows lifting. "No?"

You smile, brushing your thumb lightly across his cheek. "If this is what they were trying to get us to..." You shrug softly. "I think they did us a favour."

He studies your face for a long moment, the smile returning so gradually it almost seems to unfold rather than appear. "I've wasted so much time."

You shake your head almost immediately. "We both did."

"Yeah." He looks into your eyes with so much devotion, you feel yourself blushing. "Let's make up for lost time."

For a while, neither of you speaks again. There doesn't seem to be much point. Every silence between you feels different now - not emptier, but fuller somehow, no longer crowded with all the things you'd both spent years carefully refusing to say.

Eventually, Joe reaches for your hand beneath the duvet, threading his fingers through yours with the same effortless familiarity he always has. The gesture is identical to every other time he's held your hand over the years.

The only difference is that now you both understand why he's always reached for it.

dividers: saradika-graphics