Why must my genuine return to being on here after a mental health break be met with such sadness. I had no idea we lost so many amazing authors while I was away. I will greatly miss their talent and the joy they brought me during their time here
Summary: In a universe where the apocalypse never happened, Joel gets drunk and regrets breaking up with you, resulting in a video tape he wishes he hadn't sent... Set in a timeline somewhere around Joel's 40th year around the sun, where he hasn't allowed himself to really love anyone since Sarah's mom - at least until he met you.
Word Count: ~3.5k
Tags/Warnings: alcohol, mentions of a stroke/aneurysm, broken hearts, angst, regret, fluff
A/N: This idea came to me after watching Pedro perform "For All The Lovesick Mad Sad Geniuses" by Ngozi Anyanwu as part of the 24 viral monologues by the 24 Hour Plays. This fic is based around Anyanwu's incredible monologue and Pedro's performance of it. Please give it a watch, especially if you'd like a visual representation for half of this fic 😅
They say that some things have to be felt to be understood.
A sentiment you had never subscribed to. If you could imagine it, you could understand it. That was how you saw it.
Until the day that Joel showed up at your door at 10am on a Sunday morning, hair disheveled and brows furrowed, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
Time really did stand still then.
You hadn't seen him in months. Hadn't expected to see him now at your front door either. It just wasn't the kind of thing one expected after a break-up. Hoped for maybe, sure. But expect it?
Not in a million years. Not after he'd shattered your heart into a million tiny pieces, fragments so little that even months later, you were still in the process of gluing it back together; trying to find matching fragments in a sea of chunks and shards. They cut you sometimes, sharp edges and all, memories bleeding into the now. It made you wonder now, just for a moment, if you were hallucinating him.
"Did you watch it?"
The hallucination spoke with his voice - Joel's voice - and then it pushed past you (with all the force of a very real being) into your living room.
You watched as Joel marched over to your couch, shaking up the blankets you kept on it for comfort and warmth, then digging through the cushions.
A cold draft blew around your bare legs. While the Joel-shaped person blew through your living room, you stood by your front door, handle in one hand, a sagging slice of toast in the other. The bite that was still in your mouth had taken on the consistency of cement.
Is this what a stroke feels like?
You could only briefly wonder if you had blown an aneurysm before hands were on your shoulders and you heard your name being spoken in that awful, awful favorite voice of yours.
"Hey, hey. Focus. Did you watch it?"
This version of Joel was different than the one you knew.
His hair was a bit longer. Messier too. There was more silver in it.
Bags under the eyes, dark and heavy. They matched the dark irises that were boring into yours. Your Joel's eyes had always been warm, like a cozy fire that was happily crackling on in the background. This Joel's eyes had none of that. His were dull and empty, like a fireplace long forgotten.
You liked your version of Joel much better.
Like a bizarre game of ping-pong, you matched this Joel's eyes as they flicked back and forth between yours. Left-right-left-right.
A deep sigh, and though you didn't think it possible, the light in his eyes darkened even more.
"Of course you saw it. Of course. Fuck."
He sat on your couch, face in his hands. Another cold breeze blew through your open door and rustled the loose papers on your dining table. With goosebumps all over your legs you closed the door to your apartment, sealing whatever hallucination had blown through inside of your apartment.
"Would you like a glass of water?" Stroke, hallucination - you figured it couldn't hurt to be polite. There was a guest in your house, and you had manners.
It was also the only thing you could think of to say.
Because what was the alternative? Demanding to know what he was doing here? A plausible choice, if he was real. The jury was still out on that one.
You set your slice of toast down on the nearest end-table, the strawberry marmalade having lost all its appeal. It'd have to go on the "forbidden items" list once this was over, joining its brothers and sisters with memory-jogging-capabilities. Another thing lost to Joel Miller. Would the list ever end?
Once you dared looking over again, you found the Joel imitation staring at you like you were the alien in your own house, not him.
“I also have coffee.” Did figments of imagination prefer caffeinated water? You didn’t know.
He regarded you for a moment longer, then nodded slowly, as if coming to terms with something he’d been struggling with.
“Of course you’d wanna talk about it,” he mumbled, seemingly more to himself than you, then: “Coffee’s fine.”
Talk about what?
You filled a mug for him, then repeated the question out loud.
'Joel' accepted the cup with a dry snort. “You’ve always been too kind for your own good. Y’don’t gotta pretend. Go ‘head. Lay it on me. I deserve it.”
A somber expression took place on his face, one you’d seen him put on before meetings with clients he knew had a bone to pick with him.
You blinked at him, trying once again to figure out if this was happening or just a really absurd dream.
“Umh.” You felt the strong urge to reach for your phone. Didn't Google have an answer for everything?
'how to tell if a person is real'
'how to politely ask if someone is real without coming off as crazy'
'signs of mental breakdown'
Wouldn't that be a fine addition to your digital footprint.
You cleared your throat, hands nervously twitching at your sides.
“Uh… don’t take this the wrong way. Please. But, umh, what the fuck are you talking about?”
Joel's fingers fumble across the screen, accidentally swiping back and forth between the photo and video option a couple of times. A frustrated sound bubbles up from the back of his throat before he finally manages to settle on the correct setting. A tap of his thumb, and the countdown starts.
10, 9, 8, 7...
The visual on the screen shakes as Joel hastily props his phone down against the makeshift stand he created out of books and manuals. It's not perfect, but it'll get the job done. Hopefully.
Little beeps accompany the dwindling numbers until there's silence. He glances up at the screen, half-convinced he's fucked it up again - but there's the big red stop button, along with counting numbers at the top.
The tape's rolling, metaphorically at least.
A grin breaks out on his face. Victory. He did it. He's doing it. He's doing this.
He's going to pour his all into this video. Gonna put into words what has been trudging through his brain in an endless loop. He's gonna make you see, that you're still here, in his heart, his brain, his every fiber-
The numbers are going, running away from him. The tape's rolling, and he hasn't said a word so far. Out loud.
The smile falls from his face as he sombers, focuses.
"Hi."
The greeting hangs heavy in the air. It sounds unfinished to his ears, lacking one of the many endearments that used to follow his hellos.
"I... I, I, I..."
He had a plan. A speech, if you will. All laid out and practiced in his mind, but now that he's doing this, talking to you... He knows it's just his phone. But it's not. He's not talking to a mechanical box, he's talking to you. And that knocks the wind out of him.
Joel takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knows he has to say. Needs to say, or his head will implode. His chest might too.
It's now or never.
"I was thinking about you. I always do, around this time - every time of the day, actually... Uh, anyway. You're probably not even thinking about me." He's moved forward, more subconsciously than purposely, leaning towards the camera.
"Do you? Ever think about me?" Please say you do. "A little?" Please.
The picture of your smile enters his mind, distracting him momentarily. God, he misses you like a desert misses rain.
You're getting off track. Shit.
"What was I saying. What am I... What am I saying...? Don't lose track. Fuck!" He straightens momentarily in the hopes of straightening his thoughts along with his spine. This is so stupid. What is he doing?
"What am I saying!" He can't help but grin at his own incompetence. You used to lovingly tease him for it, the way his mind would sometimes scramble mid-sentence when he looked at you. God, this is awkward. He had a whole speech planned. Where did it go? What did he want to say?
Joel rubs his hands over his face, then claps them together. Focus.
He had a speech. A point. Time to bring it across.
"Do you remember - d'you remember when we saw that - what was it? Uh..." Fuck, what was it called? He snaps his fingers like the memory will snap back into his brain if he just does it enough. What was it called?!
"You remember?" Please say you do. "They used to be in these big ass expensive fuckin' buildings - you remember? What are they called... Erm-" What's the fucking word! Joel can't remember for the life of him. Perhaps the various whiskeys he's had have something to do with it. Either way, this is going nowhere. He's trying to make a goddamn point, for Christ's sake!
What were they called, what were they called? He knows he has one of them lying around. The papers that used to come with them. Probably still do. The little leaflets, you saved so many of them...
Joel doesn't realize he walks out of frame, nor the ruckus his search causes. Shit, this place is a fucking mess. But he knows there's one of them somewhere. He has kept them all, even if he didn't keep you. Don't think about that now. Don't. This is why you're doing this. Focus! Too many empty beer cans. He swipes them off the counter, along with his toolbelt. It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is... There!
Joel hurries back to the camera, holding up the leaflet triumphantly. It has the word "PLAYBILL" stamped across its front. "Plays!" He beams at the camera. Finally. "This dude." He raps his finger against the thick paper. "The Last of the Sad Mad Geniuses," he reads the title. It was one of the first ones you and him saw together.
"Remember plays?" You have to. There's no way you forgot. "Songs?" You used to sing them all the time. In the shower, in the car. "Poetry?" He'd read them to you, verses you found in old books you picked up at the flea market. Your head on his lap, one of his hands in your hair-
God, why did he let you go!
You probably don't remember any of it.
"Yeah, me neither." The beer and whiskey slosh around in his stomach. Fuck, his head is kind of spinny too. Wait, didn't he have a point?
"What was I saying?" A point, yes, he had a point. "Right, umh." The play.
Joel holds the pamphlet up again, taps its cover. "Remember we saw this play, and you laughed so hard you peed a little..." You had been so embarrassed, but it just made Joel love you even more. Your joy was contagious. It'd make everyone smile. Him. Sarah. Most of all him. It makes him smile now too, just thinking about it. What was that line again?
"What was that fucking line in the play? How the fuck did it go? If - if if if -" Get it the fuck together, Joel. Focus. What was that line?
"If you got one friend when you die..." He hears your echo in his mind. It's hollow now, not as clear as it used to be, your voice slowly fading into obscurity as the days without you begin to outnumber the days when you were still his. If you got one friend when you die...
"...then you got something most people never have." He finishes the line and takes the verbal punch to the gut. Who knew theater could predict the future? You'd been his, and he had cast you away. For all the good reasons, the good and bad, though they all seem bad now in retrospect. Why the fuck did he push you away!
"And I tried to quote that shit back at you..." He sees you clearly now, down in that alleyway about a block away from the theater, your eyes shining with tears of laughter. "And you laughed at me, cause I fucked it up-" Like he always did. Like he had, with you. Finish the story.
"And I kissed you-" And then he threw you away. Suddenly, the tears are too thick to hold back. They burn in his throat, on his tongue. Fuck, fuck, hold it in, hold it in. Joel's breath trembles as he speaks again. "And you let me-" God, it hurts to breathe. His chest is too tight for his lungs to spread. There's not enough air, not in his lungs, not in this room, not in his heart. Fuck, his heart. It hurts so bad.
"And it-" Breathe, he has to breathe. "And it rained like we were in a fucking movie! And life was never better than that." The sobs come as the truth hits him smack in the face. He loves Sarah with all his heart. But you? You completed him. Filled in the cracks that opened when Sarah's mother left him. You made him whole.
Which means that he not only broke your heart, he broke his own too. In trying to do what he thought was best, he broke the both of you.
Joel thinks this just might be the moment that death comes and takes him. Almost hopes for it as he faces the ugly truth of his own actions. "Shit," he curses through his tears, then again. "Shit! What am I saying?" Didn't he start this full of confidence, with a plan? "Wh-what was I saying?" Breathe, Joel, breathe. Focus.
"Right. Right!" He remembers, now. The question he meant to ask.
"Why did you have to love me like that?" None of this would have happened if you hadn't loved him, after all. He wouldn't be here, suffering worse than he did after the mother of his child left him, left them. He wouldn't have to face the fact that his good intentions had been anything but.
"Why did you have to love me back!" It comes out in a yell, all wound up and tight like his anger is inside of him. At you, at himself. Mostly himself.
"You know? Why'd you do that?" Why did you? Love him back?
"You'd have to have known that you'd - you'd send me into a kind of madness, you know. Sometimes... Sometimes I think, maybe, uh... I made you up." Say that you were real. Say that we were real. "Sometimes," Joel whispers and wishes nothing more than to hear you answer him.
"So I go into the quietest parts of this house and... I whisper your name. I wish I could scream it." He should. "I should." Should he? "Should I scream it? I will. I should." He inhales deeply, your name already at the tip of his tongue. Just say it. Scream it. He wants to. He does. But his throat is locked up, your name heavy on his tongue like lead. Try as he might, it won't roll off.
The air dissipates out of him like a deflated balloon. He's dizzy, his stomach in an uproar. His pulse pounds in his ears.
Joel glances at the screen of his phone. Five minutes in, and he's only made a fool of himself.
"Yeah, I... I can't send this." What the hell was he even thinking?
Joel sat on your couch like a statue made of stone as you watched the video. If you'd had looked up from your phone, you'd have seen him flinch and cringe during various moments, but alas, your attention was fixated on the video Joel had sent you.
You hadn't seen it before he arrived. As a rule, you avoided your phone until after you had finished your breakfast, and Joel had interrupted you right in the middle of it. To be fair, the rule had only recently come into place, more specifically after Joel had broken up with you. Not immediately after, only when you noticed that you would scroll through his old texts and stalk his business' website like a madwoman, or - well, like a woman with a broken heart. You knew it was unhealthy and getting you nowhere.
So you hadn't seen it, not when he had sent it and not the morning after. Not until he showed up at your door like a ghost from the past you had tried to summon with your heart every day since he had cast you out.
You could hardly believe your eyes nor your ears.
The Joel that had recorded this had clearly been intoxicated. That, or someone had switched out your version of Joel for one that spoke a lot more openly about what he felt.
Silence filled the room when the video ended. You saw your own stunned reflection in the reflection of your phone screen as turned black.
"Umh-" You searched your mind for the right words, for the appropriate reaction. What did one say in a situation like this?
"I know," Joel interrupted your thinking before you could get anywhere. "M' sorry. Shouldn't have... I shouldn't have sent that. Or recorded it to begin with." He scoffed. "Just goes to show wha'a fool I am. M' sorry you had to see all that." Joel didn't look you in the eyes as he spoke. His eyes landed on your half eaten toast instead. "Sorry I interrupted your breakfast too." You saw him run a tired hand over his face, heard him sigh. "Guess I'm sorry for a lotta things these days."
Was he? Sorry? For breaking up with you?
For all he'd said in the video, that much still wasn't clear. You could assume, of course, but you had also assumed that Joel had loved you enough not to send you on your way, and you had been wrong about that.
"Why did you love me, Joel?" It wasn't quite what you had intended to ask, but it was close enough. You could tell it caught Joel off guard by the way he froze in place.
He took so long to answer that you were almost convinced he wasn't going to, or that he didn't know how. You couldn't have blamed him for the latter. It was hard to summarize why you loved the people you did, especially when put on the spot. To his credit - and your surprise - he tried regardless.
"Because you made me whole." He said it quietly, but with conviction. And then, for the first time since you had clicked play, he met your eyes. "Cause you love loudly and without fear, n' I loved it so much - you so much - that it scared me. Terrified me, actually." Joel was on his feet now, slowly approaching you. "What you gave me, I haven't felt that since Sarah's mom left. Hell, if we're bein' honest, I never allowed myself. But with you..." He came to a stop in front of you, and now you could see flickers of that warm fire in his eyes again. "Never had a choice."
Though he looked more like the Joel you knew again, you were starting to doubt his realness once more. How else could you explain the man you loved so deeply standing in front of you, telling you all you'd wished to hear ever since he had cast you out?
"You took my choice, too." For all the good he was saying, there was still a lot of hurt inside of you. "When you told me to leave, you took away my choice of staying with you despite your fear." The words felt wide and heavy, awkwardly shaped lumps that you had to force out of your throat and over your tongue out into the world. You blinked ferociously, trying to keep the few tears at bay that had pooled in your eyes.
Joel's face twitched and crumpled at your words. His arm jerked, like he was fighting an instinct, and then he brought a thumb to your cheek regardless, wiping away a single tear that had managed to escaped.
"I know," he rasped, visibly trying to control himself. "N' I'll spend my whole life makin' it up to you. If you'll let me."
And despite the pain he had caused you, despite the many nights you had cried over him, you didn't need to think twice to know your answer. You still loved him, after all. And in spite of it all, it seemed that Joel Miller still loved you too.
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Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)
Thank you for giving this a chance nevertheless, it wasn't expected nor required - it really means a lot! 🥹🫶🏼
Isn't Pedro's performance amazing? (Big surprise, I know.) I first saw snippets from the original clip cut together as a reel and knew I had to find the full thing to create something with it. I'm glad I could be the one to show you!
Ohh, do color me intrigued 👀 I'd love to know what popped into your mind! Maybe we can collab on it? 👀
Again, thank you so much for reading, and for commenting! 🩵
Summary: In a universe where the apocalypse never happened, Joel gets drunk and regrets breaking up with you, resulting in a video tape he wishes he hadn't sent... Set in a timeline somewhere around Joel's 40th year around the sun, where he hasn't allowed himself to really love anyone since Sarah's mom - at least until he met you.
Word Count: ~3.5k
Tags/Warnings: alcohol, mentions of a stroke/aneurysm, broken hearts, angst, regret, fluff
A/N: This idea came to me after watching Pedro perform "For All The Lovesick Mad Sad Geniuses" by Ngozi Anyanwu as part of the 24 viral monologues by the 24 Hour Plays. This fic is based around Anyanwu's incredible monologue and Pedro's performance of it. Please give it a watch, especially if you'd like a visual representation for half of this fic 😅
They say that some things have to be felt to be understood.
A sentiment you had never subscribed to. If you could imagine it, you could understand it. That was how you saw it.
Until the day that Joel showed up at your door at 10am on a Sunday morning, hair disheveled and brows furrowed, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
Time really did stand still then.
You hadn't seen him in months. Hadn't expected to see him now at your front door either. It just wasn't the kind of thing one expected after a break-up. Hoped for maybe, sure. But expect it?
Not in a million years. Not after he'd shattered your heart into a million tiny pieces, fragments so little that even months later, you were still in the process of gluing it back together; trying to find matching fragments in a sea of chunks and shards. They cut you sometimes, sharp edges and all, memories bleeding into the now. It made you wonder now, just for a moment, if you were hallucinating him.
"Did you watch it?"
The hallucination spoke with his voice - Joel's voice - and then it pushed past you (with all the force of a very real being) into your living room.
You watched as Joel marched over to your couch, shaking up the blankets you kept on it for comfort and warmth, then digging through the cushions.
A cold draft blew around your bare legs. While the Joel-shaped person blew through your living room, you stood by your front door, handle in one hand, a sagging slice of toast in the other. The bite that was still in your mouth had taken on the consistency of cement.
Is this what a stroke feels like?
You could only briefly wonder if you had blown an aneurysm before hands were on your shoulders and you heard your name being spoken in that awful, awful favorite voice of yours.
"Hey, hey. Focus. Did you watch it?"
This version of Joel was different than the one you knew.
His hair was a bit longer. Messier too. There was more silver in it.
Bags under the eyes, dark and heavy. They matched the dark irises that were boring into yours. Your Joel's eyes had always been warm, like a cozy fire that was happily crackling on in the background. This Joel's eyes had none of that. His were dull and empty, like a fireplace long forgotten.
You liked your version of Joel much better.
Like a bizarre game of ping-pong, you matched this Joel's eyes as they flicked back and forth between yours. Left-right-left-right.
A deep sigh, and though you didn't think it possible, the light in his eyes darkened even more.
"Of course you saw it. Of course. Fuck."
He sat on your couch, face in his hands. Another cold breeze blew through your open door and rustled the loose papers on your dining table. With goosebumps all over your legs you closed the door to your apartment, sealing whatever hallucination had blown through inside of your apartment.
"Would you like a glass of water?" Stroke, hallucination - you figured it couldn't hurt to be polite. There was a guest in your house, and you had manners.
It was also the only thing you could think of to say.
Because what was the alternative? Demanding to know what he was doing here? A plausible choice, if he was real. The jury was still out on that one.
You set your slice of toast down on the nearest end-table, the strawberry marmalade having lost all its appeal. It'd have to go on the "forbidden items" list once this was over, joining its brothers and sisters with memory-jogging-capabilities. Another thing lost to Joel Miller. Would the list ever end?
Once you dared looking over again, you found the Joel imitation staring at you like you were the alien in your own house, not him.
“I also have coffee.” Did figments of imagination prefer caffeinated water? You didn’t know.
He regarded you for a moment longer, then nodded slowly, as if coming to terms with something he’d been struggling with.
“Of course you’d wanna talk about it,” he mumbled, seemingly more to himself than you, then: “Coffee’s fine.”
Talk about what?
You filled a mug for him, then repeated the question out loud.
'Joel' accepted the cup with a dry snort. “You’ve always been too kind for your own good. Y’don’t gotta pretend. Go ‘head. Lay it on me. I deserve it.”
A somber expression took place on his face, one you’d seen him put on before meetings with clients he knew had a bone to pick with him.
You blinked at him, trying once again to figure out if this was happening or just a really absurd dream.
“Umh.” You felt the strong urge to reach for your phone. Didn't Google have an answer for everything?
'how to tell if a person is real'
'how to politely ask if someone is real without coming off as crazy'
'signs of mental breakdown'
Wouldn't that be a fine addition to your digital footprint.
You cleared your throat, hands nervously twitching at your sides.
“Uh… don’t take this the wrong way. Please. But, umh, what the fuck are you talking about?”
Joel's fingers fumble across the screen, accidentally swiping back and forth between the photo and video option a couple of times. A frustrated sound bubbles up from the back of his throat before he finally manages to settle on the correct setting. A tap of his thumb, and the countdown starts.
10, 9, 8, 7...
The visual on the screen shakes as Joel hastily props his phone down against the makeshift stand he created out of books and manuals. It's not perfect, but it'll get the job done. Hopefully.
Little beeps accompany the dwindling numbers until there's silence. He glances up at the screen, half-convinced he's fucked it up again - but there's the big red stop button, along with counting numbers at the top.
The tape's rolling, metaphorically at least.
A grin breaks out on his face. Victory. He did it. He's doing it. He's doing this.
He's going to pour his all into this video. Gonna put into words what has been trudging through his brain in an endless loop. He's gonna make you see, that you're still here, in his heart, his brain, his every fiber-
The numbers are going, running away from him. The tape's rolling, and he hasn't said a word so far. Out loud.
The smile falls from his face as he sombers, focuses.
"Hi."
The greeting hangs heavy in the air. It sounds unfinished to his ears, lacking one of the many endearments that used to follow his hellos.
"I... I, I, I..."
He had a plan. A speech, if you will. All laid out and practiced in his mind, but now that he's doing this, talking to you... He knows it's just his phone. But it's not. He's not talking to a mechanical box, he's talking to you. And that knocks the wind out of him.
Joel takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knows he has to say. Needs to say, or his head will implode. His chest might too.
It's now or never.
"I was thinking about you. I always do, around this time - every time of the day, actually... Uh, anyway. You're probably not even thinking about me." He's moved forward, more subconsciously than purposely, leaning towards the camera.
"Do you? Ever think about me?" Please say you do. "A little?" Please.
The picture of your smile enters his mind, distracting him momentarily. God, he misses you like a desert misses rain.
You're getting off track. Shit.
"What was I saying. What am I... What am I saying...? Don't lose track. Fuck!" He straightens momentarily in the hopes of straightening his thoughts along with his spine. This is so stupid. What is he doing?
"What am I saying!" He can't help but grin at his own incompetence. You used to lovingly tease him for it, the way his mind would sometimes scramble mid-sentence when he looked at you. God, this is awkward. He had a whole speech planned. Where did it go? What did he want to say?
Joel rubs his hands over his face, then claps them together. Focus.
He had a speech. A point. Time to bring it across.
"Do you remember - d'you remember when we saw that - what was it? Uh..." Fuck, what was it called? He snaps his fingers like the memory will snap back into his brain if he just does it enough. What was it called?!
"You remember?" Please say you do. "They used to be in these big ass expensive fuckin' buildings - you remember? What are they called... Erm-" What's the fucking word! Joel can't remember for the life of him. Perhaps the various whiskeys he's had have something to do with it. Either way, this is going nowhere. He's trying to make a goddamn point, for Christ's sake!
What were they called, what were they called? He knows he has one of them lying around. The papers that used to come with them. Probably still do. The little leaflets, you saved so many of them...
Joel doesn't realize he walks out of frame, nor the ruckus his search causes. Shit, this place is a fucking mess. But he knows there's one of them somewhere. He has kept them all, even if he didn't keep you. Don't think about that now. Don't. This is why you're doing this. Focus! Too many empty beer cans. He swipes them off the counter, along with his toolbelt. It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is... There!
Joel hurries back to the camera, holding up the leaflet triumphantly. It has the word "PLAYBILL" stamped across its front. "Plays!" He beams at the camera. Finally. "This dude." He raps his finger against the thick paper. "The Last of the Sad Mad Geniuses," he reads the title. It was one of the first ones you and him saw together.
"Remember plays?" You have to. There's no way you forgot. "Songs?" You used to sing them all the time. In the shower, in the car. "Poetry?" He'd read them to you, verses you found in old books you picked up at the flea market. Your head on his lap, one of his hands in your hair-
God, why did he let you go!
You probably don't remember any of it.
"Yeah, me neither." The beer and whiskey slosh around in his stomach. Fuck, his head is kind of spinny too. Wait, didn't he have a point?
"What was I saying?" A point, yes, he had a point. "Right, umh." The play.
Joel holds the pamphlet up again, taps its cover. "Remember we saw this play, and you laughed so hard you peed a little..." You had been so embarrassed, but it just made Joel love you even more. Your joy was contagious. It'd make everyone smile. Him. Sarah. Most of all him. It makes him smile now too, just thinking about it. What was that line again?
"What was that fucking line in the play? How the fuck did it go? If - if if if -" Get it the fuck together, Joel. Focus. What was that line?
"If you got one friend when you die..." He hears your echo in his mind. It's hollow now, not as clear as it used to be, your voice slowly fading into obscurity as the days without you begin to outnumber the days when you were still his. If you got one friend when you die...
"...then you got something most people never have." He finishes the line and takes the verbal punch to the gut. Who knew theater could predict the future? You'd been his, and he had cast you away. For all the good reasons, the good and bad, though they all seem bad now in retrospect. Why the fuck did he push you away!
"And I tried to quote that shit back at you..." He sees you clearly now, down in that alleyway about a block away from the theater, your eyes shining with tears of laughter. "And you laughed at me, cause I fucked it up-" Like he always did. Like he had, with you. Finish the story.
"And I kissed you-" And then he threw you away. Suddenly, the tears are too thick to hold back. They burn in his throat, on his tongue. Fuck, fuck, hold it in, hold it in. Joel's breath trembles as he speaks again. "And you let me-" God, it hurts to breathe. His chest is too tight for his lungs to spread. There's not enough air, not in his lungs, not in this room, not in his heart. Fuck, his heart. It hurts so bad.
"And it-" Breathe, he has to breathe. "And it rained like we were in a fucking movie! And life was never better than that." The sobs come as the truth hits him smack in the face. He loves Sarah with all his heart. But you? You completed him. Filled in the cracks that opened when Sarah's mother left him. You made him whole.
Which means that he not only broke your heart, he broke his own too. In trying to do what he thought was best, he broke the both of you.
Joel thinks this just might be the moment that death comes and takes him. Almost hopes for it as he faces the ugly truth of his own actions. "Shit," he curses through his tears, then again. "Shit! What am I saying?" Didn't he start this full of confidence, with a plan? "Wh-what was I saying?" Breathe, Joel, breathe. Focus.
"Right. Right!" He remembers, now. The question he meant to ask.
"Why did you have to love me like that?" None of this would have happened if you hadn't loved him, after all. He wouldn't be here, suffering worse than he did after the mother of his child left him, left them. He wouldn't have to face the fact that his good intentions had been anything but.
"Why did you have to love me back!" It comes out in a yell, all wound up and tight like his anger is inside of him. At you, at himself. Mostly himself.
"You know? Why'd you do that?" Why did you? Love him back?
"You'd have to have known that you'd - you'd send me into a kind of madness, you know. Sometimes... Sometimes I think, maybe, uh... I made you up." Say that you were real. Say that we were real. "Sometimes," Joel whispers and wishes nothing more than to hear you answer him.
"So I go into the quietest parts of this house and... I whisper your name. I wish I could scream it." He should. "I should." Should he? "Should I scream it? I will. I should." He inhales deeply, your name already at the tip of his tongue. Just say it. Scream it. He wants to. He does. But his throat is locked up, your name heavy on his tongue like lead. Try as he might, it won't roll off.
The air dissipates out of him like a deflated balloon. He's dizzy, his stomach in an uproar. His pulse pounds in his ears.
Joel glances at the screen of his phone. Five minutes in, and he's only made a fool of himself.
"Yeah, I... I can't send this." What the hell was he even thinking?
Joel sat on your couch like a statue made of stone as you watched the video. If you'd had looked up from your phone, you'd have seen him flinch and cringe during various moments, but alas, your attention was fixated on the video Joel had sent you.
You hadn't seen it before he arrived. As a rule, you avoided your phone until after you had finished your breakfast, and Joel had interrupted you right in the middle of it. To be fair, the rule had only recently come into place, more specifically after Joel had broken up with you. Not immediately after, only when you noticed that you would scroll through his old texts and stalk his business' website like a madwoman, or - well, like a woman with a broken heart. You knew it was unhealthy and getting you nowhere.
So you hadn't seen it, not when he had sent it and not the morning after. Not until he showed up at your door like a ghost from the past you had tried to summon with your heart every day since he had cast you out.
You could hardly believe your eyes nor your ears.
The Joel that had recorded this had clearly been intoxicated. That, or someone had switched out your version of Joel for one that spoke a lot more openly about what he felt.
Silence filled the room when the video ended. You saw your own stunned reflection in the reflection of your phone screen as turned black.
"Umh-" You searched your mind for the right words, for the appropriate reaction. What did one say in a situation like this?
"I know," Joel interrupted your thinking before you could get anywhere. "M' sorry. Shouldn't have... I shouldn't have sent that. Or recorded it to begin with." He scoffed. "Just goes to show wha'a fool I am. M' sorry you had to see all that." Joel didn't look you in the eyes as he spoke. His eyes landed on your half eaten toast instead. "Sorry I interrupted your breakfast too." You saw him run a tired hand over his face, heard him sigh. "Guess I'm sorry for a lotta things these days."
Was he? Sorry? For breaking up with you?
For all he'd said in the video, that much still wasn't clear. You could assume, of course, but you had also assumed that Joel had loved you enough not to send you on your way, and you had been wrong about that.
"Why did you love me, Joel?" It wasn't quite what you had intended to ask, but it was close enough. You could tell it caught Joel off guard by the way he froze in place.
He took so long to answer that you were almost convinced he wasn't going to, or that he didn't know how. You couldn't have blamed him for the latter. It was hard to summarize why you loved the people you did, especially when put on the spot. To his credit - and your surprise - he tried regardless.
"Because you made me whole." He said it quietly, but with conviction. And then, for the first time since you had clicked play, he met your eyes. "Cause you love loudly and without fear, n' I loved it so much - you so much - that it scared me. Terrified me, actually." Joel was on his feet now, slowly approaching you. "What you gave me, I haven't felt that since Sarah's mom left. Hell, if we're bein' honest, I never allowed myself. But with you..." He came to a stop in front of you, and now you could see flickers of that warm fire in his eyes again. "Never had a choice."
Though he looked more like the Joel you knew again, you were starting to doubt his realness once more. How else could you explain the man you loved so deeply standing in front of you, telling you all you'd wished to hear ever since he had cast you out?
"You took my choice, too." For all the good he was saying, there was still a lot of hurt inside of you. "When you told me to leave, you took away my choice of staying with you despite your fear." The words felt wide and heavy, awkwardly shaped lumps that you had to force out of your throat and over your tongue out into the world. You blinked ferociously, trying to keep the few tears at bay that had pooled in your eyes.
Joel's face twitched and crumpled at your words. His arm jerked, like he was fighting an instinct, and then he brought a thumb to your cheek regardless, wiping away a single tear that had managed to escaped.
"I know," he rasped, visibly trying to control himself. "N' I'll spend my whole life makin' it up to you. If you'll let me."
And despite the pain he had caused you, despite the many nights you had cried over him, you didn't need to think twice to know your answer. You still loved him, after all. And in spite of it all, it seemed that Joel Miller still loved you too.
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im actually losing my mind i need him so bad its not even fucking funny i just want him to hold me oh my god oh my god please please i would do literally anything
Connie and Daryl’s progression was literally perfect. as a veteran of the x reader genre both in reading and writing, this was the first time I’d watched a romance blossom w a favourite character and NOT thought “oh I need to rewrite/add to this scene immediately-“ bc there are no notes (EXCLUDING the random one-off ep of Daryl’s romantic affair episode that should’ve been some kind of s6 fan service like Idm the ep but let’s not have it intrude on the most beautifully subtle love story twd has ever seen); it’s all in the subtext. the ASL book in Daryl’s pocket. the way he’d peak over Connie’s notes as she wrote them for him. her making him smile and laugh more than anyone else we’ve ever seen in the show. him trusting her w Dog. his understanding of her bond w her sister and by extension taking her sister under his wing. his grief at the thought of losing her even after only knowing her a short time. NOTHING felt forced. NOTHING felt ooc. the ONLY complaint I have is that we didn’t have more time w them. I wouldn’t change a single thing about their timeline except for the fact we needed more of them.
“CONNIE IS DARYL’S ENDGAME” I scream as I’m dragged by security from the writer’s room of the Daryl spinoff and into a padded cell.
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