✧ Potion- Chapter 4 ✧
Joe Keery x Reader
Summary: You’ve been friends with Javi for years,the kind of years that turns someone into family. He’s the one who pulled you into his inner circle, which just so happens to include Joe Keery. You’ve liked Joe for forever, and somehow the only person who hasn’t figured that out is Joe himself. So what happens when you finally decide to tell Joe?
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You close the door behind you and let your back rest against it, the quiet of your apartment settling around you like a soft exhale. The warmth of Joe’s hug still lingers on your skin, the echo of his goodnight humming softly in your chest.
You drop your keys on the counter, slip off your shoes, and head straight to your room. You peel off the clothes from the night, grab your softest pajamas, and step into the bathroom.
The shower is quick. Just warm water, rising steam, the kind of rinse that washes away the noise of the night but not the feeling of it.
You catch your reflection in the mirror as you towel off. Your cheeks are still a little flushed. Your chest still feels full.
You change into your pajamas, tie your hair up, and pad back into the living room with bare feet and a quieter heartbeat.
You finally pick up your phone.
You: Text me when you get home? And… thank you again for coming back tonight. I’m really glad you did.
You hit send before you can overthink it.
You curl up on the couch, knees tucked under you, the room dim and still.
A few minutes pass.
Joe: Just got home. And you don’t have to thank me. I’m glad I came back too.
You smile softly.
You: Good. Get some rest.
A beat.
Joe: You too. Goodnight.
You set your phone on the pillow beside you when you finally crawl into bed.
Sleep comes slowly, but it comes warm.
You wake up slowly, sunlight slipping through the blinds in soft stripes. Your phone is still on the pillow beside you, screen dark, but the memory of last night hums under your skin.
You stretch, roll onto your back, and reach for your phone.
No new messages.
That’s fine.
It’s early.
You pad into the kitchen, hair messy, still in pajamas, and start the coffee maker.
While it brews, your phone buzzes.
You grab it fast — too fast — but it’s not Joe.
It’s Wes.
Wes: Morning troublemaker. You make it home okay?
You smile despite yourself. Wes is easy in a way that feels familiar, warm, steady, the kind of person who always shows up exactly how you expect him to.
You: Morning. Yeah, I got home fine. Thanks for checking.
He replies almost instantly.
Wes: Good. You seemed off last night. Didn’t want you walking home alone. I’m glad Joe got you there safe.
You lean against the counter, the coffee machine humming behind you.
He’s sweet.
He’s thoughtful.
Your phone buzzes again.
Wes: Also… I’m still convinced you were cheating at cards.
You laugh under your breath.
You: I literally didn’t even know the rules.
Wes: Exactly. Suspicious.
You shake your head, smiling but it’s a different smile than the one Joe pulls out of you.
Lighter.
Friendlier.
Another buzz.
Wes: Anyway. Hope you have a good morning. Let me know if you want to hang later.
You stare at the message for a second.
It’s kind.
It’s open.
It’s uncomplicated.
You: Thanks, Wes. You too.
You pour your coffee, take a slow sip.
Then like the universe is timing it your phone buzzes again.
This time, your stomach flips.
Joe: Morning. Hope you slept okay.
You don’t even try to hide your smile.
You: Morning. I slept okay. Hope you did too.
The typing bubble appears immediately.
Joe:Yeah I did. Still waking up though.
You smile, small, involuntary and lean your hip against the counter.
You: Same. Coffee is helping.
Joe: I should get some. Or snag some of yours.
You laugh under your breath.
You: Bold of you to assume I’d share.
The typing bubble pops up again, faster this time.
Joe: I’d take my chances. ;)
Your stomach does that warm, ridiculous flip.
You let yourself lean into it, just a little.
You: Oh yeah? Pretty confident for someone who hasn’t even had my coffee yet.
You hit send.
The typing bubble appears almost immediately.
Joe: Guess you’ll have to let me try it sometime.
You: Maybe I will. So… still on for lunch?
A pause.
Not long.
Just long enough to feel like he’s smiling at his phone.
Joe: Yeah. Definitely.
Another message follows.
Joe: Just tell me when you’re ready.
You exhale slowly, the warmth settling deeper in your chest.
Your phone buzzes again on a separate thread.
Wes.
You glance at it, but you don’t open it yet.
Not because you’re ignoring him.
Not because you’re choosing anything.
Just because Joe’s conversation is still open in your hands.
Wes: Javi and I are gonna grab coffee in a bit. If you wanna join.
You smile softly.
Friendly.
Open.
No pressure.
You: That’s sweet, thank you. But I think I’m gonna take it slow this morning.
Still waking up.
He replies almost immediately.
Wes: Totally fair. Rain check then.
You can practically hear the easy grin behind it. No disappointment, no guilt, just Wes being Wes.
You send a small smiley back, something simple.
Then you swipe back to Joe’s thread without even thinking.
His last message is still sitting there:
Joe: Just tell me when you’re ready.
You set your phone down on the counter, the kitchen warm with morning light, coffee cooling in your hands.
Wes’s messages sit in one thread. They are warm, familiar, the kind of attention you never have to think twice about. You like being around him. You always have. He’s steady in a way that makes things feel easy.
But whatever you feel with Wes isn’t the same thing that sparks in your chest when Joe’s name lights up your screen.
That part is unmistakable.
You glance at Wes’s messages again….sweet, simple and you smile softly.
Then you swipe back to Joe’s thread without thinking.
You take another sip of coffee, but your mind isn’t on the taste. It’s on the way your stomach flipped when his name lit up your screen. The way your fingers moved faster. The way your breath caught for a moment you didn’t expect.
Wes makes you smile.
Joe makes something inside you settle and spark at the same time.
You don’t say that out loud.
You don’t even fully admit it to yourself.
But the difference is there — in the way you linger on one thread and not the other, in the way your pulse reacts, in the way your morning shifts around a single name.
And that’s the whole truth, even if you never say it.
You get ready slowly, letting the morning settle around you. By the time you’re dressed, your nerves have shifted into something warm and steady. You grab your bag, check your phone one more time, and finally type the message you’ve been circling around.
You: Heading out now.
His reply comes almost quick.
Joe: On my way.
You lock your door behind you and step into the sunlight. The walk is short, familiar, but today it feels different — lighter, charged in a way you don’t want to name yet.
You reach the café a little early, sunlight warm on your shoulders as you spot him standing just outside. His sunglasses are pushed up into his hair, hands tucked into his pockets, looking relaxed in that way he does when he’s trying not to look like he’s waiting for you.
He notices you before you can say anything. His posture shifts — subtle, unmistakable — and he smiles. Not big. Not showy. Just real.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
For a moment, neither of you moves. It isn’t awkward. It’s just… aware.
He steps forward and opens the door for you. “You beat me here.”
“You were close,” you say, brushing past him.
Inside, the café is busy enough to feel alive but quiet enough that you can hear each other without leaning in. You both scan the room and spot a small table near the window.
“That okay?” he asks.
“Perfect.”
You sit across from each other, menus in hand, though neither of you is really reading. He glances up at you, and you catch him doing it. He doesn’t look away fast enough to pretend he wasn’t.
“You look awake now,” he says.
You smile, a little unsure. “Thanks… I think?”
He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You know what I mean.” His eyes lift to yours again, warmer this time. “You look nice.”
The words land gently, not heavy, not loaded…just honest.
Your cheeks warm, and you look down at your menu even though you’re not taking in a single word.
“Thank you,” you say, quieter than you meant to.
He nods once, like that’s exactly what he hoped you’d say, then pretends to study the menu again. But you can see the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The server comes by, takes your orders, and leaves you alone again. The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s comfortable. Familiar in a way that shouldn’t make sense yet.
“So,” he says, resting his arms on the table, “how’s your morning been?”
You think of Wes. His texts. His sweetness. His clarity. And how none of it tugged at you the way this moment does.
“It’s been good,” you say. “Better now.”
His eyes soften, just a little. “Yeah. Same.”
You look at him across the table, sunlight catching in his hair, and something settles in your chest… quiet, certain, unspoken.
Lunch hasn’t even started yet, and you already know this day is going to matter.
The food arrives, and you both finally pick up your forks. For a moment, it’s just the quiet clink of silverware and the soft hum of the café around you.
He takes a bite of his sandwich and nods approvingly. “Okay, this was a good call. I was starving.”
“You always say that,” you tease.
He grins. “Because I’m always starving.”
You laugh, and he watches you for a second longer than he probably means to. Not intense. Just… noticing.
“So,” he says, leaning back a little, “what’s your plan for the rest of the day?”
You shrug. “Honestly? Nothing exciting. Laundry. Maybe clean my kitchen. Very glamorous.”
He smiles. “Sounds thrilling.”
“Oh, yeah. I live on the edge.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t?”
“No. You’re the type who pretends you’re boring but then somehow ends up in the middle of chaos.”
You blink. “Chaos?”
He nods. “Every time I see you, something’s happening. Someone’s laughing, someone’s yelling, someone’s spilling something. You’re like… a magnet for it.”
You laugh, covering your face for a second. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” he says, smiling. “But in a good way. You make things feel… alive.”
Your breath catches a little at that. It’s not flirty. It’s not heavy. It’s just honest.
You take a sip of your drink to steady yourself. “Well. I’ll try to keep the chaos to a minimum today.”
He tilts his head. “Don’t. It suits you.”
You look down at your plate, trying not to smile too hard.
He takes another bite, then gestures with his fork. “What about last night? You have fun?”
You nod. “Yeah. I did.”
“Even with the card game disaster?”
You groan. “I was set up to fail.”
He laughs. “You were. But you were a good sport.”
You point your fork at him. “I maintain that I did not cheat.”
“You absolutely didn’t,” he says. “You were just terrible.”
You gasp dramatically. “Wow. Thank you.”
He smiles, softer this time. “I’m kidding. You were fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. But you were cute about it.”
Your heart does that quiet flip again. You look down, pretending to adjust your napkin.
He watches you for a moment, then looks away like he’s trying not to push the moment too far.
The conversation drifts after that. Weekend plans. A funny story about Javi. A weird dream he had. You tell him about a show you’ve been watching. He tells you about a podcast he likes. It’s easy. It’s warm. It’s the kind of conversation that feels like it’s been happening for years, not days.
At one point, he says something stupid and you laugh so hard you have to cover your mouth. He watches you with this quiet, almost surprised smile, like he didn’t expect to enjoy this as much as he is.
And somewhere between the jokes and the stories and the comfortable silences, something shifts. Not all at once. Just a soft, steady awareness settling between you.
You don’t name it.
He doesn’t either.
But it’s there.
You’re laughing at something he said, your hand resting near your glass, when he glances down at it.
He reaches out without thinking, brushing a crumb from your knuckle with his thumb. It’s barely a touch, barely a second, but it sends a warm ripple up your arm.
You both pause.
Not awkwardly.
Just long enough to feel it.
He lets his hand fall back. “Sorry. You had… something.”
You smile, soft and a little breathless. “Thanks.”
He watches you for a moment, eyes warm in a way that feels new. “You’re easy to talk to,” he says quietly.
You blink. “I am?”
He nods. “Yeah. It’s just… nice. Being around you.”
Your chest warms, slow and steady. “It’s nice being around you too.”
He smiles at that…. the kind of smile that feels like it’s meant just for you, the kind that makes the room feel a little smaller.
You take a sip of your drink to steady yourself. “I’m glad we did this.”
“Me too,” he says. “More than you know.”
He leans forward slightly. “Can I tell you something without you making fun of me?”
You grin. “No promises.”
He laughs under his breath. “I was… kind of excited to see you today.”
Your heart stutters. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You’re about to say something back when movement outside the window catches your eye.
Two familiar figures walking past the café.
Javi.
And Wes.
They’re mid‑conversation, coffees in hand, laughing about something. Javi glances toward the window first. He stops walking.
Wes follows his gaze.
Both of them see you.
Both of them see Joe.
Both of them see the way you’re leaning in, the warmth between you that neither of you is hiding very well.
Javi’s eyebrows lift.
Wes’s smile falters — just a fraction. Not hurt. Not jealous. Just surprised. Curious. Trying to read the moment.
Joe hasn’t noticed them yet.
You have.
And for a heartbeat, everything goes still.
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