just a lil scrap from queen of disaster 3, which i think will be posted in a couple of weeks (i'll do incidents first because it won that poll).
Your ears prick up as you hear the soft thump of Isolde’s door closing and the telltale pat pat pat of Joe’s socked feet moving around your place as he heads back to the kitchen to find you. At least that means she’s out of like a light, or he never would have left her.
“Hey,” he mumbles as he walks back into the kitchen. “She’s asleep.”
“Did she go down easily?” You ask, soaping up a plate.
“Yeah, I just read her the book about the fish that lost it’s away home and I got midway through,” you look at him, a soft smile plays over his lips. “And she yawned, said ‘I sleepy now, Osef’ and fell asleep.”
You laugh.
“Do you think she’ll ever just call me Joe?”
You shrug, working the dish brush against a particularly tough stain. “I think she will when she’s a little bit older, but for now I think that’s what she likes calling you, so that’s what she’ll call you.”
“I’m going to be sad,” he admits. “Whether it’s two weeks or ten years from now, it’s adorable and I’ll be disappointed when she stops saying it.” Your heart thumps at the thought of him still wanting to be around for you and Isolde in ten years.
You don’t say anything, you just hum as put the last of the washing up on the side to leave it to dry. “Can you pass me that towel?”
“I’ll dry up,” Joe says. “You cooked for me it’s the least I can do.”
“You don’t have to,” you tell him. “It’s your night off from the play, I’m surprised you even came to see us… if I were you I’d be at home in bed. Or out with Wesley or something.”
“I didn’t came to see you, I came to see Isolde,” Joe teases as he dries a plate, you swipe at him with the other tea towel you’ve grabbed from the drawer and he cackles his loud, magnificent laugh at you. “And I suppose because you feed me good.”
You don’t say anything, you just smile to yourself and the two of you make quick work of the pile of drying up. As you’re shutting the cupboard door behind the plates, you hear Joe make a pleased sound.
“I love this song,” he tells you and he reaches over to your phone, turning it up a couple more beats as the opening lines of Tears For Fears’ “Head Over Heels” plays out. You giggle as he sings the opening lines. “Dance with me.”
“What?”
“Dance with me,” Joe insists. Your stomach flips at his request, you feel slightly embarrassed as you’re hair is tugged up in a messy bun and you’re still wearing a now slightly crumpled dress that you’d worn to the audition and had been in all day. Not really dancing material.
“What?” You repeat.
Joe doesn’t give you a chance, he grabs your arm and twirls you round on the wooden floor in your kitchen. You shriek with laughter as he makes you dance with him to the song, you’re an ungraceful mess and he has absolutely not rhythm but something about this feels so right to you as you slip and side together. You’re so ungraceful that you nearly slip as the song heads into the chorus again and he grabs your arm to stop you from falling.
You look at Joe.
Joe looks at you.