hiii saw you wanted reqs sooo can i ask something for joe? idk i thought maybe using gap tooth smile but since your last fic was inspired by it i don't think you'd like to write with it again... but my initial idea was like joe writing gap tooth smile (so in this case you can choose any other song) about bsf!reader and her still being kinda oblivious to his feelings at the point that his friends need to throw her hints about how joe really feels
it lowkey sounds shitty after i wrote it so idk how i feel about this request anymore😭 anyway since im here i need to tell you that your joe fic was so so cute and sweetttt
TRY ME
joekeeryxfem!reader
desc - joe is in love with you, and you have no idea- until a certain song finally makes you wonder.
val speaks ‹𝟥 - hey ! thanku sm for the request ☺️ i diiid choose the song ‘try me’ (by djo) as inspo n i hope it turned out how u wanted! pls do comment or say in my inbox if u want smth else bc i luvv this trope :)))
ALSO thanks a bunch for the love on gap tooth smile im so happy u like it- im gonna be writing tn n hopefully finishing up most requests ily ily
joe saw you before you saw him.
you were sitting on the edge of the couch, phone pressed to your ear, one knee bouncing like you couldn’t quite sit still. you weren’t crying but he could hear it coming in the way your voice dipped, the way you kept saying yeah like you were trying to convince yourself.
he stayed quiet in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, listening.
you always came to him like this. when things fell apart. when someone disappointed you in the exact way you pretended they wouldn’t. you never said joe’s name like it was an emergency, but he heard it anyway. in the pauses, in the sighs, in the way you needed someone to just be there.
“he said he’d call,” you murmured “and then he just… didn’t.”
joe closed his eyes.
of course he didn’t.
you laughed softly then, like you were embarrassed for even admitting it. “i don’t know why I’m surprised. i guess I just thought-” you stopped yourself. “never mind.”
joe finally moved, the floorboard creaking under his foot. you glanced up, relief flickering across your face the second you saw him. he pretended not to notice. he always did.
“hey,” he said gently.
you dropped your phone beside you. “sorry. I didn’t mean to-”
“it’s fine,” joe said, already sitting down next to you. close, but not too close. he knew the line. he always stayed just on the safe side of it. “what happened?”
you shrugged, pulling your knees up to your chest. “nothing. just… stupid stuff.”
joe nodded like that made sense, like it wasn’t the same story every time with a different name attached.
“he never really listened anyway,” you added after a moment. "you know? like I’ll say something and it just… doesn’t land.”
joe swallowed.
you had told him that before. about other guys. different faces, same absence.
he didn’t say I listen. didn’t say I always have. didn’t say I would never make you feel like that.
instead, he said, “you deserve someone who notices.”
you smiled at that, small and tired. “yeah. I guess.”
joe watched you lean back against the couch, your head tipping just slightly toward his shoulder. not touching. never touching unless you were the one to do it first.
you didn’t realise how naturally you trusted him. how easily you let yourself soften around him. how you spoke like he wasn’t someone who could be hurt by the things you said.
“he’s not a bad guy,” you added quickly, like you were defending him. “just… not great at showing it.”
joe stared at his hands.
Is he gonna love you like I would? the thought came uninvited, sharp and quiet all at once.
you sighed, then glanced at him. “sorry. I’m dumping this on you again.”
joe shook his head immediately. “you’re not.”
you studied him for a second, like you were checking if he meant it. then you smiled. that familiar, easy smile, and nudged his arm with yours.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
joe smiled back, even though something in his chest tightened.
he stayed on the couch long after you’d gone quiet.
you were curled into yourself now, knees tucked up, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. the room felt softer when you were like this, like everything waited for you to be okay again.
he didn’t move. didn’t want to risk breaking the moment.
eventually, you leaned your head against his shoulder.
it wasn’t dramatic. you didn’t ask. you just did it like it was the most natural thing in the world. joe felt the weight of you settle there, warm and real, and his body reacted before his brain could stop it. he went still, careful not to breathe too deep.
you sighed. “you always make things feel less heavy.”
joe swallowed. he looked down at you, at the way your lashes brushed your cheeks, at the crease between your brows that only showed up when you were thinking too much.
“i’m just here,” he said.
you smiled, eyes still closed. “exactly.”
he wondered if you knew how much that meant. how dangerous that sentence was. how it sounded like something someone says about a person they love, not a friend they call when things fall apart.
you shifted slightly, adjusting until you were more comfortable against him. joe let his arm rest along the back of the couch, close enough that if you leaned just a little more, you’d be fully in his space.
you didn’t.
“you think I’m bad at picking them?” you asked quietly.
joe hesitated. he chose his words carefully. he always did with you.
“i think,” he said slowly, “you keep hoping someone will show up for you the way you would for them.”
you hummed, considering that. “that sounds like a flaw.”
joe smiled faintly. “i think it sounds like you.”
you laughed softly, then winced a little. “ouch.”
he shrugged. “you asked.”
the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. it never was with you. joe liked these moments, the ones where nothing needed filling. where he could just exist beside you without pretending.
you reached for your phone again, scrolling aimlessly, then frowned.
“he still hasn’t texted,” you muttered.
joe didn’t look. he already knew.
“you don’t have to wait,” he said.
you glanced up at him. “for what?”
“for someone who makes you feel optional.”
the words slipped out before he could stop them.
you went quiet.
joe’s heart started pounding, suddenly too aware of how close you were, how carefully balanced everything was. he forced himself not to pull away.
after a moment, you smiled, almost sad. “you’re always on my side.”
“yeah,” joe said, voice steady. “i am.”
you studied him then, really looked at him, like you were trying to figure something out. joe held your gaze, pulse loud in his ears.
you looked away first.
“come on,” you said, standing up suddenly. “I’m hungry.”
just like that, the moment shifted.
joe watched you move toward the kitchen, the way you always bounced back. how quickly you rebuilt yourself. he followed you, because of course he did.
as you grabbed snacks from the cupboard, you talked about something else. work. a show you’d started. anything but the thing that lingered between you.
joe leaned against the counter, listening, nodding at the right places, all while his mind drifted back to the way your head had rested on his shoulder. how right it had felt.
later, when you finally laughed for real, head thrown back, eyes bright again, joe felt that familiar ache bloom in his chest.
he’d do this forever if it meant you stayed like this. safe. smiling.
but part of him wondered how long he could keep pretending that being just here was enough.
⭑
joe didn’t write the song on purpose.
it happened the way things always did with you. quietly, without warning, slipping into his life like it had always belonged there.
he was alone in his room, guitar resting against his knee, fingers moving without direction. it was late. too late to text you without feeling obvious. too late to pretend he wasn’t replaying the way your head had fit against his shoulder earlier, like it had been made for that exact spot.
he strummed once. then again.
the melody came first . soft, patient, almost hopeful in a way that made his chest ache. joe frowned slightly, listening to it loop back on itself. It sounded like waiting. like wanting something and not knowing how to ask for it.
he opened his mouth before he could stop himself.
Is he gonna love you like I would?
the words hit the air and stayed there.
joe froze.
he laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “jesus,” he muttered, like saying it out loud might undo it. he tried to change the chord, tried to steer it somewhere safer.
it didn’t work.
because once the thought was there, it always followed the same path.
you, sitting on his couch, phone in your hand, defending someone who couldn’t even bother to show up. you, telling him how unseen you felt.
joe’s fingers tightened on the strings.
you told me yourself that he didn’t love you, he didn’t care. that he didn’t notice, he wasn’t there.
joe exhaled slowly.
he wasn’t trying to write about you. that was the lie he told himself. he was just… writing what he knew. writing what he’d watched happen too many times.
the song grew from there, filling the room piece by piece. it wasn’t angry. it wasn’t bitter. that was the worst part.
it was honest.
he pictured you when he sang. not in some dramatic way, not like a muse from a distance. just you as you were. barefoot in his kitchen. curled into his side. laughing at something stupid he said like it mattered.
who could love you like I could?
joe stopped playing.
the silence after felt loud.
he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, guitar still humming faintly against his chest. he scrubbed a hand down his face, heart pounding.
this was dangerous.
because the song wasn’t subtle. not really. anyone who knew you, who knew him, would hear it immediately. his friends especially. they already watched him too closely when it came to you.
he thought about showing you.
the idea made his stomach flip.
you’d probably smile, tell him it was beautiful, ask who it was about like it didn’t already have your name stitched into every line. you’d never hear the question underneath it all.
why not me?
joe set the guitar aside and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. he told himself he’d keep the song to himself and his friends. that it could stay unfinished, tucked away like all the other things he never said.
later his phone buzzed.
you: you busy?
joe smiled before he could stop himself.
joe :Never. What’s up?
a few seconds passed.
you: nothing. just couldn’t sleep.
joe rolled onto his side, thumb hovering over the screen.
you: can i come over? just for a little i need to tire myself out.
the reply came instantly.
joe: Yeah.
joe closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath.
you showed up ten minutes later.
joe heard you before he saw you, your knock too soft to be confident, your voice already apologising when he opened the door. “sorry, I know it’s late-”
he stepped aside without letting you finish. “you’re fine.”
you smiled at that and slipped past him like you belonged there. like you always did.
you kicked your shoes off by the door and padded toward the living room, glancing back over your shoulder. “you were playing earlier, right? your guitar and computer are out.”
joe stiffened just slightly. “yeah. just messing around.”
“mhm.” you dropped onto the couch, curling your legs beneath you. “you always say that when it’s something good.”
he laughed quietly and grabbed his guitar before he could overthink it. he sat a few feet away from you, not far, not close. the usual careful distance.
you watched him expectantly. “play it?”
joe hesitated. every instinct told him no. to keep it safe. private.
but this was you.
he nodded once. “it’s unfinished.”
“i don’t care.”
of course you didn’t.
he started slow, fingers moving gently, letting the melody settle into the room. you leaned back against the cushions, eyes soft, listening like you always did. like music was something you felt, not just heard.
joe kept his gaze on the guitar. If he looked at you, he might lose his nerve.
when he sang, he kept his voice low. careful.
you listened quietly, head tilted slightly, brows knitting together as the lyrics unfolded. joe felt it immediately, that shift. the way something landed.
you told me yourself that he didn’t love you, he didn’t care.
your breath caught. just barely.
joe swallowed but didn’t stop.
he didn’t look at you when he sang the question, couldn’t.
who could love you like I could?
the last chord rang out and faded.
the silence that followed felt heavy.
you didn’t speak right away. joe finally glanced up, heart in his throat.
you were staring at him.
“that was…” you shook your head slowly. “joe.”
“yeah?”
“that was really beautiful.”
relief washed through him, followed immediately by something sharper. because of course that’s what you heard. the beauty. not the meaning.
“who’s it about?” you asked gently.
there it was.
joe shrugged like it didn’t matter. “just… something I noticed.”
you smiled at him, soft, fond, trusting. “you’re really good at writing about feelings.”
joe forced a smile back. “comes with the job.”
a knock sounded at the door then, loud and unceremonious.
“speak of the devil,” joe muttered.
one of his friends stepped inside moments later, followed by another, laughter filling the room. they clocked you instantly. the way you were sitting there, the guitar still humming faintly in joe’s hands.
“well,” one of them said, grinning. “guess that answers that.”
you blinked. “answers what?”
joe shot them a look. “nothing.”
they ignored him.
“you just played her that song?” another friend asked, incredulous.
you glanced between them. “that song?”
joe sighed. “guys.”
they exchanged looks, the kind that spoke entire conversations without words.
“it’s… very specific,” one of them said carefully, eyes flicking to you. “don’t you think?”
you laughed. “It’s just a song.”
joe’s stomach dropped.
his friend raised an eyebrow. “right. just a song.”
you stood then, stretching. “I’m glad you played it for me,” you said to joe, sincere as ever. “It’s going to mean a lot to someone.”
joe nodded, throat tight. “yeah. I hope so.”
as you grabbed your jacket and announced you were gonna try going to bed, his friends watched you like they were seeing a puzzle piece that refused to click into place.
the door closed behind you a moment later.
silence.
“well?” one of them said.
joe didn’t look up. “don’t.”
“she has no idea,” another added.
joe laughed quietly, tired. “i know.”
they exchanged looks again.
“kay,” one of them said. “then we’re helping.”
joe finally looked up. “helping with what?”
they smiled, the kind that promised trouble.
“dropping hints,” they said. “big ones.”
joe leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes.
you had no idea what you’d started.
⭑
joe noticed it immediately.
the way his friends suddenly had a lot to say whenever you were around. the looks they gave him. pointed, like they were tired of pretending this was just a harmless thing.
you didn’t notice. of course you didn’t.
you were sitting on the floor of the living room now, back against the couch, flipping through a record sleeve while joe’s friends hovered nearby like they had an agenda.
“this one’s your favourite, right?” one of them asked you, nodding toward joe without looking at him.
you smiled. “yeah. he played it for me the other day.”
joe’s chest tightened.
“that checks out,” another friend said. “you’re kind of his… quality control.”
you laughed. “i am not.”
“you are,” they insisted. “every song he writes, he plays it for you before anyone else.”
you paused. “he does?”
joe cleared his throat. “it’s not like that.”
his friend smirked. “it’s exactly like that.”
you looked between them, confused but amused. “you guys are weird.”
joe wished he could disappear into the couch.
later, when the conversation drifted and music filled the room, one of his friends leaned closer to you, lowering their voice just enough to sound casual.
“so,” they said, “you ever think about how Joe treats you compared to… anyone else?”
you frowned slightly. “what do you mean?”
they shrugged. “just saying. he shows up. every time. kinda rare.”
joe shot them a warning look.
you glanced over at him then. he was already watching you. he always was.
your gaze lingered a beat longer than usual before you looked away.
joe felt it. that shift. small, almost imperceptible. but it was there.
later still, you checked your phone and sighed.
“he texted,” you said.
joe knew who you meant without asking.
“oh,” he said carefully. “yeah?”
“yeah. says he’s been ‘busy.’” you made air quotes. “wants to hang out this weekend.”
joe stayed quiet. his friends didn’t.
“are you gonna go?” one of them asked.
you hesitated. “I don’t know.”
joe’s heart kicked up painfully.
“well,” another friend said, glancing pointedly at joe, “some people don’t need to disappear for days to show they care.”
you looked up sharply. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
they smiled innocently. “nothing.”
joe stood. “I’m grabbing a drink.”
In the kitchen, he leaned against the counter, breathing slowly. he told himself this wasn’t fair. that it wasn’t your fault. that you hadn’t asked for this.
he felt you before he heard you.
you stepped into the doorway, arms folded loosely. “are they mad at me or something?”
joe shook his head. “no. they’re just… idiots.”
you smiled faintly but didn’t look convinced. “they keep saying stuff.”
"like what?”
you hesitated. “like I should notice things.”
joe’s stomach dropped.
you met his eyes then. really met them.
“you okay?” you asked softly.
joe forced a smile. “yeah. why?”
“i don’t know,” you said. “you’ve just been… different.”
joe laughed quietly. “different how?”
you shrugged. “quieter. and when you played that song… it felt personal.”
there it was.
joe’s heart pounded so loudly he was sure you could hear it.
“It’s just a song,” he said automatically.
you nodded, but slowly this time. “right.”
you stood there for a moment, the air thick with things neither of you were saying. joe wondered, not for the first time, what would happen if he just told you. If he stopped protecting both of you from the truth.
you broke the silence first.
“hey,” you said gently. “you know I appreciate you, right?”
joe’s smile faltered just slightly.
“yeah,” he said. “I know.”
you stepped closer, rested a hand briefly on his arm. “good.”
then you pulled away, heading back toward the living room.
joe stayed where he was, staring at the spot where you’d been standing.
because for the first time, it felt like the truth was close enough to touch.
and he didn’t know whether that terrified him, or gave him hope.
It was late by the time everyone else left.
not abruptly, just slowly, conversations tapering off, coats pulled on, promises to text. joe walked them out one by one, forcing himself to stay present, to smile, to not look back at you every five seconds like he usually did.
when he closed the door and turned around, it was quiet.
you were still there. sitting cross-legged on the couch, lights low, phone forgotten beside you. you looked smaller without the noise around you.
joe exhaled. “you don’t have to stay.”
you looked up. “i know.”
you stayed anyway.
he sat at the other end of the couch this time, not trusting himself any closer. the TV played something neither of you were watching. the silence stretched, not awkward, but loaded.
you broke it.
“they really think I’m stupid, don’t they?”
joe frowned. “who?”
“my choices,” you said, shrugging. “the guys I date. or try to.”
joe leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”
you glanced at him. “no?”
“I think you see the best in people,” he said quietly. “even when they haven’t earned it.”
you shifted, pulling your knees closer to your chest. “can I ask you something?”
joe’s heart stuttered. “yeah.”
“do you ever get tired of being the one I come to?”
the question was soft. careful. but it hit him hard.
joe sat up straighter. “what do you mean?”
you shrugged, eyes dropping to your hands. “I mean… I always bring you the mess. the disappointment. and you just-” you gestured vaguely. “you stay.”
joe laughed under his breath, but there was no humour in it. “that’s not a burden.”
you looked at him then, searching. “It’s not?”
“no,” he said immediately. too immediately. “It’s… you.”
you went quiet.
joe realised then how close he was to the edge. one wrong sentence and everything would tip. he could feel it. the truth pressing against his ribs, desperate to get out.
you shifted closer without meaning to. or maybe you did. your knee brushed his. neither of you moved away.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever loved me the way I needed,” you said softly.
joe’s breath caught.
he saw it then, the opening. clear and terrifying.
He could say it now. I do. I have. Try me.
his mouth opened.
you continued, oblivious. “I always feel like I’m asking for too much.”
joe closed his mouth again.
“you’re not,” he said instead, voice steady by force alone. “you just haven’t been asking the right people.”
you leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “maybe.”
silence settled again, heavier this time.
you yawned softly, rubbing your eyes. “I should probably go.”
joe nodded, even though every part of him resisted. “yeah. probably.”
you stood slowly, like you didn’t really want to. At the door, you hesitated.
“hey, joe?”
“yeah?”
“thank you,” you said.
joe smiled, small, careful. “always.”
you stepped forward and hugged him.
It wasn’t long. It wasn’t dramatic.
but you fit against him too well.
joe’s arms came up automatically, hands resting light on your back, like he was afraid to hold you too tight. for a second, just one, you stayed there. breathing him in. letting yourself be held.
If you stayed any longer, he would’ve said it.
you pulled away first.
“goodnight,” you said.
“night.”
he watched you walk down the hall, listened to the door close behind you.
joe stood there for a long moment after, heart loud, hands still warm where you’d been.
he walked back to the living room and picked up his guitar.
the words came easily now.
not hopeful this time. not careful.
just honest.
⭑
joe didn’t see you for two days.
not because you were avoiding him, at least, not on purpose, but because life slid in between the spaces you usually occupied together. work. errands. messages that stayed unread a little longer than usual.
joe noticed anyway.
he always did.
what he didn’t know was that you were noticing things too.
It started small.
you were lying in bed one night, staring at the ceiling, phone warm in your hand. you hadn’t meant to replay the song in your head again, but it plagued your thoughts.
Is he gonna love you like I would?
your stomach tightened.
you frowned, sitting up slightly. you’d heard it before, obviously. dozens of times. but this time, the line didn’t float through your head so easily.
you thought about the way joe had looked at you when he sang it. not searching for approval. not casual. almost… careful.
you replayed another line.
you told me yourself that he didn’t love you, he didn’t care.
your chest felt strange now. full. unsettled.
you’d told joe that. word for word.
you shook your head, laughing softly to yourself. “no,” you muttered. “that’s not-”
but the thought didn’t go away.
the next day, you caught yourself doing it again. noticing things you’d somehow missed for years.
the way Joe always angled his body toward you, even in crowded rooms. the way he never checked his phone when you were talking. the way he remembered things you didn’t remember telling him.
you remembered the couch. your head on his shoulder. how steady he’d been beneath you. how safe.
you remembered the hug at his door. how he’d held you like letting go was a choice he’d made, not something he wanted to do.
his friends’ voices echoed back, suddenly louder.
he shows up. every time.who do you think that song’s about?
your heart started to race.
later that evening, you found yourself standing outside joe’s place without fully deciding to be there. your hand hovered near the doorbell, nerves buzzing under your skin.
you hesitated.
because if you were wrong, if this was all in your head, you’d ruin everything.
but if you were right…
the door opened before you could knock.
joe blinked when he saw you. “hey.”
“hey,” you said, breathless. “sorry, I just- are you busy?”
he shook his head immediately. “no. come in.”
you stepped inside, heart pounding. the room smelled familiar. like him. like comfort.
you didn’t sit down.
“joe,” you said, then stopped. tried again. “can I ask you something?”
he nodded slowly. “yeah.”
you swallowed. “that song.”
joe went still.
“who is it about?”
the air felt tight. fragile.
joe didn’t answer right away. he looked at you like he was weighing something. like he was deciding whether to protect you or finally be honest.
“you,” he said quietly.
the word landed between you like a dropped glass.
you stared at him. “me?”
joe nodded once. “It’s always been you.”
your breath caught.
all at once, everything rearranged itself. the late nights. the patience. the way he never left, even when you gave him every reason to.
“oh,” you whispered.
joe watched your face carefully, like he was bracing for impact. “I didn’t mean for it to-”
you stepped closer without thinking.
“why didn’t you tell me?” you asked softly.
joe’s voice barely held. “because you didn’t see me like that.”
you looked at him then, really looked at him. and realised how wrong that had been.
“i think,” you said, heart hammering, “i just didn’t realise what I was looking at.”
joe’s breath shuddered.
the space between you felt electric now. Uncharted. Fragile in the best way.
nothing had happened yet.
but everything had changed.
⭑
neither of you moved for a long moment.
the room felt too quiet for what was happening inside your chest. you could hear your heartbeat, loud and insistent, like it was pushing you forward.
joe was watching you like he always did, but there was something new there now. something exposed.
“you didn’t realise,” he said gently, like he wasn’t sure you wouldn’t break. “and that’s okay.”
you shook your head. “no. It’s not that I didn’t realise.” you took a breath. “I didn’t let myself.”
joe frowned slightly. “what do you mean?”
you laughed softly, a little breathless. “you were… safe. you never left. and I think part of me thought if I named it, if I looked at it properly, I’d lose you.”
joe’s expression softened in a way that made your chest ache.
“you wouldn’t,” he said. “not like that.”
“I know,” you said now. “I do know that. I just-” you paused, choosing your words. “I’ve been replaying everything. the song. the things you’ve said. the way you show up for me. and it feels really stupid that I didn’t say it sooner.”
“It’s not stupid,” joe said. “you trusted me. that’s not nothing.”
you stepped closer. close enough that you could see the faint nervous tension in his jaw.
“joe,” you said quietly. “do you still feel that way?”
he didn’t hesitate this time.
“yes.”
one word. certain. steady.
“and it’s not just the song,” he added, voice lower now. “It’s the way you laugh when you’re trying not to. the way you ramble when you’re nervous. the way you always pretend you don’t need help, even when you do.”
your throat tightened.
“I don’t need you to decide anything right now,” he said quickly, like he was afraid of pushing. “I just needed you to know. I needed to be honest.”
you looked at him and suddenly it felt impossible not to.
“Is he gonna love you like I would?” you said softly, almost to yourself.
joe’s breath caught.
you smiled then, small but sure. “I don’t think anyone ever has.”
joe took a step closer. “are you saying-”
“I’m saying,” you interrupted gently, “that I want to try.”
his eyes searched yours. “try?”
“try us,” you said. “If you still want that.”
joe let out a quiet laugh that sounded like relief more than anything else. “I’ve wanted that for a long time.”
you didn’t plan the kiss.
it just happened. slow, tentative, like you were both checking that it was real. joe’s hand hovered at your waist before settling there, warm and grounding. the kiss wasn’t rushed. It felt like an answer.
when you pulled back, your forehead rested against his.
“guess you filled my sails,” you murmured.
joe smiled, soft and a little amazed. “guess I finally got my co-star.”
you stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in the newness of it. not dramatic. not overwhelming.
just right.
and for the first time, the future didn’t feel like something far away.
It felt like it was standing right in front of you.
⭑
it wasn’t fireworks.
that was the thing you noticed most, weeks later, sitting on joe’s kitchen counter while he made coffee you didn’t actually want but drank anyway because he handed it to you like it mattered.
there was no dramatic shift. no version of him that suddenly became someone else.
he was still Joe.
still terrible at remembering where he put his keys. still humming unfinished melodies under his breath. still glancing at you like he was checking you were real.
trying didn’t mean rushing.
it meant learning how to sit beside each other without filling the silence. It meant reaching for his hand in public and feeling him squeeze back. not surprised, just sure. It meant unlearning the habits you’d built to protect yourself, one small moment at a time.
sometimes it was clumsy.
you’d overthink things. pull back. he’d notice, always. and ask softly, “you okay?” like it wasn’t an accusation, just care.
sometimes he’d hesitate too. like he was still afraid you’d change your mind.
but then there were moments like this.
joe leaned between your knees, hands resting warm on your thighs, eyes focused on you like you were the only thing in the room.
“you know,” he said, thoughtful, “I don’t need this to be perfect.”
you smiled. “good. because I’m definitely not.”
he laughed, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. absent-minded. easy. the kind of kiss that came from habit already forming.
“I just need you to keep choosing me,” he added quietly. “even when it’s hard.”
you reached for him then, fingers brushing his jaw, grounding yourself in the fact that he was here. that he stayed.
“I am,” you said. “I choose you.”
joe’s expression softened in that way that still caught you off guard, like he was constantly a little in awe.
later, you lay tangled together on the couch, his arm around you, your head on his chest. his heartbeat was steady beneath your ear.
“this feels different,” you murmured.
“good different?” he asked.
“yeah,” you said. “like… I don’t feel like I’m chasing something anymore.”
joe pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “me neither.”
outside, the city hummed on like it always did. Inside, everything felt slow. Intentional.
you were just trying. together.
and somehow, that felt like more than enough.
