Joe Keery Fan Fiction 🖤 I write like a broken synth trying to say “stay" drifting through djo‑coded static, slow‑burn signals, and late‑night reruns. Joe keery is always orbiting my brain, djo humming in the background. Expect fics, feelings, and the occasional emotional guitar solo.
♡ Joe Keery / Djo Two Worlds One Choice- Masterlist ♡
Chapter 1 — The Library
Chapter 2 — The Moment He Turned Back
Chapter 3 — Art, Armor, and the Almost Moment
Chapter 4 — The Kiss
Chapter 5- Electric Lady
Chapter 6- The Line We Didn't Cross
Chapter 7-Halfway to Something
Chapter 8- Rooftop Mornings
Chapter 9- Figure you out
Chapter 10- Half Life
Chapter 11- The Point Of No Return
Chapter 12- Mutual Future
Chapter 13- Change
Chapter 14-Back On You
Chapter 15- On and On
Chapter 16- End Of Beginning
Chapter 17- Awake
Chapter 18- The Space Between Screens
Chapter 19- Keep Me In Your Orbit
Chapter 20- Star Chart
Chapter 21- Chateau
Chapter 22- Half In The Bubble Half In The Noise
Chapter 23- Sunlight, Paper, and Him
Chapter 24- Caught in Your Reverb
Chapter 25- The Moment Bends Sideways
Chapter 26- Fool
Chapter 27- For You
Chapter 28- Potion
Chapter 29- Gap Tooth Smile
Chapter 30- What’s a Good Life?
Chapter 31- The Sound Of Staying
STAY TUNED
Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag-list 🖤
Summary: You stay on tour, Michaela finds out in the most dramatic way possible, Joe glows like he’s been waiting his whole life for this, the boys plan a welcome party for Mira, and somewhere between soundcheck and soft kisses it feels like home
Two Worlds One Choice Masterlist
P.S I couldn’t help but use this recent picture. I mean…look at him 🤤
My phone buzzes.
Not a text.
Not a call.
A FaceTime request.
From Michaela.
Joe looks up from where he’s tuning his guitar, eyebrows lifting. “Oh no.”
I exhale. “She knows.”
He grins, delighted. “This is gonna be good.”
I accept the call.
Michaela’s face fills the screen instantly — hair wild, eyes wide, expression already halfway between joy and homicide.
“YOU’RE STAYING?!” she shrieks, shaking the phone so hard the camera blurs. “YOU’RE ACTUALLY STAYING ON TOUR? WITH HIM? WITH THE BAND?”
She cuts herself off, gasping dramatically.
“—AND ARE YOU BRINGING MIRA?!”
I wince, laughing. “Yes, I’m staying.”
She gasps like she’s inhaling a galaxy.
“OH MY GOD—”
I cut in before she combusts.
“And yes, I’m bringing Mira.”
Michaela freezes.
Like someone hit pause on her entire soul.
Then she detonates.
“YOU’RE BRINGING MIRA?!” she screams, voice cracking like a teenager at a boyband concert. “MY NIECE? MY BABY? MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT DOG?!”
Joe laughs so loudly he almost drops his guitar.
Michaela points at the screen like she’s delivering a court summons.
“And WHY,” she demands, “did I hear this from OUR BOSS before I heard it from YOU?”
I choke. “She called you?!”
“She called me to ask if I knew you were going remote,” Michaela says, scandalized. “And I said, ‘Remote for WHAT?’ And then she said, ‘Oh, she didn’t tell you?’ And THEN I ascended into the astral plane.”
Joe is wheezing.
Michaela leans closer, eyes narrowing.
“You. Owe. Me. DETAILS.”
She spots Joe instantly.
“Oh my GOD, is he right there? JOE. JOSEPH. GET OVER HERE.”
Joe freezes like he’s been hit with a tranquilizer dart.
I shrug. “You heard her.”
He drags himself into frame like a man walking toward a firing squad.
Michaela gasps.
“LOOK at him. LOOK at his FACE. He’s glowing. He’s literally glowing. I knew it. I KNEW IT.”
Michaela smirks like she just dropped a bomb and walked away from the explosion.
Michaela: “You stole my best friend and now she lives on a BUS with you.”
Joe grins, gentle and amused. “I didn’t steal her. I just… borrowed her indefinitely.”
Michaela shrieks. “INDEFINITELY?!”
Joe laughs under his breath. “Relax. She’s safe with me.”
Michaela narrows her eyes. “She better be. I swear, Joe, if she comes home even one percent sad—”
Joe lifts a hand, calm, steady. “She won’t. I’ve got her.”
Michaela pauses, softening. “Okay. Good. Because I love her more than oxygen.”
Joe smiles. “Yeah. I know.”
Michaela: “And I’m still mad you didn’t tell me first.”
Joe: “Hey, I found out like five seconds before you did.”
Michaela gasps. “THAT’S NOT THE POINT.”
Joe laughs. “Pretty sure it is.”
She points at him like she’s about to assign chores.
“You better send me updates. I want pictures. I want videos. I want proof of life.”
Joe nods solemnly. “I can do that.”
Michaela: “And I want to SEE Mira the second she gets there. FaceTime me. I’m already missing that pup.”
Joe: “We’ll call you. Promise.”
Michaela softens again, voice warm. “Okay. Good. Because I’m really happy for you two.”
Joe’s expression shifts still light, but sincere.
“Me too.”
Michaela: “Ugh, don’t get mushy on me.”
Joe: “You started it.”
Michaela: “I DID NOT—”
Joe: “You absolutely did.”
I’m laughing so hard I can barely hold the phone.
Michaela lifts a hand, calling a timeout.
“Okay, okay—Joe, can I talk to her alone for a sec? In a good way. I promise I won’t yell.”
Joe glances at me, checking, then nods. “Yeah, of course.”
He squeezes my knee before stepping out of frame, giving me that warm little smile that says I’m right here.
The second he’s gone, Michaela’s whole face softens and the chaos melts right off her.
“Hey,” she says quietly. “Look at you.”
I blink. “What?”
She smiles, gentle and proud. “You’re happy.”
My throat tightens.
She nods, like she’s been waiting to say this. “I knew if you made this decision, it wasn’t gonna be lightly. You don’t do big life changes on a whim. So when our boss called me to confirm your remote stuff, I just… knew.”
“Knew what?” I whisper.
“That you were choosing this because it’s real,” she says. “Because you’re choosing Joe. And because you’re finally letting yourself be loved the way you deserve.”
My eyes sting.
Michaela keeps going, softer. “And I’m proud of you. For letting something good in. For letting yourself have this.”
I laugh a little, wiping at my cheek. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
“Good,” she says, smiling. “I cried earlier. Now we’re even.”
I laugh.
She leans closer to the camera. “And listen… I’m gonna miss you. And I’m gonna miss Mira. Like, aggressively.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“But I’m also so, so happy for you,” she says. “This is good. This is right. And I’m here. Always.”
My chest aches in the best way.
“Thank you,” I say.
She grins. “Now go get your boyfriend back on screen before he thinks I’m threatening you.”
I wave Joe back in, and he appears almost immediately like he was hovering just out of frame, waiting for the all‑clear.
He crouches beside me, eyes flicking over my face first, checking.
Always checking.
“You good?” he asks quietly, voice warm.
I nod, smiling. “Yeah. She was just being sweet.”
Michaela smirks. “Don’t tell him that. I have a reputation.”
Joe laughs, soft and genuine. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
He settles beside me, shoulder brushing mine, and Michaela’s whole expression shifts into that smug, satisfied best‑friend look.
“There he is,” she says. “Your little musician boyfriend.”
Joe raises an eyebrow. “Little?”
Michaela waves a hand. “You know what I mean. Anyway—take care of her.”
Joe doesn’t joke this time.
Doesn’t tease.
Doesn’t deflect.
He just nods, steady and sure.
“I will,” he says. “I promise Michaela.”
My chest tightens.
Michaela beams. “Okay, I’m hanging up before I start crying again. FaceTime me when Mira gets there.”
“We will,” I promise.
She blows a dramatic kiss, points two fingers at Joe in a “I’m watching you” gesture, and ends the call.
The screen goes dark.
Joe exhales, smiling at me.
“That went better than I expected.”
I laugh. “She loves you.”
He shrugs, cheeks pink. “I love her too. In a… terrifying older sister kind of way.”
I lean into him, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders without thinking, pulling me close.
“You sure your okay?” he asks again, softer this time.
I nod into him. “Yeah. I really am.”
He leans in, forehead brushing mine. “I’m glad she’s excited. I want the people you care about to feel good about this.”
I swallow, soft. “They do.”
He smiles that quiet, relieved one he only gives me.
And then— the bus door creaks open.
Wes pokes his head in first, eyes wide.
“Is the storm over?”
Joe laughs. “She wasn’t a storm.”
Wes: “She screamed like a storm.”
Javi steps in behind him, grinning. “I told him to wait. I said, ‘Give them space,’ but no one listens to me.”
Wes: “I just wanted to know if she approved of us.”
I laugh. “She approves.”
Wes pumps a fist. “YES. Okay. Good. Because I’m helping plan Mira’s welcome.”
Javi nods sagely. “She needs a party. A proper one.”
Joe looks at them like he’s already exhausted. “She’s a dog.”
I tilt my head, deadpan.
“What do you mean she’s a dog? I thought you said she was your adopted child.”
Joe freezes.
His ears go pink.
He looks at me like I’ve just exposed state secrets.
Wes gasps, pointing at him. “DUDE. You DID say that.”
I nod, smug. “Yup.”
Joe drags a hand down his face. “I said she feels like—okay, you know what, never mind.”
Javi: “A child deserves a party.”
Wes: “I’m thinking balloons.”
Joe: “Absolutely not.”
Wes: “Streamers?”
Joe: “No.”
Javi: “A tasteful banner.”
Joe sighs. “We’ll… talk about it.”
I nudge him gently. “See? Even your child gets a welcome committee.”
He gives me that soft, embarrassed smile — the one that says he’s flustered but secretly loves it.
“Yeah, well… she’s important.”
Adam walks in the bus and checks his watch. “Alright, children. Soundcheck in ten.”
Wes groans. “But I want to talk about the party.”
Joe stands, offering me his hand. “Later. We’ll figure it out.”
I take his hand, and he pulls me up gently.
Wes: “I’m bringing streamers.”
Joe: “No you’re not.”
Javi: “We’ll negotiate Wes, don’t worry.”
They file out of the bus, grabbing gear and water bottles.
Joe lingers beside me. “You coming?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’ll watch.”
He smiles, brushing a kiss to my temple. “Good.”
Joe lingers behind just long enough to lace his fingers through mine before we follow them out. The venue is already humming, cables snaking across the floor, techs adjusting lights, the low thrum of amps warming up. It feels like stepping into the heartbeat of the tour.
Joe gives my hand a gentle squeeze before he heads toward the stage, slipping into work mode with that quiet focus he gets right before a show. The boys scatter to their stations, joking and tuning and tapping mics, but every few minutes one of them glances over like they’re making sure I’m still part of the orbit.
I settle onto a road case off to the side, the metal cool beneath me, and pull out my phone. The moment I open my calendar, something in my chest tightens in a good way. I scroll through dates, checking flight options, pickup windows, and the earliest day Mira could realistically arrive. It feels suddenly real, like I’m stitching two parts of my life together.
Joe looks over from center stage, mid‑mic adjustment, and when he catches me staring at my phone, he gives me that soft little smile the one that says he knows exactly what I’m doing and he loves me for it. I smile back, cheeks warm.
Wes notices too. He leans around his drum kit, eyebrows raised, and mouths, “WELCOME PARTY.”
I shake my head, laughing silently. He beams like he’s already planning a parade.
The band launches into their first run‑through, the sound filling the room, vibrating through the floor and up my legs. Joe’s voice blends into the mix, steady and warm, and every so often he glances over at me again, not checking on me, exactly, but… anchoring. Like he wants me to know I’m part of this world now.
And while they play, I keep scrolling, keep planning, keep imagining Mira curled up on the bus, her little bed tucked into a corner that Joe will absolutely help me set up.
By the time they finish the last chorus, I’ve already bookmarked three possible arrival dates.
And suddenly, Mira’s arrival isn’t just a plan, its the next chapter.
The last chord rings out, echoing through the empty venue, and the boys start drifting offstage — grabbing water bottles, joking, arguing about whether balloons are “tour‑safe.” Joe hands off his mic, thanks the tech, and then immediately scans the room for me.
He spots me sitting on the road case, phone still in my hand, and his whole face softens.
He walks over, wiping his hands on a towel, and stops right in front of me.
“You were looking at dates, weren’t you.” he says gently.
It’s not a question.
It’s him knowing me.
I nod. “Yeah. I was checking flights. Seeing how soon she could get here.”
Joe steps between my knees, close but not crowding, and rests his hands lightly on my thighs. “And?”
I swallow. “Soon. Like… really soon.”
His smile grows slow and warm, like sunrise. “Good. I want her here.”
I laugh softly. “You just want your ‘adopted child’ back.”
He groans, dropping his head to my shoulder. “I’m never living that down.”
I slide my fingers into his hair, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. He melts instantly — that little exhale he does when he feels safe.
“You don’t have to live it down,” I murmur. “It was sweet.”
He lifts his head, eyes soft. “I just meant she’s… part of you. And I love her because I love you.”
He brushes a thumb along my cheek, gentle. “And I want her here. I want you both here.”
I lean into his touch. “She’s gonna love this. All of it. The bus. The boys. You.”
He smiles, forehead touching mine. “Then let’s make it good for her.”
I nod. “We will.”
He kisses me — soft, slow, grounding — the kind of kiss that makes every ounce of worry melt away.
When he pulls back, he whispers, “Tell me what you found. We’ll figure it out together.”
And just like that, Mira’s arrival becomes something they’re planning as a team.
Prompt: Pick a Djoling and a Djo song you relate to him.
What if I did multiple songs for multiple Djolings? What then? (I'm sorry for breaking the rules I just have zero self-control)
Warning for Marmalade spoilers if you haven't seen the movie (which I HIGHLY recommend as its in my Top 5)
Starting off with Steve Harrington. He's so Basic Being Basic. I've thought it since that song came out. I wish more people edited Steve to that song on TikTok. Also End of Beginning. Honestly so many Djo songs remind me of him, though. Listing all the Steve-coded Djo songs in my head would take up so much of this post. Basic Being Basic is just the biggest one.
Next to Walter "Keys" McKey. I would have to say its a tie between Delete Ya and Half Life. Delete Ya just reminds me of him because it reminds me of his relationship to Millie. Half Life just really fits his overall vibes, plus its the name of a video game I think he'd be super nerdy about lmao. I can also see Runner and On And On for him. He's just very DECIDE coded in my head.
Now to Kurt Kunkle (my special loser): Gloom, Fool, Tentpole Shangrila and Flash Mountain. He's just very Twenty Twenty and DECIDE coded to me.
For Gator Tillman, Awake is THE song I associate with him. The guitar breakdown is just spot on his vibes in my head. I love Gator and that song so dearly. For other songs, I'd also pick Uglyfisherman tbh.
Getting to Baron Lamram specifically BEFORE the plot twist, Charlie's Garden, Gap Tooth Smile and Back On You. He's just very Crux-coded in my head, especially the brighter more upbeat tracks.
Now Baron Lamram specifically AFTER the plot twist: Grime Of The World, Purgatory Silverstar, Change, Roddy, and I Want Your Video are HIS songs in my head. Grime Of The World especially because it's a critique on the money-hungry capitalistic society we live in, which is exactly Baron's political stance. He's so DECIDE and The Crux Deluxe coded specifically in my head post-reveal.
Finally, for Travis "Teacake" Meacham: Mr. Mountebank, Try Me and Personal Lies for sure. Mostly just for the vibes.
Saw these pics and immediately thought of the dog on tour with djo!
RIGHT?? I saw that pic and immediately thought the universe was getting a little too on‑the‑nose… like why is he out here recreating my storyline in real time?! Joe Keery get out of my drafts 😂🖤
I’m in sweats and a loose T‑shirt, fresh out of the shower after a long shift, still toweling the ends of my hair when I hear it…three soft knocks, spaced just enough that I know exactly who it is.
I open the door, and Baron is standing there.
A hoodie, worn jeans, hair a little messy like he ran his hands through it on the walk over. His eyes lift when he sees me, and something in his face softens.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey,” I answer, stepping aside. “Everything okay?”
He nods, stepping in. “Yeah. I got her in a good spot. She’s resting. Breathing’s steady. I just—”
He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I wanted to see you.”
The words land warm in my chest.
“You can always come here,” I say.
He gives a small, grateful smile — the kind that looks like it costs him nothing and everything at the same time.
I walk to the counter and grab the small pharmacy bag I set aside earlier. When I turn back, he’s watching me with that soft, searching look he gets when he’s trying to understand something without asking.
“I have something for you,” I say, handing him the bag.
He opens it.
Sees the pleonexia.
Freezes.
“Emma…” His voice goes low, rough.
“I had some extra samples,” I say gently. “It’s enough to buy you a couple more weeks.”
He stares at the bottles like they’re something fragile. Something he doesn’t deserve.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Really. But you can’t keep doing this.”
“I want to help.”
“I know,” he says, meeting my eyes. “But you shouldn’t have to risk your job just because the people who make this stuff get rich off folks like us.”
There’s frustration in his voice now — quiet, simmering, controlled.
Not at me.
Never at me.
At the world.
At the system.
At the way everything feels stacked against him.
“I just…” He exhales, shaking his head. “I gotta figure something out. Money. Something steady. Something fast.”
My stomach tightens. “Baron… what does that mean?”
He looks at me and I see it the fear, the pressure, the desperation he’s trying to hide.
“Hey,” I say softly, stepping closer. “Talk to me. What are you thinking?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he reaches out, cups my face gently, and kisses me.
Warm.
Intentional.
A kiss that says not right now,
not this conversation,
not this fear.
His forehead rests against mine when he pulls back, breath warm against my lips.
“I just wanted to see you,” he whispers. “That’s all.”
I swallow, my hands resting lightly on his chest. “I’m here.”
He nods, eyes closing for a moment like he’s letting himself lean into the comfort.
Then he exhales, long and slow, and sinks onto the couch not collapsing, just settling, like he finally let himself stop moving.
“You mind if I stay a bit?” he asks quietly.
“Of course not.”
I sit beside him, close enough that our knees brush. He leans back, head resting against the cushion, eyes drifting to the pleonexia bottles on the table.
His jaw tightens again — that same quiet frustration — but he doesn’t say anything. Not now.
I shift closer, letting my shoulder touch his.
“You smell good,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
I laugh softly. “I just showered.”
“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “I noticed.”
He drapes his arm along the back of the couch, not pulling me in, just offering. I lean into him, and he lets his arm settle around me, warm and steady.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
The room is quiet.
The world is quiet.
And he’s here.
Still here.
Still choosing this.
“I’m gonna figure it out,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper. “The money. All of it. I’m not letting her go without a fight.”
I turn my head slightly. “Baron…”
He shakes his head, eyes fixed on the wall. “Not tonight. I don’t wanna think about it tonight.”
I nod, resting my head against his shoulder.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Tonight we just… sit.”
He exhales, his arm tightening around me just a little.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just sit.”
We end up putting a movie on.
Halfway through, he shifts just enough to look at me. His fingers brush my cheek, gentle, testing.
“You good?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
He leans in and kisses me.
Soft.
Slow.
The kind of kiss that says I needed this.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, thumb brushing lightly along my skin. I melt into him, kissing him back, letting the moment hold us both steady.
When he pulls back, he stays close, his forehead resting against mine.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “Just… wanted that.”
“Baron, stop apologizing. Keep kissing me.”
He smiles — small, tired, real — and kisses me again, even deeper this time. But then…
His hand pauses.
His breathing changes just a little too shallow.
His eyes drift toward the pleonexia bottles on the table.
Not long.
Not obvious.
Just enough.
Enough for me to feel the weight settle back onto him.
“Hey what’s wrong?” I ask softly.
“Yeah,” he says too quickly. “Just… thinking I should head back soon. Make sure she’s still good.”
There’s nothing wrong with the words.
Nothing wrong with the tone.
But something in him has tightened again.
He stands slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, hoodie shifting with the motion. He looks at me like he wants to stay like he really, truly does but something heavier is pulling him back.
“I had a good time,” he says quietly.
“Me too.”
He steps closer, cups my face gently, and kisses me one more time soft, lingering, almost grateful.
When he pulls back, something flickers in his expression. Not fear. Not doubt. Just weight. The kind he’s been carrying alone for too long.
I catch his hand before he can step away.
“Baron,” I say quietly.
He stops.
Not turns.
Not looks.
Just stops like the sound of his name from my mouth is enough to hold him in place.
I step closer, my fingers still around his. “You don’t have to walk out of here like you’re already halfway gone.”
His shoulders rise with a breath he tries to hide. “I’m not—”
“You are,” I say gently. “Just a little.”
That gets him. His jaw works, eyes dropping to the floor like he’s trying to gather himself before he faces me again.
When he finally looks up, his voice is low. “I don’t want you worrying about me.”
“I’m already worrying,” I say. “That’s not going to change just because you pretend everything’s fine.”
He swallows, throat tight. “I don’t want to drag you into all this.”
“You didn’t drag me,” I say. “I walked.”
That lands.
I see it the way his breath stutters, the way his eyes soften like he’s not sure he deserves the steadiness I’m offering.
He steps closer again, slow, hesitant, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves too fast.
“Emma…” he murmurs. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You’re doing it,” I say. “Right now.”
He lets out a shaky breath, almost a laugh, almost a sigh. “Feels like I’m messing it up.”
“You’re not.”
He looks at me for a long moment something in him eases.
Not all the way.
Not even halfway.
But enough.
Enough to stay.
He sits back down on the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. I sit beside him again, close enough that our knees touch.
He doesn’t pull away.
After a moment, he speaks, voice quiet. “When I saw those bottles… I just— it hit me how close everything is. How fast it’s all moving. How little time I have to figure things out.”
I nod, waiting.
“I keep thinking,” he continues, “if I can just get ahead of it, just once maybe I can breathe. Maybe she can breathe.”
I rest my hand over his. “You don’t have to figure it out alone.”
He looks down at our hands, then up at me, eyes tired but warm. “I know. That’s the part that scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because if I let myself lean on you,” he says softly, “I’m afraid I won’t know how to stop.”
My thumb brushes his knuckles. “Maybe you don’t have to stop.”
He leans back, head resting against the cushion, eyes closing for a moment. “I should still go check on her.”
“I know,” I say. “But you can sit a little longer.”
He nods, eyes still closed. “Yeah. A little longer.”
We sit together in the quiet, the movie still playing softly in the background. His breathing evens out. His shoulders drop. His hand stays in mine.
Not gripping.
Not holding on for dear life.
Just there.
Present.
Choosing this moment.
Choosing me.
After a while, he opens his eyes again, softer now. “Can I come back tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
He nods, like that answer is something he needed more than he realized.
He stands again and when he leans in to kiss my forehead, it’s gentle in a way that feels like a promise.
“I’ll stop by when I can,” he says quietly. “You’ll see me.”
“Okay.”
He hesitates at the door, hand on the knob, looking back at me with that quiet, earnest expression that hits me right in the chest.
“Thank you,” he says. “For… all of it.”
I smile. “Go take care of her.”
He nods once, then slips out the door.
The door clicks softly behind him.
And for a moment I just stand there, staring at the wood like it might open again. The apartment is still warm from where he sat, from where he held me, from the way he said he’d come back tomorrow.
Tomorrow feels close.
Certain.
Simple.
But morning comes.
And he doesn’t.
Not in a dramatic way.
Not in a he‑changed‑his‑mind way.
Just… not at all.
The apartment feels too quiet.
Too still.
Too aware of the absence.
I try to go about my morning like coffee, dishes, opening the blinds but every sound outside the door makes my heart jump. Every footstep makes me pause.
Three soft knocks.
That’s what I’m listening for.
But they never come.
By mid‑morning, the silence feels like it’s pressing against my ribs. Not loud. Not ominous. Just wrong. Wrong in a way I can’t ignore anymore.
So I grab my keys.
And I go.
The drive to his house feels heavier than it should. The morning air is cool, the kind that wakes your skin but not your mind. His street is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels like it’s holding its breath.
When I reach the porch, I pause.
The front door is cracked open.
Not wide.
Not suspicious.
Just… not fully closed.
Like someone left in a hurry.
Or forgot.
Or didn’t have the energy to check it.
I knock softly anyway. “Eda? It’s Emma.”
No answer.
I push the door open a little more and step inside.
The house is dim, curtains drawn halfway. It smells like tea and medicine and something faintly metallic underneath — the scent of worry that’s been sitting too long.
“Eda?” I call again, quieter this time.
A soft voice answers from down the hall. “Back here, sweetheart.”
Relief hits me so fast my knees almost give.
I walk to her room, pushing the door open gently. Eda is propped up against pillows, blankets tucked around her, hair brushed back but still thin with exhaustion. She gives me a small smile.
“Well aren’t you a sight,” she says. “Come in.”
I move to her bedside, checking her color, her breathing, the way her hands tremble just a little.
“How’re you feeling?” I ask.
“Better than last night,” she says. “Still tired.”
My eyes flick to the empty chair beside her bed, the blanket tossed over the arm of it, the mug on the nightstand still half‑full of cold tea.
“Was Baron up with you?” I ask softly.
She nods. “Most of the night.”
My stomach tightens. “Is he here?”
Eda shakes her head. “No, honey. He left early.”
“How early?”
“Before the sun came up,” she says. “Didn’t say where he was going. Just kissed my forehead and went.”
Something cold slides down my spine.
I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to keep my voice steady. “Did he seem okay?”
Eda hesitates and that hesitation says everything.
“He looked tired,” she says finally. “Worn down. Like he hadn’t slept in days.”
My chest tightens. “Has he been sleeping?”
“Not much,” she admits. “He thinks I don’t notice, but I do. He’s been pacing at night. Leaving the room. Coming back hours later. He’s trying so hard to keep it together.”
I swallow. “Did he say anything?”
“Just that he needed to take care of something,” she murmurs. “Something important.”
Important.
Urgent.
Gone before sunrise.
Door left open.
My pulse stutters.
Eda reaches out, her hand warm against mine. “He’s scared, Emma. He won’t say it, but I can see it.”
I nod, throat tight.
Because I can see it too.
I saw it last night — in the way he held me, in the way he looked at the pills, in the way he left like something was already pulling him away.
“Where do you think he went?” I whisper.
Eda shakes her head. “I don’t know. But he’s carrying something heavy. He’s been carrying it alone for too long.”
I look toward the doorway, the empty hall, the quiet house, and the open front door.
Summary: Domestic mornings, emotional phone calls, Joe’s heart on his sleeve, the band adopting your dog, and a quiet “i’m happy” to end the day
Two Worlds One Choice Masterlist
Four cities later, the bus doesn’t feel foreign anymore.
It feels… lived in.
There’s an empty coffee mug rolling gently on the counter with every turn. Someone’s hoodie (definitely Wes’) is draped over the back of the couch. A half‑finished crossword is tucked into the cupholder by the window. And Joe’s guitar — the one he swears he doesn’t baby — is lying across the small dining bench like it’s a person.
I’m curled up on the couch in one of Joe’s shirts, legs tucked under me, watching the blur of highway through the window. It’s early, too early, but the bus is already humming with quiet movement.
Joe emerges from the tiny bunk hallway, hair soft and messy, eyes still heavy with sleep. He spots me and his whole face softens in that way that still knocks the air out of my chest.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice low and warm.
He leans down and kisses the top of my head before heading to the tiny counter. He moves around quietly, familiar, like he’s been making coffee in this cramped little kitchen forever. The smell fills the bus, warm and grounding.
He hands me a mug and sits beside me, thigh pressed against mine. “Sleep okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning into him. “Especially when I’m sleeping next to you.”
He smiles, that soft, private one he only gives me and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before kissing the top of my head.
We sit like that for a while, the bus rocking gently, the world outside still waking up. No rush. No pressure. Just the quiet comfort of being together.
Then he shifts, turning toward me, and his hand slides to the back of my neck, gentle, warm, certain. He kisses me, slow and sleepy, the kind of kiss that feels like a good‑morning and a good‑grief‑I‑missed‑you all at once.
“Hi,” he whispers against my lips.
I smile. “Hi.”
He kisses me again, softer this time, like he’s savoring the moment before the day starts.
A door clicks open down the hall.
Wes shuffles out first, hair sticking up in every direction, wearing mismatched socks and a shirt that definitely isn’t his.
“Coffee?” he croaks.
Joe snorts. “Help yourself, man.”
Wes pours a cup, takes a sip, winces. “Who made this?”
“I did,” Joe says.
“Oh. That explains the… enthusiasm.”
Joe throws a balled‑up napkin at him.
A few minutes later, Adam emerges, rubbing his eyes, mumbling something about a dream involving a raccoon and a fog machine. Then Matt appears, already scrolling his phone, already complaining about something he hasn’t even experienced yet.
The bus fills with sleepy voices, soft laughter, the easy rhythm of people who’ve been living on top of each other for weeks.
And somehow… I feel like I fit.
I stand, stretching. “I can make something if you guys want. Just eggs and toast or whatever’s here.”
Joe immediately shakes his head. “Baby, you don’t gotta do that.”
“I know,” I say, smiling. “I want to.”
He softens visibly and steps aside so I can get to the tiny fridge.
The guys perk up like puppies.
“Are you sure?” Adam asks. “That’s really nice of you.”
“Seriously,” Wes adds. “Thank you.”
Matt nods, sincere for once. “Yeah, thanks. That’s… really sweet.”
I crack eggs into a bowl, whisking them while the toaster clicks on. Joe stands behind me, arms sliding around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder.
“You sure you don’t need help?” he murmurs.
“You’ll get in the way,” I tease.
“Exactly,” he says, kissing the side of my neck.
I swat him off, laughing, and he backs up with his hands raised like he’s been caught stealing.
The eggs cook quickly, the toast pops up, and I plate everything. It’s nothing fancy — scrambled eggs, toast, a little fruit — but the guys act like I’ve served a gourmet brunch.
“This is amazing,” Wes says with his mouth full.
“Your too nice, but it’s just eggs,” I say.
“Well I can taste the love!” Wes laughs.
“Yeah,” Joe chimes in, sliding into the seat beside me, “but my eggs better have more love than everyone else’s.”
I elbow him. “Stop.”
He grins, kisses my temple, and steals a piece of my toast.
The morning is slow and warm and stupidly domestic — the kind of morning that makes the bus feel like a home instead of a vehicle.
By late morning, the bus has parked behind the venue, and everyone’s buzzing with that weird pre‑show energy — too early to soundcheck, too late to go back to sleep. Someone, I think Sam, mentions a trail behind the venue, and within minutes the whole group is grabbing water bottles like a field trip is happening.
Joe laces his fingers through mine as we step off the bus, the sun warm on our faces. “You up for this?” he asks softly.
“Yeah,” I say. “Feels nice out.”
The trail is easy — more of a winding path through trees than a real hike — but the guys treat it like an expedition.
Wes is narrating like he’s filming a nature documentary.
Sam keeps stopping to take pictures of weird plants.
Teddy is complaining about the incline even though there isn’t one.
Javi is walking ahead with his hands in his pockets, humming something that might be a new song.
Joe stays beside me the whole time.
Not clingy.
Just… close.
Like he’s been waiting for a moment alone with me that isn’t really alone but close enough.
We fall a few steps behind the group, the sound of their laughter drifting ahead of us. Joe squeezes my hand, thumb brushing the back of it in slow, absent circles.
“You having fun?” he asks.
I look up at him. “Yeah. I really am.”
He smiles and nudges my shoulder with his. “Good.”
We walk a little more, sunlight flickering through the trees, the air warm and quiet. And then he exhales, like he’s been holding something in for days.
“Hey…” he says gently.
I glance over. “Yeah?”
He hesitates — just a second — then:
“Did you… talk to your boss yet?”
Soft.
A little scared.
I swallow. “Not yet.”
He nods, looking down at the path. “Okay.”
But the way he says it, the way his fingers tighten around mine, tells me everything. He’s trying so hard not to pressure me. Trying so hard to be patient. Trying so hard to pretend he’s not thinking about it every second.
I stop walking.
He stops too, turning toward me, brows lifting slightly like he’s bracing for whatever comes next.
“I’m going to,” I say quietly. “Today.”
His breath catches, just barely and he nods again, slower this time. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I don’t wanna push you to do anything your not ready for.”
Ahead of us, Javi calls out, “You two coming or what?”
Sam waves us forward.
Wes is already complaining about being hungry.
Joe gives me a small, grateful smile before brushing a kiss to my cheek.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
We start walking again, his hand finding mine like it’s second nature. The trail opens up into a clearing with a view of the city, and the guys cheer like they’ve summited Everest.
Joe stands behind me, arms sliding around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder as we look out at the skyline.
“You don’t have to rush,” he murmurs. “Just… knowing you’re thinking about it means everything.”
I lean back into him, letting myself sink into the warmth of his chest, the steadiness of his hands, the quiet certainty of him.
Back at the venue, everyone splits off. Javi and Sam head toward catering, Teddy wanders off to find coffee, Wes and Adam disappear toward load‑in. Joe stays with me, walking me back toward the bus, his hand brushing mine every few steps like he’s grounding himself.
He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t push.
He just stays close.
When we step inside the bus, it’s quiet. Cool. Familiar. The kind of quiet that makes decisions feel louder.
I sit on the couch.
Joe stands for a second, shifting his weight like he’s not sure whether to sit or pace or breathe.
“You want me to go?” he asks softly.
I shake my head. “No. Just… don’t hover.”
He gives a guilty little smile because he absolutely will hover but he nods and sits across from me, pretending to scroll his phone, pretending not to watch me unlock mine.
My stomach twists.
My hands are shaking.
This is the moment everything becomes real.
I hit call.
It rings once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—
“Hey! Everything alright?” my boss answers, bright and warm like always.
“Yeah,” I say, though my voice wavers. “I just… wanted to talk about something important.”
Joe’s head lifts slightly.
He’s listening without looking like he’s listening.
I explain carefully, vaguely that I’m traveling, that I want to keep working, that I can handle everything remotely.
There’s a pause.
A long one.
Then she sighs softly. “You know we really lean on you, right? You’re one of the people I count on the most.”
My stomach drops.
Joe’s fingers tighten around his phone.
“I know,” I say quietly. “And I don’t want to leave you hanging. If remote isn’t possible… maybe I should take a leave of absence for a little while.”
Joe’s head snaps up at that.
His eyes widen.
He looks like he stops breathing.
Another pause.
Then my boss says, “A leave… I mean, we could do that. But honestly? I’d rather keep you if we can. Why don’t we try remote first? See how it goes. If it doesn’t work, we’ll revisit the leave.”
Relief hits me so hard I almost laugh.
“Oh,” I breathe. “Really? You’re okay with that?”
“I trust you,” she says simply. “Let’s give it a shot.”
We talk logistics for a minute check‑ins, deadlines, expectations and then we hang up.
I stare at my phone, letting the words settle.
Then I look up.
Joe is already kneeling in front of me.
He searches my face like he’s afraid to hope. “What happened?”
“I can stay,” I whisper. “She wants to try remote work first.”
His breath leaves him in a shaky exhale, like he’s been holding it since the hike. He drops his forehead to my sternum, arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me into him like he needs the contact to believe it.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, voice thick. “I thought— when you said leave of absence— I thought you were about to tell me you couldn’t—”
I slide my hands into his hair. “I’m here. I’m staying.”
He lifts his head, eyes shining, and cups my face with both hands. “Thank you. Thank you for fighting for this. For trying. For not giving up on—”
His voice breaks.
I kiss him — slow, grounding, certain — and he melts into it, hands trembling just a little against my cheeks.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine.
“You have no idea what this means to me,” he whispers.
For a second, he just breathes there like he’s trying to steady himself and then something in him breaks loose. A laugh, a breath, a sound that’s half disbelief and half joy.
Before I can react, his hands slide to my waist and he lifts me clean off the couch.
“Joe—!” I gasp, laughing as he spins me once, just once, careful and gentle even in his excitement.
He sets me back down immediately, hands still on my waist, eyes bright and warm and a little glassy.
“I just—” he says, breathless, shaking his head like he can’t wrap his mind around it. “I can’t believe you’re staying with us.”
The way he says us makes my chest tighten.
And then he kisses me deeply. Lovingly.
When he pulls back, he presses another quick kiss to my cheek, then my forehead, then the tip of my nose like he can’t help himself.
He’s still holding my waist, still a little breathless from spinning me, still looking at me like he’s trying to memorize every inch of my face.
The world outside keeps moving.
But in here, everything feels still.
He brushes a thumb along my cheek, slower this time, gentler. “I really thought you were gonna go home,” he says, voice quiet, almost shy. “I’ve been trying to pretend I wasn’t thinking about it, but… I was. Every day.”
I slide my hands up his arms, feeling the tension finally leaving him. “I’m here,” I say softly. “I’m staying.”
He exhales like those words physically loosen something in him.
Then he sits beside me on the couch and pulls me into his chest not urgently, not possessively, just… like he needs me close. Like he’s been waiting to hold me without fear of losing me.
I curl into him, my legs draped over his, his arms wrapped around me in a way that feels protective and relieved all at once.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
He just holds me.
And I let myself be held.
His chin rests on the top of my head, his fingers tracing slow, absent shapes on my arm. Every now and then he presses a soft kiss into my hair, like he can’t help it.
“You know what’s crazy?” he murmurs eventually.
“What?”
“I feel like I can finally enjoy this. The tour. The days. The stupid little moments.” His hand tightens around mine. “Because you’re not leaving. Because you’re here.”
I tilt my head up, and he meets me halfway, kissing me again soft, lingering, grateful. The kind of kiss that feels like a promise, not a question.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed, breathing me in.
“I’m really happy,” he whispers. “I just… needed you to know that.”
I smile, brushing my thumb along his jaw. “I know.”
He tucks me back against his chest, arms around me, the two of us sinking into the couch like we’ve finally found the right place to land.
After a while the bus door swings open and Teddy’s voice fills the hallway. “Hey, did you guys— oh.”
He freezes when he sees me curled against Joe on the couch, Joe’s arms still around me like he hasn’t quite convinced himself I’m real.
Teddy blinks. “Uh. Should I… come back?”
Joe laughs under his breath and presses one last kiss into my hair before sitting up a little. “No, man. You’re good.”
Sam appears behind him, then Javi, then Wes and Adam — and finally Matt, who steps in last, leaning against the doorframe with that quiet, knowing look like he already solved the mystery.
“What’s going on?” Sam asks, eyes bouncing between us.
I open my mouth to answer, but Joe beats me to it — of course he does.
“She’s staying,” he says, voice warm and proud and a little breathless. “She got remote approval. She’s staying with us for the rest of tour.”
For a second, the bus is silent.
Then it erupts.
Wes: “No way! That’s amazing!”
Adam: “Dude, that’s huge.”
Sam: “We get to keep her? Hell yeah.”
Teddy: “Finally, some consistency around here.”
Javi grins. “Welcome to the circus.”
And Matt steps forward, smiling in that steady, older‑brother way of his. “That’s really good news. I’m glad you’re sticking around. It’s been nice having you here.”
Joe’s hand finds mine, squeezing like he’s still grounding himself in the reality of it.
Wes claps his hands together. “Okay, group rule: nobody stress her out.”
Sam points at Joe. “Especially you.”
Joe rolls his eyes so hard it’s theatrical. “Okay, relax.”
Everyone laughs.
The bus feels full not crowded, but full of warmth, of relief, of something that feels like belonging.
Javi claps his hands. “We should celebrate.”
Teddy nods. “Yeah. Like… snacks or something.”
Adam groans. “Snacks? That’s your idea of celebrating?”
Wes: “It’s a tour bus, man. What do you want, fireworks?”
They all start bickering about what counts as a celebration, and Joe leans in close, voice low just for me.
“See?” he murmurs. “They’re happy you’re here too.”
I look around at the chaos Sam trying to find a playlist, Teddy insisting on sparkling water, Matt shaking his head like he’s babysitting all of them and something warm settles in my chest.
I’m part of this now.
Really part of it.
And Joe…
He’s watching me with that soft, private smile again.
Like he can finally enjoy this.
Like he can finally enjoy me.
And then Joe straightens beside me, that spark lighting up behind his eyes.
“Hold up,” he says, lifting a hand. “Guys, wait— there’s more.”
Everyone freezes.
Sam: “More what.”
Wes: “Is this a second announcement.”
Teddy: “If it’s not food, I’m gonna be upset.”
Joe squeezes my hand once, excited, then announces:
“She’s bringing her dog too, Mira.”
The bus explodes.
Wes throws both hands up. “YES. DOG ON TOUR.”
Sam lights up. “Mira? That’s adorable.”
Adam: “We’re gonna have a bus dog.”
Teddy: “I call first walk.”
Javi: “No, I get first walk. I have the calmest energy.”
Matt, amused: “We should probably meet her before we start fighting for custody.”
Joe adds, “I’ve met her. She’s perfect.”
And then as if the chaos wasn’t enough Wes suddenly freezes, eyes wide.
“WAIT. Where’s she gonna sleep?”
Sam: “Oh my god. She needs a bunk.”
Adam: “She can have mine.”
Javi: “No, she’s sleeping with me.”
Teddy: “She’s sleeping with me.”
Wes: “We need to rotate. A schedule. A dog‑bunk schedule.”
Matt: “You’re all insane.”
I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
And then Joe leans in, voice low, warm, smug in the softest way.
“She’s sleeping with us,” he murmurs. “Obviously.”
I raise a brow. “Oh? Obviously?”
He nods, completely serious. “Yeah. She’s basically my adopted child now.”
I shove his shoulder, and he grins wider.
Sam overhears and gasps. “JOE’S THE FAVORITE? No. Absolutely not. I’m buying her a toy. A good one.”
Wes: “I’m buying her a tour bed.”
Javi: “I’m buying her snacks.”
Adam: “I’m buying her a bandana.”
Matt: “I’m buying her therapy after she meets all of you.”
Everyone laughs.
Joe squeezes my hand again, softer this time.
“Mira is gonna love it here,” he murmurs. “She’s gonna love you here.”
And the way he says it quiet, certain, full of something warm makes my chest go soft.
The bus is loud, chaotic, ridiculous…
but it feels like home.
The guys drift off to their corners of the bus, still talking about her, still smiling, still buzzing.
Joe stays beside me.
He nudges my knee with his. “You know,” he says softly, “you better tell Michaela before she freaks out.”
I laugh. “She’s absolutely going to freak out.”
He grins. “Yeah. And I want a front‑row seat.”
I tilt my head up, and he leans in, brushing his lips against mine in a slow, lingering way that feels like sunlight warming its way through me.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed.
“I’m happy,” he whispers. “You make me really happy.”
I smile, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Me too.”
The bus hums the same way it did this morning, but everything feels different like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Hi lovelies ✨ life has been loud and work has been louder, but I’ve got two new chapters (for Two Worlds One Choice and Marmalade & Lemonade) sitting in my drafts waiting for a final read‑through before releasing them into the wild.. I will post as soon as I can. I promise. 😭
Also. Joe. Broadway. Other Desert Cities. who got tickets?!? I need to know immediately. 🥲
The morning settles around the three of us like something borrowed and warm. Eda’s propped up against her pillows, a blanket tucked around her shoulders, sunlight catching the silver in her hair. Baron sits beside her, one knee angled toward the bed, his hand resting lightly on the mattress like he’s anchoring himself there.
I’m in the chair near her bedside, legs tucked under me, just… being here. No work. No tasks. Just the quiet comfort of sharing a room with them.
Eda’s telling a story — something about Baron climbing a fence he had no business climbing — and he groans softly, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Mama, don’t start,” he mutters.
“Oh hush,” she says, waving him off. “She should know who she’s dealing with.”
I laugh, and Baron shoots me a look — half embarrassed, half fond — before his eyes drift back to her. She looks tired, but content. Peaceful in a way that makes the whole room feel softer.
For a moment, everything is still.
Warm.
Easy.
Baron stands slowly, careful not to jostle the bed. He steps into the hallway, and I follow, pulling the door mostly closed behind us.
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s in a good mood today.”
“She is,” I say softly. “It’s nice.”
He nods, something thoughtful passing over his face. Then he looks at me and something shifts in his expression. A softness. A decision.
“You wanna get out of here for a bit?” he asks quietly.
I blink. “Like… out out?”
He nods, hands sliding into his pockets. “Yeah. There’s a place I wanna show you.”
There’s something in his voice, not heavy, not sad, just… open. Like he’s offering me a piece of himself he doesn’t give to many people.
“Okay,” I say. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
His mouth twitches into the smallest smile. “It’s nothing fancy.”
“I don’t need fancy.”
He nods once, like that means more to him than he knows how to say.
“Alright then,” he murmurs. “Let’s go.”
The drive out of town feels easy in a way I didn’t expect. Baron sits in the passenger seat, one hand resting on the door, the other draped over his knee. He keeps glancing out the window like he’s watching for something familiar, something old.
The road curves through the trees, sunlight flickering across his face. I crack the window, letting the cool air sweep in. It smells like pine and dust and something older underneath.
Baron glances at me once, quick, like he’s checking if I’m okay.
“You good?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “Feels nice out here.”
He nods, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his mouth. “Haven’t been out this way in a long time.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “Life got… busy.”
I don’t push.
I just keep driving.
It’s huge.
Carved into the earth like a forgotten scar.
Water pooled at the bottom, still and dark, reflecting the sky.
I pull off onto the gravel shoulder, cut the engine, and step out. Baron joins me, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed in a way I haven’t seen before.
The rock beneath us is warm from the sun, smooth in a way that feels lived‑in. Baron sits beside me, elbows on his knees, eyes on the water below. The breeze moves through the quarry in slow waves, carrying the smell of stone and pine.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
It’s not awkward.
It’s just… quiet.
A quiet that feels like it’s holding something.
Baron exhales, slow and steady. “I used to come here when I didn’t know where else to go.”
I look at him. “You came here alone?”
He nods. “Most of the time.”
Something in my chest tightens, not pity, just recognition.
“I get that,” I say softly.
He turns toward me a little. “Yeah? What was your place?”
I pick at a little crack in the rock, grounding myself. “I didn’t have a lot of places like this growing up. Or people.”
He shifts, turning toward me a little more. “You had your grandma.”
A small smile pulls at my mouth. “Yeah. She was… everything. My mom wasn’t around much. She’d show up sometimes, disappear again. Grandma was the one who stayed.”
Baron’s expression softens, the kind of softness that feels like it’s only for me.
“She sounds important,” he says.
“She was.”
My voice catches a little. “She got sick. I took care of her until the end. And after she passed, my mom told me… well…she admitted Grandma was more of a mother than she was to me too.”
Baron’s jaw tightens.
“So it’s been just you?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “For a long time.”
The breeze moves between us, gentle, almost careful.
“I’ve been hurt before by people, my mom, friends,” I admit. “By guys who said the right things like they wanted to take care of me but didn’t mean it. Guys who liked the idea of me, not… me.”
Baron’s eyes flicker with something protective, something pained.
“And I don’t know what this is,” I say, breath unsteady. “But I care about you. And I like you. And that scares me a little.”
He doesn’t move at first.
He just looks at me like he’s memorizing every word.
Then he shifts closer, slow but sure, his knee brushing mine. His voice is low, steady.
“You don’t have to be scared with me.”
My chest tightens.
He lifts a hand then cups the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheek. His touch is warm, gentle, but there’s something underneath it too. Something he’s been holding back.
“Emma,” he murmurs, “you’re not alone here.”
The words hit something deep inside me.
He swallows, eyes flicking between mine.
“We could be that family for you.”
My heart stumbles.
“Baron…” I whisper.
He leans in — not halfway this time, not unsure — but with a quiet, steady certainty.
I meet him without hesitation.
The kiss is deep.
Warm.
Full.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, gentle but sure, pulling me a little closer. I feel him exhale against my mouth, like he’s been holding his breath for years.
When we finally pull back, he stays close, forehead resting lightly against mine.
“I meant it,” he says softly. “All of it.”
“So did I,” I breathe.
He smiles — small, shy, real — and it feels like sunlight breaking over stone.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Feels like something’s finally right.”
The quarry is silent around us, but it feels full of everything we just said, everything we didn’t, everything that’s starting to grow between us.
The drive back into town feels different now warm, charged in a quiet way, like something new is settling between us. Baron sits in the passenger seat, shoulders relaxed, one hand resting on my thigh.
I can still feel the kiss on my mouth.
He clears his throat once, then again, like he’s trying to reset himself.
“You okay?” I ask, glancing over.
He huffs a tiny laugh. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
“About?”
He shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. “You know.”
I do.
And the knowing settles somewhere deep in my chest.
We pull up to a little ice cream shop — the kind with peeling paint, a hand‑painted menu, and a faded umbrella that’s seen too many summers.
Baron nods toward it. “Best ice cream around.”
I grin. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he gets out of the car.
“This place hasn’t changed since I was a kid.”
“That’s usually a good sign.”
He huffs a laugh, and we walk up to the counter. The girl behind the counter brightens when she sees him.
“Baron! It’s been forever.”
He gives a small wave. “Hey, Lily.”
She glances between us, eyebrows raised. “And who’s this?”
Baron looks at me before answering. “This is Emma.”
Something warm flickers in my chest.
We order — chocolate for him, strawberry swirl for me — and take our cones to a little picnic table outside under the faded umbrella. The wood is warm from the sun, the air sweet with sugar.
I take a bite and close my eyes. “Okay, you were right. This is really good.”
“Told you,” he says, watching me with that soft, unguarded look he gets when he forgets to be careful.
We talk about nothing and everything — childhood snacks, old movies, the time he tried to skateboard and immediately regretted it. He laughs more than I’ve ever heard him laugh, and each time, something inside me settles.
When we finish, he stands first, then hesitates — just a beat — before reaching out and taking my hand.
His fingers lace with mine, warm and steady.
My breath stutters, but not in a nervous way, in a this feels right way.
He looks down at our hands, then up at me. “Come back with me for a bit?”
The question is soft.
Hopeful.
Not assuming anything.
I step closer, my free hand brushing his arm. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I want to.”
He exhales, a quiet, relieved sound, and before he can say anything else, I rise onto my toes and kiss him.
His hand tightens around mine, and his other hand lifts to my cheek, thumb brushing lightly along my skin. He kisses me back with that same steady gentleness he had at the quarry, but there’s something more now.
When we pull apart, he stays close, forehead almost touching mine.
“I meant it,” he says, eyes on mine. “All that stuff I said back there… I don’t say that to anyone.”
My heart stumbles. “I did too Baron.”
He smiles ear to ear.
We walk back to the car hand‑in‑hand, the world around us soft and bright, the kind of moment you don’t realize is precious until much later.
The house feels warm when we walk in, the kind of warm that settles into your skin. Baron closes the door behind us, his hand brushing mine as he does, and for a moment the whole world feels soft and steady.
“Let me check on her,” he murmurs.
I nod, following him down the hallway. The light in Eda’s room is dim, the curtains pulled halfway closed. She’s awake, sitting up a little, a blanket tucked around her legs. When she sees us, her whole face brightens.
“Well look at you two,” she says, eyes sparkling. “You were gone awhile.”
Baron’s ears go pink. “We got ice cream.”
Eda gives him a knowing smile. “Mm‑hmm.”
I laugh under my breath and move closer. “How’re you feeling?”
“Tired,” she admits. “But good. Tell me about your day.”
Baron sits beside her, close enough that their shoulders touch. He starts talking — little pieces of the afternoon, the quarry, the ice cream stand. His voice is softer than usual, and Eda watches him with that warm, mothering pride that makes my chest ache.
She reaches out and pats his hand. “I’m glad you went.”
He nods, looking down at their joined hands.
And then it happens.
A cough.
Not loud.
Not violent.
But wrong.
A deeper sound, pulled from somewhere low in her chest.
Baron’s head snaps up instantly.
“Mama?”
Eda waves him off, but her hand trembles just a little. “Just a tickle.”
But it isn’t.
I know it.
He knows it.
She coughs again — longer this time — and her breath catches at the end, a small, strained inhale that makes something cold slide down my spine.
Baron is already leaning forward, one hand on her back. “Mama, slow. Breathe slow.”
She tries, but the cough keeps tugging at her chest.
“Where’s your pleonexia?” he asks, voice tight but steady.
Eda gestures weakly toward the nightstand. Baron grabs the pills and hands them to her, helping her guide them to her mouth with a glass of water.
My stomach drops.
The bottle is almost empty.
I don’t say anything but the realization settles heavy in my chest.
Baron sits back down, still holding her hand. “You sure you’re okay?”
Eda gives him a soft smile, the kind meant to soothe him, not herself. “I’m alright, honey. Just tired.”
But Baron’s eyes flick to mine, and I see it, the fear he thought he outran today. The fear he thought he could forget for a few hours.
The fear that’s back now, sitting heavy in the room with us.
I rest my hand on his arm, gentle. He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t pull away either.
Eda settles back against her pillows, her breathing evening out again. The moment passes, but it leaves something behind — something quiet and sharp.
Baron stays beside her, thumb brushing slow circles over her knuckles.
Summary: Morning kisses, highway playlists, backstage chaos, side‑stage devotion, post‑show softness. He looks for you in every room, every crowd, every moment. and maybe you’re finally ready to stay?
Two Worlds One Choice
I wake up to the feeling of Joe’s hand running up and down my spine — slow, warm, absent‑minded, like he’s been doing it for a while. His breathing is steady beneath my cheek, and when I shift, he tightens his arm around me instinctively.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
I smile against his chest. “Hey.”
He presses a soft kiss to the top of my head, lingering.
“We’re only like two hours from the next stop,” he says quietly. “The guys drove out last night. We’ve got time.”
I hum, stretching. “Okay.”
His fingers trace the curve of my waist, gentle and familiar. “You sleep alright?”
“Better than I have in months.”
He smiles — I can feel it against my hair. “Good.”
I lift my head to look at him, brushing my thumb along his jaw. “You were amazing last night, by the way.”
A slow grin spreads across his face — the kind that starts in his eyes before it reaches his mouth.
“Oh yeah?” he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep. “Well… you were too.”
I swat his chest lightly, laughing. “Okay, yes, that was more than amazing. But I meant on stage.”
A soft flush rises along his cheekbones, and something warm flickers in his eyes. “Right. Yeah. I, uh… I’m glad you thought so.”
“I didn’t just think so,” I say, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You were incredible. Confident. Completely in your element. I loved watching you.”
His shoulders loosen, like tension he didn’t realize he was holding finally lets go. He pulls me closer, burying his face in my shoulder.
“Thank you,” he whispers, voice small and sincere.
I smile, brushing my fingers through his hair. “I can’t wait to see you again tonight.”
He lifts his head, eyes warm in that way that always makes my chest tighten. “Just say the word,” he murmurs, tilting my chin up with gentle fingers, “and it doesn’t have to be just tonight.”
He presses a soft kiss to my lips — slow, tender, the kind that feels like a promise rather than a question.
Joe’s fingers trace slow circles on my back, making it very clear he’s in no rush to move. But eventually he sighs — soft, reluctant — and brushes a kiss against my temple.
“We should probably get up,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t loosen his hold.
I smile into his chest. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not,” he admits, voice low and warm. “But if we don’t leave soon, Matt’s gonna start sending dramatic voice notes about being abandoned.”
I laugh, and he finally rolls onto his back, stretching like a cat before reaching for me again. His hand finds mine automatically, fingers lacing through like it’s instinct.
“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s get ready.”
The room is still dim, curtains drawn — the kind of soft morning light that makes everything feel slower. Joe moves around the space with this quiet domestic ease: picking up his charger, folding the hoodie he slept in, tossing his bag onto the bed.
I zip my suitcase, and when I look up, he’s watching me.
Not staring.
Not intense.
Just… soft.
Like he’s memorizing the sight of me in his space.
“What?” I ask, smiling.
He shakes his head, stepping closer to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Nothing. Just… like seeing you here.”
My chest warms.
He grabs his keys, slings his bag over his shoulder, then reaches for my hand again — like he can’t help it.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Good,” he says, squeezing my fingers. “Let’s go.”
The car hums beneath us as we pull onto the highway, morning light spilling across the dashboard. Joe drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting palm‑up on the console between us — an invitation I take without thinking.
But instead of the soft, sleepy quiet from earlier, there’s a new energy now.
Lighter.
Brighter.
Like the day finally woke up.
I scroll through his playlist, smirking. “You still have this saved?”
He glances over, pretending to be offended. “Uh, yeah. That song is a masterpiece.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“It’s iconic.”
I laugh and hit play.
The opening notes fill the car — upbeat, stupidly catchy — and Joe groans in mock agony before immediately singing the first line way too dramatically.
I snort. “Oh my god.”
He shoots me a grin. “Don’t act like you don’t know every word.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
I turn the volume up — way up — and start singing just to prove him wrong.
Except I do know every word.
And he knows I know every word.
He joins in halfway through the chorus, loud and off‑key on purpose, and I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
For a moment, it doesn’t feel like tour life or long‑distance or catching up after months apart.
It feels like us.
Easy.
Stupid.
Happy.
When the song ends, Joe glances over at me, still smiling.
“God, I missed this,” he says softly.
“Me too.”
He squeezes my hand, thumb brushing over my knuckles. “We should make a playlist. For the drive. For… all of this.”
“All of this?” I tease.
He nods, eyes flicking to me before returning to the road. “Yeah. You being here. Us doing this together.”
My chest warms.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s make one.”
He grins — that slow, crooked grin that always hits me right in the ribs.
The second the car turns into the loading area, the energy shifts. The quiet, sun‑washed calm of the drive dissolves into motion — trucks backing in, cases rolling across concrete, voices echoing off metal walls.
Joe parks in a spot that definitely isn’t a real parking space, kills the engine, and glances over at me with a little smile.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, even though my stomach does a tiny flip.
He squeezes my hand once before we get out.
The air outside is cooler, buzzing with the low hum of people working. Someone shouts for a cable. Someone else wheels a massive case past us. A door slams somewhere in the distance.
And then—
“HEY! Look who finally showed up!”
Matt is leaning against a stack of cases, grinning like he’s been waiting specifically to yell that. He jogs over, arms wide.
“Good to see you again!” he says, pulling me into a hug that smells like coffee and too‑early‑morning energy.
Wes appears next, carrying a coil of cables over one shoulder. He gives me a warm smile — quieter, but just as genuine.
“Hey, Y/N,” he says. “We saved you a spot side‑stage.”
Adam pops his head out of a doorway. “And by ‘saved,’ he means ‘fought three techs for it.’”
Wes shrugs. “Worth it.”
I laugh, and Joe’s hand finds the small of my back — not possessive, just steady, like he’s making sure I don’t get swept away in the chaos.
He pushes open a door to a small green room — couch, mini fridge, scattered water bottles, a half‑finished crossword on the table.
“This is home base,” he says. “You can hang here whenever you want.”
I sit on the couch, and he drops down beside me, thigh pressed against mine, like he’s been waiting all morning to be close again.
“You good?” he asks softly.
“Yeah,” I say. “I like seeing your world.”
His expression softens — warm, proud, a little undone.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I want you in it.”
Joe sits beside me on the couch, thigh pressed against mine, still in that soft, orbiting‑me mode he slips into without thinking. The room hums with distant noise — cases rolling, someone shouting for a cable, a guitar being tuned somewhere down the hall.
I look around, taking it all in, then glance back at him.
“What can I do?” I ask.
He blinks. “Do?”
“I want to help,” I say, sitting up a little straighter. “I don’t want to just sit here while everyone’s working.”
His brows lift, surprised and a little amused. “You don’t have to help. Seriously. Just being here is enough.”
“I know,” I say gently, “but I want to.”
He hesitates — not because he doesn’t want me involved, but because he’s Joe, and the idea of me lifting a finger on his behalf makes him short‑circuit.
“Okay,” he says slowly, like he’s choosing something safe. “Um… you could hand me my water bottle?”
I stare at him.
He stares back.
“Your water bottle,” I repeat.
He nods, very proud of himself. “It’s an important job.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m going to find Adam.”
I slip out into the hallway, spotting Adam near a stack of cases, clipboard in hand, headset around his neck. He looks like he’s been awake for twelve hours already.
“Hey,” I say, walking up to him. “What can I actually do to help?”
Adam freezes like I just asked him to solve world peace.
“Oh—no. No, no, no.” He shakes his head so fast his headset wobbles. “He would kill me if I put you to work.”
I grin. “Let me handle that.”
Adam’s eyes widen. “I… don’t think that’s how this works.”
“Adam,” I say, crossing my arms. “Give me something. Anything. I want to help.”
He looks torn — loyalty to Joe on one side, the undeniable force of my determination on the other.
Finally, he sighs. “Okay. Fine. But it has to be something tiny. Like… microscopic.”
“Deal.”
He hands me a small laminated card. “Can you take this to the lighting desk? It’s the updated cue list.”
I take it. “See? Easy.”
Adam mutters under his breath, “I’m still dead if he finds out.”
I pat his arm. “I’ll protect you.”
He snorts. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
I’m halfway down the hallway, laminated cue card in hand, when I hear footsteps behind me — fast ones.
“Hey baby—hey, hey, hey—what are you doing?”
Joe appears at my side like he teleported, eyes wide in that soft, frantic way he gets when he thinks I’m about to be handed a forklift.
I hold up the card. “Helping.”
He blinks. “Helping… with that?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a cue list,” he says, like I’m holding a live grenade.
“I know.”
He looks from me to the card, then back to me, then back to the card again, like he’s trying to figure out how this happened.
“Who gave you that?”
“Adam.”
Joe’s whole soul leaves his body.
“ADAM?” he calls down the hallway, voice cracking like a betrayed Victorian husband.
Adam pokes his head out from behind a stack of cases, already wincing. “She asked!”
“She’s not supposed to work!” Joe says, gesturing at me like I’m a priceless vase someone put on the edge of a balcony.
I cross my arms. “I asked because I want to help.”
Joe turns back to me, softer now but still flustered. “Baby… you don’t have to do anything. You’re here to relax. To enjoy yourself. To— I don’t know—sit on a couch and look pretty.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You want me to sit on a couch and look pretty?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “I mean—yes? But also no? But also yes?”
I bite back a smile. “I want to help.”
He runs a hand through his hair, torn between protecting me and not wanting to crush my enthusiasm.
“Okay,” he says finally, exhaling. “But nothing heavy. Nothing dangerous. Nothing involving wheels. Or cables. Or ladders. Or—”
“Joe.”
He stops.
I hold up the cue card. “This is fine.”
He sighs, defeated but fond. “Yeah. Okay. That’s fine.”
I lean up and kiss his cheek. “See? Easy.”
He melts instantly. “You’re gonna kill me,” he murmurs, but he’s smiling.
From down the hall, Adam mutters, “Better you than me.”
I call back, “Let me handle him!”
Joe groans into his hands, dragging them down his face like he’s aging ten years on the spot. Adam ducks behind a stack of cases like he’s avoiding crossfire.
I grin, stepping back toward Joe and slipping my hand into his. His fingers curl around mine instantly, like muscle memory.
“Joe…” I say softly.
He looks up, still flustered, still pink around the ears.
“I love you.”
His whole expression softens — like someone reached inside him and untied a knot he didn’t know he was holding. He steps closer, lifting my chin gently with his fingers.
“I love you,” he murmurs back, voice warm and steady, like he’s been waiting to say it again.
He kisses me — soft, lingering.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine, smiling in that small, undone way that always gets me.
“Okay,” I say, nudging him lightly. “Go do something. Go rehearse. I don’t know. Something.”
He laughs under his breath, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”
Then he kisses me once more — quick, sweet — before heading down the hall, still shaking his head like he can’t believe any of this is real.
The venue feels different once doors open — louder, buzzing, alive. The muffled roar of the crowd bleeds through the walls, a steady pulse under the hum of last‑minute prep.
Joe finds me in the green room, already dressed for the show, his hair soft and tousled, pushed back in that effortless way that looks like he ran a hand through it once and called it good. His eyes are bright with adrenaline he’s trying (and failing) to hide.
“Come with me,” he says softly.
He threads his fingers through mine and leads me down the hallway, weaving past crew members and cases and the low thrum of bass vibrating through the floor.
We step onto the side of the stage — lights low, the crowd a blurred sea of movement on the other side of the curtain.
He stops in front of a small space beside a stack of monitors, a perfect pocket of view tucked safely out of the way.
“This is you,” he says quietly.
I look up at him. “Me?”
He nods, stepping closer, his hand warm on my waist. “Yeah. This is where I’ll look for you.”
He adjusts a cable with one hand, then turns back to me.
“You don’t have to stay here the whole time,” he adds quickly. “You can move around, go backstage, whatever you want. But…” His voice softens. “If you’re here, I’ll see you.”
The honesty in his eyes hits me like a wave.
“I’ll be here,” I say.
He exhales — a tiny, relieved sound — and leans in to press a soft kiss to my forehead.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I play better when you’re close.”
A tech calls his name from across the stage.
Joe squeezes my hand once, lingering. “I’ll be right there.”
Then he looks at me again — really looks — like he’s memorizing the moment before the lights hit him.
“Stay where I can find you,” he says, voice low.
“I will.”
He smiles, soft and a little undone, before jogging toward the stage entrance, the crowd erupting the second they catch a glimpse of him.
And I stay exactly where he left me.
Exactly where he’ll look.
The second the lights cut and the last note fades, the crowd erupts — a wall of sound that shakes the floor beneath my feet. The band disappears offstage in a blur of sweat and adrenaline, crew members rushing past with towels and water bottles.
I stay exactly where he told me to.
Exactly where he’d look.
And then—
He appears through the curtain, chest heaving, hair damp and tousled, shirt clinging to him from the heat of the stage. He’s glowing — flushed, breathless, buzzing with energy that hasn’t caught up to his body yet.
But the moment he sees me?
Everything in him softens.
He walks straight to me, not even pretending to stop for a towel first. Someone tries to hand him one and he grabs it blindly, dragging it across his face and neck without taking his eyes off me.
Then he’s in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“You stayed,” he breathes, like he wasn’t sure he’d find me here even though I promised.
“Of course I stayed.”
He exhales — a shaky, relieved sound — and cups my jaw with one warm, trembling hand. His thumb brushes my cheek, gentle despite the adrenaline still buzzing through him.
“You were incredible,” I say, smiling up at him.
He laughs under his breath, leaning his forehead against mine. “You make me better.”
My heart flips.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes bright and soft all at once. “Every time I looked over, you were right there.”
“I told you I would be.”
He kisses me — quick, breathless, like he couldn’t wait another second — then pulls me into his chest, arms wrapping around me with a kind of urgency that feels like he’s anchoring himself.
“I love you,” he murmurs into my hair, voice rough from the set and something deeper.
“I love you too.”
Behind us, Matt yells, “HEY! Save it for the hotel!”
Joe flips him off without turning around, still holding me.
I laugh into his shoulder. “You should probably go shower.”
He groans dramatically. “Don’t remind me.”
“Joe,” I say, nudging him gently. “You’re literally dripping.”
He pulls back, grinning. “Okay, okay. I’ll be fast.”
He starts to walk backward toward the hallway, still facing me, still smiling like he can’t help it.
“Stay right here,” he says softly.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He disappears around the corner, and I swear I can still feel the warmth of him lingering in the air.
The hotel room is dim and quiet, the kind of quiet that feels like it’s holding its breath. Joe sits beside me on the edge of the bed, still warm from the shower, hair soft and tousled, a faint flush on his cheeks from the show.
He takes my hand, thumb brushing slow circles over my knuckles like he’s working up to something.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs. “About not wanting this to end.”
I look up at him, heart already tightening. “I know.”
He swallows, eyes flicking to mine, then down to our hands. “Would you… think about staying? With me. For the rest of the tour.”
The words land between us — hopeful, nervous, so full of want it almost hurts.
I exhale slowly. “Joe… I want to. I really do.”
His shoulders tense, just a little.
“But I have work,” I say softly. “And it wouldn’t be a few days. It’d be months. I can’t just disappear.”
He nods, but it’s the kind of nod that’s trying to be understanding while his heart is sinking. “Yeah. I know. I just— I had to ask.”
I sigh, rubbing my thumb over his hand. “And my dog… I have to figure out who can take her. I can’t leave her alone for months.”
Joe goes still.
Not tense.
Not upset.
Just… thinking.
Then he lifts his head, eyes softening in that way they do when he’s about to say something that matters.
“Bring her.”
I blink. “What?”
He shifts closer, knee brushing mine, voice low and certain. “Bring her with you. On tour.”
I stare at him, stunned. “Joe, I can’t—”
“Why not?” he asks gently. “We have the bus. She can stay with us. She’ll have space. She’ll have you. And I promise you, everyone will love her. Wes will probably try to adopt her.”
A laugh slips out of me, surprised and warm. “You’re serious.”
He nods, brushing his hand along my cheek. “Yeah. I am. If she’s the thing holding you back… then she comes too. We’ll make it work.”
“But she needs walks, and routine, and—”
“I’ll walk her,” he says immediately. “Adam will walk her. Hell, the whole crew will fight over who gets to walk her. She’ll be the most spoiled dog on the West Coast.”
I shake my head, overwhelmed in the best way. “You’d really do that?”
He cups my cheek, thumb stroking softly. “Baby… I want your life with me. All of it. Not just the parts that are easy.”
My chest tightens, melts, reforms into something warm and certain.
“She’s my girl,” I whisper.
“And I want her to be part of this,” he whispers back. “Part of us.”
He looks up at me then — really looks — and something in his expression shifts. Not disappointment. Not fear.
Just love.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “So we figure it out.”
I blink. “Figure it out?”
He nods, scooting closer until our knees touch. “Yeah. Your job, your dog, whatever you need. We’ll make a plan. I don’t want you to give up your life for me. I just… want you apart of mine too.”
My chest warms, tightens, melts all at once.
“I can talk to my boss,” I say. “Maybe she’ll let me work remote for a while. Or… maybe I can take a leave of absence. I don’t know yet. But I can ask.”
His eyes soften, relief flickering across his face. “You’d do that?”
“For you?” I whisper. “Joe, of course I would.”
He lifts my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles gently. “You have no idea what that means to me.”
He leans in, brushing his nose against mine. “I’m in love. It’s disgusting.”
I snort, and he kisses me — slow, warm, lingering, like he’s sealing something between us.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine. “I don’t need an answer tonight. Or tomorrow. Or even this week. Just… think about it. And if it works, if you can make it work… I’d love to have you with me.”
I whisper, “Joe… you already know it’s a yes.”
He freezes, eyes widening just slightly like he’s afraid he misheard.
“A yes?” he repeats, voice low, almost reverent.
I nod. “Yeah. A yes. I just have to figure out the logistics. But the answer? It’s already yes.”
Something breaks open in him — relief, joy, disbelief — and he lets out a soft, shaky laugh before pulling me into him, arms wrapping around me like he’s been holding this hope too tightly for too long.
He presses his forehead to mine, voice barely above a whisper. “You have no idea how happy you make me.”
I smile, brushing my thumb along his jaw. “You make me just as happy.”
He kisses me — slow, warm, lingering — the kind of kiss that feels like a beginning.
When he pulls back, he cups my face in both hands, eyes soft and shining. “We’ll figure everything out. I promise.”
“I know,” I say. “I believe you.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, and I melt into him, into the warmth of his hands, into the certainty of him.
And as he pulls me down beside him, tucking me against his chest, my thoughts drift — quiet, honest, unfiltered.
Before Joe, all I wanted was to climb the corporate ladder.
Before Joe, I was happy with my little apartment, my little town, my neat, predictable life.
Before Joe, I thought that was enough.
But now…
Now I love him.
Now I don’t want to waste another second being away from him.
Now the rest of it — the job, the ladder, the tiny routines — feels small compared to this.
Compared to him.
Compared to us.
And for the first time, the future doesn’t feel like something I have to chase.
I love how joe is not scared to say what he s feeling like all this chapter i feel he s always been more open and talkative than reader (and honestly i feel u girl because i don't really express my feelings either) and like more men should be like this i swear all he wants is to make her happy and not scared of showing and saying it
I completely agree. I’m the same way with feelings. I feel like Joe in real life would be hesitant at first but then once he’s in I think he’d be all in and definitely the type to talk about how he feels. 🖤
By the time I pull into my parking spot, I’m still half in their house. Half in that hallway. Half in the warmth of his arms around me. The morning feels like it followed me home, sitting in the passenger seat, quiet and steady.
I climb out of the car, keys in hand, and head up the stairs to my apartment. My sweats are soft and worn, the same ones I threw on last night before everything shifted. I unlock the door and step inside, greeted by the familiar stillness — the faint smell of my citrus candle, the clean laundry smell, the hum of the fridge.
It feels normal.
But I don’t.
I close the door behind me and lean against it for a second, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
I kissed him.
The thought hits me like a warm wave — not shocking, not scary, just… unbelievable in the best way. I press my fingers lightly to my lips, remembering the soft brush of his, the way he smiled against my mouth like he didn’t expect it to feel that gentle.
God.
I push off the door and walk toward the bathroom, tugging my sweatshirt over my head. The mirror catches me mid‑movement, and I pause.
I look… different.
Not dramatically.
Just softer.
Like something inside me unclenched without asking permission.
I turn on the shower and step under the hot water, letting it wash the night off me. But the morning stays — the kiss, the hug, the way he looked at me when I said I’d be back later.
I finish showering, wrap myself in a towel, and pad into my bedroom. My apartment is quiet, but my mind isn’t. It keeps replaying the way he walked me out — gentle, shy, trying so hard to be steady. The way he opened his arms like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to, and the way he relaxed the second I stepped into him.
I can’t stop thinking about them. Not in a worried way — in that warm, quiet way where you know two people you care about are sharing a moment you’ll never see, but you can picture it anyway.
I can almost hear it.
Baron walking back into Eda’s room, trying to act normal, trying to pretend he didn’t just walk me out and hug me like he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go.
He’d hover near the doorway first — he always does — hands in his pockets, shoulders a little tense.
“You okay, Mama?” he’d ask.
And Eda, God bless her, would give him that look — the one that sees straight through him.
“I’m fine, baby,” she’d say. “Come sit.”
He would. Slowly. Carefully. Like he’s afraid she’ll ask the question he’s not ready to answer.
But she wouldn’t tease.
She wouldn’t push.
She’d just… see him.
I can picture her reaching out, patting his knee the way she did this morning.
“She’s good for you,” she’d say softly.
And Baron — sweet, flustered, gentle Baron — would go still. Not defensive. Not embarrassed. Just… quiet. Like the words hit a place he didn’t know was tender.
I can almost hear him trying to brush it off.
“She’s just helping,” he’d mumble.
But Eda would shake her head, slow and knowing.
“No,” she’d say. “She cares. And you do too.”
I pull my towel off my hair and let it fall into my lap, warmth blooming in my chest. Because I know him. I know exactly what he’d do next.
He’d look down at his hands.
He’d swallow hard.
He’d try to hide the softness in his eyes.
And Eda — gentle, wise, patient Eda — would reach for his hand and squeeze it.
“You’re allowed to let someone in, Baron.”
I close my eyes, breathing in the quiet of my apartment.
I wasn’t there.
I didn’t hear it.
But I know them.
And I know this morning changed something.
Not in a big, dramatic way.
In a small, steady way — the kind that lasts.
I stand, letting the towel drop into the hamper, and move toward my dresser to get dressed.
I’ll go back soon.
And whatever conversation they’re having right now — whatever truth Eda is gently nudging him toward — I’ll feel the echo of it the moment I walk through that door.
I move through the space on autopilot, making coffee, letting the warmth settle into my hands while my mind drifts.
I take a slow sip of coffee and glance toward the door.
I should bring something back.
Not out of obligation.
Not because anyone expects it.
Just because it feels right.
I open the fridge and pull out the container of homemade chicken‑rice soup I made two nights ago. Eda could use something warm and easy. I set it on the counter, then add a fresh loaf of bread and a few herbal teas she might like.
Then I pause.
My eyes drift to the pantry.
There’s a box of MoonPies on the top shelf — the same kind Baron brought Eda this morning, the same kind they always split. I bought them weeks ago for no real reason, and now they feel like the most obvious thing in the world.
I take the box down slowly.
It’s small.
Simple.
But it feels… right.
Like a quiet way of saying I remember what matters to you.
I tuck everything into a bag and tie the handles together.
As I slip my shoes on, I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror. Clean sweats. Damp hair. A softness around my eyes I don’t usually see.
I look… settled.
Like something inside me shifted into place without asking permission.
I grab my keys, sling the bag over my arm, and head for the door.
I’m going back.
Because I want to.
Because the morning didn’t feel finished.
Because Eda’s smile told me she saw something I’m only just starting to understand.
Because the warmth of his hug hasn’t faded yet.
And because bringing MoonPies feels like bringing a piece of their morning back to them.
I lock the door behind me and head down the stairs, the bag swinging gently at my side.
The drive back feels different than the one home. Lighter. Steadier. Like the morning settled into me instead of weighing on me. The bag on the passenger seat shifts with every turn — the soup still warm, the bread wrapped in a towel, the MoonPies tucked neatly on top.
I glance at them once, and a small smile pulls at my mouth.
When I turn onto their street, the house looks the same as it did an hour ago — quiet, soft around the edges, like it’s still waking up. I park in the same spot, cut the engine, and sit for a second with my hands on the wheel.
There’s a warmth in my chest I can’t quite name. Not nerves. Not uncertainty. Just… anticipation. A gentle pull.
I grab the bag and step out into the cool air. The porch creaks under my feet as I climb the steps, and before I can even knock, the door opens.
Baron is there.
He must’ve heard the car. Or maybe he was waiting. I don’t know. But he’s standing in the doorway in the same sweats, hair a little messy, eyes soft in a way that makes something inside me settle.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
It’s simple.
But it lands warm.
“Hey,” I say back, lifting the bag slightly. “I brought a few things.”
His eyes flick to it, then back to me, and something in his expression shifts — a small, surprised softness, like he wasn’t expecting anything but is relieved I’m here.
“You didn’t have to,” he murmurs.
“I know.”
He steps back to let me in, and the moment I cross the threshold, the house feels different. Not dramatically. Just… warmer. Like the morning left its mark here too.
Baron closes the door behind me, his movements gentle, careful. He stands close enough that I can feel the quiet between us — not awkward, not heavy. Just full.
“Mama’s resting,” he says softly. “She’s awake, but… she’s good.”
“Good,” I breathe, the relief settling into my shoulders.
He looks at the bag again, then at me, and there’s a tiny, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You brought MoonPies?”
I shrug lightly. “Seemed right.”
His eyes soften in a way that makes my chest warm.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The morning sits between us — the kiss, the hug, the shift — quiet but present.
Then he gestures toward the kitchen, gentle and a little shy.
“Come in,” he says. “Stay awhile.”
Baron walks a half‑step ahead of me, quiet but not tense — more like he’s trying to keep himself steady. I follow him down the hallway, the bag swinging lightly at my side.
Eda’s door is cracked open. She’s awake, propped up against her pillows, blanket tucked around her shoulders. Her eyes brighten the second she sees us.
“Well now,” she says, voice warm. “Look who’s back.”
I smile. “I brought a few things.”
Baron moves to her bedside, adjusting her blanket the way he always does — gentle, careful, like she’s made of something precious. I set the bag on the small table beside her and start unpacking it.
Soup.
Bread.
Tea.
Eda watches each item with a soft, appreciative smile.
Then she sees the MoonPies.
Her whole face changes.
“Oh,” she breathes, hand lifting slightly. “You didn’t.”
I laugh under my breath. “I did.”
She reaches for the box with both hands, like it’s something fragile and beloved. Her thumb brushes the edge of the cardboard, and her eyes soften in a way that makes my chest warm.
“These were always our thing,” she says quietly, glancing at Baron.
He looks down, a shy smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah.”
Eda turns the box over in her hands, studying it like it’s a memory she hasn’t touched in a long time.
“You remembered,” she says to me — not surprised, not emotional, just… touched. Deeply.
“I thought you might want them,” I say softly.
She nods, eyes glistening just a little. “I do, sweetheart. I really do.”
Baron sits on the edge of the bed, watching her with that soft, protective look he gets when he’s trying not to feel too much. Eda reaches out and pats his knee.
“Maybe we’ll split one later,” she says.
He huffs a tiny laugh. “Yeah. Like always.”
She looks at me then — really looks — and there’s something knowing in her expression. Not teasing. Not pushing. Just… seeing.
“You’ve got good instincts,” she says gently. “About people.”
I feel my cheeks warm, but I don’t look away. “I just wanted to bring something that felt like home.”
Eda smiles — small, warm, full of meaning.
“Well,” she says, settling the box in her lap, “you definitely did.”
Baron glances at me, eyes soft, something unspoken sitting between us like a quiet thread.
Eda settles the MoonPies in her lap like they’re something precious, her fingers brushing the edge of the box with a tenderness that makes my chest warm. Baron sits beside her, shoulders relaxed, knee angled toward hers in that instinctive protective way he has.
I’m still standing near the foot of the bed when Eda looks up at me again — really looks. Her eyes are soft, bright, and full of that quiet, knowing warmth she carries so easily.
“Emma, sweetheart,” she says, her voice gentle, “would you stay a bit?”
An invitation — warm, sincere, and full of affection.
“I like having you here,” she adds, patting the blanket near her hip. “Feels nicer with you around.”
Baron glances at me, then at her, then back at me again — a flicker of something warm crossing his face, like he’s grateful she said it out loud.
I move closer, my voice soft. “Yeah. I can stay.”
Eda’s smile deepens, pleased and relieved all at once. “Good. That settles my heart.”
Baron shifts beside her, his knee brushing the mattress. He doesn’t say anything, but the look he gives me — soft, open, a little overwhelmed — says enough.
I sit in the chair beside the bed. Eda reaches out and rests her hand lightly over mine. Her skin is warm, her touch steady.
“You bring a calm with you,” she says quietly. “It’s good for this house.”
My throat tightens a little. “I’m glad to be here.”
She nods, satisfied, leaning back against her pillows. “Then let’s enjoy the morning together.”
I fold my hands in my lap, letting the quiet settle around us, and for the first time since I walked in, I feel like I’m not just visiting. I feel like I belong.
Eda’s hand is still resting lightly over mine, warm and steady, when she shifts her attention to Baron. It’s subtle — the kind of shift only someone who knows her well would notice — but I feel it in the air.
She looks at him with that soft, knowing expression she’s worn all morning.
“Baron,” she says gently, “you’re awfully quiet.”
He stiffens just a little, like he’s been caught thinking too loudly. “I’m fine,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to his hands.
Eda hums — a low, familiar sound that means I know better.
“You sit different when she’s here,” she says, her voice warm, not teasing. “Softer.”
Baron’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “Mama—”
She lifts a hand, stopping him with nothing but a look.
“It’s a good thing,” she says simply. “A real good thing.”
My breath catches, but I stay still, letting the moment belong to them. Baron swallows, jaw working like he’s trying to find the right words and coming up empty.
Eda reaches out and pats his knee, her touch gentle but grounding.
“You’ve carried a lot by yourself,” she says. “Too much. For too long.”
Baron’s eyes flick to mine for a split second — quick, vulnerable — before he looks back at her.
Eda continues, her voice softening even more. “Letting someone stand with you isn’t weakness, baby. It’s living.”
He looks down again, shoulders tight, but not in a defensive way. More like he’s trying to hold himself together.
Eda glances at me, then back at him, and her smile turns tender.
“And she’s got a good heart,” she says. “You can lean a little. She won’t let you fall.”
Baron’s breath shudders out — barely noticeable, but I feel it like a shift in the room. He nods once, small and quiet, like he’s admitting something without saying it out loud.
Eda settles back against her pillows, satisfied.
“That’s all I wanted to say,” she murmurs. “Just… don’t shut out what feels right.”
Baron doesn’t answer, but his eyes lift to mine again — soft, open, a little overwhelmed — and something warm settles low in my chest.
What i love about this fic is joe s love for her like he proved it so many times he was obsessed with her since the first day but he was more shy with it .He s so gentle and caring i need him
stopppp 😭😭 you’re so right. he’s been gone for her since the first second and he’s just been trying to hold himself together ever since. the gentleness is literally his love language. 🖤
