Chapter Text
*
*
One of those days.
You weren’t going to wait until you got home to ask Joe what pizza toppings he wanted. Not today. So you texted,
“peperoni or chicken?”
And it took just a few seconds for Joe to open Whatsapp and to reply.
“those my only two options?”
You didn’t have the mental capacity to even think of any other pizza toppings, let alone get into some banter over text with your flatmate.
“joe”
There were a million ways for Joe to have read that, to have interpreted that. Yet, he got the tone of it just right.
“don’t worry, i’ll take care of it”
No playing. Just quick solutions to problems of which Joe didn’t even really know what they were yet. Then another text from him followed, asking you the question you’d just sent him.
“peperoni or chicken?”
“chicken”
You remembered exactly when this pizza tradition started. Could pinpoint the exact date, time, and place.
“no i was wrong.”
“peperoni”
The first time you and Joe shared a pizza as new flatmates, was when you’d gotten home one morning, still - very obviously - in the outfit you’d left in the night before. Joe had been cooking up some breakfast in the kitchen and had his jokes ready, already grinning to himself when he hadn’t even seen you yet.
“Well, well, well,” he called over his shoulder as you took a moment by the front door to just… breathe. You would’ve tried gathering yourself, but there wasn’t much to gather.
“I know you said the plan was to go out and celebrate Friday, but you didn’t mention anything about Saturday morning,” you could hear the joy in Joe’s voice, all chipper and lively. He’d very clearly had a great night’s sleep, unlike you.
Joe heard footsteps, and when they stopped in the doorway, he turned his head to look. Spatula still in hand, eggs just about ready in the pan in front of him.
“Look at what the cat’s drag–…” the comment died on his tongue. “Jesus, are you all right?”
Joe had expected a tired, sloppy girl to have walked in. One with messy hair, eye make-up all smudged and sort of drunk a little, still.
He’d been right.
That was exactly what he was looking at, which should objectively be funny. Hence the smile that still lingered on his face as his brow slowly furrowed in confusion.
“You look like the inside of a shoe.”
Joe tried his hand at humour, but it fell completely flat.
What he hadn’t anticipated, was for his flatmate to look quite so sad in reaction to his comments. So very drained of life. You’d obviously been crying and looked like you hadn’t slept in weeks.
For a moment you just stood in that doorway, looked a little dazed because, um, why were you going into your shared living space again?
You needed your bed.
Without answering Joe, and without even really acknowledging him at all, you took a shuddering breath and slowly turned back around, only to ignore Joe’s question and disappear into the hallway.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Joe quickly turned the hob off and rounded the island to go after you. He was too late though, stepping into the hallway just as your bedroom door closed behind you. The immediate guilt that followed his poking-fun carried him over to stand in front of it, just enough self-restraint left to not just open your door and walk in right after you.
You didn’t seem like you needed to be pissed off any more than you already were.
From just outside of your bedroom door, you heard a very faint knock, followed by Joe’s voice, asking if you were all right once more.
“Did– did something happen? What’s going on?”
All you managed to do was sigh, just loud enough for Joe to catch it.
“What happened?”
But you didn’t want to get into it.
“Do you– hey,” Joe called your name, waited for a second, in case you wanted to answer him, but then when you didn’t, he followed it up with, “Do you want some breakfast?”
And honestly, breakfast sounded nice. But so did burying yourself into your duvet for a few days, where no one would try to look you in the eye, and where no one would try to make you talk. Were you going to listen to your rumbling stomach that was desperate for some food, or to the rest of your body that just wanted to be horizontal for the rest of eternity?
“Some scrambled eggs? Piece of toast?”
You milled it over in your mind.
“Or, I could make you something else? You want some yoghurt? With some berries in?”
Joe tried. Was actively trying. But it didn’t seem to work, just didn’t seem to do the trick. It stayed silent on your side of the door.
“Some pizza?”
And it was meant as a careful joke. A hopeful small little thing to at least lift the mood, if nothing else. If you were even still listening to him at all, that was.
He was about to tell you that he’d be in the kitchen if you needed anything, that you could just let him know. No worries if not. But then he heard rustling. Stumbling footsteps, followed by your bedroom door slowly opening.
“Hey,” Joe cocked his head to the side at the sight of you, his eyes all soft, forehead crinkled with worry. “I’m sorry.”
You looked right past him.
“What… what kind of pizza?”
You focused on the important things instead. Didn’t really care to acknowledge Joe’s apology. Didn’t really need it.
“Well,” Joe tried to hide his smile as he looked down at his feet before stepping aside and holding an arm out, inviting you to walk ahead of him, making your way back into the living area. “I think there’s a few to choose from in the freezer.”
You’d shared a pizza that morning, with you sat on one of the stools of the kitchen island, and Joe stood on the side. He hadn’t asked you any questions then, but instead had just tried his hand at light conversation until suddenly, halfway through a slice, you’d started sobbing.
And it wasn’t like you and Joe had never hugged before.
But you’d never been hugged by him like that before.
Where Joe instantly dropped his food and stepped closer to fold arms around you. Where Joe got an arm around your head to press your face into his chest whilst the other curled down around your shoulders that pressed your chest into his stomach. Where he decided he wasn’t going to be the one to pull back first, and so you’d just embraced like that for over half an hour.
He hadn’t asked you any questions.
Not when you cried.
Not when you’d stuttered through breaths as you tried to recollect yourself after.
Not when you eventually pulled back and reached for another bite of now-cold pizza.
Not when you then silently frowned at the hardened cheese and softly sighed to yourself.
Not when you did eventually retreat back into your room but came out just a minute later and asked if Joe had any plans that day.
Even if he did have plans, Joe knew that he’d cancel them all for you.
“Want to rot on the sofa with me? Watch films all day?”
And you hadn’t meant to fall asleep all sagged into his side then, but you had. And Joe had played with the ends of your hair until the warmth and comfort of having a girl curled up into him had pulled him into a nap as well.
You’d never talked about what had happened then, why you had been so sad, because you didn’t need to. It was nice that Joe hadn’t asked for you to explain why you’d cried, and instead had just comforted you until you managed to smile for him again.
Joe thought that maybe, if you wanted to tell him, one day you would. But he didn’t need to know why his flatmate was sad when she was. He was happy just being there to help and fix it.
And now, here you were. Two flatmates who shared a tradition of having pizza and watching a film when you’d had a bad day.
And today had just been… long. Hard. Frustrating. You didn’t want to get into all the things that had nearly pushed you over the edge, and you were glad that you didn’t need to.
Joe didn’t ask questions. Never did.
Just went to get you the peperoni pizza you’d asked for.
Would cuddle you on the sofa all night if that was what you wanted.
It was what he wanted, anyway.
He was well aware that none of that was normal though.
You were flatmates.
If Joe referred to you in conversation with a friend, with a family member, or even with a stranger, you were his flatmate. The girl that he shared the living area of his flat with. The pantry, the fridge and the freezer. The coat closet by the door. A letterbox downstairs by the entrance.
Flatmates.
But if someone were to ask you if you and your flatmate were friends too, you’d tell them yes of course. You shared dinner more often than not. If you had friends ‘round, Joe would hang out too. And vice versa.
Normal.
Just normal friendly flatmates that also knew each other’s parents by their first names, but you know, those things sort of just came with sharing a living space together, right?
And no one ever really thought there was more to you and Joe, anyway.
Why would they even assume?
You dated other people. Went on regular dates with different men. Other guys. Would even sometimes sit and watch a film with one of them, and Joe would join you for a little while. Have casual conversation with whoever you’d invited over.
Normal.
What wasn’t so normal was that the second it would just be you and Joe, you wouldn’t hesitate to touch if you wanted to touch. Wouldn’t hesitate to find him, wherever he’d be, and sling your arms around his stomach from behind, just to hold him for a minute. Would wait to get comfortable on the sofa until Joe would join you there and you’d wait for his arm to find its way around you before you’d settle in.
You never talked about it.
It was just what it was like. You were close. The affection was just a natural thing between the two of you. It didn’t need any words. Any explaining.
But Joe knew you both understood that this could be interpreted very differently through other people’s eyes.
It’s why you kept referring to each other as flatmates, and why you weren’t like that in front of other people.
Which was fine.
You lived together.
There was plenty of time without other people there to get all of your touches in.
When you walked into your flat that evening, the promise of a shared peperoni pizza combined with the contrasting warmth that immediately made you feel uncomfortably hot in your coat, was nearly enough to bring you to tears.
“Joe?”
“Hey, bad news,”
Oh no.
Joe appeared at the other end of the hallway.
“They didn’t have any Sprite left, so I got you a Fanta.”
You let your shoulders drop and let your head fall to the side in relief. That was hardly bad news. You didn’t love Fanta, but the bad news revealed Joe had gone out to get a pizza instead of throwing a frozen one into the oven.
“Fanta’s fine.” You smiled. Joe easily copied it.
“Good, okay. Now,” Joe continued, suddenly his face all serious again as you took your coat off and toed your shoes off. “I know that last time, I got to pick a film, so technically it is your turn… but, I’ve already chosen something to watch, and I did go out to get us the largest peperoni pizza London has to offer, so…”
You stilled and gave an exaggerated sigh, all mock frustration, because you honestly didn’t give a shit. If anything, it was nice that Joe had made the choice for you, seeing as you didn’t really have the mental capacity for any decisions right now. If it had been left up to you, you’d hav been scrolling through Netflix for at least half an hour until settling just to watch some celebrity panel shows on Channel 4.
“No sprite and I don’t get to choose the film?”
“I’m sorry,” Joe was trying stupidly hard to hide a smile.
You blinked at him a second.
“You’re not sorry.”
“No I’m not. You made me go out and it’s fucking freezing outside today.”
You made your way over to your bedroom to get changed, and just before disappearing, you said, “Cool way of letting me know you’ve not left the flat all day.”
Like Joe’s hair hadn’t told you as much already.
You wished your job would let you work from home too. Although, with Joe spending weird stretches of time just sitting around and reading, you didn’t think you’d get much work done. Would probably be a bit weird if you logged onto a zoom meeting from your spot on the sofa, half of Joe in frame.
“I did leave the flat! I just said!” Joe argued, leaving you to get into a more comfortable outfit.
You grinned to yourself.
Joe was an idiot.
In an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of joggers, you joined Joe in the living room where you found a large pizza box on the coffee table, two cans of Sprite next to it.
Sprite.
“Surprise.”
Joe had lied.
Joe was a liar.
Then you looked at the TV screen, paused at the title of the film Joe’d chosen and, fuck all the way off, did he want you to cry?
“I know it’s not your genre…”
It was. It absolutely was. It wasn’t Joe’s genre, though. “But I promise you’ll like it.”
You didn’t know if you wanted to hook an elbow to his jaw or squeeze your nails into his cheeks, but you needed to do something to get this surge of emotion out.
You opted for swearing at him instead of physical violence.
“I fucking hate you so much right now,”
“Yea?” Joe sat down, pressing play on the remote and reaching for the throw blanket. “Come hate me over here.”
And so you did.
Sat down next to Joe, thigh to thigh, and let him sort the blanket so it covered the both of you before leaning over to grab the pizza box.
The heat coming from the pizza quickly found your legs through the blanket and through your joggers. It was a stark comparison to how cold your fingers still felt from your trek home.
You rubbed them together as Joe opened the pizza box and, shit, that looked good.
“You cold?”
“Just my fingers,” you replied, already putting both hands to use, ripping the pieces of crust that hadn’t been cut properly and lifting a slice out of the box.
Joe did the same, and then when he saw one of your hands lower down, he was quick to grab it, encasing your cold fingers into his large palm.
The act of being upset with him for being nice faltered, and you smiled at Joe as he smugly grinned whilst he chewed.
See, had someone else been there with you, you’d have gotten comments. If not jokes, at least you knew you would’ve gotten some judging looks. Some questions later, about what was going on between the two of you.
Nothing was going on between the two of you.
Just warm cuddles and comforting touches, which was fine when it was just you and Joe.
So what if Joe held your hand whilst you ate pizza and watched a romantic comedy together?
So what if a piece of peperoni was about to slide and fall into your lap, but Joe saw and got it just in time, and you thought he was going to pop it into his own mouth, but then instead he held it up in front of you and waited till you ate it from his fingers?
So what if, after finishing the pizza, Joe planted his feet on the coffee table and pulled you into his side a little? Grabbed your arm to lay over his stomach? Ended up with both arms slung around, his own fingers locking on your back to keep you in place whilst you watched actors older than the both of you act as if they were in their early twenties still?
Life was just more comfortable when it was filled with good snuggles, you and Joe both agreed.
But you never talked about it.
You were just close.
No questions asked.
Flatmates. Friends. Just, close.
*
*
You looked at your reflection and sighed deeply.
With your tummy sticking out more than usual, no matter how much you tried to suck it in, with your boobs feeling sore, and with your mood swinging like a pendulum in a hurricane, there really was no denying the monthly doom that resided in your lower stomach.
Obviously, the cramps accompanied by your uterine lining leaking out of you was plenty proof, but just in case that didn’t sell it, your jawline decided a few big spots would be just the thing to remind you of the fact that you were dealing with hormones. That you were a woman. One with a period.
It fucking sucked.
Painkillers helped a lot. Really dulled the sharpness of the cramps and the persistent ache in your lower back.
But they didn’t help the irritability. Or the complete lack of patience you harboured. Or the cravings. Or the need to drown yourself in oversized clothing.
Joe had noticed.
Oh, he had noticed.
He noticed the lead up to it as well, your PMS, but didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to check if he was right, because asking if you were on your period after you snapped at him for something you wouldn’t have pointed out at any other time, was exactly what would get you to snap at him.
But then, when he wanted to throw on one of his hoodies, he noticed that the one he pulled out of his wardrobe wasn’t his.
You had the same one, just a size or two smaller. The women’s fit slightly different from his.
“Hey, I think this is–” Joe’d walked over and stopped in your doorway.
You were sat on your bed, one foot on the floor and the other pressed into the mattress as you put on the coziest pair of socks you owned.
“Yea, that’s mine.” Joe pointed right at you. “This one is yours.”
You looked at what Joe was holding, then down at your own frame, and you knew he was right.
“No, it’s not.”
But you weren’t going to admit that you might have mixed them up when you’d done laundry the other day. His was baggier. Easier to hide yourself away in. Large enough to curl your knees up into, if you wanted to.
And, you wanted to.
“Yes, it is, look,” Joe took hold of the hoodie in his hands by the shoulder seam, held it in front of him to show how short it was on him.
You didn’t care.
You weren’t going to take off the hoodie you were wearing just because Joe barged into your room with wild claims about you having made a mistake.
No.
You had. Obviously.
But… no.
“Looks fine.” You said dryly, voice flat, facial expression completely neutral.
“Looks fine? What– oh, my God,” Joe huffed, and just to show how right he was, he moved his arms into the hoodie to put it on. “Can’t even get my shoulders in properly, see, watch this,” Joe made a show of stretching the fabric, pulled it over his head and pretended to get stuck a second.
When it was fully on, you saw how it was obviously not Joe’s fit.
Because that was your hoodie.
Made sense.
You just stared at him, both feet on the floor now, shoulders slumped, and Joe made a face, eyebrows raised high, as if to say, see?
Um.
Could Joe not read the room?
You said it looked fine.
When Joe didn’t budge after you just blankly stared at him a minute, you audibly sighed. Let it rumble in your throat to really make sure Joe understood what an absolute bitch he was being, and started taking an arm out of a sleeve to take it off.
Fine.
“No, you don’t–” Joe sighed, huffed a laugh, and you froze. “You don’t have to take it off, just, that one’s mine. Get it back to me later.”
And somehow, that just pissed you off even more.
“Well then why the fuck make such a fuss about it in the first place?” you raised your voice, brow furrowed deep, clearly annoyed. “My God, Joe,” you grumbled, sticking your arm back into the sleeve and getting up.
“All right,” Joe indignantly spat back, expression wild, clearly not all right with the way you were speaking to him.
You frowned at each other a second.
“What?” you snapped when he didn’t say anything.
Joe looked ridiculous in your hoodie. It had eaten up half the hem of his T-shirt underneath, exposing some of his bare stomach just above the waistband of his jeans.
“What?” Joe mocked you, high pitched voice and all, and you were sure it was meant to showcase your vile attitude and make you turn it down a notch.
It did the opposite.
“Thank you, Joe, for letting me borrow your clothes and not being a real dick about it,” Joe said pointedly, and then changed his facial expression into a wide grin that nearly squeezed his eyes shut and responded to himself with a much nicer, “Not a problem, you’re so welcome.”
You blankly stared at him once more, and then winced a little when you felt the faint sting of a cramp that managed to push through the painkillers you’d taken earlier.
You needed your hot water bottle.
“Thank you, Joe,” you spat at him, angrier than you meant it, and you were about to walk around him, to make your way out of your room.
But Joe blocked your path by moving to the side an inch, just enough to stop you in your stride.
He raised a well-meaning hand, was about to touch you on the arm or the shoulder, you didn’t know what he was going for, because you slapped it away before he could make contact. You used flappy hands that slapped his hand and arm several times. Made Joe flinch, duck into his shoulders and step aside.
The snort of laughter that startled out of him made you actually want to hurt him. You weren’t being funny.
“Are you being se–”
You used both hands to shove him, just for good purchase, making him lose balance and step back to catch himself. It felt a little like how you used to fight your brother as a teenager, big difference being that Joe wasn’t fighting back.
Joe called your name after you when you walked out.
“Leave me alone!” you called over your shoulder.
And you’d meant those words then. Felt a little like you were 16 again.
You were achy, and bloated, and in pain, and not in the mood for any of Joe’s usual goofy shit.
But regret came shortly after. Because you definitely weren’t 16 anymore.
You found your hot water bottle and filled it up with the hottest water your tap could manage. Shoved it into the kangaroo pocket of Joe’s hoodie and felt how your lack of patience for everything and everyone also meant you didn’t have any of yourself.
You didn’t actually want Joe to leave you alone.
And, had you had the patience, you would’ve moped around for a bit. Would’ve drowned in your own pride for ages, because normally, you were stubborn like that.
Not today though.
You didn’t hesitate to make your way back over to Joe’s room, where you found him in front of his wardrobe in his T-shirt. His bedroom was messy, clothes sort of… everywhere. Some on the floor, some piled up on a chair in the corner. Your hoodie laid discarded on his bed as he pulled another from a pile. Standing in his doorway, you just watched him and waited, and felt how your lip pulled into a sad pout all by itself.
Joe had put on his hoodie, one that actually fit him this time, before he even noticed you were there. When he did see you, he sighed at the look of you and then comically gave you a pout of his own as his head dropped to his shoulder.
Then you just looked at each other a second.
You could’ve easily said you were sorry for that bullshit you just pulled. This was the perfect moment.
And Joe would have easily accepted it too, you knew.
But you didn’t really have to say the words.
A lot of things went unsaid between the two of you, and this was one of them.
“All right,” Joe said definitively, like he’d just decided something. He looked around, bent to pick up some clothes, and said, “Go on, I need to get this sorted. I’ll join you in a minute.”
There was no need to hide your smile.
Cat that got the cream.
If you hadn’t had hot water sloshing around in your pocket, you would’ve skipped over to the sofa.
You let yourself fall back into the corner of the L-shaped sofa and it was only about a minute later before Joe walked into the living area and closed the door of the hallway behind him.
“Do you want some tea?”
“Ooh, yes. Big mug, please.”
And whilst you scrolled through Netflix’s new releases and asked which one’s Joe hadn’t seen yet, Joe put the kettle on and prepared two steaming mugs of builder’s tea, done exactly how you liked it.
This was the kind of stuff Sundays were made for, you thought.
You could definitely do without the dull ache in your lower stomach, but the hot water bottle felt nice and comforting, and now you were going to watch a film with your flatmate. No doubt you’d have pizza for dinner later.
When Joe eventually joined you, he carefully put the mugs down on the coffee table and then turned to grab hold of your knees that he pushed aside.
“Move, this is my spot.”
If you were just going by his tone of voice, you could’ve been fooled he was being serious. His eyes gave him away, though.
“I was sitting there.”
Joe hadn’t even been close to the sofa all day, you thought, but… it worked.
It got you to laugh as you let yourself be shoved aside just enough for Joe to squeeze right into the corner, using his knees and elbows to make enough room for himself. Arguably, it was the best spot of the whole sofa, especially right in the centre of it, where the sofa cushions curved around your shoulders on both sides. Fighting over who got to sit there made sense.
Joe sat down, wormed himself into place, and it left you pressed into his side with your back, his shoulder digging into the area between your shoulder blades. You felt how he wiggled his bum as he settled before he let out a content sigh.
“So comfy. Are you comfy? I’m so comfy.”
Joe pushed harder into your upper back, and you gave a deadpan stare into space before you swore under your breath and tried to hit him, reaching for him over your shoulder. Playful this time, though. Joe was laughing, and so were you.
He caught your hand, which had no malicious intent, and helped you manoeuvre until you were both comfortable. You ended up with both legs swung over his lap, both tucked into the corner where even without a blanket covering you, it felt incredibly cosy. Joe let both his hands rest on your legs, one on a shin, the other just above a knee, and you took hold of one of his arms to hug, hand curling around a bicep.
“What’s this?” Joe saw a bit of rubber stick out from your pocket.
“Hot water bottle.” You answered, eyes not moving from the TV screen where you tried to read a bit of information on a film you thought looked interesting.
Joe frowned at it.
“Are you cold?”
“No,”
Then Joe frowned at you, stared at the side of your face.
“Just in pain.”
He only hesitated for a second, because ten minutes ago he was afraid to say anything, knew it would’ve likely made you attempt to give him an actual black eye then, but this felt like the moment he was allowed to bring it up.
“Are you on your period?” Joe asked quietly, voice soft and serious, but it made you huff a laugh anyway.
“What gave it away?”
You were well aware of how ridiculous you were behaving. But instead of making fun, Joe turned soft. Asked if you had taken any painkillers. If there was anything else you needed to feel better. If pressing his elbow into the hot water bottle a little, to give it some pressure, helped.
You ended up choosing a film neither of you had ever heard of, and after Joe nearly let you drop onto the floor as he sat up to get the mugs of tea, you settled in properly.
Everything was so warm.
The tea was warm, the heat coming from inside of your pocket was warm, and Joe was warm.
About twenty minutes in, Joe carefully took the empty mug from your hand and chuckled lowly.
“Are you falling asleep already?”
“No.”
You absolutely were. Your eyes were still open though, just slightly drooped and blinking slowly, but you were still watching TV.
You weren’t really following what was happening though, weren’t really watching. This was something that tended to happen when you put on a film that was more something of Joe’s liking, rather than yours.
“I’m not even tired.”
A lie.
Joe didn’t fight you on it though.
Instead, you felt how he turned to you a little before a hand snuck under, into your your hoodie and found burning hot skin, the soft flesh of your lower stomach. When you didn’t flinch at his touch, Joe softly pressed his fingers in and started rubbing side to side.
“Does that help?”
“Mhmm,”
It did.
Joe was a good flatmate.
His soft kindness kind of made you want to cry a little.
The fact that none of your ex-boyfriends had ever been like this angered you to no end. It had always just been mocking jokes and complaints, always stupid comments on how they couldn’t go near you for a week now. You didn’t know how that was your fault, exactly, but it always got treated as such.
It probably took about five more minutes before you’d dozed off completely.
Wasn’t your fault that Joe made everything so nice and comfortable, all warm and nice. You’d argue that the rubbing of your stomach Joe was doing, he solely did to make you fall asleep in the first place.
Which was exactly right.
Joe loved it when you fell asleep on him.
Loved the soft and gentle touches he got to give that made you hum with satisfaction.
Loved that somehow this was just what you did without it being weird. Well it was weird, but only in the best way. Weird without the need to discuss anything, without the need to have an awkward chat about what any of it meant.
It didn’t mean anything. Not in the sense people would probably assume if they knew that you spent your time together like this a lot. But it also didn’t mean nothing.
Joe knew it meant something.
To him it did, anyway.
Just… something to be determined later. Or maybe even never. He wasn’t sure.
What he was sure about, was that he fucking loved it. Couldn’t get enough of it.
He could’ve just woken up from the longest sleep of his life, have the energy to power through several days without issue, but having you curl up all pressed into his side? You’d fall asleep so easily, and then what chance did Joe even stand? It would leave him just as drowsy. Nine times out of ten, he’d slowly drift off too.
Which is exactly what happened this time as well.
Your slow rhythmic breathing linked up, two lax bodies sagged into one another for at least a good hour, hour and a half. When you did finally stir awake, it was to the end credits of the film and to cramps that felt like something was quite literally trying to eat you alive.
You groaned at the pain and pushed your forehead into Joe’s arm, muscles tensed, coaxing you to double over.
Joe awoke with a sharp inhale.
“Hey,” he whispered. “You all right?”
“Fine,” you croaked softly, voice a little strained.
You were fine, you know, in the grand scheme of things. Just something you had to deal with in the moment, that you knew would pass within a day. Mostly, it was just very annoying.
“Need the toilet.” you frowned as you struggled taking the now cooled hot water bottle out of the large pocket of Joe’s hoodie and let your legs slide down Joe’s lap until your feet touched the floor.
Joe sat up too, and groaned loudly as he stretched in an attempt to wake up a little more. He blinked a few times before he yawned and watched you disappear into the hallway in his hoodie.
He decided then that he was never going to make an issue of it again. You could wear anything from inside his wardrobe, and he’d make sure to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t even really know why he brought it up earlier in the way that he had done.
You made your way to your own bathroom, your ensuite, where you kept all of your tampons. When you sat down on the toilet, you saw how you’d fully bled through… well, through everything.
“Oh noo,” you called out, loudly, so Joe could hear.
“What?”
“Did I bleed onto the sofa?”
The question echoed through your flat, and you only realised after the words had already reached Joe’s ears that you probably should have been embarrassed to even ask.
You realised then that you weren’t.
Which was weird. But, weird in the best way.
“Yea, a little,” Joe called back, and you made a frustrated noise. Getting period blood onto anything was sort of gross and annoying, but onto a light coloured sofa that was difficult to clean? The most gross and annoying.
That was likely going to stain, and then, from now until forever, you’d see that stain every time you’d sit down and you’d be reminded of that one time when you bled through all your clothes.
When you’d have people over, they’d see.
When Joe had people over, they’d see.
Mortified.
You were more embarrassed for anyone else to see a faint period blood stain than you were for Joe to see a fresh one.
Wild.
You hurried through cleaning yourself up. Found new underwear and leggings to wear. Double checked if Joe’s hoodie was fine, which, thank fuck, it was.
“Sorry, I know that’s so disgusting, I’ll clean that–”
“It’s gone.”
You walked in and saw Joe stand up straight from a hunched position, damp dishcloth in hand.
“There was barely anything there, it’s fine.”
Joe bent down again and gave it another rub.
You just… stood there.
Blinking.
Staring.
“You… you cleaned it?”
“Yea, sofa looks fine. Wet now, though.”
“You cleaned my period blood…” emphasis on the period blood.
Joe looked up, made eye-contact and slowly grinned at your facial expression. Then he shrugged. He didn’t think this had to be a big deal, because to him, it wasn’t.
You were flatmates.
You lived in each other’s flat.
Shared a living space.
Were close.
“Yea.” Joe said all casual as he made his way back to the kitchen, presumably to wash the dishcloth in the sink.
“No worries. Should we get a pizza?”
You confiscated it when he walked past you, though.
He wasn’t going to rinse out your bodily fluids, your vaginal fluids, in the kitchen sink.
That’s where you prepared food, for fuck’s sake.
That dishcloth was going straight into the laundry.
“You’re insane.” was all you could muster up in response to what you’d just witnessed, and Joe just laughed. Didn’t think he was being insane at all. Thought you wouldn’t shy away from cleaning his blood off of furniture if he got some on anything, so why would he be weird about cleaning yours?
You were close.
And sure, ask literally anyone else, and this would definitely be classified as weird.
But, Joe was all right with weird.
Because it was weird in the best way.
*
*
Joe let the door fall into its lock behind him and stood still for a second, ears perked, listening carefully.
The flat was quiet.
He was alone.
Good. So maybe he could call one of his friends to see if they wanted to join him for a run. Joe had two friends who he went running with, sometimes. You never understood it. When you run, you can’t talk? So why do that together? What was the point?
Competition was the point, was always Joe’s answer.
But if he was honest, he just felt a little less lonely if he had a buddy by his side. Felt a little less like a stupid loser who didn’t have any friends to work out with. Was just nicer if he could run alongside someone else. Share airpods. Listen to the same playlist.
Joe was already scrolling through his contacts when something stopped him in his tracks and made him jump out of his skin. Knocked the air right out of him.
He wasn’t alone.
It was silly how the lump in his bed made him gasp for air, how it shot his heart right up into his throat, the adrenaline immediately pumping.
Just as quick as he’d been to step into his bedroom, he stepped back out of it within a second.
Joe had to catch his breath in the hallway, as much out of earshot as he could be, because what the fuck? Nothing had really scared him like that in a long time.
He knew it was just you in there. There was literally no reason for the sight of you sneaking a nap in his bed to scare him like that.
Joe just hadn’t expected it, is why.
“Why would she–”
He pressed his fingers into an eye as he silently scolded you, and then, himself.
“Idiot.”
Sighing deeply, he closed out of his contact list and tapped the side of his locked phone against his chin as he considered his next move.
He could wake you up and tell you off for scaring him the way you’d done. Then still go for that run.
Or, what he also could do, was crawl into bed with you and have a little cosy nap together.
Taking a small step forward to peek around his doorframe, Joe saw how you peacefully dozed through his short-lived panic. He couldn’t see your face from where he was stood, just a body underneath his duvet and your hair fanned over one of his pillows.
Hmm.
Work out?
Or take a nap?
Sports?
Or sleep?
Be moving outside?
Or be still inside?
Joe almost laughed at how even before his mental dialogue asked him those questions, he’d already decided.
He took his shoes off and tiptoed into his bedroom, trying to be quiet as he undid his belt and slipped out of his jeans.
When he was stood next to his bed, your face was clearly visible. All soft with sleep, lips slightly parted, cheeks and nose noticeably rosy, eyes a little puffy.
Joe thought they were all signs you’d been asleep for quite a while already.
Either that, or perhaps you’d been crying earlier.
The second that thought crossed his mind, something beautifully painful hurt him somewhere deep inside of his chest.
If you’d cried, that made sense. Joe had found you in his bed a couple of times before, and even though you always had a different excuse, it was kind of obvious that you only ever snuck over into his room when you felt extremely sad.
It was awful that you sometimes managed to let your mood slip down so low.
But it was sort of gut-wrechingly heart-warming that being in between Joe’s sheets had become a remedy for it.
In just his socks, underwear and T-shirt, Joe slipped into his bed and sighed contently at the warmth he found there.
You, on the other hand, roused awake a little at the cold Joe brought in.
“Shh, shh,” Joe was shushing you before you’d even made any noise, and grabbed hold of your arm in apology, even though that did the opposite. Only made it worse, his cold fingers almost making you flinch.
“Go back to sleep.”
You’d not even properly woken up, and consciously you didn’t register those words, but you relaxed as Joe cosied up, limbs not intertwining, but Joe moved in close enough to touch, consuming as much of your body heat as he could. Ducking his face down underneath the covers a little more than yours was, even if just to make sure you weren’t nose to nose, because you were asleep, and what if you weren’t on the same page?
You were on the same page, though.
Joe knew you were.
It was just that you usually took the lead in setting the norm, and he liked it that way. It was why Joe never ended up in your bed with you. Why it was always you in Joe’s bed with him.
But the thought of you pulling away from him as you’d wake up to his face too close to yours hurt his feelings more than keeping a little distance there, just in case.
Although, he might just have been overthinking things, because, remember the first time he found you in his bed?
Joe remembered.
Vividly at that.
Because before that moment, your nose had never been buried into his neck for so long.
That night he’d gone for drinks with a girl and had bought her enough drinks that she’d agreed to come back with him when he offered to make her a coffee over at his place.
An Italian coffee. He could make her one of those, if she was interested, he’d shrugged all casual.
She had given a knowing smile and asked him, “Yea? You make good coffee?” and Joe said he’d not gotten any complaints before, and it had been so stupidly obvious that they weren’t talking about coffee at all.
Upon entering the flat, and gentlemanly letting her go inside first, he told his date to be a little quiet in case his flatmate was asleep already.
But then he saw that your bedroom door was open, and he said, “Oh, never mind. I don’t think she’s in, actually,” as he went to open the door to his own bedroom.
He’d turned the light on, and then, immediately slapped the switch to turn it back off before quickly but quietly closing the door again.
Hmm.
Now what?
Couldn’t exactly take a girl into a bed that already had a girl in it, could he?
With the door handle still in his hand, he turned to look at his date, who seemed a little confused, but hadn’t seen what Joe had seen.
“Um,” Joe said, shaking his head a little in a bid to get rid of the disappointment of the change in plans. To shake off the awkwardness of what he was about to ask.
“So. Milk and sugar?”
He ended up making her an actual coffee.
Kind of had no other choice.
An Italian one, too.
And then he helped her get an Uber right after.
When she’d gone, he’d hunched over his bed and gently woke you up. A little shake of your shoulder and some soft whispers of your name. When you opened your eyes and squinted up at him, he couldn’t help his spreading smile.
“Hey, you’re in the wrong bed I think…”
You’d hummed at him and closed your eyes again as you curled the covers into your chest tightly. It squeezed a soft giggle out of Joe.
“What are you doing in my bed?”
“Hmm, ‘t was cold.”
“Cold?”
You rolled over, turning your back towards him, and Joe knew he was never going to get you out of there. You’d fully settled in for the night hours before he’d even gotten home.
Not that he minded.
It was just new, then.
“Left my window open and forgot.”
“Okay.” Joe easily accepted the excuse, despite not believing it at all.
But he could just sleep next to you.
Not a problem.
You slept on the sofa lots, all close together. This really shouldn’t be any different, should it?
But when Joe climbed into bed after a date night where he fully planned on having sex and then didn’t actually get any, followed by you sleepily nuzzling into his neck and hugging him close, Joe realised cuddling up with you, in his bed, underneath his covers, absolutely was different.
Good different, though.
Good different.
When you’d woken up early the next morning, it took you a second to know where you were. You’d never woken up in this part of your flat before. When you remembered where you were, whose arm was draped across your frame, whose fingers were tangled up in your hair, and the reason you’d given Joe for being there, you felt you probably overstayed your welcome and carefully got up and out. Took heavy footsteps across the hall and then snoozed in your own bed for a bit before you decided you were ready to start the day.
You’d found Joe eating a late breakfast in the kitchen and opened the fridge to find some of your own.
You’d casually asked Joe how his date had gone, and Joe smiled into his bowl of granola before he answered, “Yea, fine. Was good. She was nice.”
He didn’t tell you about the coffee. Didn’t tell you about how you unknowingly cock-blocked him in a way he’d never been cock-blocked before.
And you didn’t talk about how you slept in a bed together for the first time that night.
Just became one of those things that happened, sometimes.
Another unspoken flatmate thing.
One that you didn’t talk about with each other, let alone with anyone else.
It didn’t happen often, but it happened enough that Joe had been able to puzzle together some things.
He could count the occasions on his hands though still.
And he thought he could only vividly remember every single detail of just that first time he had you in his bed. But if he took a second, he’d understand that, actually, he could recall all details of all the times you slept with your face pressed into his pillow.
Like that one time when he had woken up in the middle of the night, confused at why he wasn’t able to turn over.
You’d curled up next to him, in the middle of the bed, over the covers, like a dog. Essentially trapping him tightly underneath his own covers.
He wondered how long you’d been there already. If you’d fallen asleep in your own bed first before you’d scurried across the hall to climb onto his. Or if maybe you had been stirring, unable to fall asleep, and had just come over to try your hand at it over there.
Either way, it was no use having you over the covers.
Joe sleepily petted you on the side until you raised your head to look up at him and saw how he was trying to push down the covers next to him.
You’d silently moved into bed with him then and when the rustling of duvet stopped, Joe whispered, “Everything ok?” and you’d softly hummed before you answered, “Weird dream.”
And he’d tried imagining what kind of dream could possibly be bad enough for you to not be able to go back to sleep in your own bed by yourself. He could only conclude that it had probably been something scary.
“You’re safe,” Joe’d reassured and pulled you closer by your waist. “We’re safe.”
But you’d already drifted back off.
It was easy to sleep next to Joe. He was soft and gentle and warm and comfortable and, somehow never awkward or too close.
That is, if there even was a ‘too close’ with the two of you.
There probably wasn’t.
And it wasn’t like you only ever found your way into Joe’s bed when he wasn’t there or awake to witness it.
Joe remembered the time when he’d gotten back from a day of shooting late in the afternoon. Short set day. He’d gone for a shower and then got half-dressed before his eyes fell on a large envelope he’d left on his dresser. He was meant to finish reading that script yesterday, but he hadn’t even gotten around to opening the envelope.
Cut to about half an hour later, sat on his bed in just his pants, socks and a T-shirt still, Joe was reading from white pages and doing his best to visualise the scenes in his mind when he heard the door open.
There was a lot of careless movement, sounds of shoes falling to the doormat, a bag being thrown into the corner, a coat missing the hook and dropping to the floor and a lot of annoyed huffing and puffing.
You’d walked past his room first, but then it registered that you caught him in the corner of your eye, and so you went back.
Face planted yourself right onto his bed.
Joe didn’t acknowledge you at first, eyes firm on the page he was reading. But then he heard you inhale deeply and it sounded a little like you were trying to keep yourself from bursting into tears.
He’d moved a hand over. Got one of your calves and squeezed it, then rubbed it and dug in his fingers a little, moving like he was giving a weird massage over your tights. Kept reading, though.
You didn’t tell Joe if anything was wrong. Why you’d come home from work in a sour mood, why you had tears of frustration and fatigue prickling behind your eyes. Just plonked yourself onto his bed and enjoyed his quiet company until you dozed off into a light sleep.
Joe eventually finished whatever he was reading and the sudden sounds of movement in your proximity were enough to pull you from your short nap. He then suggested you’d have dinner together.
“Sure, what do you feel like having?”
“Pizza?” Joe looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question.
You knew he was asking if pizza was needed tonight. If it was necessary.
But you’d smiled and said, “Maybe not.” reasoning that you’d probably eaten too much pizza over the past month, and Joe was glad, because this meant you felt better, the little snooze having somehow fixed whatever had been wrong when you’d walked in.
Staring at your now, faces close but not directly opposite one another, Joe could see that your eyes really were a little puffy and, yea, he was right, wasn’t he?
You’d been crying and then you got ready for bed and then, to make yourself feel better, had gotten into his bed instead of your own.
Fucking hell.
Joe felt a surge of guilt when he thought about how much he loved that. He shouldn’t love you more when you felt bad. Sad. Down and all miserable.
But how could he not if it made you end up all snuggled up close in bed together?
He knew you never talked to each other about these things, but if you did, if you were the type of sensible people to use your words to work things out, rather than physical touch and closeness, he’d whisper all sorts of questions into your skin.
He’d ask if you were all right. If you’d been crying. If there was anyone who he needed to hurt, which he knew would make you laugh, because no way he was going to go out and fight someone. He’d ask if you wanted to talk about it, because he’d listen. If there was anything else he could do to make you feel better.
But you didn’t talk.
You weren’t sensible people who used their words.
So Joe didn’t whisper any questions into anything, but just let his forehead rest against your collarbone as he tried to fall asleep too. It took a little while, but the focus on your breathing ended up grabbing hold of him by the ankles and pulling him under eventually.
Just like it always did when you dozed off on the sofa together.
Just like it did that one time when he was meant to get up early, but, you were there, all toasty warm and silky soft in between his sheets. It was his own fault you were there. He maybe shouldn’t have offered his bed to you if he had been serious about waking up early.
It was just that, the night before, he’d heard you have a long phone conversation in your bedroom. All serious. No laughter. Took ages, and it was sort of late already. When you’d finally gotten off the phone, Joe found you sat on the edge of the bed in your pajamas, face stuck in your phone, and it looked like you were texting someone. He was about to ask if you’d seen the charger to his laptop, but then he heard you sniffle and saw you wipe a cheek with back of your hand.
He had no idea who you’d been speaking to.
Or who you were texting now.
You didn’t acknowledge him when he walked into your room, eyes on your phone screen still, and for a second Joe thought maybe his legs should carry him the other way. Away from you, out of your room to give you some space.
But then before he really knew what he was doing, he was stood next to you, sort of cradling your head in his arms. Hugging your skull. Running one hand down your back in soft scratches. He took care to look away from your phone screen as to not invade your privacy.
When you finally put your phone down, you dipped your chin underneath one of his arms and kissed the bit of skin that was there as a thank you.
“Come on,” he then said, letting go of your head and walking towards the door.
He switched the light off just before stepping out into the hallway.
When you didn’t immediately come after him, he called, “This way!” over his shoulder, and then grinned to himself when he heard you softly mumble, “Yea, just a sec,” followed by something about needing to brush your teeth first.
When you walked into Joe’s bedroom shortly after, he was already in bed, laid down on his stomach on the left side of the bed.
That wasn’t where Joe usually slept.
That was were you slept whenever you were in that bed.
In an attempt to be funny, to lift the mood a little, you ignored the empty spot in Joe’s bed and instead flung the covers back on the left side and climbed onto him.
You laid down right on top of your flatmate, and swung the covers back as best you could.
You felt him shake with silent laughter which made you giggle. You whispered, “Good night.” and waited for Joe to roll over, or to shake, to make you slide off of him, but that moment never came.
You fell asleep smiling, because it was hilarious that Joe was going to let you drift off in that position, with your head in the dip of his neck and your hips over his bum.
In the night, your asleep-self managed to find the empty spot next to him and continued your slumber on the mattress, like a normal person.
But the morning brought revenge.
You usually woke up before Joe did, but Joe was meant to wake up early, remember? His alarm woke him up, shooting awake with a jolt, immediately fumbling with his phone to turn it off. It took him a second to even remember why he’d set the alarm in the first place.
He felt you stir right next to him and remembered how he’d fallen asleep the night before.
If you were to ever bring it up, which he knew you’d never do, he’d tell you it was the most uncomfortable sleep he’d ever had.
They’d be lies.
He loved being pressed into the mattress by your weight a little. Loved the feeling of your entire body on top of his like that.
He’d never tell you.
He’d hold on to the fib that you’d been a great inconvenience, and now, it was time for payback.
Joe’s alarm had pulled you out of your dream a little, but then you fully woke up when Joe suddenly rolled right onto your back.
All of him.
Right on top of you.
His face pressed into one of your shoulder blades, and the air audibly escaped from your lungs as you tried to sleepily protest.
“Oh my God,” you groaned, voice all constrained. “My arm, wait, my– ow, Joe,”
Your arm was caught underneath your stomach, sort of weirdly twisted, and just for a second, Joe pressed his elbows into the mattress on each side of you to lift is weight off.
You readjusted, and Joe asked, “Got it?” and you easily accepted your fate, knowing that the moment you confirmed he would let himself drop down again.
And that’s exactly what happened.
You sighed, eyes still closed, breathed “Yea,” as you snuck said arm underneath your pillow and felt Joe carelessly crash onto you again.
Without your arm hurting you, it wasn’t so bad, and you felt Joe nuzzle against the bare skin of your upper back. You fully relaxed as you felt him swipe some hair aside that he then gently played with for a moment.
It had been the steady rise and fall of your breathing that had Joe snoozing in no time. Admittedly, the mattress right next to you was more comfortable to sleep on, Joe wasn’t going to lie. But sleeping with his face pressed into your warm morning skin brought a different kind of comfort. He knew that the strap of your top was going to end up marking his cheek, but he didn’t care.
This was nice.
It was one of those feelings he rarely ever got to experience not being in a serious relationship with anyone.
He got certain desires met. If he was honest, that had become almost a little too easy. But it would just be that. Just the sex. He never cuddled, never snuggled with any of those girls. He’d be out of his mind to pull a stunt like rolling on top of one of them to snooze until he actually wanted to get out of bed.
He only got to do that with you. And so he did, the early morning plans he had then no longer important enough. Because he had you in his bed, all relaxed, with soft warm skin and steady breathing that worked like fucking magic.
Just like it was doing now.
And it sort of shouldn’t.
It wasn’t meant to all be so easy.
Joe’d found you in his bed, and he was actually meant to go for a run and then take a quick shower and then have dinner, maybe even see if anyone was up for a drink at the pub.
But he’d done none of those things.
And now here he was.
Falling asleep as he listened to your slow breathing, happy that it wasn’t hitching in your throat. He didn’t like how it sometimes did that when you had been crying.
That run could wait.
The shower after could wait.
Dinner could wait.
For now it was just warmth underneath his covers and your bodies pressed together. Later, you wouldn’t talk about it. And if Joe was lucky, you’d not take so long to be sad again.
Awful thought, he knew.
But he couldn’t help it.
Joe loved it when you felt bad, but only so he could be there to make it better.