It had taken him weeks.

Not to write it—he’d had the chords down the night after you laughed at his bad strumming—but to build the nerve. To actually sit across from you, guitar on his knee, heart thudding in his chest like it had no rhythm at all.

You sat on the porch with a blanket over your shoulders, eyes soft, warm from the fire. The town was quiet. Just the two of you. Just the stars above.

He cleared his throat.

—“Got somethin’ I been meanin’ to play for you,” he said, not quite looking at you.

You tilted your head.

—“Yeah?”

Joel nodded. Fingers hovered over the strings like they didn’t trust him either.

And then he began.

Soft chords. Gentle, careful. The kind of song that felt like the quiet in your chest when someone holds you just right. And then the lyrics came—low and rough, like gravel under warm rain.

—“Didn’t know silence could feel like a name… until yours filled every room I walked through. Ain’t much left of the man I was, but the part that stayed… stayed for you.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t look up. Just kept singing, voice tighter now, more exposed with every word.

—“If I had the words, I’d give ‘em all to you— but I’m better with chords than I am with truth.”

You opened your mouth. To say something. Anything.

But then—

—“Hey,” Ellie’s voice rang from inside, followed by the creak of the screen door. “Sorry to crash the... whatever this is, but we’re outta coffee. Again.”

Joel froze.

The music died.

You blinked, still stuck in the ache of the last line.

Ellie stared between you both, then squinted.

—“Wait. Was that—were you singing to—? Oh. Ohhh, shit.”

Joel groaned under his breath.

—“Ellie.”

—“No, no—my bad! I didn’t mean to—carry on, Romeo.”

And just like that, she vanished back inside.

You looked at Joel.

He was red to the ears, muttering a curse as he set the guitar down.