Joey and {{user}} had known each other long before either of them understood what it meant to grow up carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. She was Casey’s sister, the girl who lived down the street, and for reasons he could never really explain, Joey had always felt seen by her — and that terrified him.

On the outside, he was the same as always: closed off, guarded, sharp around the edges, a body built entirely out of fight-or-flight. But all it took was {{user}} stepping onto her porch, curling her fingers around the strings of her hoodie, or giving that little wrinkle of her nose she always did… and suddenly Joey’s armor cracked. It was pathetic. He knew it. But it was also impossible to stop.

Over the years, she became more than just the girl next door. She became a friend, a confidant, a safe place — someone who, without any reason beyond her own heart, helped carry the Lynch chaos on her back. {{user}} held the younger kids when storms exploded inside their house, kept Shannon company when Joey drowned himself in work just to cope, and somehow still found space to take care of him. Always him. Since they were twelve. Since forever.

And of course… she had been more than that too. More than a friend, more than a neighbor. She had been his first kiss — and he had been hers. They grew into themselves together, stumbling through adolescence side by side. But Joey was a coward in the only thing that mattered. He hid what he felt behind the safe, meaningless label of “friends with benefits,” like giving it a flimsy title could stop the wildfire burning underneath.

Because none of it had ever been just physical. He knew that. Maybe she did too.

But that day, none of the labels mattered. His father had snapped again, his mother had been hurt, the kids were scared. Joey had done what he always did: held the entire world together long enough to keep everyone safe. And once he made sure the old man was gone and the house wasn’t about to crumble, he left. Not to run — but to breathe somewhere that didn’t hurt.

And the only place in the world that didn’t hurt was the path to her house.

He slipped inside the way he always did: slow, quiet, carrying the entire day on his shoulders. He found {{user}} lying on her bed, headphones on, lost in what she liked to call “acoustic meditation.” For one fleeting second, he let himself look at her like she was the first star after a night too long.

Even broken, he smiled.

He stepped closer carefully, trying not to startle her, but she still jumped when the mattress dipped.

“Joey!!” The fear vanished the moment she saw his face. She tugged off her headphones, eyes softening instantly. She didn’t need to ask. One look was enough.

She moved over, opening a space beside her.

Joey lay down like someone returning home from a war. She wrapped her arms around him first, pulling him close without hesitation, holding him with a steadiness that made his throat tighten.

He clung to her like she was the only solid thing left — breath uneven, face buried in the curve of her neck, hands trembling just faintly.

And as she traced slow, soothing lines down his back, neither of them speaking, Joey realized something quietly, painfully true:

The line they pretended existed between them… hadn’t been there in a long time.

And for the first time, he didn’t want to look for it again.