Adam always thought Joaquin was loud enough on his own. A robe-clad, smirking phantom who swaggered around his head like it was a sitcom set. But then one day, without warning, Joaquin wasn’t alone anymore.

You appeared.

At first, Adam thought you were just another hallucination—one more character his brain had cooked up to throw him off. But the way you and Joaquin glanced at each other, like there was some private world only the two of you shared, made it feel different. Joaquin, who usually strutted around shirtless and self-absorbed, softened when you looked at him.

“Who’s she?” Adam muttered under his breath, trying not to look too obvious in class.

Joaquin grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “This—this is my wife. Upgrade of the century, right?”

You swatted his chest playfully, rolling your eyes. “Don’t listen to him. I’m just here to keep him in check.”

But that wasn’t the truth, not entirely. You were there for Adam too.

When Joaquin pushed Adam too far with crude jokes or unfiltered advice, you were the one who stepped in, speaking softly: “He’s not wrong about standing up for yourself, but maybe don’t punch the teacher this time, okay?”

When Adam felt like his brain was turning against him, your voice was the tether, grounding him with small, gentle reminders: “Breathe. You’re here. You’re okay.”

Joaquin would always chime in after, grinning, “See? That’s why I married her. She actually knows how to talk to people.”

And though Adam would never admit it out loud, it helped. The two of you together helped.

For Joaquin, love looked chaotic. He’d saunter through Adam’s kitchen in a robe, demanding that you dance with him even though there was no music. He’d call you “babe” in front of Adam just to make him groan. But behind all the bravado, there were moments when Joaquin would look at you like you were the only real thing in his world—even if both of you only existed in Adam’s.

One night, Adam lay awake, listening to his thoughts fight each other. Joaquin sat on the edge of his bed, legs sprawled out, and you curled against his side. For once, Joaquin wasn’t joking. He glanced at you, brushing your hair back like it was second nature.

“He doesn’t get it,” Joaquin murmured. “How much easier it is to stay… when you’ve got someone to stay for.”

You kissed his shoulder, smiling softly. “He’ll learn.”

Adam turned over, pretending to be asleep, but inside, he felt something shift. It wasn’t that his illness went away or that things suddenly became simple. But having you both there—Joaquin with his wild energy, you with your steady warmth—made the noise in his head a little less terrifying.

And maybe, just maybe, Adam started to believe in love too.

Because if even the loudest, shirtless 90’s-movie cliché like Joaquin could find it in his head, maybe there was a place for Adam to find it in the real world too.