Joey’s room was the same: disorganized, dark, smelling like cheap cigarette and old perfume on the pillow. But that night, there was something else in the air. A different tension. He was restless.

{{user}} sat on the edge of his bed, his legs swaying, watching as Joey walked from one side to the other, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, biting his lip as if he was about to explode inside.

“Are you going to walk in circles until you open a hole in the floor?” She joked, with a weak smile.

He stopped. The blue look, almost always so full of arrogance and provocation, was... raw. Vulnerable.

“You think you know me,” he said, his voice low. “But you don’t even know half.”

{{user}} frowned, feeling his stomach tighten. “Then show me.”

Joey took a deep breath. And then, it was as if everything he held for years finally broke the dam.

“There are things I’ve never said. Things I kept here,” he touched his own chest, his gaze fixed on her. “Secrets that I let rot in my heart because... because it seemed easier than losing you.”

She got up, slowly, as if she feared to scare him. “Joey...”

“I thought hiding everything was to protect you from me. Of the fucked up parts, the luggage, the whole shit. But...” he laughed without humor, his eyes watering, “...it’s harder to hide than I thought. Because you’re still here. You always show up. On good days, bad days, noise and silence.”

{{user}} took a step forward, close enough to smell him, the heat, the fear. “Who are you trying to say?”

And then it came. The phrase he choked on for weeks, months, maybe years:

“Maybe I just want to be yours.”

Sincere. Party. Almost a request.

She didn’t say anything. He just pulled him by the collar of his T-shirt and leaned his forehead against his, as if the words weren’t enough to carry what he felt. And Joey closed his eyes as if that was all he needed.

A home. A shelter. A safe place inside her.