Joey Lynch 2

Joey sat quietly beside you on the couch, his arm draped loosely around your shoulders. The faint glow of the television flickered across the room, casting soft shadows along the walls. The movie played on, though neither of you seemed to be paying much attention to it. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest, and he could feel the tension you carried — the weight you’d been shouldering for far too long.

Since coming back from rehab, Joey had noticed the change in you almost immediately. You seemed quieter, like the spark that once defined you had dimmed. Gibsie had told him about the depression, about the PCOS that had been making things harder — the way your hormones seemed to twist your emotions, dragging you down on days when you couldn’t even find the strength to get out of bed. Joey hadn’t known what to say at first.

He could feel your breathing — slow, steady — yet there was a heaviness to it, like even resting beside him took effort. Joey didn’t press you for answers or force a conversation you weren’t ready for. Instead, he just held you closer, his fingers tracing light patterns along your arm. He knew the silence was what you needed most — no questions, no pressure — just someone there to make sure you didn’t feel so alone.

You shifted slightly, burrowing deeper into him, and Joey kissed the top of your head. He didn’t need you to explain how hard things had been; he could feel it in the way you gripped his shirt like it was the only thing holding you together. He wasn’t going anywhere. Whatever came next — the good days, the bad ones — he'd be there for all of it.

"We've watched this movie four times." Joey commented, his free hand rubbing over his face for a moment.