The Things We Carry, Chapter I

A/N: i apologize for this being posted way later than i originally intended, i was trying to work up the nerve to show my writing on tumblr again. many thanks to @a-night-at-the-0pera for being my beta, you’re the best !! without further ado, i hope you enjoy the first chapter in my new joe fic, the things we carry<3

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Joe was tired.

He was fucking exhausted.

He was worn out to the point that he would lie down in the middle of a crosswalk if it meant he’d get a full eight hours of sleep; the kind of weary that only grainy bodega coffee could momentarily alleviate, each minute blending into the one before it.

If you asked him what was causing his 4 A.M. restlessness, he might blame it on his upstairs neighbors Noah and Meghan and the rambunctious sex they had in the middle of the night. He might say that he had gotten used to the quiet that his place in L.A. provided when he hid there for the last eight months, wanting to get out of Brooklyn to clear his mind. But honestly speaking, the reason he couldn’t sleep, the one thing clouding every thought, drowning every emotion, was his upcoming birthday. Thirty-six… more than a third of his life having passed and he felt as if he had barely anything to show for it. The movie posters hung in the hallway only filled so much of the void that his early mid-life crisis took up. They barely ate up enough space for him to notice them anymore, his eyes instead fixated outward as he studied everyone else’s life.

Both his brother and sister were married with kids. All of his friends seemed to be taking the next step in their lives, proposals and weddings and firstborns on the horizon. Hell, his lousy neighbors at least had each other to paw and shriek at all hours of the day. He was lonely. The kind of loneliness that made his heart ache at every couple he’d spot cuddled up on the L-train, that made him look away when he saw a parent walking their kid to the Montessori preschool a few blocks down. As pathetic as it felt in his head, he just wanted someone to give his love to and to be loved in return.

In his state of exhaustion, he’d been turning down plans left and right, faking commitments to avoid raising suspicion as to why he’d be spending the fifth night in a row in sweats and eating halal over his sink. However, his friends were too good. Their sixth senses buzzed after one too many unspecific texts about some “date” he went on the night before, claiming the girl was “too chatty” and that they decided to part ways after a few drinks. It was clear they weren’t going to let him bask in his isolation for another night. Rami had sent a text reading, “Cocktail party tonight, pick you up at eight. Not taking no for an answer.”

So that’s how he found himself gripping his bathroom sink with one hand, trimmer buzzing away in the other, squinting at the mirror as he attempted to make himself look at least somewhat human for the night. His lamb over rice and sweatpants would still be waiting for him whenever he was allowed to stumble back to Brooklyn… and he was most certainly counting down the hours until he could make that happen.

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Joe wasn’t even dressed when his intercom buzzed at five til’, having found himself pulled down a YouTube wormhole of “GREATEST YANKEE HIGHLIGHTS: 1990-2005.” He muttered a quiet “shit” as he rang them in. He was still wearing Thursday’s pajamas; no way he could hide that from them in the three minutes he had before they were at his door. He’d much rather take their light scolding and let Lucy pull something out of his closet than leave them waiting, knowing that they’d make him change out of his original choice anyway.

It wasn’t until three succinct knocks echoed through his entryway that he pulled himself off the couch, calling out a half-hearted “one second!” as he flipped off his television and made his way to the door.

“Joe!,” Lucy cried, her excitement faltering slightly as she took in his severe bedhead and stained T-shirt.

“You look terrible, man. Looks like you haven’t slept in a week,” Rami added, eyes tinged with concern.

“‘Cause I haven’t,” he chuckled dryly, stepping aside to let them in. “Figured you guys would make me change anyway. I trimmed my beard and decided to let you pick the rest. Least you could do since you’re forcing me to come tonight.”

“You know us too well,” Lucy smiled, leaning in to pinch his cheek before heading toward his room, heels clacking against the hardwood floor. “And we’re not forcing you to come with us. We simply invited you to come along and said that the only acceptable answer was ‘yes.’”

“You need to live a little! We haven’t seen you since you got back from L.A., and from the look of it, I don’t think you’ve left your apartment since then either,” Rami chuckled as he dragged him down the hall, shoving him to sit at the foot of his bed as they rifled through his things.

After pulling several pieces from his closet, they eventually laid something out for him. The couple gave Joe an excited look before motioning him into the bathroom, waiting expectantly for him to change as if he were their six-year-old trying on his school picture day outfit at The Gap. He emerged to the sarcastic cheer of “real pants!” and was dragged down the hall and into the street, where he was promptly sandwiched between Rami and Lucy in a West Village-bound cab. As he watched the red numbers on the meter increase in price, he felt his internal clock ticking. Three hours. He’d give them that long before he’d hop back on the L and hide out in Brooklyn for another week before he was inevitably dragged out again. Three hours wouldn’t kill him. And besides, nothing important can happen in that short amount of time.

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