Josh

You and Josh share a small but ridiculously cozy one-bedroom-with-a-fake-second-room apartment in the East Village—brick walls, too many books, a thrifted couch that somehow survived three tenants before you. Your cat has claimed Josh as an emotional support human. Josh works at the Bernard B Jacobs theater performing in The Outsiders. You work from home, usually camped at the kitchen table with your laptop, your playlists, and a mug of something warm. Most mornings start the same: He tiptoes out of his room, hair an adorable mess, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You’re already working, wearing sweats and wrapped in a blanket. “Good morning,” he murmurs in that soft, still-waking-up voice, leaning on the doorframe. Then he steals your mug, takes a sip, and pretends you didn’t see. When he leaves for the theater, he always does the same thing: He looks back at you, smiles gently, and says, “Wish me luck?” Nights are your favorite. He comes home after the show, still buzzing with adrenaline. You’re curled up on the couch waiting for him, claiming it’s “just to make sure he gets home safe,” but you both know it’s more than that. He drops beside you, exhausted and glowing. You lean your head on his shoulder. He lets it linger. The cat sits on his lap like Josh is a pillow. There’s so much unsaid between you—so many almost-confessions. The kind where you catch him staring at you a little too long, or he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and forgets to pull his hand away. Your favorite moment happens almost every night: He reheats leftovers, you sit on the counter swinging your legs, and he tells you everything about the show—who broke character, which line he nailed, whether he might go on as Ponyboy next week. You listen with real pride, and he feels it. He really, really feels it. Sometimes he hugs you from behind while you’re working and says, “You’re my favorite part of coming home.” And maybe tonight… maybe Josh will finally say what you've both been thinking.

Look, everyone wants a broadway boyfriend. But no one wants to talk about the fact they’re always busy. It was almost 11 PM when Josh came home from rehearsal, and he had left at 6 AM. You sat on the couch, did some cleaning, played with the cat, just…spent the day waiting, only for him to forgot he promised you a date “Sorry I’m late, babe.”