hatsuyuki00

[hatsuyuki00]

Is this life… real

Chap 7

SUMMARY: What you shared during the lesson today didn’t just stay with the kids — it lingered with Joel, too. He’s begun to open up to you since last night. Not by much, but it’s something. A start. And little by little, you’re starting to see more clearly the bond he shares with Ellie.

Warning: No Y/N, amnesia, grumpy Joel, grumpy x sunshine, love triangle, character death, blood, injury.

Let me know if you wanna be on the tag list! 💕

📌 Taglist: @aphroditesblunt @mashnka @whirlwindrider29 @dendulinka6

W/C: 3.9K

Series Masterlist I Previous Chapter

Morning light slips softly through the thin curtains, gently waking you from sleep. You sit up — the blanket still holds the warmth of the night before, but what warms your heart more than anything is the memory that returns like a slow reel: Joel’s kiss.

That gentle touch — unexpected, deep, full of tender reverence — seems to linger at the corner of your lips, soft and achingly sweet. All you have to do is close your eyes, and you can almost feel his gaze, the way his chest rose with each breath, and the whisper spoken so quietly it felt meant for you alone:

“It’s you.”

You don’t try to push the memory away. Instead, you smile — letting yourself stay in that feeling just a little longer. Something begins to bloom quietly inside you — soft, certain, and unmistakably clear. It makes your heart beat a little faster, as if everything has shifted, just a little. And from deep within, something new has begun to take root.

But you know you can’t stay curled under the covers forever, even if part of your mind still lingers in the gentle aftermath of last night. There’s work waiting. A classroom to get to. With a reluctant sigh, you get out of bed, wash up quickly, and head into the kitchen.

The faint smell of food in the air catches you by surprise. On the table sits a neatly arranged breakfast, still faintly warm, and next to it — a small folded note. You open it. The familiar handwriting reads:

“I’ll be home late today, so don’t wait for me ❤️” — Matt.

You let out a quiet laugh — soft, almost to yourself — but it lands heavy in your chest. There’s warmth in it. A gentle kind of care. And tucked somewhere between the lines… a small, quiet guilt.

You still haven’t told Matt anything. Haven’t told him how you really feel. Not to mention that after last night, you know exactly who you really have feelings for. You set the note back on the table, your gaze dimming slightly. The kitchen is warm, but the silence lingers.

Sooner or later, you’ll have to face it. You know you can’t keep quiet forever.

But… how are you going to tell Matt?

The class goes smoothly. Today’s topic is honesty and forgiveness — it sounds simple, but somehow it stirs a surprising excitement in the room.

At first, the kids are a little shy, sitting quietly like they’re weighing something in their heads. But after a few words of encouragement and some small stories you share, little hands slowly start to go up. One child talks about bravely admitting they broke a vase at home. Another confesses they once got really mad at a friend but learned to forgive after understanding the reason.

Each story brings its own color, filling the classroom with warmth and openness. You smile quietly, watching these little faces learning what it means to be kind — one small step at a time.

As the lesson ends and the kids begin packing up, you’re tidying your desk when you notice someone standing quietly beside you.

It’s Daniel.

He looks nervous, his small hands clutching the hem of his shirt, eyes red like he’s just barely held back tears. You lean down a bit, your voice gentle.

“What’s wrong, Daniel?”

He bites his lip, then after a few seconds of silence, whispers — so softly it’s almost hard to catch:

“… I was the one who broke that toy the other day…”

His voice trembles.

“I… I was scared of getting in trouble… so I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry…”

You pause for a moment, then smile. Reaching out, you gently ruffle his hair.

“That wasn’t easy to say. But you were really brave to tell the truth.”

You meet his eyes — your gaze soft, but honest.

“There’s just one thing left — say sorry to your friend. Sometimes, even just a simple ‘I’m sorry’ is enough to show someone you truly regret what happened.”

Daniel nods. His eyes are still shiny with tears, but there’s a small light in them now — clearer, steadier. You watch his small figure leave the room, your chest warming. Something so small… but somehow, it makes the whole day feel complete.

You turn back to the shelf, putting the books away while checking if any titles are missing. That’s when the classroom door opens again. Without looking up, you call out teasingly,

“Forget something again, Steven?”

Slow footsteps echo behind you — followed by a deep, familiar voice.

“It’s me.”

You pause for a moment — then turn.

It’s Joel.

He’s standing at the doorway, the late afternoon light cutting across his face in a soft line. That calm, familiar look is still there… but in his eyes, you catch something a little weary — like the weight of the day still clings to his shoulders.

You smile gently. Without a word, you step toward him and wrap your arms around him — a hug as natural as breathing, one that doesn’t need thinking. Your arms close around him — not tight, but firm enough to send a quiet, clear kind of care.

“Was patrol all right?” you murmur. “You look tired…”

Joel slides his arms around your waist, slowly, like he’s settling into a place he’s longed to rest in — a safe place after a long day. There’s no rush in his hold, but no distance either. Just enough for you to feel his breath near your ear.

“Patrol was fine,” he says softly, his voice low and edged with fatigue. “But there’s still a bit left to do.”

His eyes drift toward the window. Outside, the sunset spreads across the ground like honey, bathing his hair in quiet gold. He watches the sun sink behind the distant treetops, something quiet and faraway in his gaze.

“This kind of light,” he says slowly, “reminds me of peaceful evenings when I was a kid.”

You smile again, holding him a little closer — like you’re trying to pass him a bit more warmth. There’s something about holding him that feels both strong and gentle, like holding something rare you never want to let go of.

“Light,” you whisper, your voice soft as wind brushing through leaves, “isn’t just a symbol of hope. It’s a reminder that even after a long, tiring day, we can still find a quiet moment to breathe again.”

Joel turns to look at you. The faraway look in his eyes fades, replaced by presence — steady and full. He says nothing, only nods, a faint smile touching the corner of his lips — as if, somehow, the weariness has loosened its grip.

And that’s enough.

In the stillness tinted by fading light, you and Joel find each other again. No grand words needed. Just an embrace. Just a glance. Just being here — together — is enough.

After helping you put the books back on the shelf, Joel doesn’t leave right away. Instead, he sits down in the middle of the room — where the kids usually gather to play after class. He crosses his legs, resting his hands lightly on either side, and tilts his head as he looks around. His eyes drift slowly across the messy little drawings pinned to the walls, the colorful low chairs, and the old rug worn soft at the edges. In that gaze is a kind of warm curiosity… and maybe, just maybe, a trace of something like wistful regret.

He turns to you, his tone touched with teasing.

“How were the kids today? I’m guessing no one got in trouble.”

You’re leaning lightly against the edge of the desk, arms wrapped around a pile of the kids’ homework. Your posture is relaxed, your shoulders gently sloped, your gaze a little distant — like it’s still floating somewhere in the calm of the afternoon. A quiet smile crosses your lips, easy and proud.

“Not a single one,” you say, voice carrying a hint of warmth and pride. “They were good today, surprisingly interested in the topic, too.”

You sit down beside him, turning slightly to face him. For a brief moment, your eyes meet his, and when you speak again, your voice softens — more thoughtful.

“Today’s topic was honesty and forgiveness. I think those are things kids should learn early — not just to be well-behaved students, but to grow into good people.”

You pause, as if to take a slow breath before continuing:

“It’s more than just a meaningful lesson… it can change the way they see the world. The way they treat each other.”

Joel nods slightly, but his eyes are no longer on you. Instead, he quietly turns toward the window — where the sunset slants in, casting a soft golden hue across the classroom floor.

And something in him shifts.

There’s a stillness in his eyes now, distant — like a part of him is reaching for something he can’t quite touch. And deep inside, something stirs.

Your words — simple as they seem, just a lesson meant for kids — sink deeper than you know. Because they land exactly where he thought nothing ever could.

The topic of honesty and forgiveness cuts like a mirror held up to a past he’s spent years avoiding. A mistake that can’t be undone. A lie he once told to protect — but in the end, it became a weight he’s carried ever since.

He thinks of Ellie.

He remembers the last moment she looked at him— her eyes filled with hurt and disappointment. She just wanted to hear the truth — even though she already knew. She knew what he had tried to hide — and had once hoped wasn’t real. And the price he made her pay… just to keep her alive — the one he chose for her without asking.

He once believed silence could protect her. But in the end, it was the truth she uncovered on her own that carved the distance between them — a space he’s never been able to close.

The corner of his mouth twitches — you can’t tell if it’s the start of a bitter smile, or just a breath held back.

You’re still beside him, quietly watching. You don’t know what exactly is happening inside him, but you feel it — something in him has gone still. Like a shadow slowly falling across the soft light of evening.

Something heavy. Unnamed. Lingering. Like the last bit of sunlight fading from the wall.

“You know…” he begins quietly, voice so soft it feels like he’s speaking only to himself. His eyes stay fixed on the window, avoiding yours — like meeting your gaze right now would make the words too heavy to say out loud.

“Maybe… maybe you won’t be happy to hear this. But I think…”

He hesitates, fingers curling slightly, pressing into his knee. A pause settles between you, then he turns, meeting your eyes — steady, but uncertain.

“…I want to tell you anyway.”

You don’t rush him. You just sit there, quietly listening. Your eyes are gentle — not pushing, not judging — like a calm space wide enough for him to open up. And that alone makes him exhale, as if a small weight in him has lifted — just a little.

He draws a slow breath. His fingers relax and drift softly over his knee — a small, unconscious motion, like he’s trying to settle himself.

“I lied to Ellie,” he says, voice low and steady — like a confession. “Back then, I thought… I thought it was better for her not to know. That if I kept the truth from her, at least she wouldn’t have to bear that weight. Not right away.”

He pauses, eyes closing briefly, like pushing against a memory he’d rather not face.

“…But I was wrong.”

The words fall softly — but they land heavy. Like reopening an old wound.

“I didn’t just hurt her… I broke the one thing that mattered most between us: trust.” His shoulders tighten, lips pressing together. His voice wavers, like each word is pulled from a place he hasn’t let himself touch in a long time. “The way she looked at me… that look of disappointment… I still see it.”

You can hear it in his breath — the quiet strain behind every word, like something he’s been carrying too long.

“I thought I was protecting her by hiding the truth…” he trails off, voice dropping. “…but maybe I was just trying to hide from myself.”

His gaze drops to his hands. He laces his fingers together, then slowly lets them drift apart — like trying to hold on to something that’s already slipped through.

“You know,” he murmurs, still not looking at you, “every time I think back to it, I keep wondering… if I could’ve done it differently. If telling the truth back then… would’ve made any difference.”

Silence stretches out between you.

“I don’t regret saving her,” he says — quiet, nearly a whisper. “…But I do wonder…if the price I paid was too much.”

Regret and helplessness rise in him — deep and quiet like an undertow. He can’t stop it, can’t shove it aside. The memories rush in: Ellie’s laughter, her awkward hugs, the way her eyes lit up when she was telling a story… and the quiet, painful moments — when trust began to slip away.

He knows, no matter how many words he speaks, no matter how much truth he shares now… some things just don’t go back to how they were. Some things, once broken, never fit quite the same again.

But then he sees your eyes, and something in him softens. In that gaze, there is no judgment. Only quiet, steady presence — something he didn’t realize he’d needed this much. And he realizes: saying all of this to you — you — might be the first time he’s allowed himself to breathe, even just a little.

“I just want you to understand…” — his voice is barely more than a breath — “and I hope… you don’t think too badly of me because of it.”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you place your hand gently on his shoulder — not gripping, not heavy, just enough to let him know you’re here, that you’re listening. Then, slowly, you reach out, your fingers brushing his cheek as you gently wipe away the tear that had quietly fallen. Like holding something fragile. Like you’re telling him, without words, that he doesn’t have to carry this alone.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him cry.

Not the kind of crying that breaks a person. But the kind that slips out when someone has held too much for too long. That tear isn’t weakness — it’s sorrow that’s finally found a way out.

You keep your eyes on him — warm, understanding. No accusations. No pressure. Just a quiet presence that asks nothing and offers everything.

Your voice comes, gentle but certain, like a warm breeze in the quiet space between you:

“I don’t know everything that happened between you and Ellie…” You pause, your voice dipping softer, “…but I believe this much: you did what you did because you wanted to protect her. Right?”

You give his shoulder a soft squeeze — a silent affirmation, a kind of trust that doesn’t need proof.

“You never meant to hurt her. And I understand… that everything you did, you did because you loved her.”

Your words reach into something deep — not loud, not dramatic, just a steady comfort. And in that moment, it feels like something inside him shifts, loosens — like maybe, just maybe, some part of the weight he’s carried is beginning to lift.

You stroke his cheek gently and go on, your voice low, soothing — like trying to mend what’s broken:

“She might not see it now. She might be hurting. But I think, deep down, she knows… that you were always trying to keep her safe. That you gave her more than anyone else ever had.”

A soft smile touches your lips, warm and tender.

“Maybe it didn’t end the way you hoped. But none of it was wasted. None of it was for nothing.”

You pause for a breath, your gaze gentle on his.

“And if no one else ever tells you that what you did mattered… then let it be me.”

The silence settles again.

He looks at you — and in his eyes is something close to breaking. Not collapse, but exhaustion. The quiet kind that comes from carrying too much for too long. There’s sadness there. A wound not yet healed. And confusion he can’t quite put into words.

It feels like your words have lifted the edge of the fog inside him — just enough for him to take a breath. But you can still see the hesitation in his eyes, like he hasn’t yet found a way out of the maze he’s trapped in.

His gaze lingers on you — longer now, deeper — like he’s searching for something in you, or maybe… just trying to make sure you’re really here, still here.

At last, he speaks. His voice is rough, worn thin — as if the words before have drained the strength from him.

He lifts a hand, slowly pressing it to yours, still resting on his cheek. The gesture is slow, full of quiet gratitude.

“Thank you…” he says, barely audible, voice catching. “I just… I don’t know what to do with all of this.”

He pauses again, quieter still.

“It feels like I did something wrong… and now I can’t go back to fix it. But you’re right… I only wanted to protect her.”

He turns toward the window again. Breathes in deeply, like trying to settle something rising in his chest. The regret hasn’t disappeared — not yet. But for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t feel so alone in it.

You don’t need to say anything more. Just being here is enough. The quiet touch of your hand. The steady light in your eyes.

Your presence — quiet, steady — gives him a place to rest. A moment to put the weight down. Even if nothing can undo what’s already done… maybe sometimes having someone who listens — really listens — is enough to help you keep going.

After the conversation, Joel walks with you to the dining hall. Neither of you says much along the way, but the silence carries a quiet warmth — like the simple presence of the other is enough.

As soon as you step inside, your eyes land on Matt, sitting in a corner table with Tommy. For a brief second, your gaze lingers — not out of surprise, but from a flicker of hesitation, almost like a reflex. Joel notices. He pauses for a moment, his eyes drifting toward Matt before turning back to you. His expression remains calm, as always — but in his eyes, something shifts. Something quiet and fleeting, like a flicker of sadness — there and gone in a blink

“You should go sit with them,” he says gently, voice low like a breeze. “I’ll sit somewhere else.”

You turn to him. And in that moment, you meet his eyes — deep, still, and impossibly gentle. It’s not the look of someone standing outside your world, but of someone who understands it… and chooses to step back anyway, letting you decide.

There’s no blame in those eyes. No anger. Just trust — and a quiet kind of sorrow that makes you want to reach for his hand, even though you don’t.

Your eyes lower slightly, something shifting in your chest — part gratitude, part guilt, and a quiet ache you don’t have a name for. Still, you draw in a breath and nod, choosing honesty.

“I promise… I’ll talk to Matt,” you say slowly, voice soft but certain. “Just… wait for me.”

For a moment, the corner of his mouth lifts into a faint smile. Not forced. Not hurried. Just a small nod — then he turns and walks toward the food counter — leaving you there with a heart that beats just a little differently now.

You breathe in, steadying yourself. No more avoiding this. You’ve known how Matt feels for a while — but you’ve never truly given him an answer. And silence will only make it worse. Even if the truth might hurt him… you have to face it.

After grabbing your tray, you head toward the table where Matt and Tommy are sitting. They’re mid-conversation, but when they see you approaching, Tommy leans in and says something quietly to Matt — whatever it is makes him chuckle. Matt looks up at you with a brief smile — friendly, natural, but perhaps a little guarded.

“Good luck,” Tommy says to Matt, clapping a hand on his shoulder like he’s leaving behind some silent message. Then he glances at you — half teasing, half warm — and walks off, leaving the two of you in a quiet that settles too quickly.

You take a seat across from Matt, your gaze briefly scanning his face. He looks calm — no tension, no guardedness, just that familiar ease. But in his eyes, there’s something waiting. Subtle, but there.

“What were you two talking about?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. Your tone isn’t really curious — more like you’re trying to read between the lines.

Matt lets out a quiet laugh, still carrying that spark of mischief.

“Oh, nothing,” he says with a light shrug.

He pauses, then leans in a little — his eyes bright with something playful, like he’s keeping something just for you.

“Don’t forget our date tomorrow,” he says, lips curling into a grin. “I promise you’ll be surprised.”

It takes you a second to remember. And when you do, a flicker of unease rises — not because you forgot, but because you’re not sure how to feel. You want to tell him the truth — that you’re uncertain, that your heart isn’t really in it — but when you see the spark in his eyes, the words catch in your throat.

So you smile, trying to smooth over the tangle inside you.

“Yeah… of course,” you say, keeping your tone light. “I haven’t gone out in a while anyway.”

It’s the only excuse you can find — soft enough not to let him down, distant enough not to offer too much.

Matt nods, his smile lingering. His eyes light up like you’ve just confirmed something important. The way he looks at you — trusting, hopeful, a little too kind — tightens something in your chest.

You smile back, then lower your gaze to your tray, fiddling with your food as if it might help you escape. You take a bite, small, mechanical — but the taste doesn’t register. There’s just that soft ache in your chest — not from anticipation, but from knowing what Matt is hoping for… and that you can’t return it.

You eat slowly, quietly, as if staying in motion might keep your thoughts from spiraling. The words you want to say circle your mind — clear, real — but they never make it out. And when you finally look up and meet his gentle eyes again, everything inside you stills. Guilt rises again, quiet but sharp.

You don’t want to lie. And you don’t want to feed him hope you can’t give back. But how do you say — clearly, honestly — that your heart is beginning to lean toward someone else?

That some part of you… is quietly turning toward Joel?

You tell yourself: just this once, you’ll go — as a friend.

But deep down, you know — for Matt, it’s not just that. And if you keep staying silent, the one who gets hurt… won’t just be Matt.

It’ll be Joel.

And you, too.

[hatsuyuki00]

Is this life… real

Chap 6

SUMMARY: After coming back from patrol with Joel, you're not sure how to face Matt — not after what happened. You hesitantly throw out a random question, and Joel's unexpected answer catches you completely off guard.

Warning: No Y/N, amnesia, grumpy Joel, grumpy x sunshine, love triangle, character death, blood, injury.

Let me know if you wanna be on the tag list! 💕

📌 Taglist: @aphroditesblunt @mashnka @whirlwindrider29 @dendulinka6

W/C: 3.9K

Series Masterlist I Previous Chapter

When you get home, just as the door clicks shut behind you, a gentle aroma from the kitchen drifts through the air, slowing your steps. In the small kitchen, the warm glow from the hanging light casts everything in a soft golden hue — like a thin blanket drawn over the night’s chill.

Matt stands by the stove, slicing vegetables with quick, practiced movements. He looks familiar in a strange way — focused, quiet, yet always aware of everything around him.

You hesitate for a moment at the doorway. The light falls across his face — the high bridge of his nose, the slight furrow in his brow as he checks the boiling pot. A moment later, he turns around, as if he’s known you were there all along. His expression softens, and there’s something in his eyes — playful, but gentle.

“Just practicing,” he says with a wink. “Gotta be ready to cook for someone I care about, right?”

The words are light, but you know what they carry. And for a second, your heart skips a beat.

You offer a soft smile, trying to keep things easy, but the smile barely reaches your lips before fading. The feeling in your chest... doesn’t have a name. Like an undercurrent moving beneath a calm lake. Your fingers find the hem of your shirt — a reflex, trying to steady yourself, though you’re not even sure what’s unsettling you.

Was it what he said? The way he looked at you? Or... what happened yesterday?

You avoid his eyes. Your gaze drops to the floor, to the faint shadow where the light pools at your feet. Your heart still races, without rhythm. And in your mind, the memory of that kiss returns — brief, sudden, yet echoing with something hollow and unshakable inside.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know what to do. Only one thing feels certain: since that moment, something between the two of you has shifted — even if you don’t yet understand where it’s heading.

You stand there in silence, trying not to make the air feel heavier. But inside, the emotions keep stacking up — like layers of cloth, none of them quite fitting right.

The two of you sit across from each other at the table. The light above casts a soft glow, gently settling over the bowls and chopsticks, over the rising steam from the still-hot soup.

The air between you holds a quiet mix of comfort… and something just shy of awkward. Every now and then, Matt glances your way — a subtle look, like he’s searching for something he doesn’t quite know how to ask. And you — you keep your eyes on your plate, as if focusing on each bite is the only way to hold off the quiet chaos slowly building inside.

You scoop a spoonful of soup, blow on it gently, then glance up at him, trying to think of something to say. Finally, to break the silence, you speak:

“So... where do you usually go on patrol? I mean, what kind of places do you go? And what would you do if something unexpected came up?”

Matt pauses for a beat, as if caught off guard by the question. Then a small smile flickers on his lips — soft, and touched with a hint of amusement.

“Patrol?” he repeats, voice even, his hands still moving to pick up food like nothing’s unusual. “Well... it depends. Some days are quiet — nothing happens. Other times, you have to think fast and figure things out on the spot.”

You nod slightly, picking up a piece of vegetable, doing your best to act normal. Your eyes still avoid meeting his for too long.

“Some places I go are familiar. Others are completely new,” he continues, voice low and warm, the kind of tone that seems to soften the room on its own. “One time I rode out for hours — just trees and hills everywhere. Every place has its own feel, if you pay attention.”

You press your lips together and nod again. Part of you is still listening to his voice — the rest quietly watches the little details in him. The way he tilts his head when thinking, the way his hand rests lightly on the edge of the table, that look in his eyes — gentle, but like it’s reaching for something deeper.

Then he looks up, and his eyes meet yours. The gaze isn’t rushed, but it stops you without warning. It’s still that same gentleness — only now there’s something else in it, something like... a question.

“So why are you suddenly curious about all this?” he asks — calm, but direct. “You’ve never asked me before.”

You flinch, just a little, your spoon hovering midair. But you hide it with a smile, doing your best to sound casual:

“I just wanted to know more, that’s all. And... I’ve never really left Jackson since I got here, you know?”

You know that isn’t true — not after this morning, when you rode out on patrol with Joel. But right now, you can’t let Matt find out. Because you know — if he does, the air between you will shift in an instant.

“How about I take you somewhere this weekend,” Matt says after a moment of thought, his voice warm and tinged with a quiet excitement. “I’m sure you’ll like it. It’s not far from here.”

You look up, catching his eyes waiting for your reaction. You smile softly, trying to keep your tone light.

“Sounds nice… I’ll see how things go.”

Matt gives a small nod and goes back to eating like it’s nothing. But just a few seconds later, he speaks again — his voice casual, almost offhand, though his gaze doesn’t leave you.

“Didn’t you say you were heading to Maria’s this morning? I saw her, but not you.”

You freeze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat. Luckily, you did stop by Maria’s before heading home — just long enough to ask a few questions. You set your fork down, keeping your face neutral as you reply:

“Oh… maybe when you came by, I was in the storeroom. She asked me to help check through the food supplies. Showed me a few things too — like how to organize stuff better so it doesn’t take up unnecessary space.”

You lean slightly toward him, voice calm and matter-of-fact, like you’re simply sharing part of your day.

“She told me that last winter, Jackson almost ran low on food because of a miscount. They had to cut back on rations for a few days to make up for it. I didn’t think inventory could affect that much…”

Matt says nothing, still picking at his food, but his eyes stay on you — focused, like he’s taking in every word.

“She also mentioned something about checking the water supply,” you go on. “I never really thought about it, but Maria said there was a time when the water got contaminated and no one noticed right away. A bunch of people got sick for days.”

You glance at him. He’s still quiet, nodding slightly as he listens.

“Oh — you’re on patrol tomorrow, right?” you ask.

Matt nods, mouth full, making a small sound in his throat as he lifts a hand in confirmation.

You look over at the sink, where a small pile of dishes has gathered like the aftermath of a minor battle. You point toward it and say gently, “Then you should get some rest. I’ll handle that.”

He swallows the last bite and laughs, shaking his head. “No need. I’ve got it. You go deal with that stack of homework from the kids.”

He glances at you, a playful smile still on his lips. “Pretty sure someone will be complaining about not having graded half of it.”

You blink, then sigh softly, defeated by your own forgetfulness.

“Right… totally forgot.”

He finishes eating before you do. Without saying anything, he stands and walks over to the fridge. You’re still leaning over your plate, trying to finish the last of your food, when he returns and places a cold jar of yogurt in front of you.

You look up, surprised, then let out a small laugh.

“You made this?”

Matt shakes his head, a soft smile curving at the corners of his mouth.

“No. Jimmy gave it to me this afternoon. I figured you’d like it, so I saved it for you.”

Your heart is still tangled up in the weight of his quiet gestures. Even so, you keep the smile on your face, giving him a gentle nod.

“Thanks… for everything.”

He smiles, reaches out, and lightly taps your head — like it’s becoming a habit. “It’s nothing,” he says softly. “As long as you like it.”

After dinner, you head back to your room, take a quick shower, then sit down at your desk and start working through the unfinished stack of homework from the kids. The soft yellow glow of the desk lamp spills over the pages, ink marks fading slightly into the paper, and you lose track of time. When you finally lift your head, feeling a slight stiffness in your neck, you realize it’s already close to ten.

You suddenly feel thirsty, so you stand, stretch a little, and head to the kitchen for a glass of water. Outside the window, night has wrapped its quiet blanket over the familiar view — still, calm. It’s so silent that your footsteps echo gently on the wooden floor.

You’re about to head back to your room, but as you near the door, you realize you’re not quite sleepy yet. So you decide to take a short walk.

Once, walking around this late might have felt reckless. But this is Jackson — a small, peaceful community where nothing ever really feels dangerous. A few streetlights still glow along the main road, casting pale golden light across the pavement. The cool air brushes against your skin, clearing your mind a little.

You walk slowly, letting your thoughts drift without shape. Matt’s face appears — every little gesture, every glance, the way he tapped your head like it was becoming a habit… all of it lingers somewhere deep in your chest.

You let out a quiet breath, eyes lowering to the path as you walk.

“He’s just a friend… right?” you ask yourself.

But if he’s just a friend, why does every little thing he does make my heart feel like this?

Your steps slow. Another question rises — softer, but somehow clearer.

And if he’s not just a friend… do I like him?

You sigh again. Matt has always been someone close to you — familiar, dependable. A friend. Nothing more, nothing less. But ever since that night, something has quietly shifted. You’re no longer sure of anything. Every accidental touch, every glance from him… sends your heartbeat off rhythm, just slightly.

You sigh once more. And when you finally look up, you find yourself near the dining hall.

It looks like it’s closed, but the lights inside are still on, and you can make out someone moving around, cleaning up.

You turn away, just starting to walk again when suddenly, someone calls your name from behind.

You flinch, then turn — and see Joel walking toward you, hands tucked into his coat pockets — steady, familiar presence unmistakable. Maybe he just came out from the dining hall. Under the walkway lights, you can see his face clearly — calm, but with a trace of something that feels like the aftermath of a serious conversation.

You tilt your head slightly, surprised.

 “You’re still up this late?”

Joel smiles and steps closer, his voice as even as ever.

“Had a few things to talk over. Just wrapped up.”

He slows his pace to match yours, walking beside you, eyes steady on your face.

“How about you?”

You glance ahead, answering as you walk, your voice dipping in thought.

“Couldn’t sleep. Just… had some things on my mind.”

You let the words trail off, your gaze fixed on the darkness ahead. There’s a question building in your head — one you know you shouldn’t ask. But the more you try to push it away, the louder it becomes.

Joel doesn’t press. He simply walks alongside you, shoulder brushing yours now and then — just enough to feel close, just enough to feel quiet.

And then, after a long pause, you speak. You don’t look at him. Your voice is so soft even you can barely hear it:

“Joel… I know I shouldn’t ask this, but… how do you know when you’re in love with someone?”

He thinks for a moment, his expression growing thoughtful. Joel doesn’t answer right away. He slows his pace just slightly, as if giving himself time — or maybe just giving your words space to settle.

You don’t look at him, unsure of what might show on his face. Maybe surprise. Maybe something else entirely. The silence stretches between you — not heavy, but full. The kind that makes your heart beat a little louder than it should.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and measured.

“Well... I don't think I can give a concrete answer to that. Everyone feels love a little differently, you know.” He pauses, eyes still fixed on the path ahead. “I guess it’s not something that hits you all at once. It creeps up on you. Quiet. Slow. Like one day you wake up and realize... that person’s been on your mind more than they probably should be.”

You glance sideways. His face is calm, but there's a subtle furrow in his brow — the kind that suggests he isn’t speaking in generalities. He’s remembering something.

He goes on, his voice softer now.

“It’s not always loud. Sometimes it’s just... small things. Like remembering what they like, or noticing when something’s off. Wanting to be near them even when there’s nothing to say.”

He exhales — not quite a laugh, more like breath caught on memory.

“Maybe it’s when their pain feels heavier than yours. When their happiness matters more than anything.”

You don’t say anything. Your fingers curl slightly around the edge of your sleeves, your heart thudding with something you can’t quite name.

You turn your head toward him, your voice soft, uncertain.

“How about you?”

He turns slightly, just enough to glance at you — like he hadn’t expected the question. A small, almost sheepish smile touches his lips. His gaze drops for a second, then lifts back to the road.

“Me?” he echoes. “I guess... I just know. I feel it. Right here.”

He taps his chest, right over his heart.

He takes a quiet breath, his next words gentler now.

“It’s hard to explain. But when it happens… everything shifts. The way you see things, the way you think. The world just feels brighter when they’re around.”

Another pause, as if weighing his own words.

“And they become the one thing you can’t imagine living without. You think about them before you fall asleep. You catch yourself wondering what they’d think about the smallest things. And even when they’re not around, it’s like they’re still there.”

A faint, almost wistful smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“They become your everything — not just someone important, but the part of your life you can’t imagine being without.”

He hesitates, then adds more quietly:

“When you love someone, it changes everything. Your priorities shift. You’d do anything to protect them — not because you have to, but because you want to.”

His voice lowers again, serious.

“And when they’re not around... it’s like a part of you is missing. You feel unsteady, like something’s out of place and nothing quite fits. It’s hard to shake and no matter what you do, it doesn’t quite settle.”

Then, softer — almost a whisper:

“But when they’re there... when they’re right next to you... it’s the best feeling in the world.”

He looks at you then, finally. And when your eyes meet his, there’s no teasing in them — just that steady calm, and something deeper. Like he’s seeing not just the question, but noticing something behind it.

“But... why’re you asking me that?”

His voice is gentle, and something in it catches you off guard — the kind of softness that makes your breath falter just for a second.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing off his question on purpose.

“I guess I’ve thought about someone… maybe.”

Joel doesn’t press. He just nods and keeps walking beside you.

But something stirs quietly inside you. You didn’t expect Joel to share that much. And somehow, his words keep echoing — not loud, but persistent and lingering.

The Joel you know… is this really him?

You let out another quiet laugh — small, but enough to make him glance over with a slight frown.

“What?” Joel asks, narrowing his eyes at you.

You shake your head, still smiling.

“Didn’t know you had all that in you. And hey — that’s pretty solid progress in the communication department.”

He chuckles, eyes glinting with just a hint of mischief.

“Well, I’ve been around,” he replies, then adds with a teasing glance, “Besides, I’ve lived longer than you, young lady.”

You can’t help but laugh — at the way he says it, like he’s trying to sound serious but not quite pulling it off. That playful, unexpected tone makes the space between you both feel suddenly light again.

After a small pause, you tilt your head toward him, half teasing, half curious:

“So… have you met anyone? Recently, I mean.”

What seems like a casual question catches him off guard. His steps slow, and his gaze drifts — like he’s looking for something far in the distance to focus on.

There’s a short silence. Then he scratches the back of his head — awkward, and very… Joel.

“Well… not exactly met,” he mutters, like he’s weighing each word. “I’ve thought about someone… maybe.”

His eyes dart down, catching a glimpse of the ground, then slide away again.

“But… I wouldn’t say there’s anyone special.”

He gives a sheepish smile — the kind that says he’s unsure of what to say next. But in his voice, in that restless glance… there’s something he can’t quite hide — a quiet flicker that flashes, then fades.

He falls silent again, his steps slowing as if he’s trying to keep space between your question and his answer.

“I mean…” he draws out the words, hand back at the nape of his neck again— the usual tell when he’s unsure.

“There’s someone… who’s been on my mind. A lot, actually. But… maybe it’s just me overthinking.”

He smiles softly, but it’s the hesitant kind — like even he isn’t sure how to face that feeling. His eyes don’t meet yours, as if trying to dodge a truth too heavy to say out loud.

Still, his footsteps stay in time with yours. He walks beside you, steady and quiet — like some part of him doesn’t want to leave. Like he just wants to stay close. Just a little longer.

“Anyway… no one yet. Not really,” he adds after a moment, voice fading slightly — like it gets carried off by the cold wind drifting through the quiet night.

Then, without thinking, he nudges a small stone on the ground with his foot — a thoughtless motion that speaks more clearly than anything he’s said.

You laugh at his awkwardness, then glance back at him — your eyes gentle, tinged with playful teasing.

“All right, you don’t have to say anything else,” you say, voice light as a breeze. “I get it.”

You tilt your head slightly, smile still on your lips — but when you speak again, your voice softens, barely above a whisper, like it’s melting into the night.

“I hope you’ll be happy… if one day you find someone, Joel.”

The moment the word “happy” leaves your mouth, something aches quietly in your chest. A dull, shapeless kind of ache — not sharp, but just enough to make you turn your face slightly, as if afraid he might catch a glimpse of something you’re not ready to face.

You mean to keep walking. But behind you, footsteps stop. Before you can turn, a hand gently catches your wrist — not rough, not urgent, just enough to keep you there.

You freeze.

His hand trembles — just slightly. But it’s warm. Strangely warm.

When you slowly turn your head, Joel is standing close — closer than before. His face is still, as if holding onto something he hasn’t quite figured out how to say. His eyes are fixed on you, unmoving — filled with hesitation, and something else… something raw, and barely contained, like he’s fighting with the weight of his own words.

His breath shakes — like he’s just crossed a long stretch of emotion to get here.

The light pressure from his hand is still there — not pulling, not holding tight, just… asking you to stay. And in the silence that hangs between you both, something waits — something unspoken, trembling at the edge of being.

When he finally speaks, his voice is barely a whisper.

“Actually…”

He pauses — like the word itself has already said too much.

Your eyes flicker with confusion, touched by something curious. But Joel doesn’t say anything more. He simply lowers his head slightly — slow, deliberate. His gaze stays on you, like he’s waiting for a silent answer.

And in that moment, everything else seems to fall away — the empty street, the soft wind slipping through the trees, even the weight in your chest fades for a beat.

When his deep gaze meets yours, you realize: it doesn’t need to be said out loud. It’s a question he never speaks — but somehow, you hear it clearly.

You stay still, offering only the slightest nod — or maybe just a gentle tilt of your lashes as your eyes softly close.

And that is enough.

He leans in, and his lips brush yours — gentle, unhurried, full of quiet reverence. As if rushing would break it.

There’s no force in it, no urgency. This kiss holds a tenderness you’ve never truly received — or perhaps never allowed yourself to take from him.

Unlike the kiss Matt gave you, this time, you don’t freeze.

You welcome it — gently, slowly — with all the sincerity rising in your chest.

It’s a kiss so soft, it feels like he isn’t trying to claim anything, only hold something fragile. Like a wordless promise. Like he’s engraving this moment somewhere deep inside himself.

The world goes still. Every sound fades. It’s just you and him. Just this quiet, unshakable thread between two souls.

When he finally pulls away, his breath lingers between you — close enough to feel — and then you hear him whisper, low and certain, like something he’s held onto for far too long:

“It’s you.”

A smile breaks across your face before you even realize it. You open your eyes to meet his — and in yours, there’s something bright and sure, like you’ve finally found something you never dared to name.

“Joel…” you whisper.

He kisses you again — this time without hesitation.

But instead of holding your wrist, he wraps his arms around your waist and gently pulls you closer. As if he wants to keep this moment for himself, to stop it from slipping away like a dream.

You lift one hand to his face — fingertips brushing the coarse but familiar edge of his beard. The other rests lightly on his chest, right where his heart beats — steady, strong, passing into you a calm you didn’t know you needed.

And in that moment, it’s more than closeness. It’s a quiet merging — deep, unspoken, complete.

You feel the honesty. The care. And something more — something deeper than love.

Something without a name. But you know it.

You understand. No more doubt. No more fear.

Only clarity. Only this full, quiet embrace. And a kiss that says, without needing to speak:

You are everything I’ve ever been looking for.

[hatsuyuki00]

Is this life… real

Chap 5

SUMMARY: Your first patrol with Joel since arriving in Jackson. The words are few, the distance still there — but something starts to shift. In quiet steps and passing glances, a fragile trust begins to form. And when one unexpected question brings hidden truths to light, you’re both left facing not just each other, but yourselves — and something unspoken, quietly changing between you.

Warning: No Y/N, amnesia, grumpy Joel, grumpy x sunshine, love triangle, character death, blood, injury.

Let me know if you wanna be on the tag list! 💕

📌 Taglist: @aphroditesblunt @mashnka @whirlwindrider29 @dendulinka6

W/C: 4.6K

Series Masterlist I Previous Chapter

You barely sleep all night. Matt’s breath still lingers in your memory. That kiss — unexpected, gentle, and out of place — keeps playing over in your mind, making you toss and turn again and again. But even with your heart still tangled, you get up early, because you're supposed to patrol with Joel today — and somehow, that makes you nervous.

You step into the kitchen, careful not to make a sound and start preparing a few sandwiches to take with you. While you're at it, you make an extra one for Matt's breakfast and leave it with a small note, saying you'll be stopping by Maria's place.

You asked Maria about this yesterday. You told her you wanted to go outside Jackson to look for a few things — of course, you know no one would agree to that, especially not Matt.

So you begged her — asked her to speak to Tommy on your behalf, to get you permission to take his place on patrol. You told her Joel was the most experienced, and that going with him would be safer.

Maria hesitated at first — but in the end, she agreed. You asked her for one last thing: to keep it quiet. Not to tell Matt.

You already packed everything last night. Your bag sits neatly by the door, ready to go.

It’s still dark out when you step outside. The early morning air bites through your clothes and makes you shiver, but at least it helps clear your head.

By some stroke of luck, you catch Joel just as he’s stepping out the door. His face is as unreadable as always, but when his eyes meet yours, something in them softens.

You wave and hurry toward him.

“Didn’t expect to see you this early,” you say with a soft smile, trying to keep your tone playful. “I thought I’d get to the stables first and surprise you.”

Joel responds with the faintest smile — just a slight pull at the corners of his mouth, but enough to quiet something inside you.

“I’m always up around this time,” he says, his voice low and warm. “You got everything ready?”

You glance at him, your voice full of confidence.

“Of course I do. You’re gonna be impressed.”

He only smiles. And just like that, the two of you walk side by side in silence, heading for the stables.

The morning breeze threads through your hair — cold, but not unpleasant. The whole town is still asleep.

Neither of you says another word. But nothing needs to be said. It all begins — quietly, like the morning itself.

This is your first patrol — and the first time you notice him this much.

Joel rides ahead, his solid frame silhouetted against the dim morning light. He sits upright, broad-shouldered, holding the reins with steady hands that never seem rigid. Every movement is slow, deliberate — carrying a quiet kind of authority that’s hard to put into words.

You watch him, quietly.

Not out of curiosity, or like you’d study a stranger — but with an unconscious kind of attention, like your eyes are drawn to him without you realizing. There’s something about Joel that’s hard to look away from.

His strength is quiet — the kind that doesn’t need to be proven. It’s not the kind people try to show off — it’s the kind that simply is. Steady, calm, quiet. The kind that makes you feel safer — just by being near it.

You wonder how he carries that kind of calm.

As if he never panics. Never rushes. As if he always knows exactly what he’s doing — and what he has to do — no matter the situation.

Matt once told you Joel is always sharply focused during patrols — never missing even the smallest movement. Now you finally understand what that means.

His eyes are constantly scanning ahead, then to the sides, and sometimes briefly behind. Quiet, but strangely alert.

You don’t say anything. You know better than to interrupt when he’s focused, so you simply ride alongside him in silence, trying to observe the way he observes.

From time to time, Joel points out small things: how to listen for tiny sounds in the quiet woods, how to tell the difference between an animal track and a human footprint, how to move without making too much noise with your horse.

Each word is brief, clear, and easy to understand. But you can tell — this isn’t something taught in books. It’s experience. It’s instinct — sharpened by years of doing exactly this, over and over again.

You glance at him again, and a quiet question rises in your mind.

What made Joel the way he is now?

Someone closed-off. Grounded — to the point of feeling distant from everything around him.

In this world, everyone carries a past — pain they don’t speak of.

But still, you can’t help wondering:

What’s his story? And why did he choose to live so far from everyone else?

When the two of you approach an abandoned building, half-hidden behind trees and crumbling brick, Joel slows his horse slightly and signals for you to stop.

“Let’s get down,” he says, eyes fixed on the crumbling structure ahead. “We’ll check it out real quick.”

You nod and quietly dismount. The ground is soft and cold under your boots, and the faint smell of damp mold drifts out from the building’s shadowed interior, where the morning light barely reaches.

“This used to be one of the rest stops,” Joel explains as you both walk closer. “When we had patrols out this far, we’d stop here sometimes if we needed a break.”

He moves ahead first, gun already in hand, shoulders set in that familiar, alert posture.

You follow at a careful distance — just like he once told you: not so close you’d get in the way, but close enough for him to cover you if something goes wrong.

Joel walks with slow, steady steps, every movement deliberate. His eyes sweep the room, studying each corner. There’s something in the way he moves — the sharpness, the control, the quiet intensity — that keeps your eyes drawn to him.

The space seems to fall silent around you, save for the sound of his boots and his steady breathing echoing through cracked walls and dust-covered halls.

“Keep an eye on the windows,” he says quietly, tilting his head toward you. “If someone’s passed through here recently, that’s where the footprints will show.”

You nod, trying to remember every word.

The first floor is empty. A few broken chairs, a rotting wooden table, and scraps of old paper scattered across the ground. When you finally reach the last room on the upper level, Joel lowers his gun at last, shoulders easing slightly.

“All clear,” he says, as if confirming it to both you and himself.

He sits down on an old wooden crate, pulls off his backpack, and takes out two protein bars and a bit of dried beef.

“Eat something,” he says, handing one to you.

“Thanks,” you say, a little surprised by the gesture.

You sit in silence for a while. Only the soft sound of chewing, the wind brushing past the broken window, and morning light slanting down across the dusty floor.

“Is this what you usually eat on patrols?” you ask, still looking at the protein bar in your hand.

Joel nods. “Yeah. It’s light, has what you need. Doesn’t take up much space.”

You nod quietly, smiling a little. There’s something oddly comforting about the simplicity of his answer.

You think about saying something — asking about his past, the places he’s been, or just… trying to understand more about this quiet man sitting beside you. It’s rare to have this much time with him, without anyone else around, in a place this still.

But before you can find the right words, he turns to you first.

“Where were you before all this?” he asks, voice low and steady. “I mean… before everything happened.”

You freeze. That question — simple, harmless on the surface — catches you off guard more than anything else. Especially coming from someone like Joel. Someone who doesn’t talk much, and almost never brings up anything personal.

For a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

Your mind goes blank. Not because you don’t want to answer… but because you truly don’t have an answer at all.

You lower your gaze, avoiding his — unsure if it’s out of shyness, caution, or just needing a second to collect yourself.

A quiet laugh slips out, uncertain. You’re not even sure if it’s from nerves, or just not knowing what else to do.

“…You probably won’t believe this,” you say, voice softer than usual. “But I honestly don’t remember.”

Suddenly, a soft sound breaks the silence outside the hallway — faint and uneven, like something brushing lightly against the wall, but sharp enough to make you jump.

Joel shoots to his feet. His eyes narrow, sharp and alert, hand already wrapped tightly around his gun. His whole body tenses, every muscle ready to respond in an instant.

He tilts his head, listening, then turns to you.

“Stay here,” he says, his voice low and firm. “I’ll go check.”

You stand up without thinking. “Let me—”

“No.” He shakes his head at once, not loud, but firm in a way that leaves no room for argument. “Stay here.”

You hesitate. Your eyes meet his — cold, alert — but there’s something buried deeper that makes your chest ache.

You reach out and grab his hand. Your fingers tremble — just slightly, despite your efforts to hide it.

“Just… be careful,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, like you’re afraid to break whatever quiet has settled between you.

Joel lifts his other hand and gently places it over yours. The warmth of his palm presses into your skin — calm, steady, grounding. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. You know he understands. You know he’ll come back.

For a few seconds, you don’t dare move. You simply stand there, eyes meeting in silence — and it feels like if either of you speaks, something unspoken will spill out that neither of you is ready to face.

Then Joel gives a small nod. A thin smile crosses his lips — not a cheerful one, but soft. Reassuring. He lets go, his fingers brushing lightly over the back of your hand one last time before he turns away.

The door closes behind him.

And the room feels quieter than ever.

You remain where you are, tense with worry. Only the wind hums through the cracked walls, and the sound of your heartbeat — Fast. Unrelenting. Too loud in the stillness. Each second stretches, long and heavy. You keep your eyes on the door, ears straining for any sound — but the silence out there feels strange. Stifling.

You don’t know how long you wait.

Until finally, you hear the familiar rhythm of footsteps across the old wooden floor — and the door swings open.

Joel steps back inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His shoulders slope a little — whether from fatigue, relief, or the long silence outside, you can’t tell.

“Just a few monkeys,” he says, voice lower than before. “Nothing dangerous.”

He walks back toward you, slow and certain. His footsteps are solid, grounded — and with each step, the air in the room seems to warm, if only a little.

You let out a breath, like you’re finally able to exhale. Your chest finally eases — just a little. A small smile touches your lips — not out of joy, but as a reflex after holding yourself so tightly.

“You scared me,” you say softly — not blaming, just letting it slip out. Like deep down, all you feel is gratitude that he’s here.

Joel looks at you. His brows lift slightly, one corner of his mouth twitching like he’s about to respond — but you’ve already turned away and opened your backpack.

You rummage through it for a moment, then take out a sandwich wrapped neatly in wax paper. You hold it with both hands, like you want this small offering to feel a little more proper.

You hand it to him.

“I know this isn’t a camping trip,” you say with a small laugh. “But I figured… you might want something extra. So I packed one.”

Joel pauses. His eyes rest on the sandwich, then rise slowly to meet yours. He doesn’t speak — but something in his gaze softens, slows, like he’s considering more than just the food.

The corner of his mouth curves. Just a little. You can’t tell if it’s surprise, appreciation, or something else easing inside him.

“Thanks,” he says, and reaches out.

His fingers brush yours — only for a second, barely noticeable — but warm enough to feel clearly.

He sits down beside you again, leaning forward slightly as he slowly unwraps the wax paper, keeping his hands busy. You watch him quietly, eyes drifting to his hands without thinking, following the slow, careful movements.

A bit of silence passes — not awkward, just still. Like both of you are letting your minds settle.

He looks down at the sandwich, then glances back at you. There’s something hesitant in his expression, as if he’s weighing whether or not to speak. And when he sees you tilted slightly toward him, eyes focused, unguarded — something in your calmness seems to let him continue.

His voice, when it comes, is softer now. Gentler than before. Like there’s something he needs to ask, but doesn’t want to push.

“Earlier…” He pauses. “What did you mean — when you said you don’t remember?”

The question catches on something inside you — and you don’t answer right away. Your gaze slowly shifts from his hand, then drops to the sandwich in front of you. Your fingers trace the edge of the wrapping, absentminded, like trying to hold on to something steady.

All the while, his eyes stay quietly on you — not pressing, not urging, just waiting.

“I really don’t remember anything about my past,” you say, voice small, soft as a breeze. “The day we met… do you remember it? When I woke up in the forest. Matt was there with me. That’s the only thing I remember. Before that… there’s nothing.”

You try to smile, but it blurs — a half-formed curve, tinged with helplessness and quiet acceptance.

Joel stays silent, like he’s rearranging something in his mind. His eyes haven’t left you, but there’s something different in them now — no longer just the usual guardedness, but something deeper, more thoughtful, beginning to show.

“So…” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “Matt was with you then.”

You nod.

He hesitates. Doesn’t look at you right away, like he’s weighing whether to ask what’s still lingering in his mind. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough, like he’s holding back a thought still unfinished.

“I know this might be a little… personal,” he says, his eyes finally returning to yours. “But… why do you trust him so much — when you don’t remember anything about your past? I mean… waking up in the middle of the forest, with some guy — basically a stranger?”

You breathe out a soft laugh, barely more than a sigh. Not because the question bothers you — but because you’ve wondered the same thing yourself, more than once.

“I know… it sounds irrational,” you say slowly, your eyes still on your hands. “But even without remembering anything before, there’s one thing I feel sure of — he’s not someone who’d hurt me. I don’t know why, but it feels like something inside me just knows I can trust him. It’s not a passing feeling. It’s quiet, but deep — like it’s always been there — long before I even realized I was searching for it.”

Your words make Joel look at you longer. He doesn’t say anything right away. Maybe he doesn’t fully understand, but he listens — the way he always does.

“And if you trust him that much… why not ask him? Maybe… he’ll tell you something you don’t know.”

You lift your head, brow slightly furrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“I remember…” — Joel pauses a little, then continues — “He once said you two were friends back in college.”

You blink. “Wait—he told you that?”

Joel shakes his head. His eyes drift toward the corner of the room, like recalling a quiet memory.

“No. I just overheard him talking. He was with Tommy.”

You nod faintly. You don’t say anything more. For a while, both of you sit in silence — sharing a simple lunch as the sound of sandwich paper rustles softly, like a quiet backdrop easing into the stillness between you.

After a moment, you tilt your head, looking toward him. This time, it’s you who speaks — your voice light but curious:

“What about you? Before all this… what did you used to do?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. He seems to be choosing his words — not because he’s uncertain, but because some stories don’t easily fit into neat replies. Finally, he breathes in, slow and quiet.

“I lived in Austin, Texas,” he says, eyes flicking down to the sandwich, now halfway unwrapped. “I was a contractor.”

You let out a small “Oh,” eyes lighting up a little.

“Wow. A contractor.” You laugh softly, half teasing, half genuinely impressed. “So you built houses? Sounds like a busy job. You must’ve been rich.”

A faint smile touches Joel’s lips. You can’t tell if it’s because you hit the right spot, or just because something in the way you speak makes things feel a little lighter.

“Not really,” he says, his voice low, amused. “Just enough to get by. Pay off the bills, if I was lucky.”

You chuckle quietly too, then tilt your head again, still watching him — the uncertainty from earlier now replaced by something steadier.

“So… how did you end up in Jackson?” you ask. This time, you truly want to know. Not because you’re expecting a dramatic story — but because you want to understand. Piece by piece, you want to understand the man beside you — not for answers, but for connection.

Joel hesitates at your question. His lips press together, his eyes drifting slightly away — like he’s weighing whether or not to answer. There’s something held tight in his chest — a mix of caution, discomfort, and a quiet undercurrent of guilt.

A question that seemed simple… suddenly feels like it’s touched a memory he’d rather not wake.

Finally, he tilts his head a little, gaze settling on a plain stretch of wall — like there’s something hidden there only he can see.

“Well…” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly along the edge of the sandwich he hasn’t touched — as if to calm himself. “I… uh… I didn’t plan to stay in Jackson.”

His voice drops, rough and hesitant — like each word is chosen carefully, or being held back.

“I was trying to find Tommy. Ellie was with me at the time… and then…” he pauses — something quiet in the way his shoulders lower.

“We found Jackson. Tommy told me about the place. Thought maybe I should stay.” He gives a slow nod — like he’s still convincing himself it was the right call.

“So I stayed.”

You don’t answer right away. You just look at him — and in your eyes, there’s no judgment, only quiet presence. But maybe that’s what unsettles him more.

Because in silence, the things he’s not saying become easier to see: the shift in his gaze, the way his jaw tenses, the slight tremble buried in what sounds like a measured voice .

The way he avoids your gaze, the way his hand stiffens slightly where it rests on his thigh — all of it speaks to something unspoken.

He didn’t just stay.

The air settles for a moment, like water recently stirred, now waiting to fall still again. You can feel the hesitation in him—the careful deflection, like he’s not quite ready to share something.

You take another small bite of your sandwich, then set the rest down, eyes dropping to the wooden floor.

You speak — not to break the silence, but to let him know he’s not alone in it.

“…About earlier,” you say, your voice low. “The part about me not remembering anything…”

You pause, then lift your gaze to meet his — unhurried, but certain.

“Can you keep this between us? I don’t want anyone to know. Not even Matt.”

A small, uneven smile touches your lips — not quite happy, not quite anything.

“You’re the first person I’ve told.”

Joel turns to you. This time, he doesn’t look away. His gaze holds — no longer guarded. There’s something loosening in it, quiet and understanding, needing no words.

He gives a small nod — firm, certain. A promise, without the need for vows.

Another silence passes between you. He keeps looking at you — not too long, not invasive — just enough to be there, close but not pressing.

Then, after a moment, his voice returns, low and soft. Like it’s peeled itself from a thread of unfinished thought.

“…You really… don’t have feelings for him?”

You almost choke mid-bite.

A flicker of confusion rises as your mind flashes to last night’s kiss — the feeling of lips against yours, not exactly sweet, not unpleasant either. Just… empty, in a strange kind of way.

“…I…” You swallow quickly, eyes still fixed on your hands, now loosely clasped in your lap. “I don’t know.”

You leave it at that. You don’t want to stir what still feels tangled and unclear.

The uncertainty lingers — like smoke that hasn’t yet cleared in the early noon light.

You turn slightly toward him. Not much — maybe to shift the air between you, or maybe just to offer something a little gentler.

“Joel…” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Have you ever had someone?”

Your question brings another hush into the space between you. Not because it’s too personal — but because something in the way you ask feels real. Like you’re not just looking for an answer, but reaching to understand him, even just a little more.

Joel leans back slightly, resting against the wall, his eyes drifting toward the window. The soft afternoon light filters in through the curtain, casting a gentle gold over his face — the kind of light that makes everything feel just a little farther away. He doesn’t look at you — not to avoid, but as if searching for something beyond the window — in the pale sky, smudged with clouds, where a few birds cut through.

For a moment, his lips press together — like he’s ready to say something. But he doesn’t.

There’s a quiet tension in his eyes — not just memory, but something more worn, more distant, like your question has touched a piece of the past he’s long left behind.

“…I did,” he says at last, voice low, the end of the sentence dragging just slightly. “But that was a long time ago.”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a faint smile. But it’s not a real one — more like a way to soften the weight of something still sitting inside.

“Nothing worth talking about,” he adds, his gaze still fixed on the fading light outside.

You don’t say anything. There’s no need. Sometimes silence is the only way not to make someone feel exposed. But you stay there, beside him — close enough to let him know this quiet isn’t judgment. It’s just space. A quiet presence that asks for nothing, but lets him know he’s not alone.

And in that moment, something shifts — not in words, but in the slow exhale, the way his hand curls slightly on his thigh, like holding on to something long gone.

After a while, Joel stands. The wooden crate shifts softly against the floor — the sound sudden enough to make you flinch — just a little.

“Let’s head back,” he says — his voice returning to that steady, familiar tone. “Matt’s gonna start worrying.”

He holds out his hand — without hesitation, without force. Just something simple and natural.

It’s not a soft hand — rough and calloused, shaped by a life full of hard things. But in the way he offers it, there’s something else — something solid, grounded, and quietly warm.

You look at it for a moment, then place your hand in his. The touch doesn’t last long, but it’s enough. Enough to feel something pass between you — not intimacy, but trust. A quiet kind of safety that feels real.

You smile — small and quiet — and keep your voice light.

“Yeah. Let’s go. I’d rather not have him nag me about staying at Maria’s too long.”

You both know it’s not the real reason. But Joel still lets out a soft chuckle — a sound that says he’s used to the way you cover your feelings in simple words. And for you, it’s the first time he’s smiled like this — the first time, since you met him, that he’s smiled this much.

Then he helps you to your feet — gently — and the two of you ride back together, beneath a softening sky where the light dips lower with every passing step. And it feels like everything — just for now — is fading quietly behind you.

On the way back, the air feels lighter somehow. Maybe because the patrol went smoothly. Or maybe because you and Joel just had a real conversation — not too long, not too deep, but just enough to understand each other a little more.

The steady rhythm of hoofbeats taps against the dirt path, shaded by overhanging leaves. The evening breeze brushes past, cool and clean, carrying the scent of dry grass and damp earth.

You lean slightly toward Joel, your voice soft as you tell him small stories about the kids you teach — their mischief, their silly little comments that still make you laugh whenever you think of them.

Joel doesn’t look at you right away. His gaze stays forward, occasionally sweeping the edges of the forest. His body stays in that familiar state of alert — back straight, reins held steady, eyes scanning every flicker in the brush.

But you know he’s listening. Now and then, the corner of his mouth lifts when you say something particularly funny. Sometimes he answers with a quiet “hmm,” or a brief question — just enough to let you know that he’s not just hearing you, but actually listening.

As the gate comes into view in the distance you glance over at him. The sun hovers just above the distant ridge, casting a soft orange halo across the sky — as if everything is slowly winding down.

“Thanks for today,” you say, your voice light as the breeze.

“This was the best patrol I’ve ever had. I hope… I’ll get to go with you again sometime.”

You’re not teasing. The words slip out naturally — quiet, honest, just right for this moment.

Joel turns to you. His expression softens. He nods — slow, genuine.

You smile, then glance ahead as you ride toward the gate.

“Oh, and… remember, we didn’t see each other today,” you add, grinning. “If we did, it was just a coincidence. Otherwise Matt’s gonna start lecturing me again.”

This time, he chuckles — not loudly, but for real. A laugh that’s short and quiet, yet means more than it shows. The kind that’s not easy to get from him.

“All right,” he says, voice low, easy, and touched with something that almost feels like… understanding. “Coincidence. Got it.”

The wooden checkpoint gate comes into full view, and one of the guards begins to step out.

You turn to Joel one last time, a small smile blooming on your lips — not too bright, but warm enough to soften the fading light.

“If you ever need someone to talk to…” you say, tilting your head gently toward him, “You know where to find me. I won’t mind.”

He blinks once. His gaze lingers on your face a moment longer, like he’s turning something over in his mind. Then he nods — slow, measured, like a promise that doesn’t need to be spoken.

And right then, the gate ahead begins to open.

[hatsuyuki00]

Is this life… real

Chap 4

SUMMARY: You receive a gift — a dress from Matt, brought back after his patrol with Joel. He quietly hopes you’ll wear it to the BBQ party tomorrow evening.

What you didn’t expect is that Joel agreed to attend… because of you.

But after the party, something unexpected happens — something that leaves you almost too stunned to react.

Warning: No Y/N, amnesia, grumpy Joel, grumpy x sunshine, love triangle, character death, blood, injury.

W/C: 5.8K

Let me know if you wanna be on the tag list! 💕

📌 Taglist: @aphroditesblunt @mashnka @whirlwindrider29

Series Masterlist I Previous Chapter

It’s been days since you last dreamed of Sarah’s father.

The dreams that once came night after night have now faded — but the last one still lingers, sharper than the rest.

The last time you saw him was in a hospital, with the bodies of soldiers strewn at his feet. He had killed them one by one — without hesitation — just to save another girl, maybe around the same age as his daughter. You still don’t know what their relationship was — maybe it was a mission he had no choice but to carry out, or simply something he believed he had to do. You don’t understand what happened, or how things ended up that way. But the dream is always so vivid that every time you remember it, it sends a chill down your spine.

You still remember the look in the girl’s eyes when the two of them stood facing each other on a mountainside. She was staring at him — her gaze steady, but laced with doubt — like she was trying to see through something he was hiding. She didn’t dare ask outright, but it seemed like she already knew the truth and was just waiting for him to admit it. In the end, she said something. Maybe a question, maybe an accusation, or maybe just a whisper. But you couldn’t hear it. You never hear anything at all.

What confuses you the most... is their faces. No matter how hard you try, you can never recall them once you wake up. Sometimes it feels like a fog settles over everything. Other times, only the emotions remain — pain, anger, disappointment — all passed through glances, never words. And any voice, if it ever exists, always cuts off halfway through, like something is choking the sound out. The only thing you always remember, through it all, is the name of the girl who died: Sarah.

And the feeling when you wake up. That never gets lighter. It’s always the same dull ache — like you’ve lost something important, but don’t know what it is. Then comes the emptiness, the disappointment, and a quiet, lingering bitterness you can’t quite place — whether it comes from the girl, the man, or somewhere deep inside yourself.

You don’t understand why the dreams keep coming back and then vanish without warning. You only know that every time you open your eyes, your heart is pounding like you’ve just escaped a nightmare — and that name, Sarah, still rings faintly in your ears, like a memory that doesn’t belong to you... but isn’t entirely foreign either.

Today, you plan to end the class early. You’re just about to make the announcement when Matt walks in, a giant backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Got presents!” — his voice rings out, full of excitement, making the kids instantly cheer, their eyes lighting up.

Matt pulls out each item — toy cars with slightly chipped paint, a few worn but intact stuffed animals, even a full puzzle set still in its box. The children rush over, swarming like a hive just burst open, their faces glowing with joy. You’re surprised, unsure where he managed to dig all this up.

“Big haul?” you ask, tilting your head with a smile. “Hit the mall, or raid the toy store?”

Matt flops into the chair beside you, letting out a long breath like he just ran a mile. “Yeah, well... the mall. Saw some stuff I figured the kids might like, so I picked it up. Joel gave me an earful for bringing back ‘useless junk,’ though.”

You let out a soft laugh and glance at the kids. “He’s got a point — to grown-ups, maybe. But to these kids, this stuff’s gold.”

Matt watches you for a moment, like something’s on his mind. Then he suddenly stands up again, unzipping the backpack once more. “I’ve got something for you too.”

You blink, curious. “Wait, what? You got me something?”

“Close your eyes,” Matt says, his voice dropping into something oddly serious.

You glance at him, a little suspicious. “Don’t do anything weird, okay...”

“Promise,” Matt chuckles softly. “And no peeking.”

You hear some rustling, a zipper opening, then a soft sound — like something being unwrapped carefully. The room quiets, leaving only the distant noise of children playing.

After a moment, he says, “Okay. You can open your eyes.”

You open your eyes and find the gift held out in front of you— a cream-colored dress with a midi length, crafted from soft, flowing fabric. It has a clean V-neckline, a fitted waist, and a gently flared skirt for a comfortable yet flattering look.

“Do you like it?” Matt asks, his eyes a mix of quiet hope and something more. “I... I was hoping you’d wear it to the BBQ party tomorrow night.”

You look at him, unable to hide your surprise and delight. “Of course I will — if it actually fits me!” You laugh, your fingers brushing lightly over the smooth fabric. “Thank you... really. It’s beautiful.”

You glance at Matt, seizing the chance to tease. “Just don’t drink too much, okay? Don’t want to make Joel drag you home again.”

Matt scoffs, but this time his reply comes with a strange kind of certainty. “I won’t drink much. Don’t worry — I’ve got something I need to do... during the party.”

You’re about to ask what he means, but stop yourself. Your eyes meet — and neither of you says anything, yet nothing else needs to be said. You get the sense his words are just a cover... a hesitant way to hide something unspoken.

There’s something in Matt’s eyes that strikes you — not quite nervousness, not quite fear. It’s like he wants to tell you something, but doesn’t, afraid that saying it out loud would reveal too much. The silence doesn’t fill the space — it only sharpens what’s unsaid, like a truth left behind before it even had a name.

You don’t notice it, but if someone had been standing nearby, maybe they’d see the way Matt’s breath slows just a little — and how, in that moment, his eyes can’t hide anymore. There’s something in them that’s never been spoken.

Just then, Jimmy appears at the classroom door. His eyes scan the room before giving Matt a small nod. The two exchange a few quick words, low and urgent. Matt’s expression hardens almost instantly. Before he leaves, he glances at you, gives a short nod and a faint smile — slightly forced, but not fake.

You’re still sitting there, the dress resting in your hands. Around you, the kids keep laughing and playing, their voices filling the room — no one notices the moment that just passed.

But you do.

And somehow... you know it wasn’t just a gift.

After getting home and putting away the dress Matt just gave you, you plan to stop by the dining hall to help everyone prepare for the BBQ party tomorrow night.

Just as you step out the door, you spot Joel walking toward his house. Maybe he stopped somewhere after his patrol shift with Matt — and now he’s just getting back. His clothes are a bit dusty, and though his steps are steady, there’s a trace of fatigue in them.

You wave, calling out — not too loud:

“Hey! All good on patrol today? I heard Matt got on your nerves bringing back that pile of old toys.”

Joel stops and looks at you for a moment, as if deciding how to respond. In the end, he simply nods, his voice dry but not quite annoyed:

“As long as none of it ends up in my house, doesn’t bother me.”

You can’t help but laugh — the kind that slips out before you can stop it.

“Well, that’s pretty generous of you, actually.”

You’re about to keep walking, but you hesitate. After a second, you ask:

“You coming to the BBQ tomorrow night?”

Joel replies instantly, no hesitation: “No.”

You feign disappointment, crossing your arms with a dramatic sigh.

“That’s a shame... I thought you might show up. Either way... I hope you’ll come. Because...”

Joel glances at you, waiting for the rest of the sentence. You want to tell him the real reason — that you just want to see him — but the words catch in your throat. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to say it.

Instead, you avoid meeting his eyes and glance away, speaking more softly:

“In case Matt ends up getting drunk... I hope you’ll help me out.”

There’s a short silence. Joel watches you for a few seconds, then turns his face away. But you catch it — the corner of his mouth tugs up just slightly, almost like a smile.

“I’ll think about it,” he mutters.

You can’t hide your smile as you reach out and give his shoulder a light tap — a gesture so natural you don’t even think about it.

“That’s more like it! Anyway, I’ve got work to do. See you!”

You walk quickly toward the dining hall. You don’t look back.

You don’t see Joel still watching you — his eyes following you longer than they need to, lingering with a quiet weight, like he’s trying to hold onto something that just brushed past him.

His hand lifts to his shoulder, fingers brushing the spot where you touched him. He pauses there, just for a moment. Silently. As if making sure the moment was real — not something imagined from deep inside himself.

His face doesn’t change, but something in his eyes seems heavier. A feeling without a name, without a reason — just there, quietly existing, like even he doesn’t know what to do with it.

Then he turns and walks away. His posture is still solid as ever, but his steps are slower now — just slightly.

As if something just left behind a trace he can’t quite shake off... or doesn’t want to admit is there.

After finishing the planning with everyone for the BBQ party, you stay behind to chat with Maria. The dining hall has quieted down — only a few people are cleaning up, chairs scraping gently against the floor, and the late afternoon light streaming through the windows gives the room a strangely warm feel.

“What do you think about the decorations and table setup?” Maria asks, still fiddling with a small string of lights in her hands.

“Perfect.” You smile. “Though… I think I’ll give the kids a day off from class. I doubt they’ll have the energy to sit still after a night of playing their hearts out.”

Maria laughs and nods. “Good idea.”

Then, as if she suddenly remembers something, she tilts her head and looks at you, a playful gleam in her eyes.

“By the way… I heard Matt’s been into someone lately. Did you know?”

You blink in surprise. “Matt? He seems normal to me — hasn’t mentioned any girl or anything.”

Maria gives a sly little smile. “Well, the other day, Tommy asked Matt if he was seeing anyone. He just smiles and shakes his head… but it’s that kind of smile, you know? The kind that says something’s going on. That expression doesn’t fool anyone.”

You pause, your eyes drifting as you mentally scroll through the faces of people who’ve chatted with Matt.

“Could it be Olivia, maybe? I’ve seen her strike up a conversation with him now and then.”

“Nah,” Maria says, still watching you. Then she gives you a slow, unreadable smile.

“I think it’s… someone else.”

The look in her eyes is full of quiet meaning. You freeze for a moment — and then suddenly realize what she’s hinting at.

“…You mean me?” You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head like it’s the most impossible idea. “No way. Matt and I are just friends.”

Maria says nothing, just smiles like she’s letting you have your moment. There’s that sure, if you say so kind of look in her eyes.

“I know you’re friends. But still — don’t you feel anything? Living with him and all? I’m serious — from the outside, you two look like a couple already.”

You laugh again and shake your head, this time more firmly.

“I swear. We’re just friends. That’s all. He looks out for me because…”

You pause.

You’ve tried so many times to remember your life before meeting Matt — but it’s still just a blank. And even now, after living together for quite a while, you still don’t know when or how that relationship began. The only thing you do know is that his presence makes you feel safe. Like he’s always been there, even if you don’t remember why.

“…We’re just companions,” you say, your voice a little lower.

Maria falls quiet for a moment, then gives you a gentle smile. She doesn’t press further, like she senses you’re holding onto something you can’t quite name.

But you know — she hasn’t let go of that idea. Not really. She’s just setting it aside for now.

The preparations turn out to be busier than you expect. There's no shortage of work — setting up tables and chairs, stringing lights, prepping ingredients, and double-checking everything. Fortunately, everyone is willing to lend a hand, even a few kids who excitedly pitch in, though not always in the most helpful ways. Thanks to that, everything eventually comes together.

You head home when the sun is already dipping low. The little house is unusually quiet — the kind of quiet where you can hear the soft trickle of water from the bathroom and catch the faint scent of soap in the air. You wash up, change, and get ready to return to the party.

The dress Matt gave you fits almost perfectly. It isn’t fancy, but the moment you slip it on, you feel strangely unfamiliar with yourself — like you’re looking at a softer, more distant version of who you are. Since arriving here, it’s the nicest piece of clothing you own. And there’s something about receiving it that warms you inside. Not because of anything grand, but because of that quiet care.

You come out of your room and find him already waiting by the door, dressed in a crisp brown shirt that gives off a quiet warmth. It pairs effortlessly with navy trousers.

“You look great,” you tease gently. “Snuck that out of the shopping center too, didn’t you?”

Matt doesn’t answer — he just lifts a corner of his mouth in a smile and opens the door, waiting for you to go first. He’s always like that — thoughtful in ways that don’t try to stand out. Even when he’s joking or rambling about something, there’s always this ease around him. Like no matter how the world changes, he’ll still be there — steady, familiar, and quietly looking out for you. You don’t even have to ask to know: he always puts you first.

By the time the two of you arrive, the party is already alive with laughter and chatter. The adults gather around the tables, deep in conversation. Children run after each other across the yard, and the smell of grilled meat mixed with smoke drifts through the fading sunlight, making the whole scene feel both vibrant and warm.

You drift away from Matt and walk toward Maria, while he heads to the food table to grab plates for the two of you. When she turns and sees you, her eyes widen slightly in real surprise.

“Wow. Look who it is. Where have you been hiding that outfit?” Maria says with a playful wink.

You smile and say softly, “Matt found it yesterday while out on patrol. I didn’t think it’d fit so well.”

Maria smiles — that subtle kind of smile, curved at just one side, full of unspoken meaning.

“Just friends, huh?”

You know it doesn’t matter what you say — she won’t believe you anyway. So you just give a soft laugh, nod, and say nothing more.

Matt returns just then with two plates in hand, right as Tommy walks over with Maria’s food. You take your plate from Matt and thank him quietly. He simply nods, like it’s nothing worth mentioning.

As everyone starts settling down to eat, you take a seat across from Maria. Your eyes scan the crowd, looking for a familiar figure. Then you lower your head a little and ask quietly, “Joel’s not coming?”

Maria takes a bite of bread and shakes her head, speaking through her chew. “He doesn’t come to these kinds of parties.”

You don’t reply — just look down at your plate. You hadn’t let yourself hope too much, but still, somewhere deep inside, you feel a tiny flicker of disappointment. He did say he’d think about it.

Matt stays by your side the entire time. He spends most of the evening chatting with Tommy, but every now and then, you catch his eyes flicking over to you — not overtly, but just enough to let you know he’s keeping an eye out. As if making sure of something. As if it’s something he’s meant to do tonight.

And true to his word, he doesn’t drink much. Every time he lifts his beer, you catch that hesitation in his gaze — like as long as you’re here, he won’t let himself drift too far.

You and Maria are talking about the upcoming plans. Her voice is calm and steady, but you only catch about half of what she says — because your eyes, without meaning to, are drawn to a familiar figure who just appeared at the edge of the yard.

It’s Joel.

He stands there, alone, quiet as always. A faded green shirt fits snugly across his broad shoulders, the sleeves neatly rolled up to reveal his strong forearms. His jeans are old, a little dusty, but clean. Everything about him is neat — not flashy, just enough. But somehow, that quiet just enough makes him stand out in the middle of the crowd buzzing with laughter and conversation.

You pause for a moment.

You want to walk over and say something. But Matt is still sitting next to you, eating and talking with Tommy. You know how he feels about Joel. And you’re afraid that if you get up now, Matt might react — maybe not with words, but with a glance.

Still, you remind yourself: You invited Joel. You can’t just sit here and pretend you didn’t see him.

You stand up.

And maybe you don’t notice, but from the moment you leave your seat, Joel’s eyes haven’t left you. As if he’s waiting to see if you’re really coming closer. As if that — your choice to walk toward him — matters more than he wants to admit.

“You came after all,” you say with a smile, your voice soft as a breeze. “Thought you wouldn’t.”

It takes him a few seconds to respond. He seems caught off guard. Or maybe he’s just searching for words — something not easy to say.

“Well… I did make a promise,” he says, voice low and gravelly as always. “And… you look…”

He doesn’t get to finish. Matt suddenly appears beside you without a sound. His hand rests lightly on your waist — a gesture that might seem casual, but still makes you flinch. A strange feeling spreads through you, like a ripple across still water.

Matt’s voice drops — whether on purpose or not, you can’t tell. It’s quiet, gentle, but oddly stiff.

“You want more food? I’ll get some.”

You tilt your head, smile, trying to mask the sudden tension.

“Um… could you grab me some dessert?”

Matt nods, pulls his hand back, and walks slowly toward the dessert table.

You turn back to Joel, your voice softer now, almost a whisper — like you’re trying to pick up a thread that just slipped from your fingers.

“What were you going to say?”

Joel doesn’t move, but something in his eyes has changed — more distant now, more closed off. Something has shifted.

“It’s nothing,” he says, then glances toward the direction Matt walked. “I think I’ll grab a bite and head back. Looks like he won’t be drinking too much tonight… so I guess I don’t have to stick around.”

You nod, trying to keep your face neutral. But something inside sinks — like a small rhythm breaking apart.

“Yeah. Probably not. Tommy and the others offered, but he only drank a little.”

You pause for a moment, then gesture toward the table you came from.

“Hey… come sit with us. There’s still a spot open. Oh — and where’s Ellie? I thought she’d be at a party like this.”

At the mention of her name, Joel’s expression shifts again. His gaze drops slightly, and he turns his face away, one hand sliding into his pocket — like he’s looking for something to hold on to.

“I’m not sure,” he says slowly. “Lately… I haven’t really talked to her.”

You don’t ask anything else. Just nod, quietly — enough to show that you understand. Then you turn and head back toward your table while Joel moves off to get food.

On your way back, you pass Tommy and lean in to whisper something. He doesn’t ask — just gives Matt, who’s now chatting near the grill, a quick glance, then nods.

A few minutes later, Joel returns with a simple plate of food. He walks over to your table and takes the seat across from you — the one Maria was in earlier, now empty since she’s off chatting with her friends at another table.

You try to find something to keep the conversation going. The air between you stays quiet, filled only with the distant hum of the party and music playing far away. You rest your elbow on the table, glance at Joel, then speak softly:

“I heard… you’re going on patrol tomorrow?”

He just nods, says nothing, continuing to eat like that one small answer is enough. You press your lips together, eyes dropping for a moment as you try to think of another topic — but nothing comes. Talking is always easy with others, yet with Joel, you feel clumsy, like a child.

You’re about to turn away, pretending to be busy with something else, when suddenly he speaks — and you freeze.

“You, uh… you look beautiful tonight.”

His voice is low, a little rough — like the words took effort to say. He doesn’t meet your eyes, just keeps his focus on the food, but you catch the faintest tension in his jaw, the way his hand hesitates before lifting the fork again.

You turn to him, a little unsure, but then your eyes meet.

His gaze is steady — quiet, unflinching — and for a second, your heart stumbles in your chest.

You smile, slow and a little surprised, the kind of smile that creeps up before you can stop it. “Thank you,” you say, your voice light as the breeze. “Matt gave me this dress.”

Your hand brushes the hem of your skirt — a small gesture, as if to steady yourself. You glance away briefly, composing yourself, then speak again, a bit softer now, with a hint of hesitation:

“Can I ask you for a favor?”

He looks at you but doesn’t say anything, just raises an eyebrow, waiting. You take a soft breath, then speak quickly — before hesitation can slip in.

“Well… actually, I don’t have class tomorrow, so… I was wondering if I could go on patrol with you?”

Joel’s expression changes instantly — like you’ve said something you shouldn’t have. He stops eating, tilts his head slightly, and looks at you more carefully.

“Why would you want to go out there?” His voice is lower, slower. “It’s not exactly the place for a girl like you.”

You smile and tilt your head, your eyes showing a quiet determination mixed with something hopeful.

“I know. But… I want a change of scenery. Jackson is peaceful, but I’m starting to feel a little stuck.” You hesitate for a beat, then continue, your voice soft but certain. “And… I’ve heard you’re the best in Jackson. So… I figured I’d be safe with you.”

You say it with a quiet smile — not flattery, not a dare, just belief.

Joel watches you for a long moment, like he’s weighing something hard to explain. His face doesn’t give much away, but something shifts behind his eyes. He blinks slowly, then exhales, his voice lower than before:

“Matt’s not gonna like this. You know that, right?”

You nod, smiling faintly, trying to make your answer sound casual.

“Yeah. I know. But… I’ll handle it. You just have to say yes. I’ll take care of the rest.” You lower your head with a smile, then look up again, adding gently, like a reminder: “Just… don’t let him know I left Jackson with you.”

You know what you’re asking isn’t simple. But your gaze doesn’t falter. In fact, you go on, your voice firmer now:

“Oh, and don’t worry. I’ve got a few basic skills — close-range shooting, scavenging, first aid. So… I’m not completely useless.”

Joel still doesn’t answer right away. He leans back in his seat, eyes still on you — deeper now, more unreadable. The silence stretches just long enough to make you wonder if you’ve gone too far.

Then he nods. Slow. Clear.

His eyes are hard to read — somewhere between agreement, caution, and a quiet concern. But above all, there’s something else he doesn’t say out loud: he’s given in.

“All right. Then…” He leans in slightly, his voice low, more like a warning than a suggestion. "Whatever I say, you follow. No buts. No straying. Are we clear?"

You can’t quite hide the excitement. Your face lights up like someone’s just handed you a rare gift. You nod firmly, eyes shining.

“Copy that!”

“What were you two talking about?” Matt’s voice cuts in, a little sharp as he joins the table, a full plate of pastries in hand. Tommy walks beside him.

You don’t get a chance to answer before Matt sets the plate down in front of you — a small mountain of pastries, slightly uneven, rich with the scent of butter and cinnamon.

“Nothing,” you reply, raising an eyebrow at the pile. “You really expect me to finish all this?”

Matt scratches the back of his head, giving a sheepish grin.

“I remembered you like these, so I might’ve grabbed too many… but hey, I’ll help you out.”

You shake your head and chuckle softly. That’s just like Matt — always doing a bit too much in hopes of making you happy, but never quite knowing when to stop. There’s warmth in his eyes, a quiet familiarity, but you don’t think too much of it. To you, Matt is simply a part of your everyday life — so much so that you no longer feel the need to examine what you feel around him.

Tommy turns to Joel then, mentioning he won’t make the patrol tomorrow and plans to ask Jessie to cover. Joel only gives a quiet nod, eyes lingering on you. Not for long, not too obviously — but long enough for you to notice.

You look away as if you didn’t see it, picking up a piece of pastry before turning back to Matt.

“Heard you’re not on patrol tomorrow either. Got any plans?” you ask, your tone easy.

Matt replies while chewing, voice slightly muffled.

“Well… I told Tommy I’d help out with something. He just asked, actually—”

He suddenly coughs mid-sentence.

You immediately hand him a glass of water, frowning.

“Seriously? Again?”

Matt waves a hand, eyes watering from the cough, nodding to show he’s okay. You just sigh. Some habits won’t change, and yet, you keep reminding him — like a reflex.

“Let me go get more water. Stay here,” you say, taking the empty glass as you stand.

On the way to the drink table, your eyes scan the crowd, searching for Maria. You need her help with something — and while you know she probably won’t agree, you have to try. There’s no one else who can help you with this.

After a brief exchange, you return to the table. Your hand still feels cold from touching the ice, but the first thing you notice isn’t the hum of the party — it’s the shift in the air around the table.

Joel is gone. Matt is staring down at the table, jaw tight, eyes dark. Tommy has just stood up and walked off. No one says a word.

You hesitate mid-step, sensing something’s happened.

Before you can ask, Matt suddenly stands and walks over. He grabs your hand.

“Let’s go.” His voice is low and rushed, offering no explanation.

You blink at him, confused.

“Huh? Why? The party’s not even over…”

You’ve made it halfway home. His hand is still holding yours, but your confusion only grows. Under the soft yellow glow of the hanging lights lining the path, you turn to him, voice quiet, laced with unease.

“What happened?”

Matt stays silent for a moment before speaking. His face darkens, eyes shifting to the side — avoiding yours.

“I don’t like the way he looked at you.”

It takes a moment — but then it clicks.

“…Joel?” you ask, like you don’t quite believe it. “That’s just how he is. He always watches everything around him. You go on patrols with him — you should know that.”

Matt stops walking. There’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost a sneer.

“You really think that?”

He tilts his head, eyes flickering with disappointment… and then something colder.

“You’re still so naive.”

The words hang in the air. Everything seems to go still.

Matt flinches — he seems to realize what he’s just said — but it’s too late.

You stand frozen, like a string inside you just snapped. The words are simple — but they land like a punch.

What did he just say? naive?

Just because you believe in kindness? Because you don’t assume the worst in someone — because you try to see things gently — that makes you childish?

Your expression hardens. You press your lips together — not to hold back anger, but to stop yourself from saying something you’ll regret. Because you know, if you speak now, you won’t be able to hold back.

You quietly pull your hand out of his. No words. No glance. Just turning away, walking straight toward the familiar house. Each step firm, silent — but somehow, the silence says more than anything you could’ve said.

You lie on your bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Your mind is a mess of questions with no answers.

Why does Matt hate Joel so much?

You try to recall, to piece together every little detail you’ve noticed — but Joel has never done anything wrong to Matt. There’s no reason for Matt to hate him that much. Sure, Joel can be a little distant — but he’s not a bad person. You know that for sure.

Matt said he didn’t like the way Joel looks at you.

You frown slightly.

Now that you think about it… Joel does look at you — sometimes, when it seems like he isn’t paying attention at all, you catch his gaze lingering on you. Quiet, deliberate, unreadable — but enough to leave an impression.

And not just that.

The way Joel treats you… it’s different from what others usually say about him. Joel’s the type to help if asked, but you’ve never had to ask. He always helps you before you even say a word.

At first, he seemed cautious, reserved — but lately, something’s shifted. The way he talks to you has changed. Not by much, just a little — in his eyes, in his tone. But enough for you to notice.

And enough to leave you quietly confused.

You’re still lost in those thoughts when a knock comes at the door.

You don’t answer.

A second later, Matt’s voice calls from outside — low, tinged with something that sounds like guilt.

“You’re still awake, right? I… I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to say that. Don’t be mad at me, okay? Please… let me apologize.”

You stay quiet.

A few minutes pass.

No more words, but you can tell Matt’s still standing there — his shadow faint under the gap at the bottom of the door.

You sigh. Slowly, you get out of bed and walk over to open it.

“…Fine. I accept your apology. Consider it payment for the dress you gave me tonight.”

Your voice is softer than you expect. Not quite full forgiveness — but you don’t want this to drag on.

Matt stands there, a little surprised, then nods with relief like a weight’s just been lifted. He steps forward and hugs you tightly.

You flinch, caught off guard. His arms are warm — familiar, but strangely unfamiliar too, because this is the first time he’s ever hugged you like this. Your heart skips. A flicker of unease, a tangle of confusion — like your body doesn’t quite know how to respond.

“All right, time for bed,” you say, gently pushing away.

Matt smiles, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze softens, and he tilts his head, studying you like he’s seeing you for the first time. “You looked really beautiful tonight. You know that?”

You scrunch your nose, trying to break the moment before it turns into something else. “Oh, stop flattering me,” you chuckle. “Still… thanks. The dress was nice. And it fit really well—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Matt suddenly lifts a hand to your chin, gently. The moment lasts only a few seconds — but it feels like time just halts.

Your heartbeat stutters.

And then he leans in and kisses you.

Soft. Very soft. Like he’s testing how you’ll react.

You freeze. Not because of any flutter of emotion — but because you don’t understand what’s happening. Your thoughts stop. Your body holds itself still, caught in the shock of it.

The kiss doesn’t last, but the feeling lingers.

The press of his lips, the warmth of his presence — so close it leaves you unable to move, unable to breathe.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until he pulls away.

His gaze stays gentle, like what just happened was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m heading to bed,” he says, tapping your forehead lightly with that same familiar smile. “Sleep well.”

And then he turns, leaving you standing there with the door still open.

You remain motionless for a few seconds before closing it, as if your body hasn’t caught up yet.

Your hand instinctively lifts to your lips — where the warmth of that kiss still lingers.

But instead of feeling flustered or even the slightest flutter, you feel empty. As if someone just pushed the line between “friends” and “something else” — and you weren’t ready.

Leaning against the door, you close your eyes and try to breathe slowly.

But your heart still pounds. Not because of excitement. But because you don’t know how to feel.

You whisper, almost soundlessly: “…What the hell just happened…”

And as you stand there in the dark, one quiet truth settles in — you have no idea how you’re supposed to look at Matt tomorrow morning.

[hatsuyuki00]

Is this life… real

Chap 3

SUMMARY: As you begin to settle into life in Jackson, the dreams — of Sarah’s father — continue to haunt you. They may be just dreams, but deep down, you know they’re not ordinary.

Around the same time, you find yourself drawn to Joel — the quiet man who lives across the street. Matt warns you to stay away from him, citing rumors that paint Joel in a troubling light.

Warning: No Y/N, amnesia, grumpy Joel, grumpy x sunshine, love triangle, character death, blood, injury.

Let me know if you wanna be on the tag list! 💕

📌 Taglist: @aphroditesblunt @mashnka @whirlwindrider29

W/C: 3.5K

Series Masterlist I Previous Chapter

As time goes on and you gradually settle into your job and the pace of life here, everything begins to feel easier. You start to feel like you’re becoming part of this community — not completely, but at least you no longer feel as lost as you did in those early days. Even so, there’s one thing you can’t ignore: the dreams.

They come more often now, clearer each time. The dreams revolve around a man — Sarah's father. In them, you witnessed what he had done to survive — things no one should ever have been forced to do — in a world that was ravaged and hopeless, a post-apocalyptic world not so different from the one you’re living in. You don’t know why these dreams keep returning. You don’t know if they’re memories, some fragment accidentally revealed, or simply meaningless images your mind keeps creating. But one thing is certain: they’re not just ordinary dreams. They feel like a journey you’re following, step by step. You feel connected to that man in a way you can’t explain.

And yet, strangely, though you always see him in your dreams, you’ve never once been able to clearly make out his face. Every time you try to focus on him, everything around you seems to shatter and shift into another scene. Or worse — you’re pulled out of the dream entirely, waking up in the dark with a hollow feeling in your chest. You don’t know his name either. Everything about him, no matter how familiar it feels, is always covered by a fog you can’t seem to lift.

Matt, meanwhile, seems to be finding his own rhythm. He’s made new friends — friendlier and more outgoing than you. Sometimes he’s assigned to patrol with Joel — something he’s clearly not thrilled about, though he never says it outright. When he tells you about patrols, he talks about the weather, the roads they took, or small issues that came up, but he always skips over any part involving Joel — as if Joel simply wasn’t there. You don’t press him on it.

As for you, you only catch glimpses of Joel now and then — passing him by the dining hall, or on your way home after a long day. Each time, he gives you a small nod, just like that first day. No extra words, no small talk. Once, you tried to start a conversation — asked something about the town, or simply thanked him — but he just replied briefly, then walked away. And yet, every so often, you see a different side of him. Like the time the kids in your class accidentally broke a table from horsing around — Joel helped you fix it. He didn’t say a word, just got it done. Or the time you were struggling with bags that were far too heavy on your way home — he suddenly appeared and took them from you, like it was nothing at all.

You think about doing something to thank him, but you don’t want to upset Matt. In the end, you decide to bake some cookies — simple ones, nothing too special. A small treat for your students, and something you can give to Matt, Tommy, Maria… and Joel. Surely cookies won’t cause any trouble. With that in mind, you start baking using what ingredients you have at home, careful with each step, as if wrapping something more than just gratitude into every batch.

The next morning, after your class finishes earlier than usual, you hand out the cookies to the kids. Their laughter and thank-yous lift your mood. You make sure to save a few portions for Tommy and Maria. On your way home, you stop by Maria’s place — it’s the perfect chance to give her the cookies and catch up. The two of you talk easily, about work, about the kids, eventually drifting into recipes — you know she’s great at that. The sky starts to shift into evening. Maria invites you to join her for dinner at the dining hall — it’s nearly six already, and Matt isn’t back yet, likely still out on patrol with Joel and Tommy.

When you arrive at the dining hall, you see Ellie already there. You think about asking her to pass the cookies to Joel, but then change your mind. Maybe it’s better if you give them to him yourself. So instead, you hand some cookies to Ellie and Dina, then take a seat next to Maria and settle in for dinner.

After dinner, you see Matt and Tommy walking into the dining hall — Joel isn’t with them. You frown slightly, wondering why he’s not here, but quickly push the thought aside. You know that if you ask, Matt will only give a curt reply — maybe even seem annoyed. So, you stay quiet.

While the two of them are getting their food, you get up and excuse yourself. Matt looks up and asks you to wait so you can walk home together, but you tell him you need to prepare lessons and grade that growing pile of assignments from the kids. He frowns, clearly disappointed, but doesn’t push.

On the way back, just as you turn the corner between two rows of houses, you run into Joel — he’s walking in the opposite direction, toward the dining hall. You hesitate for a moment, then quickly step toward him.

“Hey, heading to dinner?” you ask, trying to sound as casual as possible.

He stops and gives you a small nod. That same silent, reserved nod.

“Um… sorry to bother you, but I have something for you,” you say, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small paper pouch. Joel looks at you, surprise flickering in his eyes.

“These are just some cookies I made. Nothing much, but… it’s a thank-you. For helping me fix the desk the other day.”

He’s clearly caught off guard. You see it in the way his eyes linger on the bag, as if he’s not quite sure it’s really meant for him. Maybe he’s not used to people approaching him — let alone offering gifts.

For a moment, he seems frozen, his eyes slightly uncertain. It takes a few seconds before he finally speaks, his voice low and rough:

“…Thank you.”

You smile and give a small nod. “No problem. I’ll be heading home now.”

You walk a few steps, then suddenly remember something. You stop and turn to look at him.

“Oh, and… don’t tell Matt, okay? He’ll give me a hard time about it.”

Joel’s still holding the bag of cookies, as if still trying to process what just happened. He opens his mouth to ask why, but you’ve already turned away, leaving the question hanging in the quiet air.

Back home, the first thing you do is head to your room and start working — lesson plans, grading, everything waiting in a stack that feels like it’ll never end. You keep at it until nearly nine. You get up to grab a glass of water when a knock sounds at the door, unexpectedly. Who’d come by at this hour?

You open the door — and sigh at what you see. Matt, clearly drunk, leaning almost entirely against Joel, who’s quietly supporting him like he’s done this more than once. You let out a weary breath and step aside, letting Joel in. This is the second time he’s stepped into your house as the “designated carrier” — an unglamorous role, but one he takes on without complaint. Joel helps Matt to bed, making sure he’s settled before heading back out. As he passes you on his way to the door, you follow him silently, intending to walk him out like last time.

Just as you both reach the front door, Joel suddenly stops. You pause, unsure, when he speaks — his voice low and warm, cutting gently through the stillness of the late hour:

“…Thanks for the gift earlier.”

You smile, your voice softening. “It’s nothing. You’ve helped me out more than once.”

He falls quiet for a moment, like he’s weighing something. Then he takes a slow breath and asks,

“Earlier… what did you mean when you said not to tell Matt?”

You freeze, just a little. There’s a brief flicker of hesitation in your eyes.

“It’s just… I don’t want him to misunderstand, that’s all.”

You can’t bring yourself to say it — that Matt doesn’t like Joel, that he never seems pleased when you mention him.

Joel gives a small nod. There’s no change in his expression, but you feel a quiet weight settle between the two of you.

“All right then… I’m gonna head home,” he says, giving you a nod before turning away.

You stay still, watching as he steps down from your porch. A cool breeze moves through your hair, stirring something in your chest. For some reason, you speak up — your voice soft, like a passing thought you’re not even sure he hears:

“The cookies… they’re not very sweet. But… I think you’ll like them.”

Joel slows down just a bit, his shoulders shifting as if caught off guard. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t say anything — just stands there for a few seconds before continuing on, his steps a little slower than before.

You smile to yourself, feeling like your heart has quietly left something behind on the porch tonight.

The next morning, you wake up earlier than usual. As you step into the kitchen, the warm scent of coffee has already filled the air. Matt stands with his back to you, pouring coffee into two mugs. On the table, breakfast is already laid out — a few slices of toast, fried eggs, and even some of the cookies you made yesterday.

“Um… I made some cookies for everyone yesterday,” you say, your voice still groggy. “There’s some for you too. I left them on the table.”

Matt nods, then hands you a mug of coffee.

“Yeah, thanks. And… sorry about last night. I wasn’t planning to drink, but Jimmy kept pushing, and I guess I was already tired, so I drank more than I should’ve.”

You take the coffee from him and sip slowly, the warmth easing down your throat. Neither of you says much for the next few minutes. The only sound is the soft clinking of silverware against plates in the quiet kitchen.

After a while, Matt speaks, his voice low and cautious, like he’s feeling out the question. “Did Joel… bring me home last night?”

“Yeah,” you reply calmly. “You should thank him. He helped out of kindness — he didn’t have to.”

Matt grimaces but doesn’t argue. “Got it. You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

There’s a brief pause before he adds, eyes still on the table, “Did he say anything to you?”

You hesitate. “…No. Why?”

Matt shakes his head and looks away. “Nothing. Forget it.”

The unfinished answer makes you frown for a moment, but you don’t push. You know that if Matt wanted to say something, he would’ve said it already.

The two of you continue breakfast with soft smiles and easy conversation. Matt tells you about his recent patrol — he’s been assigned to guide a new recruit. It sounds fine, at least the way he talks about it.

You talk about your class — the mountain of homework and lesson plans waiting for you. Teaching the kids is fun, but also a challenge, especially when they can’t sit still for more than five minutes.

You sigh, then as if something clicks in your mind, you set your mug down and lean slightly toward Matt, your eyes lighting up with excitement. “Hey, are you free today? I need a favor.”

Matt looks up, brow furrowed slightly. “Not sure… what is it?”

“I’ve been thinking the kids should learn some basic survival skills,” you say, clearly excited. “Nothing big — just stories, maybe show them how to start a fire, tie knots, little forest tricks like that. If you don’t mind…”

Matt chuckles and leans back in his chair. “I’m only saying yes because you made me cookies.”

You shoot him a look, smiling. “Then make sure you actually teach them properly. I need them to survive out there — not turn into a bunch of rebels.”

Matt raises a hand in mock solemnity, like he’s taking an oath. “I swear: no uprisings. Just survival.”

You laugh out loud, feeling a little lighter — like in the middle of everything waiting outside, there’s still space for mornings like this.

Matt picks up a cookie, takes a bite, and nods. “Not gonna lie, these are really good. Honestly… if you weren’t a teacher, you could totally open a bakery.”

You squint at him, pretending to be serious. “Are you saying I’m bad at teaching?”

“No, no,” Matt grins, raising both hands in surrender. “I’m saying you’re great at both. Happy now?”

You shake your head slightly, smiling. “Next time just say it straight. Don’t dance around it.”

“Well…” Matt clears his throat, looking down like he’s trying to find the right words. “Are you okay? I mean… you’ve seemed kind of tired lately.”

You go quiet for a moment, then nod. “Not exactly tired… more like my head’s been all over the place. Too much going on at once. Sometimes it feels like I’m not doing anything right.”

Matt leans in a little, his voice dropping. “Hey… even if you feel all over the place, the kids still trust you. And me…” — he pauses, his voice softening — “…you’re the only person who could ever get me to teach a bunch of kids how to tie rope without complaining.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Is that supposed to be a compliment or what?”

Matt shrugs, “Take it however you want.”

Silence falls again — not awkward, but easy, like the kind that settles between people who know each other well enough to share a room without filling every second.

You glance at him and say quietly, “Thanks. For breakfast.”

Matt doesn’t respond right away. He takes a sip of coffee, then tilts his head slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. Don’t mention it. Just… remember I’m here. Whenever you need.”

Class is livelier than usual when the kids see Matt appear. They flock around him, chirping like a bunch of baby birds, and it doesn’t take him long to blend right in — as if he was made to be among children. He laughs, jokes, and guides each of them with a patience that surprises you. The classroom feels warmer, brighter — laughter spills outside, drifting into the soft morning sunlight like fine chalk dust in the air.

There’s something about Matt that just puts people at ease. He knows how to listen, how to joke at the right moment, and when to pull back. With him around, it’s easy to forget you’re tired — even if only for a little while.

He likes kids — and they seem to like him just as much. Everything between Matt and the kids happens so naturally — nothing forced, nothing awkward. Well, except when it comes to one person.

There’s only one person Matt has never been at ease with. You know that well, because every time that name comes up, Matt’s eyes dim for a second, and his voice turns sharp — just for a moment.

He’s changed a lot since the two of you first arrived in Jackson. Back then, he always looked on edge — like he was ready to face the worst at any moment. You never knew why. All you knew was that he always stayed one step ahead, always stood between you and whatever might come.

It made you feel safe. But sometimes… it also made you feel guilty.

Looking back now, you guess maybe it was because you were too fragile then. Too quick to trust. And Matt — somehow — had to make himself stronger, just so he could protect you from things you didn’t even see coming.

You glance over at him and see him patiently tying a rope for a clumsy little kid. His face is tilted down, sunlight caught in his tousled hair, and for a moment he looks like a piece of memory — soft, familiar, and just a little out of reach.

And you wonder… when will Matt finally allow himself to breathe a little easier?

Class ends earlier than you expect. The kids wave goodbye in a flurry of voices, leaving behind crooked chairs, colorful drawings and scribbles scattered across the floor, and a lingering hum of laughter in the air. You let out a long breath, wipe the sweat from your brow, and crouch down to pick up the mess. Matt doesn’t say anything — he just quietly helps, pulling chairs back in, stacking tables, folding the ropes you both used earlier to teach the kids how to tie knots.

“Teaching them every day like this... gotta admit it’s exhausting,” Matt says as he drags the last chair back into place, his voice half-complaining, half-teasing. “I’ve only been with them for a day, and it already feels like I’ve been out on patrol for days.”

You laugh and straighten up, shaking your head gently. “Yeah, they’re... full of energy. If you’re not strict, they don’t listen, but if you’re too strict, you just feel bad.”

Matt sinks into a chair nearby, watching you tidy up. “Still, you’re good at it. It’s like... they treat you like family.”

“Still, you’re good at it. It’s like... they treat you like family.”

You smile, pick up a messy doodle and fold it carefully. “Thanks for helping today. Really. I don’t think I could’ve managed without you.”

“It’s nothing. I owed you one, remember?” Matt chuckles and gives you a wink.

You shake your head lightly, smiling back. Then you pause, like something just occurred to you. “Oh — who are you patrolling with tomorrow?”

Matt lets out a sigh, his voice a little lazy. “According to the schedule... I’m with Joel.”

You stop what you’re doing and turn to look at him. “Then... make sure to thank him for last night. I mean, he’s the one who got you back.”

Matt sighs again — this time deeper — bracing his hands on the table, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah, yeah... you keep reminding me.”

You squint at him. “Well, you’re always dodging his name. Honestly, I don’t think Joel’s that bad at all”

Matt doesn’t answer right away. He props his chin on his hand, staring out into the yard beyond the classroom like he’s lost in thought. You don’t push. You quietly continue stacking the last of the drawings. After a while, your voice breaks the silence — soft and unassuming.

“What do you think about Joel and Ellie? I’ve noticed... they don’t really spend time together. Even in the dining hall, they don’t sit near each other. Joel always eats alone. And Ellie... she seems like she’s avoiding him. But sometimes I catch her watching him — like she’s worried, but won’t say anything.”

Matt nods. His voice is calm, not sharp this time — like he’s commenting on the weather. “Yeah. That’s how it is with Ellie. And most people in town, honestly. They don’t like Joel. But it’s not outright hate, either. Anyway, it’s their business. Not ours to judge.”

You don’t say anything, just finish tidying up the last bit. Matt studies you for a beat, like he’s turning something over in his mind. His expression tightens, eyes narrowing slightly — and finally, his voice drops, rough around the edges:

“I heard… Joel has—”

You look up, waiting.

Matt lets out a dry, almost bitter smile. “People say Joel’s killed a lot of people.”

You freeze. In that moment, everything around you seems to fade. Matt’s words echo in your head — each one slow, deliberate, lingering in the quiet.

You don’t know how to react.

The Joel you know is quiet, withdrawn, but always willing to help when someone needs it. Maybe that’s just one part of him — the part you’ve seen. As for the rest... the past that people whisper about... you can’t be sure. And you don’t dare to be.

But you know this much: a person shouldn’t be judged solely by what others say. Everyone carries their own story.

You let out a quiet breath, offering a faint, almost casual reply — like it might ease the tension. “In a world like this... isn’t that kind of thing normal?”

Matt stands, brushing his hands on his pants in a final, deliberate motion. His voice is drier than usual — curt, weighted.

“Yeah... maybe. But they say... he killed innocent people.”

You look up at Matt, your eyes seemed to ask: Innocent?

Matt doesn’t look back. He’s facing the door now, his shoulders slightly tensed — like he’s holding something in, refusing to let it spill. Then he speaks again, more slowly. His voice isn’t angry anymore — just uneasy.

“I don’t know if it’s true. And I don’t want to know. I just think... you shouldn’t get too close to him. Might bring trouble you don’t see coming.”

You watch Matt. His face isn’t angry, or bitter. There’s only a wary edge to it — and something else, something like... frustration tangled with care. A kind of worry that’s hard to name, but you’ve grown used to it.

And you understand. No matter what Matt says about Joel, what really unsettles him... isn’t Joel. It’s you — the way you’re starting to open up to someone he never wanted you near. Someone who isn’t him. Someone quietly stepping into the quiet little world the two of you have quietly kept for yourselves.

[hatsuyuki00]

Is this life… real

SUMMARY: You wake up in a forest with no memory of who you are. Since arriving in Jackson, things have slowly started to shift — strange dreams haunt you, and without quite realizing when it began, you find yourself drawn to Joel.

At the same time, your bond with Matt begins to change, slipping past the edges of friendship.

Now, a quiet question lingers: who will you choose to stand beside — the one who’s always been there, or the one your heart keeps reaching for, without knowing why?

Warning: No Y/N, amnesia, grumpy Joel, grumpy x sunshine, love triangle, character death, blood, injury.

A/N: This story is inspired by the game The Last of Us. Thank you so much for reading — it truly means a lot.

English isn’t my first language, so I appreciate your patience with any mistakes along the way. I hope you enjoy the story!

Chap 1

Chap 2

Chap 3

Chap 4

Chap 5

Chap 6

Chap 7

[hatsuyuki00]

Is this life… real

Chap 2

SUMMARY: In a world ravaged by disease and chaos, you stumble upon Jackson — one of the few remaining safe havens, offering warmth and shelter to those who survived. But even in its quiet peace, the questions inside you won’t go away.

And a dream begins to haunt you — of a father who lost his daughter. It’s only a dream… so why does it feel so real?

Warning: No Y/N, amnesia, grumpy Joel, grumpy x sunshine, love triangle, character death, blood, injury.

A/N: I hope you’ll enjoy this chap! Things have been a bit busy for me lately, so the next update might take a little longer — but I promise I’ll do my best to get it out as soon as I can!

Let me know if you wanna be on the tag list! 💕

📌 Taglist: @aphroditesblunt @mashnka

W/C: 3.6K

Series Masterlist I Previous Chapter

Thanks to the bits of small talk along the way with Tommy, you start to get a clearer picture of the world you now live in — a world ravaged by a pandemic, where humans are no longer the only threat. Creatures known as the infected — people who were once human but are now reduced to violent instincts and deadly danger — have brought society to its knees. You hear Tommy mention FEDRA and the Fireflies, two factions that once tried to reclaim order… or at least what they believed was order. Strange names — yet somehow, oddly familiar. As if they once existed in your mind, buried deep beneath the dust of untouched memories.

When you arrive in Jackson, you can’t hide your surprise. This town is nothing like what you imagine a post-apocalyptic world would look like. Warm — strangely so — is the first feeling that passes through you. Children run through the streets, their laughter echoing between wooden houses. Adults stand in small groups, chatting, someone holding a plate of freshly baked bread. A dog lies basking in the sunlight on a porch step, completely unbothered by any looming danger. It is a moment so peaceful that… you almost feel like the world isn’t as terrifying as you once believed.

At the stables, Tommy dismounts first and offers you a hand. You take it — a little hesitant, but not refusing.

“I’ll take you two for a checkup first,” he says, his voice still gentle as it has been the whole ride, “then we’ll get some food, and I’ll show you both around a bit.”

He leads you to a building that looks like an old storage barn — simple, but clean. Inside, it’s clearly divided into two sections: one marked “Male,” the other “Female.” The atmosphere here feels more serious than before.

Matt stops right at the entrance, a deep frown on his face. His voice is low, edged with suspicion.

“Enough games. You think this is funny? Why the hell did you bring us here?”

Tommy doesn’t flinch. Calmly, he raises both hands in a placating gesture.

“It’s something we have to do. Standard procedure for new arrivals. Just a quick check — We just need to check for any bites or weapons. Nothing serious.”

He glances at you, as if catching the hesitation in your eyes. His voice softens.  

“Women handle the women’s area, so you don’t need to worry.”

You nod slightly. You don’t fully trust them — not yet — but something in Tommy’s tone eases your nerves. And you believe he isn’t a bad person. More than that, you understand: this is what you need to do if you want to stay — here, in the first place that’s felt even remotely safe since you opened your eyes in this unfamiliar world.

The checkup is quick and uneventful. When the two of you step back out, Tommy is already waiting. He leads you to get food. The meal is simple, but unexpectedly delicious.

As you eat, Tommy shares more about the Jackson community: some people farm, some teach school. There’s a clinic, and even a small library. Everything here has been built by the people who live in it — a real community, not just a shelter.

You listen, almost unable to believe what you’re seeing and hearing. Everything here feels so different from the world outside — the one Tommy described to you.

After the meal, Tommy gives you a short tour of the town, finally stopping in front of a small house set slightly apart from the town center. Dried flowers hang by the door, and inside, it’s fully furnished: a dining table, a kitchen, a bathroom, and two separate bedrooms. Everything is neat, warm, and cozy.

“I’ll meet you both at the dining hall at seven,” Tommy says before leaving. “If you need anything, come find me. Or if it’s urgent, Joel’s right across the street.”

You give a small nod of appreciation. As the door closes behind Tommy, you let out a quiet breath.

Matt stands nearby, his eyes still on the door. Then he turns to you, hesitating a little before asking,

“Back there… was anything wrong? During the check?” He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “I mean… did anything make you uncomfortable?”

You understand what Matt means. And you know it’s his way of caring — awkward, maybe, but sincere.

“Everything was fine.” You give him a soft smile.

A quiet moment passes between you.

“Well… I’ll head to my room then,” you say, turning toward the hallway. “See you at dinner.”

After a quick shower, you sink into the bed, letting the weight of the day dissolve into the mattress. The mattress isn’t exactly soft, but after such a long journey, it brings a strange kind of comfort — almost like... safety.

Still, you don’t fall asleep right away. You lie there instead, letting your mind drift through the events of the day — small fragments, scattered and fragile, yet each carrying an emotion you can’t quite name.

Along the way, you try to piece everything together, try to understand why you are here, why everything feels so familiar and yet so distant.

And then, the name “Joel” keeps slipping into your thoughts.

You’ve barely spoken to him since you met — haven’t even asked Tommy much about him. But his image stays with you: the quiet eyes, the slow, heavy steps, the guarded silence. Joel isn’t warm like Tommy. He’s distant, reserved, always seeming to frown.

Or maybe that’s exactly why you can’t stop thinking about him.

There is something… familiar. A feeling you can’t explain. As if you have known Joel before — have once stood close to him in some place you can’t remember. Logic tells you it is impossible. But your heart keeps insisting otherwise.

You lie awake a little longer — or maybe much longer — before sleep finally creeps in, gently pulling you under without you even realizing.

You wake to a steady knock at the door. Blinking your eyes open, it takes a few seconds to remember where you are. Then Matt’s voice comes from outside — soft, just loud enough for you to hear:

“Hey… you up? It’s dinner time. You ready?”

You rub your eyes, let out a small yawn, then slowly push yourself up.

“Coming… Just give me a sec.”

After changing, you step out to find Matt waiting by the front door. He’s leaning against the frame, arms crossed, and turns to you with a faint smile as you appear.

“Sleep well?”

“Sort of,” you reply, offering a gentle smile, then walk with him to the dining hall.

When you arrive at the dining hall, you pause for a moment. It’s busier than it was earlier that afternoon. A long line of people waits for food, the smell of hot stew drifting warmly through the air. Wooden tables are neatly arranged, most already filled. Children run around laughing, and in a far corner, someone is playing music.

Tommy waves when he sees you both. “Over here!”

After grabbing your food, you and Matt make your way over and sit across from him. Sitting beside Tommy is a woman with short blonde hair and eyes that are steady and kind.

“This is Maria, my wife,” Tommy says, gesturing to her. “Maria, these are the two I was telling you about earlier.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Maria says. “Make yourselves at home.”

You nod in thanks, your gaze drifting around the room before you find yourself asking, almost without thinking,

“Is Joel not eating with you?”

“He’ll be here later,” Tommy replies, not looking the least bit surprised. “He’s always like that.”

The mood at the table gradually grows lighter and more cheerful. There’s nothing fancy about the meal, but it warms you —the stew earthy and rich, the bread toasted to golden perfection. Tommy shares a few more stories about life in Jackson, with Maria occasionally adding a witty comment that makes the whole table laugh.

After the meal, Tommy pours apple cider for the group and proudly claims it’s homemade and won’t get anyone drunk.

You give a sheepish smile. “I don’t really drink alcohol,” you say.

Tommy raises an eyebrow and turns to Matt, as if to check if he drinks instead.

Matt grins. “I’ll drink hers for her.”

You excuse yourself for a moment, wanting to get some fresh air. Outside, the evening air is cool and carries the scent of wild grass. You walk slowly around the dining hall, taking in the rare quiet. Streetlamps cast soft golden light, stretching the shadows of trees across the ground. In the distance, a few houses still have their lights on, faint voices drifting out from behind closed doors.

As your thoughts wander, you suddenly catch sight of a figure walking toward the dining hall. Joel.

He moves quietly, as always — heavy but steady steps. When his eyes meet yours, you instinctively give a small nod. Joel returns the gesture with a slight nod of his own, saying nothing, then continues inside as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.

You stop beside a bench under the dining hall’s awning and sit down. From there, you watch the scene before you: the warm glow of lamplight spilling across the dirt road, the occasional passerby moving through it. Inside the dining hall, the hum of conversation and laughter carries on — a stark contrast to the stillness surrounding you now.

You exhale quietly, hands resting on your lap, eyes gazing into the distance.

And for some reason, in that moment, you feel… at peace.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there. Only when a light breeze drifts by, carrying the gentle chill of evening, do you shiver slightly and rise to your feet, deciding it’s time to head back inside.

When you return to the table, the first thing you notice is Matt — cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, mumbling something incoherent to Tommy. You pause for a moment, then let out a quiet breath and chuckle. Just as you thought: you’re going to have to drag him home like this.

Maybe — just maybe — you catch the corner of Joel’s mouth twitch as your eyes meet his. A faint smile, barely there, but still enough for you to notice.

“How are you feeling about being here?” Maria asks, turning to you as you sit down beside Matt. Her voice is warm, genuine.

You pause for a few seconds before answering. “Pretty good… better than what I’ve known before.”

Part of you knows that answer is only half-true. Because honestly, you don’t remember your past well enough to compare. But you do know this: something about this place makes you feel safe.

“I feel lucky to have ended up in Jackson.”

Maria smiles. “Well then, would you be open to helping out? We’re always looking for people —kitchen hands, child care, teachers…”

She lists off jobs one by one, your mind flickering through vague, colorless images — until she says “teacher.”

You almost nod on instinct.

“A teacher?” you echo. You think for a moment, then nod. “Yeah. I think I could do that.”

Maria looks pleased. “Perfect. I’ll set that up for you. As for Matt… he strikes me as the patrolling or gate-watching type.”

You laugh. “Yeah, that’s exactly him.”

Dinner wraps up, and — just as you predicted — you find yourself struggling to get Matt on his feet. Luckily, Tommy notices and calls Joel over to help.

“No, it’s okay, I’ve got it,” you say quickly, a little flustered.

But right then, Matt lurches forward and throws up beside the table. You sigh and glance at Joel. He doesn’t say a word — his expression calm as always — then steps in without hesitation and helps lift Matt up.

The walk back is quiet, the two of you carrying Matt between you. When you reach the house, you open the door and begin to say you’ll manage from here — but Joel doesn’t respond.

He just steps inside, waiting for you to lead. You walk ahead in silence, and he follows, both of you guiding Matt into his room.

Joel drops Matt onto the bed — not exactly gently, more like letting him fall in a controlled way. You can’t help but laugh softly.

“Thanks,” you say, walking Joel to the door.

Before he leaves, he speaks — low and gravelly, like the words have been sitting at the back of his throat all evening.

“You two… are you together?”

You freeze. You’re not sure what surprises you more: the question, or the fact that he spoke to you at all. It’s the first time he’s really said anything directly to you.

You open your mouth — and thud. A loud crash sounds behind you. Both of you turn on instinct.

You laugh — you don’t need to look to know Matt just rolled off the bed.

“No,” you say with a small laugh. “We’re just friends. Anyway… thanks for not killing us earlier. And for helping me get him back.”

Joel gives a small nod. He says nothing else, just turns and walks away, quiet and steady as ever.

You head back into Matt’s room. He’s still on the floor, snoring softly, the sour smell of alcohol hanging in the air. You manage to pull him back into bed — not easily, but you get there.

“You’re gonna regret this tomorrow,” you mutter, tucking the blanket over him and shaking your head.

Finally, you return to your own room. After a quick rinse, you collapse onto your bed. Darkness has settled over Jackson. The wind whispers through the trees, creating a faint, distant rustle that feels like it’s coming from somewhere far away.

You close your eyes — and then open them again.

You still don’t know what exactly Matt is to you. He’s always there, always looking out for you — the person you trust most.

But to you right now, he’s only a companion. Nothing more, nothing less..

When you drifted off to sleep, the darkness took you quickly — no warning, no signs. And then, in that moment, you found yourself standing in the corner of a strange room. Right next to you was an old TV, turned off, its screen reflecting the dim glow of a nearby lamp that cast a soft circle of light on the floor. On the sofa, a blonde-haired girl was curled up, fast asleep.

Just a few seconds later, the door opened. A man stepped in, his footsteps light but steady. The girl woke, rubbed her eyes, then smiled when she saw him. They started talking — her voice bright and clear, his low and warm, full of quiet affection. You couldn’t see his face clearly, but every gentle pat on her head, every glance, every soft joke he made was enough to show you: this was a happy family. The mother wasn’t there, but nothing about the house felt lacking in love.

You tried to move closer, but the sensation was strange — you were there, yet no one saw you. You couldn’t touch anything either. You could only watch.

The scene began to shift. As if something was yanking you forward, images slid out of view and were instantly replaced. Now you were somewhere else — darker, more tense. The man was holding the girl tightly in his arms, running down a street filled with rubble and destruction. Behind them, someone screamed. Fires flickered from burning houses. A helicopter rumbled overhead. They were fleeing — from what, you couldn’t tell, but the look in the girl’s terrified eyes said enough: something terrible was happening.

A soldier appeared. For a moment, it seemed like they were saved. But then the soldier spoke into his radio, and something in his face changed. No one had time to react. Gunfire erupted — sharp, violent, tearing through the air. The girl’s small body crumpled.

You watched as the man dropped to his knees, clutching her close, unable to believe what he was seeing. He called her name again and again, his voice unraveling, desperate. His scream hit you like a storm — raw, broken, soul-deep. It wasn’t just the scream of a man in pain. It was the scream of someone completely powerless — someone who couldn’t do anything more. He held the girl like he was trying to keep something from slipping away — shaking like someone who’d just lost his very heart.

Then a younger, frantic man appeared and, without hesitation, pulled out a gun and shot the soldier. You remained there, trapped in the middle of it all. You couldn’t move forward, couldn’t turn away, couldn’t speak. It was like someone had programmed you to do nothing but witness. To feel — the pain, the loss, the unbearable scream, and the warmth that slowly faded from that father's arms.

You wake to the sound of your alarm. Your eyes are wet, though you don’t know when they started to blur. Something about that dream feels too real. It’s like a memory — one that your mind insists isn’t yours, and yet it lingers all the same. And then, without meaning to, a name slips from your lips — quiet, almost a whisper: “Sarah.”

You freeze. That name… you’ve never heard it before. But saying it brings a dull ache to your chest — not sharp, but deep, solid, real. As if that name is tied to something your heart isn’t ready to remember.

You wonder: who were those two? Why did you dream about them? And that father — after everything, what kind of person does he become? Can he ever move on from that loss? Or does it consume him forever?

Since yesterday, your mind has been full of questions — about yourself, about this strange sense of comfort and unfamiliarity in Jackson, and now… the dream. But still, you have no answers.

You sit up, trying to shake the thoughts away. You know if you let yourself keep thinking, you’ll be swept away. So instead, you get up and head to the kitchen, hoping you can prepare something for the morning.

As you pass by Matt’s room, you notice the door is open. He’s not there. The sheets are still tucked in neat folds, meaning he left early.

You walk into the kitchen, just as you’re about to make something to eat, a sudden knock at the door catches you off guard. You pause, glancing toward the front of the house. Who would be visiting at this hour?

You open the door. A girl stands there — light brown hair, sharp eyes.

“Hey, I’m Ellie. Maria told me to bring this over.”

You take the basket she hands you. “Thanks… and tell Maria I said thank you. Do you want to come in?”

“Nah, I’ve got things to do. See you around,” Ellie says quickly before turning to leave.

You close the door and look down at the basket: bread, a few eggs, some vegetables. A simple breakfast, but enough to warm you a little. In this place, people really do care about each other.

You stand still in the kitchen for a while, your hand brushing lightly over the crust of the bread as if trying to hold onto that warmth just a bit longer. Then you wonder: is life out there — beyond Jackson’s walls — really as bad as they say? You’ve never seen it with your own eyes, only heard stories.

Is it truly that terrifying?

As you prepare breakfast with the ingredients Maria brought, the faint scent of slightly burnt bread drifts through the air. You hear the door open — a familiar sound that tells you without needing to turn that it’s Matt. You’re about to scold him for last night — at least say something — but right then, you see Tommy walking in with him. You let out a quiet breath and offer a faint smile. Maybe… now isn’t the right time

Tommy and Matt are talking, their voices low and steady, interspersed with nods and fleeting smiles. They’re discussing patrols, shifts, the everyday rhythm of life in Jackson. Looking at Matt today, you realize he seems more relaxed than he did yesterday. It feels like he’s starting to open up… at least to Tommy.

Once Tommy says goodbye and leaves the house, you finally turn to Matt, your voice soft, tinged with curiosity “So… you’re going on patrol?”

Matt nods as he rolls up his sleeves. “Yeah. Kinda suits me, I think. And… you feel safe being here on your own, right? Besides… I heard you picked teaching? Sounds like something that fits you.”

You give a small smile and nod. “Yeah. I think so. Probably won’t be too hard.”

There’s a brief pause before you add, “By the way… you were really drunk last night. I had to ask Joel to help bring you home.”

Matt stops for a second, a flicker of surprise passing through his expression, but it’s quickly followed by something else — a clear trace of annoyance. “Joel? That grumpy guy? Didn’t think he was the helpful type.”

You look at him, tilting your head slightly. “You don’t seem to like him much. Something happened between you two?”

Matt shakes his head and shrugs like it’s nothing worth mentioning, but his voice lowers, colder than usual. “No. I just don’t like him. There’s something about him that gets under my skin. And it’s not just me — no one around here really talks to him. I haven’t seen anyone act friendly toward him. Best if… you don’t get too close to that guy.”

You don’t respond. You simply nod, then turn back to finish plating breakfast for the two of you. Matt sits down at the table in silence, and you quietly take your seat across from him, picking up your fork, moving slowly.

As you eat, you can’t stop the quiet stream of thoughts slipping into your mind. Why does Matt hold such a grudge against Joel? Sure, Joel is quiet, a bit withdrawn, but he’s never done anything to make you feel uneasy. If anything… there’s something about him that draws your attention — as if behind that distant shell lies a whole world you haven’t yet reached.

[hatsuyuki00]

Is this life… real

Chap 1

SUMMARY: You wake up in a forest — no memories, just pain, confusion, and the feeling that a stranger might have once meant the world to you. As threats close in and others offer shelter, the questions won’t stop: Who are you? Who can you trust? What comes next?

Something inside you says you’ve been here before… but nothing is the same.

Warning: No Y/N, amnesia, grumpy Joel, grumpy x sunshine, love triangle, character death, blood, injury.

A/N: This story is inspired by the game The Last of Us. Thank you so much for reading — it truly means a lot. English isn’t my first language, so I appreciate your patience with any mistakes along the way. I hope you enjoy the story!

W/C: 2.6K

Series Masterlist

You wake up in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, your body sore and heavy. The air is damp and slightly chilly, and the rustling leaves, mingled with the distant calls of birds, only deepen your confusion. No memories surface—you have no idea who you are, why you’re here, or what happened.

Slowly, you sit up, cautiously scanning your surroundings. Not far behind you, a young man about your age lies motionless at the base of a tree. Your heart tightens unexpectedly, though you don’t understand why. Even without knowing who he is, a strange sense of familiarity rises within you. As if… you once trusted this person deeply.

You get to your feet, staggering a little, then approach him. Kneeling, you gently shake his shoulder.

“Hey... wake up.”

The young man stirs slightly, his heavy eyelids slowly opening. He looks at you with a dazed expression, then lets out a weak, hoarse laugh.

“We’re... still alive, huh?”

You frown, concern threading through your voice.

“Alive? What do you mean?”

He blinks a few times, still disoriented. “You don’t remember? We were ambushed by a group of bandits. I thought we weren’t going to make it... but I guess we were lucky. Still...” — he glances around, his expression darkening — “They took everything. Our supplies, our gear… all of it’s gone.”

You help him sit up. He winces from the pain but manages to stand with effort. Then he looks at you, worry clouding his eyes.

“How’s your head? Back there... you hit it pretty hard when that guy knocked you down.”

Almost instinctively, you reach behind your head. A sharp pain spreads as your fingers brush a swollen lump.

“It hurts a bit... but I think I’m okay. So… what do we do now? And… why are we even here?”

Matt — the name suddenly pops into your mind, though you have no idea why — stares at you, his gaze gradually shifting to suspicion. His voice is raspy, tinged with irritation.

“What’s wrong with you? You were the one who said we were running low on supplies and suggested we go out to find more. Now we’ve got no food… and no bullets either.”

You press your lips together, on the verge of asking more—but stop. A wave of unease rises in your chest—partly because nothing he said stirs even a flicker of memory, and partly because you don’t want him to know that your mind is completely blank.

Maybe… it’s better to stay quiet. To figure things out—little by little. You walk behind Matt, keeping a careful distance. The sound of dry leaves crunching beneath your feet blends with the soft rustle of wind weaving through the treetops. Neither of you says a word. Silence drapes over you both like a heavy blanket—but in your mind, a storm of chaos rages.

You can’t remember why you’re here. You don’t remember who Matt is, although something in his eyes, his voice, and the way he always slows his pace to wait for you fills you with a strange sense of familiarity—warm, safe, and oddly comforting. Every step you take, every sound in this unfamiliar forest feels like walking through a blurry dream—or worse, a nightmare with no end in sight.

Food? Ammunition? Bandits? What kind of life was I living before this happened?

A hundred unanswered questions whirl in your head like a storm.

Matt suddenly stops and turns around, making you jump.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice much softer than before. “I was a bit short with you earlier. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. Are you okay? You’ve been quiet today.”

You meet his eyes. In those deep brown eyes, there’s something that feels… familiar. A sincere concern is written clearly across his face. You offer a small smile, trying to seem at ease.

“I’m fine. Just… thinking about a few things.”

He squints slightly and takes a step closer. “What is it? You know you can talk to me, right?”

You hesitate. In that moment, you almost want to tell him everything. You want to ask: Who am I? Who are you? What were we to each other?

But a flicker of unease passes through you. You’re not sure if now is the right time—or maybe… you’re afraid of how he’ll react if he finds out you don’t even remember him.

You avoid Matt’s gaze, forcing a small smile. “It’s nothing. Just random stuff.”

Matt keeps watching you, as if trying to read the thoughts behind your smile. Silence falls again between you—not an awkward silence, but one heavy with things left unsaid. He seems like he’s about to speak again, but—

Clop. Clop.

The sound of galloping hooves echoes from the distance. Matt tenses instantly, his expression shifting in a blink. Instinctively, he spins around and grabs your arm, pulling you to his side. You barely have time to react before both of you duck behind the trunk of a large tree, bodies pressed close as you crouch in the underbrush.

His breath brushes the side of your face — fast, quiet. He doesn’t say a word, but his body shields you like a barrier.

Your heart pounds in your chest. You can hear your own shallow breaths — and Matt’s, quick and close beside you. One arm stretches protectively in front of you like a shield, while his eyes stay locked on the direction of the sound, ready for anything.

You glance at him, crouched beside you, dagger in hand, eyes sharp and alert. Dappled sunlight filters through the leaves, casting shifting shadows across his face. For a moment, your chest tightens.

Partly from fear—but also… because something inside your heart stirs. You can’t name it yet, but you know one thing for certain: This person… once meant a great deal to you.

You don’t know who the riders are, but Matt’s hand tightening around yours tells you one thing clearly: he’s tense. And he’s trying to protect you.

You hold your breath and listen. The sound of hooves halts somewhere beyond the trees. Voices drift through the canopy—not loud, but clear enough to reach you through the rustling leaves. They’re talking. The words aren’t distinct, but you’re certain of one thing— only two voices. No more. One, with a low and commanding voice, is chastising the other over something. It sounds like an argument, but not an angry one—more like the kind that happens between people who’ve traveled together too long to stay truly mad at each other.

You press yourself closer to the tree, trying to steady your breathing, heart pounding so loudly it nearly drowns out everything else. But then—your whole body tenses.

Movement—just below the leaves near your feet.

A small snake, thin-bodied and sleek-skinned, slithers toward you, silent and swift. You freeze, barely breathing, choking back the rising urge to cry out. But when its body brushes across your ankle, your instincts betray you—you flinch backward, and a strangled sound nearly escapes your throat.

Immediately, Matt whips his head around, eyes sharp with alertness. Without a word, he lets go of your hand, reaches out, and clamps his palm gently but firmly over your mouth, pulling you close against him. The two of you blend into the shadow of the tree as one. His breath is hot and fast against your ear, filled with tension.

You don’t dare move. You don’t even breathe.

But it’s too late.

“I know you’re there.” a man’s voice cuts through the silence—crisp, sharp as a blade. “Show yourself before I make you.”

Matt goes still. A short, heavy breath escapes him. Then, slowly, he rises, lifting both hands in the air.

“We mean no harm.” he calls out, trying to keep his voice calm and level. “Just travelers passing through—we’re not a threat.”

A middle-aged man watches, his expression cold and unyielding, eyes like knives slicing straight through Matt. He doesn’t lower his weapon— instead, he raises it higher, aiming it squarely at Matt’s chest.

“We?” the man echoes, voice dry, lingering on the word like a challenge—as though he’s not satisfied with a half-truth.

Guilt coils in your stomach. You should’ve been more careful. If it weren’t for you…This wouldn’t be happening.

Slowly, you step out from behind the tree, hands raised reflexively. You stand behind Matt, steadying yourself, and lift your gaze toward the two strangers.

And then—it happens again.

That feeling.

A flicker of confusion ripples through your mind. You’re certain you’ve never seen these people before—at least, not according to the fragile pieces of memory you have left. But something in the older man’s eyes strikes a chord deep inside you, like a forgotten song echoing from long ago. No clear image, no solid memory—but a flood of emotion.

That same strange pull you felt the moment you first saw Matt.

The man aiming the gun at Matt is tall and broad-shouldered, his posture in the saddle steady and practiced, like someone born and raised in the saddle. His salt-and-pepper hair is cut short, tousled by wind and road dust. His face is all hard edges, worn by time and battles, with a beard streaked with silver and black tracing his jaw and chin. His brown eyes are sharp, cold — the kind that have seen too much and grown tired of anything unfamiliar.

The one riding beside him looks younger—his features sun-warmed. He wears his dirty blond tied back, a well-groomed beard giving him a seasoned look. He has a gentler air than the first man, his gaze not sharp but searching, weighing whether you’re a threat… or just another lost soul.

Both men stay mounted, still and wordless, eyes locked on you and Matt—watching, waiting, as if weighing whether to trust you… or to act. 

“I think they’re telling the truth.” the younger man tilts his head, voice low but loud enough for his companion to hear. “Nobody survives out there unarmed.”

The older man—his gaze still locked on Matt—is frowning

“Doesn’t matter. We don’t drop our guard—not after what happened. You forget how many raiders roam this area? Or the group we just cleaned out?”

The younger man furrows his brows, then pauses as if something clicks.

“…Earlier—didn’t one of them mention they’d just looted a decent haul off two people? You think it could’ve been them?”

The older man doesn’t answer right away. His eyes flick over you and Matt again, sharp and calculating. Matt is still standing protectively in front of you, arms raised. But it’s obvious—neither of you carry anything of value. No bags, no weapons, no water, no food. Like everything has been taken.

Matt catches that scrutinizing stare, and something in his jaw tenses. He snaps, his voice edged with frustration:

“Can we go now? I already said we’re harmless and have nothing. How long do you plan to keep that gun up?”

The older man’s frown deepens, lips parting as if to reply—but the younger one speaks first.

“Are you clean?”

The question cuts through the tension like a blade. You frown, not understanding right away. Clean? What does that mean?

You open your mouth to ask, but Matt beats you to it, his voice colder now, almost defensive:

“Why would we answer that? That’s none of your business.”

The younger man gives a casual shrug, his tone lighter than his companion’s, but not careless.

“Hey, man, we’re just trying to help. Out here, walking around like that you won’t last three days.”

He glances between the two of you before continuing.

“Besides… looks like you’ve got nothing left, right? After we dealt with those raiders, we found some supplies. I’m guessing they were yours.”

A flicker of tension passes through Matt’s eyes, but he doesn’t respond immediately.

The silence stretches. Only the whisper of wind through the treetops and the steady shifting of hooves breaks it. Then Matt finally speaks—slow, deliberate, resolute:

“All right… what’s the deal if we take your help?”

The younger man relaxes a little, shoulders easing as though relieved not to keep arguing.

“We’ve got a shelter. Food, beds, basics. In return, you two will work to earn your stay. Nothing too hard. Just small tasks.”

Matt turns to you.

For the first time since the gun had been pointed at him, his expression wavers—uncertainty clear in his eyes. He isn’t wondering whether they can be trusted.

He is wondering whether you will be okay… if he trusts them.

Whether this is a safe choice for you—the person by his side, disoriented, empty-handed, clinging to the only familiar thing left: him.

Whether he is about to walk you into something worse—something he can’t protect you from.

He doesn’t have to say a word. You see it all in his eyes—that quiet, unwavering protectiveness that doesn’t need to be spoken, but is strong enough to make your chest tighten.

Matt stands there, hesitating—because all he cares about—more than the offer, more than the risks—is whether you will be safe.

“If you don’t want to come, that’s fine. We’re not forcing you,” the younger man says, tilting his head slightly. “But… if you need help, we’re willing.”

Matt doesn’t answer right away. He looks at you again, as if confirming something one last time—then replies, voice steady: “All right then.”

The younger man immediately dismounts. He approaches, not quickly, but with firm, deliberate steps. Instinctively, Matt pulls you half a step back, shielding you completely.

The older man remains on horseback, gun still raised, his watchful eyes never leaving Matt.

But the man walking toward you raises both hands, palms open as if to show he means no harm. His voice softens, calm, and reassuring:

“I’m Tommy. The guy up there is Joel. We live in a town nearby—Jackson. We’ll take you there. Don’t worry,” he glances toward Joel, “he won’t shoot… unless you give him a reason.”

Tommy. Joel. Jackson. 

You don’t know why, but those three names stir something deep in your mind. Like echoes. Like something once familiar. Something you should remember. But your memory remains a fog you can’t lift.

Tommy offers to have you ride with Joel while Matt comes with him.

Matt frowns instantly. He doesn’t like that idea—you can see it in the way his eyes flick to Joel, quickly and cautiously. Subtle, but telling. Like he doesn’t want you anywhere near that man—an instinct, a protective reflex against anything he can’t control.

“No,” Matt says firmly. “I’ll go with Joel. She rides with you.”

Tommy pauses for a brief second, then gives a small nod, saying nothing more.

Matt climbs onto Joel’s horse, every movement careful but without hesitation. Joel doesn’t react—not a glance, not a word. He simply turns his horse around in silence.

You ride with Tommy. He looks back and gives you a friendly smile, one hand loosely holding the reins. Along the way, he speaks to you—his voice light, easygoing. He asks simple questions: where you are from, how long you’ve been out there, whether you are hurt.

You don’t say much—maybe because you can’t remember, or maybe because you don’t fully trust him. Or anyone. You reply vaguely or stay silent, your eyes fixed on the thinning forest ahead.

But Tommy doesn’t push. He keeps talking, casually, like he doesn’t mind the silence.

In stark contrast, Matt and Joel say nothing the entire ride. No conversation. Not even a glance is exchanged.

The four of you ride through the sparse forest. Dry leaves crackle under the horses’ hooves. Above, the sky fades to a pale orange—sunlight dripping through the canopy like it is dissolving into the air. Beautiful, but not enough to quiet the strange weight pressing against your chest.

You don’t know where you are going. You don’t know what awaits in that place called Jackson.

But for now… at least you aren’t alone.