mzimmer1315

[mzimmer1315]

Echoes of Silence - Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

This is just a short drabble of what I'm hoping to turn into a series if enough people like it! Enjoy.

Warnings: Angst, kind Joel.

The air in Jackson always had a crisp bite, especially in the evenings when the sun began to dip behind the snow-covered mountains.

I was used to the silence now, the weight pressing down on the town. Life in Jackson was calm and safe, but for me, it was stifling. After everything I had been through, the sense of normalcy felt like a foreign language I couldn't speak. But Jackson was the closest thing to peace I had known, so I learned to settle into its rhythms.

The small, rustic house I called home was almost too peaceful. I spent most of my days helping with supplies, keeping to myself. It was the nights that felt the heaviest.

I loved to sing. It was an outlet, my therapy, my catharsis. Now, in the silence of Jackson's quiet streets, my voice was often the only sound that broke the stillness. My songs had become a way to keep the past alive, to remember who I was before everything changed. Every note, every breath that left my body felt like a conversation with the lost parts of me, the pieces of my soul that still clung to the fleeting idea of hope.

It was late one evening when I found myself sitting on the porch of my cabin, strumming my guitar, a low hum rising in my chest. The melody poured out like a river, desperate to let something--anything--break free.

I didn't expect anyone to be around, certainly not Joel.

Joel Miller.

The name alone stirred something in me. Something unspoken. Something raw.

Since my arrival in Jackson, I had noticed him more than I'd like to admit. He was made of scars --- scars I couldn't begin to understand.

I'd see him from a distance, always walking with a distance, his gaze far too serious, almost haunted. He was quiet, often disappearing into the woods or stables, a solitary figure who didn't need anyone. But I saw him. I saw the cracks in his armor.

And, god, I wanted to know what was behind them.

But every time I tried, he'd push me away with that cold, guarded look in his eyes. I never meant to push. I never meant to make him uncomfortable. But sometimes, the way he looked at me, like I was too much to handle like I was an unwanted reminder of something.

Tonight, though, I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop singing. Maybe it was the way the moonlight hit the horizon, the way the world felt on edge or something. Or maybe, it was just me, needing to feel alive for once.

What's the furthest place from here? It hasn't been my day for a couple years, what's a couple more? And if I go, don't forget the one good thing I almost did.

I sang the words heavy and the melody softer than usual. There was a softness in my voice tonight, something vulnerable, something that felt like it could fall apart with the next breath.

I didn't hear him at first. Joel was the kind to sneak up on people. When I heard the crunch of snow under boots, my voice faltered.

His figure stood in the doorway of the cabin, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face shadowed. The flickering lights from inside illuminated the sharpness of his features, but his eyes -- his eyes were locked on me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the wind brushing against the trees and the distant hum of my guitar strings.

"You're good," he said, his voice gruff, but there was an undertone I couldn't place.

I smiled, albeit weakly, unable to mask the nervous tension in my body.

"Thank you," I whispered, looking down at my guitar, not knowing how to respond.

Joel took a step closer, but still, he kept a respectful distance. "Been hearin' yo play a lot. Don't hear much music around here these days."

"Guess that's because there's not much to left to sing about," I replied, trying to keep the words light, but they came out heavy. I didn't want to talk about them, but the words were out before I could stop them.

Joel's gaze softened ever so slightly, but there was something guarded behind it, something stopped him from offering any comfort. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Maybe... maybe it's not about what's left to sing about. Maybe it's about what you need to remember," he said.

My heart skipped a beat at his word. He was so much like the song -- quiet, gruff, layered with unspoken truths. I wasn't sure what to say, so I just nodded, strumming a few more notes.

For a moment, I thought he was going to leave, but he didn't. Instead, he took a few slow steps forward, closer now, until I could feel the warmth of his presence.

"You know, you don't always have to be alone," he said, his voice lower, more intimate than usual.

My eyes lifted to meet his, and I saw it -- the ghost of something, maybe regret or pain, flashing in his eyes. Something was there, something buried deep beneath all that silence and distance.

But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by that familiar, hard expression.

"You shouldn't hid behind music," he added quietly, his voice gruff. "People... people are what you need. Not songs."

I shook my head, heart racing at the sudden closeness. "It's not hiding," I whispered. "It's just... easier."

Joel was quiet for a long moment, his gaze lingering on me, and in that silence, I could feel something unspoken hanging between us. He shifted, shoulders tense, like he was holding back words he needed to say.

But in the end, all he did was turn and walk back toward the house, his footsteps muffled in the snow.

And just like that, the night was silent again.

But now, I wasn't sure if it was the silence I feared, or the fact that it was louder when he was gone.