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r4vens-cl4ws · 8 months ago

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i really hope theres gonna be more to come holy fuck

First Date?

this is a long one - strap in for some slow burn yearning <333

You and Joel were complicated—or at least, that’s what you told yourself when the ache in your chest got too loud to ignore.

Joel Miller was the embodiment of contradictions. A lone wolf by nature, with a gruff exterior and a sharp tongue that could cut through even the strongest defenses. He was the kind of man who carried his burdens silently, his pain etched into every line on his face. At times, he was rough, even cruel in his honesty, like he’d long since decided the world didn’t deserve his softness.

But then there were moments—rare, fleeting moments—that haunted you. Times when his actions betrayed him, when he’d do something so achingly kind, it felt deliberate. Like he wanted you to see a glimmer of the man hidden behind the walls he’d built. Those moments unsettled you, because they forced you to consider that maybe, just maybe, Joel Miller wasn’t as simple as the role he played.

And yet, the cycle was maddeningly predictable. You’d lie in bed replaying his tenderness in your mind—a quiet gesture, a word spoken softly, the way his hand lingered just a fraction too long. You’d convince yourself he meant it, that it was a crack in his armor, a glimpse of something real.

But then the next day, without fail, he’d shut you out all over again, rebuilding the walls you thought you’d glimpsed past. A cold remark, a dismissive shrug, a reminder of his unyielding distance.

And so it went, over and over—a push and pull that left you wondering which version of Joel was the truth.

It had been like this for months now.

Patrolling together had become a silent routine—Joel keeping to himself, speaking only when necessary, his words clipped and efficient as if conserving energy for something more important. Orders were given in a low, gruff tone, and you followed them without question. By the time you’d make it back, you could count the words exchanged on one hand.

But just as you’d turn to leave, he’d do something that unraveled the simplicity of your assumptions. Like passing you your scarf—the one you’d left behind without a second thought, easily retrievable the next day. He’d shove it into your hands without meeting your gaze, muttering something gruff about it getting cold, as if it hadn’t taken effort to notice—or care.

Or when you’d stop to rest mid-patrol, exhaustion gnawing at you, and he’d quietly slide his food your way. “Ain’t hungry,” he’d mutter, avoiding the weight of your questioning eyes. It was an excuse so thin you could see through it, but you didn’t dare push.

Joel Miller was an enigma you couldn’t crack, and it bugged the hell out of you. He’d bark at you for the way you held your weapon, his frustration simmering just under the surface as he corrected your grip with rough hands. But then, not ten minutes later, he’d grab your pack without so much as a word, slinging it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he’d grumble when you tried to argue, his tone dismissive, like his actions didn’t contradict every wall he put between you.

You struggled to make sense of him, of the contradictions that seemed to define him. Joel was a man who scolded you one moment and softened the next, and it was driving you to distraction. Because with every small act of kindness, every begrudging gesture, he left you with more questions than answers—and no idea what to do with any of it.

You tossed and turned, your mind unwilling to settle as it churned over the absurdity of it all. Here you were, psychoanalyzing a man at least twenty years your senior, someone who probably didn’t give a second thought to the things he said or did. Joel Miller was a mystery, sure, but one he likely didn’t care to solve himself—let alone have you dissecting.

And yet, you couldn’t stop. Every small moment lingered in your mind far longer than it should have. The way his hand would brush yours when passing you something, the gruffness in his voice when he called your name, even the way his brow furrowed when he scolded you—it all dug its hooks in deep, refusing to let go.

It almost stung to think about, the possibility that you were caught up in something he didn’t even notice. That all the small gestures you replayed over and over—the scarf, the food, the quiet way he’d step in without asking—meant nothing to him.

And then there was the other problem: you weren’t even sure what you felt about him. Affection? Annoyance? Something more confusing than either? It was a tangled mess of emotions you couldn’t unravel, no matter how much time you spent trying.

As I said—it was complicated. And you hated how much that fact alone kept you awake.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Maria and Tommy were sprawled out on the couch in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the space. Tommy’s leg bounced restlessly, the only sign of his growing impatience.

“You planning on coming down sometime this year, or what?” he called out, leaning his head back to shout toward the stairs.

Maria rolled her eyes and smacked his thigh, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet. “Tommy! Be nice,” she scolded, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“What?” he said, shrugging dramatically. “She’s takin’ forever!”

Maria shook her head, leaning back into the cushions with an exasperated sigh.

You let out a sharp breath, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Ridiculous—that’s the only word that came to mind. Your hair was down, soft and loose around your face in a way that felt foreign. You were wearing a skirt. A skirt. You hadn’t worn one since you were a kid, and now here you were, fumbling through the motions of playing dress-up, chasing some semblance of femininity you weren’t even sure you could pull off.

You felt out of place in your own skin, like an imposter pretending to be someone else for the night.

But this wasn’t just any night. You were going on a date.

Yes, a date. The word felt strange, heavy with meaning.

Maria and Tommy had finally grown tired of your groaning, your wistful complaints about how you wanted more from life—someone to share it with, someone to love. A family, children. You wanted it all, and the years weren’t exactly slowing down to wait for you to figure it out.

So - they decided to set you up with someone—a blind date, no less, which only made your stomach twist tighter with anxiety. But you trusted them, trusted their judgment, even if it felt like you were walking into the unknown without a safety net.

You took a steadying breath and made your way downstairs, the sound of your footsteps drawing their attention.

“Well, look at this,” Tommy said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You look beautiful, darlin’.”

Maria was up in an instant, her eyes soft as they swept over you. “You look…” She trailed off, her smile growing warmer, as if words didn’t quite do justice to what she wanted to say.

Before she could continue, Tommy clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. “Now, go! Don’t keep the poor guy waitin’. You’re gonna be late.”

Maria shot him a look, but you couldn’t help but smile as she gave your arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got this,” she said softly, her voice filled with a quiet confidence you wished you could share.

And with that, you were out the door, nerves buzzing, heart pounding, and hope flickering just beneath the surface.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You stepped into the Tipsy Bison, the warm, earthy scent of aged wood and whiskey hitting you immediately. The atmosphere was alive but not overwhelming—a mix of laughter, murmured conversations, and the occasional clatter of glassware. Fairy lights hung from the beams above, casting a golden glow over the crowd, while a crackling fire in the corner painted dancing shadows along the walls. It was cozy, intimate, the kind of place where time felt slower, more forgiving.

Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the mix of people. A group by the bar exchanged stories, their laughter rising above the hum of the room. A couple sat near the fire, leaning close, lost in each other’s quiet smiles. Strangers passed plates and drinks as if the walls of the place somehow softened the harsh edges of the world outside.

Tommy had told you the blind date would meet you in the corner booth—the one closest to the window. Your heart pounded as you spotted it, empty and waiting. Sliding into the booth, you realized you were early. Too early. The cushion beneath you felt firm, grounding, but it didn’t stop the subtle shake in your hands or the restless tap of your foot beneath the table.

You weren’t cut out for this, not really. You weren’t the “first date” kind of girl, the one who could walk into a situation like this brimming with confidence and charm. No, you were the girl who got to know someone slowly—someone who spent years building a connection, falling achingly, irrevocably in love. Forced conversations and the unspoken expectation of romance felt unnatural, like trying to fit into a mold that was never meant for you.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the table, and you took a slow breath, trying to will your nerves into submission. This wasn’t you, but tonight, it had to be.

Then you saw him.

Your breath caught, a sharp hitch that seemed to echo in your ears as your eyes locked on the figure stepping through the doorway. The familiar curls, unruly and streaked with gray. The deep brown eyes that held too many secrets. The lines etched into his face, mapping out stories of loss, of survival. The slope of his nose, as distinct as it was unassuming.

Joel.

There was no way. Your heart hammered against your ribs, an unrelenting rhythm that refused to calm. This can’t be happening, you thought, a tangle of shock, disbelief, and something else you weren’t ready to name.

And then he saw you.

Your instinct took over, and you looked away immediately, pretending to find something—anything—fascinating about the table in front of you. Your fingers gripped the edge of it like it might somehow keep you grounded. But, of course, it didn’t stop him.

You heard the sound of his boots before you saw him, steady and unhurried as he made his way over. There was no mistaking the purposeful stride, the way he carried himself like the room belonged to him, even if he didn’t want it to.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and rough, the single word carrying far more weight than it should.

You forced yourself to look up, your eyes meeting his for the briefest, most unsettling moment. And just like that, the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

“Hi,” you breathed, your voice barely audible as you stared up at him, wide-eyed. He was standing there, just a few feet away, towering over you in that way that made you feel small.

Why was he standing? Was he… disappointed? Your mind raced, conjuring scenarios faster than you could stop them. If he was disappointed—if the very sight of you sitting there had soured his mood—surely he’d turn around and leave without a second thought. Right?

“What are you doing here?” Joel asked, his voice low and rough, cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I—uh…” Your words stumbled over each other as your confusion spilled out. “What are you doing here?”

He raised the whiskey glass in his hand slightly, the amber liquid catching the warm light of the room. “Finished patrol. Figured I’d stop in for a drink.”

Oh. So he wasn’t your date. Relief washed over you, but it was immediately chased by something else—a flicker of disappointment you didn’t quite understand.

You tried to shove the feeling aside, scolding yourself for even entertaining the idea. This is ridiculous, you thought, sitting a little straighter as if that might shake the unexpected weight in your chest.

It looked like Joel was about to say something, the faint hum of words lingering on his lips—you look…but whatever thought had been forming was cut short by the sound of a familiar voice calling your name.

Both you and Joel turned in unison, your gaze falling on the man approaching your booth.

It was Levi.

He walked with easy confidence, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. You recognized him instantly—one of the patrolmen you’d crossed paths with a few times before. He was cute, older than you, with a charm that seemed effortless, like he didn’t even know he had it.

Joel’s eyebrows lifted slightly, the faintest flicker of realization crossing his face as the pieces clicked into place.

You were on a date.

With Levi.

The weight of that understanding settled over him, his expression unreadable as he glanced between the two of you.

Levi greeted him with an easy, “Hey, man,” offering a polite nod.

Joel didn’t respond, his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer. Something unspoken passed through that look—a question, maybe, or something heavier you couldn’t quite name. Then, with a brief nod of acknowledgment, he turned and walked away, his broad shoulders disappearing into the crowd.

You watched him go, a strange hollowness forming in your chest, though you couldn’t say why. Levi’s voice brought you back to the present, pulling your focus away from the retreating figure and back to the man sitting across from you.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Levi was polite, charming, and funny, effortlessly filling the silence with light conversation. He’d even brought drinks back to the table, setting yours in front of you with a warm smile that should have been disarming.

You talked about life in Jackson—the routines, the quirks of the people, the way the town had built itself into something resembling normalcy. Levi was easy to talk to, his words flowing smoothly, but something felt… off.

As he spoke, you found your gaze drifting, your chest tightening with an uneasy, almost nauseating sensation you couldn’t shake. Disappointment? You weren’t sure, but the feeling gnawed at you, unwelcome and unrelenting.

Your eyes darted around the room, scanning for the familiar head of curls, for him. But Joel was nowhere to be found. The firelight flickered against the walls, but his shadow wasn’t among them. You sighed softly, the weight in your chest settling heavier.

“You alright?” Levi asked, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

You blinked, snapping your attention back to him. “Yeah,” you replied quickly, forcing a smile.

Levi’s expression softened, his tone growing hopeful. “This has been really nice,” he said, leaning forward just slightly. “Do you think we could meet up again sometime?”

His words hung in the air, kind and full of intent, but they only seemed to deepen the ache burning in your chest.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice to form a coherent response. A lump had settled in your throat, and for reasons you couldn’t fully understand, you felt the sting of tears threatening to rise.

Levi, ever the gentleman, walked you home under the quiet blanket of night, the conversation light but distant—at least on your end. When you reached your door, you hesitated for a moment before leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, a small, polite gesture that felt hollow even as you gave it.

He smiled softly, murmured a quiet goodnight, and turned to leave. You stood there, watching him fade into the darkness, an ache in your chest that only seemed to deepen.

You didn’t see Levi again.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The next time you patrolled with Joel, the silence between you was heavier than usual, suffocating in its intensity. He wasn’t gruff or mean—not a single sharp remark or irritated scowl crossed his face. Instead, he was quiet. Too quiet. And it scared the hell out of you.

You couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of your eye. There was something off about him, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His movements were rigid, his posture tense, like he was carrying a weight that didn’t belong to him. Every time you stepped too close, you noticed the way his shoulders stiffened, as if bracing for something unseen.

It set your nerves on edge, twisting your stomach in ways you couldn’t ignore. But you didn’t dare ask if he was okay.

You weren’t friends, after all. You were just two people forced into the same space by circumstance. And yet, the unspoken tension between you gnawed at you, leaving you wishing you had the courage to break the silence.

A pang of disappointment struck you, sharp and unrelenting. As much as Joel’s gruffness could cut, it also carried a strange, backhanded affection, a brutal cycle that had become its own kind of routine. It wasn’t healthy—not even close—but it was familiar. And somehow, in its familiarity, it offered a fleeting balm to the wounds he inflicted.

Now, even that was gone.

The two of you settled into the cabin for lunch, your legs aching as you stretched them out in front of you. Joel unwrapped his sandwich, eating quietly—methodically. He didn’t offer you his food this time. The realization settled like a rock in your stomach, its weight far heavier than it should’ve been. Why did that hurt?

You ate in silence, the muted sounds of the forest outside doing little to fill the oppressive void between you. He didn’t look at you once, his eyes fixed firmly on the wall ahead.

Joel had been so quiet for so long that when he finally spoke, you thought you’d imagined it.

Four words.

“How was your date?”

Your head snapped up, his voice breaking through the fragile reality you’d constructed to protect yourself. The question lingered in the air, heavy with meaning you couldn’t quite grasp.

He didn’t even look at you, just kept eating his sandwich like he hadn’t shattered the hours-long silence with that single, loaded question.

You blinked, caught completely off guard, your thoughts stumbling over themselves. Why did he care? No, of course, he didn’t care. He couldn’t. He was just being polite—or at least, that’s what you told yourself. But since when was Joel Miller polite?

“It was…” you started, your voice uncertain, trailing off as your mind scrambled for something to say. What did you say to that? Good? Alright? I felt no passion, the guy didn’t move me, and if you want to take me out instead, just say the word?

Your cheeks flushed hot at the thought, and you glanced at him. He wasn’t eating anymore. His eyes were on you now, dark and steady, waiting for you to finish the sentence.

“It wasn’t for me,” you said finally, the words spilling out too quickly, your voice quieter than you intended. Embarrassment prickled at your skin. You hated how much you’d let him see, even though he’d been the one to ask.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded once, a slight, almost imperceptible movement, before returning his attention to what was left of his sandwich.

You rode back in silence.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You saw Joel around town, and it was as if nothing had changed. He moved through the streets with his usual quiet efficiency, nodding curtly to those who greeted him, keeping his interactions brief and functional. To anyone else, it was just Joel being Joel. But to you, it felt different—he felt different.

Your thoughts drifted back to that night at the Tipsy Bison, to the way he’d approached you. It struck you now just how out of character that had been for him. Joel wasn’t the type to make small talk, let alone go out of his way to seek someone out. He kept to himself, guarded and distant, speaking only when it was necessary. And yet, that night, he’d broken his own unspoken rules. He’d sought you out.

Patrols had continued in the same heavy silence they seemed to fall into since your date with Levi. You wanted to bridge the gap, to find some way to connect with him, but what was there to say to Joel Miller? The weather? The past? It all felt so futile, like trying to climb a wall that had no handholds.

Still, you couldn’t help but hope—quiet, stubborn hope—that maybe he’d say something. Like he had that night at the Tipsy Bison. That he’d let something slip, even just a few words, that would crack through the silence and remind you that Joel wasn’t just the distant, impenetrable man he wanted everyone to see.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

After one particularly unbearable patrol, the kind where the silence felt like it might crush you, the two of you worked in quiet to settle your horses for the night. The rhythmic clinking of reins and the soft shuffle of hooves filled the air, but your mind was elsewhere, turning over the weight of the silence between you.

Your eyes drifted to your horse’s saddle, noticing something off about the straps. It was an excuse—something to say, something to break the unbearable quiet.

“Joel,” you breathed, his name slipping out before you could think it through. It felt strange on your tongue, heavy and unfamiliar, almost like a confession.

He stilled, his hands pausing mid-motion as he turned to look at you, his dark eyes steady but cautious, like he was bracing for what you might say.

You swallowed, nerves suddenly tightening in your chest. “Her saddle,” you started, nodding toward the horse. “Do you think you could help me with it?”

Joel remained silent for what felt like an eternity, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. For a brief moment, you thought he was going to offer to help as he turned to face you, but instead, his words cut through the quiet of the stable like a blade.

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend to help you out?” he said, his voice low and gruff, the bitterness laced in his tone settling heavily in the air between you.

The comment caught you off guard, stirring something hot and restless in your chest. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, the edge in his tone that felt like a jab, intentional or not.

“He’s not my—” you began, your voice sharp with frustration, but it faltered midway, your brows knitting together in confusion. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and you couldn’t figure out what had provoked him to say that, what had driven him to let that bitterness seep into his tone.

You clenched your jaw, the knot of irritation and confusion tightening in your chest as you struggled to find the right words, to make sense of the way his comment had unsettled you. “I told you—” you tried again, but even as the words formed, they felt incomplete, unable to articulate the tangle of emotions his remark had stirred.

You’d told him it wasn’t for you. You’d made that clear. So why was he bringing Levi up now?

You stopped, the sentence hanging unfinished in the cool air. Your frustration boiled over, spilling into your movements as you grabbed your gear.

“Forget it,” you mumbled, shaking your head as you turned away, your boots crunching against the dirt floor. You didn’t wait for a reply, didn’t even look back, but the weight of his presence lingered, pressing against your back as you left.

You scolded yourself as you marched home, your vision blurring with tears you refused to let fall. What were you thinking? you berated yourself. You’d been imagining things, reading too much into fleeting moments, conjuring something out of nothing. Joel Miller was nothing more than an old, grumpy man who kept everyone at arm’s length. And you? You meant nothing to him.

The thought stung more than you cared to admit, and you quickened your pace, as if you could outrun the ache settling in your chest.

Behind you, Joel stood frozen, watching you go. He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with the storm in his head. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, the word rough and barely audible, like it was dragged out of him against his will.

His throat felt tight, constricted with all the things he wanted to say but never could.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

When you arrived at the stables for your next patrol with Joel, you’d already had a strict talk with yourself. This is just work, you reminded yourself, repeating the mantra like it might actually stick. At least now you know you were imagining it all. He’s just a lonely, miserable man, and you only have to deal with him for patrol. You can handle this.

You sighed as you approached your horse, the memory of the saddle straps creeping back into your mind. You should’ve taken care of it before today, but it had slipped your thoughts in the haze of everything else. Now, it was one more thing to annoy you during patrol.

Groaning quietly, you greeted your horse, running a hand along its neck before stepping closer to inspect the saddle. The moment your eyes landed on it, your breath caught in your throat.

It was fixed.

The leather gleamed in the soft morning light, the straps perfectly adjusted, every detail precise and cared for. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the weight of realization hitting you like a tidal wave.

There was no mistaking it. Someone had done this, gone out of their way to replace it without a word. And you didn’t have to guess who.

Joel.

The thought sent a flood of emotions surging through you—confusion, frustration, and something warmer, something softer you couldn’t quite name. Your fingers brushed over the leather, and for a moment, you stood frozen, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

You straightened up, glancing toward the other end of the stables, where Joel was preparing his horse, as silent and stoic as ever.

He didn’t look your way, didn’t acknowledge you, as if nothing had happened.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The Tipsy Bison buzzed with its usual warmth, the hum of voices and faint strumming of music weaving through the space. The lukewarm beer in front of you was untouched, the glass cool beneath your fingers as you stared into it, your mind elsewhere.

You thought about the patrol with Joel today, how he hadn’t said a word about the saddle—and neither had you. The weight of his silence pressed on you, mingling with an ache you couldn’t quite name.

“Hey, hey!” Tommy’s whistle cut through your trance, drawing your attention back to the table. “Over here!”

Your head turned instinctively, and your breath faltered. Joel was approaching, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before he shifted his focus elsewhere. You gripped your drink for comfort, your knuckles brushing against the condensation on the glass.

Joel sank into the booth across from you with a quiet groan, the seat dipping beneath his weight. He stretched his arms over the back of the booth, his movements slow and deliberate. Maria and Tommy carried most of the conversation, their easy banter filling the gaps, unaware—or perhaps purposefully ignoring—how little you and Joel contributed unless prompted.

At one point, as Maria and Tommy became engrossed in their own topic—something about fixing a water pipe—Joel’s gaze shifted to you. For a moment, he hesitated, his fingers idly tapping the edge of the table.

“The saddle,” he said finally, his voice low but distinct, breaking through the chatter. “It alright?”

You looked up, startled, your gaze colliding with his for the first time in what felt like forever. His eyes held you there, and you couldn’t look away. The depth of them caught you off guard—a rich, dark brown that seemed to hold more than you’d ever let yourself see before.

“Yeah,” you managed, unsure how much detail to give. Your voice softened. “Much better. Thank you.” You lifted your glass to your lips, taking a long sip, more for composure than anything else.

Joel gave a short nod, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything else, and you resisted the urge to press. There were a million questions swirling in your mind—Why did you do it? Why are you so mean one second and then so kind the next? What do you want from me?

But before you could even form the words, Tommy’s voice, slurring just slightly, broke through.

“Hey!” he said, pointing a finger at you with exaggerated clarity. “I just remembered—you never told me how it went with Mr. Levi!”

You froze, your breath hitching as Joel’s gaze snapped back to you. His expression didn’t change, but there was something pointed about the way he looked at you now, his attention fully yours.

“I—” you started, your voice faltering as you glanced between Tommy and Joel.

Tommy, oblivious to the tension, grinned lazily and leaned forward. “C’mon now, was he any good in the sack?”

“Tommy,” Joel said sharply, his tone cutting through the moment like a knife.

“Geez, I’m joking!” Tommy held up his hands in mock defense, flashing you an apologetic smile. “Shit, sorry, darlin’. Just messing around.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, brushing it off even though your cheeks burned. You looked down at your glass before speaking again. “He was nice. I just…” You hesitated, your voice quieter now. “I don’t think it would work out between us.”

“Why not?” Tommy pressed, leaning back against the booth as if this were the most natural follow-up in the world.

You felt Joel’s eyes on you again, heavy and expectant, waiting for your answer. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, and the words you wanted to say tangled in your throat. You didn’t dare look at Joel as you replied, your voice barely audible.

“I don’t know. It just didn’t feel right.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, about to say something else, but Maria elbowed him in the side, cutting him off with a look. “Leave her alone, Tommy,” she said, her tone sharp but affectionate.

The conversation shifted after that, Tommy’s attention diverted to a new topic, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of Joel’s gaze lingering on you.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The next patrol with Joel felt off the moment he approached the stables. He was nearly thirty minutes late—uncharacteristic for him, a man who was always early, often already checking his rifle or saddling his horse by the time you arrived.

When he finally showed up, his gait was unsteady, his movements sluggish, and the acrid scent of alcohol clung to him like a second skin.

“Jesus, Joel,” you muttered as he leaned heavily against the stable door, his shoulders slumped in a way that screamed exhaustion.

“‘M fine,” he slurred, but the slight wobble in his stance told you otherwise.

“No, you’re not,” you said sharply, grabbing his arm. “Sit down.”

He didn’t argue, sinking onto a nearby bench with a groan, his head falling into his hands.

You’d never seen Joel like this. You were so used to his rigid nature, the way he kept everything locked down, never letting anyone see past what he carefully chose to show. And now here he was—drunk? At seven in the morning?

It wasn’t just out of character; it was unsettling. A quiet worry crept up inside you, uninvited and inexplicable, tightening your chest. You weren’t sure where it came from or why it mattered so much, but seeing him like this—unsteady, vulnerable—set something off in you that you couldn’t quite name.

You grabbed your canteen and handed it to him. “Drink this.”

He squinted at the bottle like it might bite him. “Alcohol?”

“No, you idiot, it’s water,” you snapped, pushing it closer to him.

He took it reluctantly, sipping slowly before setting it aside. You crossed your arms, watching him with a mixture of frustration and concern. “What the hell is going on with you?”

Joel didn’t answer immediately. He tipped his head back, staring at the stable’s wooden beams as if they might provide an escape. His face was worn, the lines etched into it deeper than usual.

“Had a rough night,” he muttered finally, his voice gravelly and low.

“Yeah, I can tell,” you shot back, your gaze falling on the empty whiskey bottle peeking out of his saddlebag. “You’re supposed to be on patrol, Joel, not nursing a hangover.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a long, tired sigh. “Ain’t hungover. I’m still drunk.”

You shook your head, exasperated. “Okay. That’s it. I’m getting you home. I’ll patrol with someone else—I’ll call Tommy or Maria—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice firm despite the slur. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. “I can do this.”

“Like hell you can,” you snapped, stepping in front of him to block his path. “I’m not dragging your drunk ass around out there. I’m a bad enough shot as it is—I’m not covering you too.”

Joel stilled at that, his dark eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, something softened in his expression, his usual gruffness melting away. “You’re not a bad shot,” he said, his voice quiet and achingly tender, like he was trying to soothe a wound you didn’t even realize you’d exposed.

His words caught you off guard, your anger wavering for just a second before you shook it off. “Let’s go,” you said, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him.

Joel leaned against you, his weight heavy but manageable as the two of you walked toward his house. He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. The silence between you was thick, but it wasn’t the same as before. It felt different now—fragile, like the space between you was waiting for something to break.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You opened his door, your fingers fumbling as you fished the keys from his pocket, trying not to think too hard about the warmth of his body against yours or the faint, familiar scent of him beneath the sharp tang of alcohol.

Don’t think about that. Focus.

“All right,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the thrum of nerves in your chest. “We’re here.”

Joel hummed something incoherent in response, his eyes barely open as he leaned heavier against you.

Guiding him through the hallway, you exhaled in quiet relief when the couch came into view. Carefully, you maneuvered him toward it, letting him sink into the worn cushions with a groan.

You untangled his arm from where it had rested against your shoulder, his hand lingering for just a moment longer than you expected. He let out another low groan, his head tipping back as his eyes fluttered closed.

For a moment, you stood there, watching him, unsure if you should leave him like this. His face, softened in the haze of alcohol and exhaustion, was almost unrecognizable—like a shadow of the man he worked so hard to be.

You shook the thought away, sighing as you pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over him.

Just as you turned to leave, his voice, low and slurred, stopped you in your tracks.

“You,” he mumbled, barely audible, the word hanging in the still air.

You froze, your hand hovering over the doorframe. “What?” you asked, glancing back at him.

Joel’s eyes were half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion and alcohol, but they found yours. He looked at you like he was fighting to stay awake, fighting to say the words before sleep overtook him.

“You asked me,” he murmured, his voice rough, “what got into me.” He paused, his head tipping back slightly as if searching for the strength to continue. “Had a rough night... ‘cause I was thinkin’.”

You hesitated, the room suddenly feeling too small, too quiet. “Thinking about what?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Thinkin’ about you,” he admitted, his words slurred but unmistakable.

Your breath caught, the confession landing like a blow to your chest. Joel’s eyes closed fully then, his head sinking into the couch cushion as sleep finally claimed him, leaving you standing there, stunned and unsure if you’d just imagined it all.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You closed the door behind you, the cold air biting at your cheeks, grounding you momentarily. Thinking about you. The words echoed in your head, over and over, like a distant bell that wouldn’t stop ringing. Had you imagined them? What could he have meant?

Before you even realized what you were doing, your legs were carrying you in a sprint to Maria and Tommy’s house. Your breath came in sharp gasps as you knocked on the door urgently, your fist hitting the wood harder than you intended.

Maria opened it quickly, her expression shifting from concern to surprise as she took in your frazzled state. “Woah,” she said, eyebrows raising. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you managed, though your voice betrayed you, shaky and unconvincing. You swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself as her gaze pinned you with quiet expectation.

“I, uh… Joel can’t patrol today,” you said finally, the words spilling out in a rush.

Maria frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What? Why not?”

You froze for half a second, your mind scrambling. Were you about to tell her Joel had shown up to patrol drunk? You doubted that would go over well. “He’s, uh, sick,” you blurted, praying she wouldn’t be able to tell you were lying.

“Sick?” she repeated, skepticism creeping into her tone.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding quickly. “So, I need someone else. A new patrol partner for today.”

Maria sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Alright. I’ll send Eugene and Levi. You go home,” she said firmly.

“What?” you asked, caught off guard. “No, I’ll still go.”

“No,” Maria said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “If Joel’s sick, that probably means you’re about to get sick too. Stay home.” She was already stepping back into the house, reaching for the radio. “I’ll let them know now.”

You opened your mouth to argue but thought better of it, nodding instead. You weren’t in the mood to fight her on this, not with your mind still racing.

As you walked back home, the cold air filling your lungs, your thoughts circled back to Joel’s words. Your breathing was still uneven, your pulse thundering in your ears as you tried—and failed—to make sense of what he’d said. Thinking about you.

What did he mean? And why did it feel like your whole world had shifted with those three simple words?

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The next week had been a blur of activity—a whirlwind of patrols, shifts at the infirmary, and volunteering in the garden. You liked staying busy, throwing yourself into tasks that left no room for idle thoughts. When you had too much time to sit and think, things tended to spiral in directions you didn’t want to go.

Today, however, was different. Today, you had patrol with Joel.

You hadn’t seen him since that day—since you’d taken him home, drunk and barely coherent, muttering words you still couldn’t make sense of. The thought of seeing him again sent a knot of nerves twisting in your stomach, but you shoved it aside, focusing instead on the warmth of your coffee.

As you reached for your mug, a sharp pain shot through your ribs, making you wince. “Shit,” you hissed, setting the coffee down carefully as you leaned back in your chair.

Your last patrol had been rough. Your horse had gotten spooked, throwing you hard. You’d landed badly—right on a cluster of rocks—and though you hadn’t broken anything, the bruise it left behind was massive and tender, an angry bloom of purple and blue spreading along your side.

You’d managed to grit through the pain so far, but the thought of climbing back into the saddle today made you groan. Still, you didn’t have the luxury of skipping out.

As you pulled on your jacket, preparing to head to the stables, your thoughts spiraled despite your best efforts to keep them in check. How was this patrol going to go? Would Joel act like nothing had happened, like that day was just another moment lost to time?

Did he even remember?

He’d been so drunk—his words slurred, his movements unsteady. The thought crept into your mind, unwelcome but insistent: Did the words even hold any meaning?

Thinking about you.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Joel didn’t say a word about it.

No gruff mumble of thanks, no apology for showing up drunk, no acknowledgment of how he’d shirked his duty to the town. And definitely no mention of the words that had slipped past his lips.

It was like it hadn’t happened at all, like he could erase it by simply pretending it didn’t exist.

And it pissed you off.

You rode beside him in tense silence, the sound of the horses’ hooves on the dirt trail doing little to muffle the frustration simmering inside you.

Your jaw clenched as you stole a glance at him. Joel sat tall in the saddle, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed straight ahead. The same stoic, unreadable Joel Miller everyone knew. Except you knew there was more to him now.

Patrol today was about inspecting fences, gates, and other defensive measures—making sure everything was intact, that no one had slipped through, and that everything was still functioning properly. It was a longer ride than usual, covering the outermost sections of Jackson’s perimeter.

You were nearly at your destination, the familiar rustle of tall pines signaling you were close, when Joel stopped abruptly ahead of you.

A massive fallen tree sprawled across the trail, its thick trunk jagged where it had splintered violently from the base, likely brought down by the storm the other night. Moss and lichen clung to its weathered bark, their green hues muted in the morning light. The branches jutted out like twisted arms, tangled with smaller limbs and debris, forming an impenetrable barrier that made it impossible to navigate the horses around or through. The path ahead was completely blocked, forcing a decision neither of you seemed eager to make.

“Fuck,” Joel muttered under his breath, his tone heavy with frustration.

“Gonna have to walk the rest,” he said, dismounting with practiced ease. He grabbed his pack and rifle, tying off his horse to a nearby sapling.

“Oh,” you replied, hopping off your own horse a little more awkwardly. Slinging your rifle over your shoulder, you followed him to the tree.

“Gotta let Tommy know when we’re back,” Joel murmured, tying his horse’s reins securely. “Gonna take a few men to clear this out.”

You didn’t respond, and it didn’t seem like he expected you to. His words were more to himself than to you, his focus already shifting to the obstacle ahead.

Joel braced his hands on the massive trunk and began to climb over it. The tree was enormous, its bark rough and weathered, with gnarled branches reaching out like crooked fingers. Joel groaned as he hauled himself up, using his strength to push over the top before dropping down on the other side with a thud.

You sighed, swinging your rifle securely across your back before stepping up to the tree. With years of survival behind you, your movements were fluid, second nature as you reached for a sturdy spot and began to climb.

But as you pulled your weight upward, an intense, searing pain shot through your side. The bruise on your ribs flared to life, sharp and unforgiving, and your hand instinctively flew to your side as your heart thundered in your chest.

“Shit,” you hissed through clenched teeth, your grip faltering for a moment as the pain threatened to overwhelm you. You froze, trying to steady your breathing, your fingers digging into the bark for support.

You didn’t realize how loud your hiss of pain had been until Joel’s voice came from the other side of the tree.

“What’s wrong?” he called, his tone sharp and wary.

“Nothing,” you lied quickly, clenching your teeth as the pain radiated through your side. You didn’t need to be the one slowing him down. Gritting through it, you ignored the sharp ache and focused on pulling yourself over the thick trunk.

By the time you landed on the other side, Joel had already turned his attention back to the path, unaware of the beads of sweat forming on your brow or the way your breath came faster from the effort.

He cast you a quick glance over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Let’s go,” he said simply, his voice gruff, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Without waiting for you to follow, he started walking, rifle in hand.

You adjusted your pack, swallowing down the simmering pain, and forced your feet to move.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The ride back to Jackson was steeped in a heavy, unspoken silence, the kind that didn’t beg to be filled. The fences were intact, the traps were set—everything had gone as planned. Still, the air felt colder now, the wind biting sharper than it had earlier, creeping under your layers and settling in your bones.

“We need to stop at the safe house first,” Joel said abruptly, his gruff voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. “Gotta check somethin’.”

You nodded without question, pulling your jacket tighter against the chill.

When you arrived, the safe house was exactly as expected: freezing. The kind of cold that wrapped itself around you, stubborn and unrelenting, no matter how many layers you wore. Joel immediately set to work, flipping through the logbook on the small wooden table, muttering under his breath about trap activity and needing to confirm the patrol routes.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stand the chill any longer. Moving into one of the smaller rooms, you rummaged through your bag, pulling out a long-sleeved thermal. You looked toward the door, making sure it was closed, then quickly stripped off your jacket and shirt, eager to get the thermal on.

The cold bit at your bare skin as you wrestled with the fabric, the thermal half over your head when the door opened.

“Let’s go—”

Joel’s voice stopped mid-sentence.

You froze, too stunned to yell, to move, to say anything.

Your thermal was still tangled in your hands, leaving you standing there in nothing but your bra and jeans, your cheeks burning hotter than they ever had in your life.

Joel stood in the doorway, equally frozen, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before his expression shifted into something unreadable. His gaze wasn’t leering or rude—it was searching, like he didn’t quite know where to look.

You quickly yanked the thermal down, the fabric catching on your shoulders as you fumbled to cover yourself, your voice trembling as you stammered, “Joel, what—”

But before you could finish, he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Your breath hitched as he stepped closer, his movements deliberate, each step heavier than the last. His boots creaked against the worn floorboards, the sound amplified in the stillness of the room. His face was unreadable—focused, intent—yet there was something unspoken in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite name but felt down to your core.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice smaller than you intended.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stopped just in front of you, close enough that the air between you felt heavy, charged with something you couldn’t define. His eyes met yours, and there was something in them—quiet, cautious—that felt like a question unspoken. His gaze lingered, searching, almost as though he was asking for permission without saying a word.

You nodded before you could think better of it, unsure of what, exactly, you were granting.

Joel’s hand moved deliberately, lifting the hem of your thermal with a slow, measured touch. His rough fingers brushed against the fabric, sending a shiver through you as he raised it just enough to reveal your side. His gaze dropped, locking onto the ugly bruise sprawled across your ribs—a mottled mess of deep purples and sickly yellows that seemed to stretch farther than you’d realized. His jaw tightened, the only crack in his otherwise steady demeanor.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his face. It was calm, composed, betraying nothing, but his eyes told a different story. They lingered, studying the bruise with an intensity that spoke volumes, more than anything he could have said aloud.

“How?” he asked finally, his voice low, almost gravelly.

“What?” you breathed, caught off guard.

“What happened?” he repeated, his eyes flicking back up to yours.

“Oh.” You swallowed, feeling oddly self-conscious under his gaze. “Winnie—my horse—she got startled last week during patrol. Threw me, and I landed… funny.”

“Landed funny?” His voice dipped with skepticism, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“On some rocks,” you admitted with a sigh.

Joel grimaced, his jaw working like he was trying to hold back a comment. “Christ,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

He paused, his gaze lingering on the bruise. Then, almost hesitantly, his free hand lifted, his fingers hovering just above your skin, as though he was unsure if he should touch, unsure if he even had the right.

You didn’t know why you didn’t stop him. Maybe it was the way he looked—like he was waiting for you to push him away. Or maybe it was the way his hand trembled, the calloused tips of his fingers brushing so lightly against the bruise you barely felt it at first.

The touch sent a jolt through you, the tenderness of the bruise flaring to life. You hissed in pain, your breath catching, and his hand stilled immediately.

His eyes snapped to yours, his brow furrowing with concern. “Hurts that bad?”

You nodded slightly, still trying to recover from the sting.

Joel’s hand fell away slowly, He dropped the hem of your thermal back into place, stepping back just enough to give you space, though his eyes lingered on yours.

“I asked you what was wrong,” Joel said, his voice low and gruff, the weight of his words settling between you. “Back near the tree.”

Where was he going with this? You searched his face, but his expression was as unreadable as ever, giving nothing away. His tone held no accusation, but it carried something heavier, something that made your stomach twist in anticipation.

You glanced at him briefly, your fingers tightening on the hem of your shirt. “What was I meant to say?” you mumbled, not quite meeting his gaze.

“You were meant to say you were hurt,” he replied, his tone clipped, but there was no mistaking the edge of frustration underneath. “I’d’ve checked the fences myself. Made you stay back with the horses.”

You blinked, startled by the bluntness of his words. “I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you muttered, trying to brush it off.

What was this conversation even about? Was he mad at you for not saying something, or was there something else beneath his frustration?

Joel’s jaw tightened, the muscle working as he glanced at you briefly before looking away, his gaze flicking to the floor like he was wrestling with something he didn’t want to admit. “A busted rib ain’t nothin’,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, tinged with an edge that made your chest tighten. “Could’ve made it worse, climbin’ over that damn tree like that.”

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond, the sting of his words landing more like a rebuke than outright anger. Still, beneath the roughness, there was something protective you couldn’t ignore. “I didn’t want to slow you down,” you offered quietly, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal.

Joel shook his head, his hands settling firmly on his hips. “Slowing me down’s better than you makin’ it worse for yourself,” he said, his voice gruff and unyielding. “You don’t get to make that call—not when we’re out there.”

You swallowed hard, the truth of his words hitting you. He wasn’t wrong. Out here, injuries like yours could mean the difference between survival and something far worse. Infected, raiders—they didn’t hesitate to pounce on weakness. If you couldn’t even climb a tree without wincing in pain, you were a liability.

You nodded, unsure of what else to say, your chest tightening under the weight of his words. Joel watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable before he turned on his heel, heading for the door.

But just before stepping out, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His eyes locked on yours, his voice firm but quieter now. “Next time,” he said, “you tell me.”

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You sat in the dining hall with Maria a week later, your bruise mostly healed, the pain now reduced to a dull ache rather than the sharp, constant reminder it had been. You hadn’t been on patrol with Joel since, and in a way, the break felt like a relief. It was good to have him out of your system for a bit. Being around him always left you on edge—unsure of what to say, how to act, or where you stood with him.

Patrol that day had been uneventful—a routine perimeter check with Maria that passed without incident. Now, the two of you sat at one of the long tables, eating dinner and chatting about what she was planning for Tommy’s upcoming birthday.

The sound of heavy, quick footsteps approaching your table pulled you out of the conversation.

“Hey, lady,” a sharp voice snapped, cutting through the comfortable hum of the dining hall. You turned, startled, to see Sam striding toward you, his scowl as deep as the lines etched into his face. His tone alone told you this wasn’t going to end well.

Sam was older, somewhere in his 60s, with an ego as inflated as his temper was short. He had a reputation for his mean streak, the kind of man who took any chance to assert himself, especially if he felt someone had stepped out of line. His presence was enough to sour the air around him, and as he closed the distance between you, your stomach tightened with unease.

“You forget something out there today?” he barked, his words cutting through the air like a whip. His tone was sharp enough to draw the attention of nearby tables, his hands planted firmly on his hips as he loomed over you, his shadow stretching across your seated form.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his accusation, but the knot in your stomach tightened as the realization hit. You knew exactly what he was talking about.

You’d forgotten.

How had you forgotten?

Sam didn’t wait for you to respond, his voice rising with frustration as he continued, “The tripwire,” he snapped, his tone biting. “That whole section was wide open—anyone or anything could’ve gotten through. Do you even realize how dangerous that is? Someone could’ve walked right into a death trap because of your mistake!”

“Shit,” you murmured, the heat rising to your face under the weight of his words. The knot in your stomach tightened further as you noticed heads turning, the din of conversation around you softening as people began to take notice of the exchange. “I—I’m so sorry. I totally spaced,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper, though the words felt painfully loud in the hushed room.

“Totally spaced,” Sam repeated, his tone dripping with mockery, each word laced with cruel precision. “That doesn’t mean shit if someone gets torn apart because you couldn’t focus long enough to do your damn job.”

You flinched, the sting of his words sharper than you’d anticipated. Shame burned your cheeks, and your vision blurred as tears threatened to spill. You wanted to defend yourself, to explain that it was an honest mistake, but the truth was, he wasn’t wrong.

Sam took another step closer, his presence looming. His voice dropped lower, quieter, but far more venomous. “You don’t get to play all cute and make stupid mistakes like that. People die out there for less.”

“Enough.”

The single word cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and commanding.

Joel stood at the edge of the dining hall, his dark eyes locked on Sam, his expression hard as stone. The tension in the room was palpable, conversations dying out as his boots echoed against the wooden floor. You couldn’t breathe, your chest tight as his presence filled the space.

Even Sam, as hot-headed and arrogant as he was, seemed to hesitate. But with the eyes of the room on him, his ego wouldn’t let him back down so easily.

“Seriously, Joel?” Sam said, his tone sharp, almost desperate. “She messed up. Big time.”

“No, she didn’t,” Joel said, his voice low and steady, his eyes fixed on Sam with unwavering intensity.

You blinked, your stomach twisting in confusion. What was he doing?

“The hell are you talking about?” Sam shot back, his frustration mounting.

Joel didn’t flinch, didn’t break his stare. “I didn’t reset the tripwire,” he said, his voice calm, measured, like he was stating an undeniable fact. “It was my fault.”

Your heart stuttered, disbelief and shock crashing over you. What was he doing? This wasn’t his fault—it was yours.

“No,” Sam snapped, his voice rising. “It was her shiftl. Her name’s written right next to the task.”

Joel didn’t falter, his tone unyielding as he replied. “And I was with her this morning on patrol.”

Oh my god, you thought, realization hitting you like a freight train. Joel was lying. He was standing there, in front of the entire room, lying for you.

Your gaze darted to Maria, sitting beside you, her brows furrowed in confusion. She’d been the one on patrol with you today—she knew the truth—but she stayed quiet, her expression unreadable.

“I told her not to worry about it,” Joel continued, his tone steady, unyielding. “Said I’d reset the wire myself. And I didn’t.”

Sam huffed, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface as his gaze darted around the room, searching for someone—anyone—to back him up. But no one moved. Joel stood there, a silent force, his presence like a wall that refused to crack.

Finally, Sam shook his head, muttering curses under his breath as he turned on his heel to leave. The tension in the room began to ease, but just as he reached the doors, Joel’s voice rang out again, firm and unrelenting.

“I think you owe the lady an apology.”

Sam froze mid-step, his back stiffening as if Joel’s words had physically struck him. Slowly, he turned, his face a mix of confusion and indignation. “I… what?”

“An apology,” Joel repeated, his dark eyes locked on Sam like a predator sizing up its prey. “For how you acted toward her.”

“Joel,” you murmured, your voice hushed, insistent. “It’s fine.”

“S’not fine,” Joel murmured back, low and sharp, though he didn’t look at you.

Sam’s eyes flicked around the room, his cheeks flushing red as he realized everyone was still watching. This time, it was him who was marked by embarrassment, his ego shrinking under the weight of Joel’s stare.

“I’m… sorry,” Sam muttered through gritted teeth, the words forced and begrudging as they left his mouth.

Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode out of the hall, his footsteps hurried and heavy, slamming the door behind him.

The room slowly came back to life, conversations picking up in soft murmurs, the tension dissipating like smoke. But you barely noticed. Your heart was still pounding in your chest, your thoughts a chaotic swirl as Joel turned toward you.

His dark eyes met yours for the briefest moment, and the words sat heavy on the edge of your tongue. Thank you, you wanted to say. But before you could muster the courage, Joel looked away, turning and walking out of the hall, his stride steady and resolute.

You sat frozen in place, staring after him, a storm of emotions swirling in your chest—gratitude, confusion, and something far more complicated that you couldn’t name.

Maria leaned in, her voice low enough for only you to hear. “What the hell was that about?”

You swallowed hard, your eyes still fixed on the door Joel had disappeared through. “I don’t know,” you admitted softly.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

A few weeks later, it was Tommy’s birthday, and the celebration started at the Tipsy Bison. The bar was packed with people, its usual lively atmosphere amplified by the occasion. Maria and Tommy, practically the heartbeat of Jackson, had brought the whole town together for drinks, food, and laughter. It was loud and chaotic, but warm in the way only the Bison could be, the hum of voices and clinking glasses echoing against the wood-paneled walls.

You’d found a spot at one of the corner booths, a glass of something strong in your hand as you watched Tommy light up the room, cracking jokes and throwing back shots with anyone who approached. Maria had her arms crossed, a fond but exasperated smile on her face as she half-heartedly tried to reel him in.

Everyone gathered for a rowdy rendition of Happy Birthday, the entire bar raising their voices in a cheer as Tommy grinned like a kid, soaking in the attention. It was just as the song ended, the room buzzing with applause, that you spotted Joel near the bar.

He was nursing a whiskey, his posture stiff as usual, sticking to the edges of the crowd. He raised his glass slightly in Tommy’s direction, his version of a birthday toast, before turning back to face the bar, avoiding the attention entirely.

By the time the night at the Bison wound down, only a small group of you followed Tommy and Maria back to their house, the late hour thinning the crowd to a close circle of friends. Inside, the living room became a cozy chaos, with empty bottles scattered around the floor and blankets pulled over laps to chase away the winter chill.

You sat cross-legged on the rug, Maria beside you, both of you giggling over something Tommy had said earlier. Across the room, Joel sat slouched on the couch, his legs spread wide, one arm draped casually along the backrest while the other cradled a bottle. His gaze swept over the group, his expression unreadable but tinged with vague resignation, as if he were questioning every decision that had led to him staying this late.

Your eyes met his across the room, and for a moment, neither of you looked away. The noise around you faded into the background, the laughter and chatter dimming as his gaze held yours. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you, something that made your breath catch, though you couldn’t quite place it.

“All right,” Tommy said suddenly, clapping his hands together as he leaned forward in his seat. “It’s my birthday, so I get to make the rules tonight.”

“Oh god,” Maria groaned, already anticipating his next words.

Tommy grinned mischievously, grabbing an empty bottle from the coffee table. “Drumroll, please,” he announced, slapping the sides of the table for effect. “My birthday wish is… spin the bottle!”

Laughter erupted from the group, and you couldn’t help but grin as Maria buried her face in her hands. “Are you serious?” she said, peeking at Tommy through her fingers. “What are we, teenagers?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Tommy shot back, his grin boyish and unrepentant. Before anyone could protest further, he leaned toward Maria, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “And since I’m the birthday boy, I choose you,” he declared, pulling her in for a kiss.

Maria barely had time to roll her eyes and murmur, “That’s not how the game works,” before her words were drowned by his mouth meeting hers. The room erupted in laughter and cheers, and even Maria couldn’t keep a straight face as she pushed him back, swatting playfully at his chest.

Joel, still sitting on the couch, looked more uncomfortable by the second, his jaw tight as his gaze shifted restlessly between the group and the door. He looked ready to bolt at any moment, his shoulders tense like a coiled spring. Yet for now, he stayed, though his eyes occasionally flicked toward you, only to dart away just as quickly whenever you caught him.

You were definitely tipsy at this stage, and maybe that was why the game didn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore. The laughter, the teasing, the warm buzz in the air—it all felt harmless, fun even. And maybe, just maybe, it offered a chance to kiss someone you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, without the weight of meaning or consequence hanging over it. Just a game. Nothing more.

“Who’s next?” Tommy called out, his grin wide as he looked around the room. His finger landed on you. “You,” he said, pointing, his voice filled with exaggerated glee.

You giggled, a little embarrassed but not willing to back down. “Okay, okay,” you said, reaching for the bottle. The smooth glass was cool in your hands as you leaned forward and gave it a spin.

Your heart thudded wildly in your chest as the bottle wobbled and turned, everyone’s eyes locked on it like it was some sacred oracle about to reveal a life-altering truth. The room seemed to hold its breath as the bottle slowed, the momentum fading until it stopped unmistakably on—

“Joel?”

The name slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, disbelief and something you couldn’t name twisting in your gut.

He was sitting on the couch, alone, and the bottle had most definitely landed on him. His face froze, like he hadn’t quite processed what had just happened. His eyes widened slightly—a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual guarded demeanor—before his jaw tightened, the muscle in his cheek flexing with restrained tension.

The room erupted into cheers and whistles, the noise sharp and unrelenting. You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the sheer mortification of the situation that sent a flush creeping up your neck and into your cheeks. Yet, despite the embarrassment, there was no one in this room you’d rather kiss. No one else you’d secretly hoped the bottle would land on.

“Well?” Tommy said, clapping his hands together like a ringleader at the circus. “Rules are rules!”

Maria groaned beside you, muttering something about her husband being ridiculous, but the rest of the group was too entertained to care.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing as you looked at Joel, unsure if he was going to get up and walk right out the door. For a moment, it felt like time had slowed to a crawl, the noise of the room fading into a distant hum as your gaze locked with his.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your legs carried you across the room, your heart thudding in your chest with every step. Joel’s eyes followed you, wide and searching, half-dazed as if he wasn’t sure if this was really happening. His breath quickened, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer, knuckles turning white as his grip shifted against the glass.

Standing in front of him now, you hesitated for the briefest moment, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. Then, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your veins and the storm of emotions you’d been harboring for him—emotions you could no longer ignore—you slid onto his lap.

The room erupted, someone whooping loudly, but the noise barely registered over the pounding of your own heart. Joel’s hands hovered awkwardly near your waist, uncertain, as though he didn’t know where they belonged. Your own hands found his shoulders, steadying yourself as his dark eyes flickered between your lips and your eyes, the tension in his gaze crackling like a live wire.

You leaned in closer, the space between you narrowing, drawn by the way his gaze softened, how it lingered on you like he was seeing you in a way you’d never dared imagine. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, the movement small but telling, his breathing shallow and uneven as you hovered just a whisper away from him.

“Y’all gonna kiss, or just oogle at each other?” Tommy quipped, leaning back with a grin as the room filled with laughter.

But you barely registered the comment. Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned forward, your lips hovering over his, your breath mingling in the tense space between you—

And then suddenly, you were being pushed back, the startling movement breaking the spell.

You blinked, confused, as you landed against the couch, Joel already standing, his chest heaving. His face was unreadable, his jaw tight and his eyes hard as they darted away from you.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, his voice sharp with frustration. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door, leaving the room in stunned silence.

You sat frozen, your heart pounding in your chest as the sting of his rejection settled deep.

“Sorry, darlin’,” Tommy said, his voice softer now, though uncertainty laced his tone. He shrugged, offering a faint, apologetic smile. “You know how Joel is.” Then, without missing a beat, he looked around the room, clapping his hands once. “Alright, who’s next?” he called out.

The room buzzed with forced laughter as they moved on, but you couldn’t shake the lump in your throat. Before you could stop yourself, you were on your feet, leaving your coat behind as you pushed open the door and followed him out into the snow.

The cold hit you instantly, biting at your skin, but you didn’t care. The lamps lining the street cast a soft glow against the falling snow, illuminating Joel’s retreating figure as he moved briskly down the path.

“Joel!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the quiet.

He stopped but didn’t turn, his shoulders stiff, before he started walking again.

“Joel, stop!” you yelled, running after him, your breath visible in the icy air. You caught up to him, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to face you.

“What?” he spat, his voice sharp, but his eyes—his eyes darted everywhere but at you, like looking at you might break him.

“Am I…” you started, your voice trembling, your vision blurring with a mix of alcohol and something far more potent. “Am I really that revolting to you? That you couldn’t even kiss me?”

His jaw clenched, his lips pressing into a tight line as his eyes continued to evade yours.

“You can’t even look at me!” you exclaimed, the pain in your chest twisting sharper. “Seriously?”

He murmured your name, low and warning, but it only made your anger flare.

“You couldn’t have just kissed me for the game?” you said, your voice trembling, a crack breaking through as you tried to hold steady. “You really just wanted to humiliate me? In front of everyone like that?”

The words came out sharper than you intended, but the sting of his rejection still burned, the weight of the moment pressing against your chest. You searched his face, looking for an answer, for something, but his expression remained closed off, his jaw tight and his eyes flickering away.

“It’s not like that,” he murmured, his voice rough but quieter now.

“Then what is it?” you demanded, tears threatening to spill. “Why wouldn’t you kiss me?”

Joel’s eyes finally flicked to yours, his expression conflicted, his voice breaking when he answered. “I wasn’t gonna kiss you.”

Your breath caught, the words hitting like a punch to the gut. You blinked, the tears burning hotter now. “Why?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Why won’t you just kiss me?”

“Jesus,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face, his frustration bubbling over in a way he couldn’t contain. “I’m not gonna kiss you—not like this!” The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice raising, not in anger, but in exasperation, as though he was trying to make sense of something even he didn’t fully understand.

The world seemed to stop, his words hanging heavy in the cold air between you, each one echoing louder in your mind. Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of his admission sinking into you with more force than anything else he could’ve said.

“Not like this?” you repeated softly, your voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of your own pounding heart.

Joel’s eyes met yours then, and for the first time, you saw it—something vulnerable flickering in the depths of his gaze. Something raw and unguarded, something he couldn’t take back. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his jaw tightened, the struggle evident in every inch of him as he fought to find words he wasn’t ready to say.

“Not like this,” he repeated, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper.

Then he turned and walked away, his boots crunching against the snow with every step, leaving you standing there in the freezing night.

Your heart hammered in your chest, his words looping endlessly in your mind, settling deep into the corners of your soul where you knew they’d linger.

૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა

Tag List: @bbyanarchist @kanyewestest @locked-ness @bambisweethearts @pedritospunk @ickearmn

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r4vens-cl4ws · 8 months ago

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ABSOLUTE BANGER OF COURSE 😝 ummmm cliffhanger asf🫣 joel is growing up😭😭 (at 50 smh😔) you know the drill!!! read this fucking fic if you haven’t

SO MUCH TO LOSE Chapter 23: Charlie's

story rating: 18+

words: 13.9k

a/n: This one just flew outta me with every thoughtful review and ask I received! This feels so exciting to be doing together if that makes a lick of sense? It feels like a real community rallying around this story. I LOVE the music suggestion asks (I'm saving them to put into an official SMTL playlist!)

On a more personal note, thank you so much to all of you who donated for my transmission! I am so fucking thankful for each and every one of you. I'm still a few hundred short of my goal so if any of you are feeling benevolent and have some extra cash lying around I would be really grateful. Ko-fi is here.

Love y’all and lemme know what you think of this chapter! I don't know how y'all are gonna feel..... But you KNOW I am living for each and every single one of your comments. I re-read them when I'm feeling unmotivated to finish chapters. Anyway tldr: I LOVE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU WHO INTERACTS WITH MY STORIES.

masterlist here

You crawl back into bed and immediately roll onto your side, your heart throbbing painfully as you recall Joel's crumpled expression. He looked so downtrodden, so defeated. That wasn't the Joel you recognized; the brooding, serious man who never gave you an inch. That was a broken man on your doorstep just now.

Doing this was supposed to feel good, so why do you feel so hollow? Why does the thought of his wet eyes make your stomach twist? It makes you focus on the interactions you've tried to ignore, the moments with Joel on the last few days that you forced from your mind.

You make it go quiet for me.

More than I love you, more than I need you, more than I wanna give you everythin', those same seven words replay over in your mind.

You make it go quiet for Joel?

Why does that make the pain so much more acute? Why does that make everything hurt so much worse?

The answer is immediately supplied: it's because Joel was so rarely soft and sensitive. Joel barely shared himself like that. You think back to the time when he pulled you from Luke's concert, caressing you feverishly in the barn, his kisses verging on needy. You can still recall the open look he gave you, like someone lost when you asked him why.

“I just needed you. S’that okay?”

You feel anguish now, belatedly realizing you held the same power over Joel that he held over you all these months. The power of that brutal truth curls you into the fetal position; chin trembling before the darkness of sleep finally consumes you.

///

"I did something really stupid."

You're at Jennifer's hours later with your hair askew and your eyes hooded with fatigue. When Jennifer suggested a cup of coffee you accepted, even though you hate the taste of it, but the smell reminds you of Joel.

She's brought you a mug in from the kitchen and now sets it down on the coffee table so she can turn her full attention to you.

"What?"

You cringe, wishing you didn't have to say the words out loud.

"I told Joel that I slept with Luke."

Jennifer suddenly bolts up in her seat; her spine straight is a rod. Tension exists in every part of her body.

"Wait, did you sleep with Luke before?"

The tension is very clear on her face and you're gratified that nothing like that ever actually happened.

"No! No, I swear, never, not even close. I just...I feel so stupid," you say with your face in your hands. "I just needed you to know. Just in case Joel brings it up. I'm too mortified to her Luke. I don't think Joel will do anything, but just in case. Fuck, I'm sorry."

Jennifer is looking at you with a confused expression on her pretty face.

"Why would you say that to him?"

You groan, leaning back in the couch, your coffee forgotten. Your cheeks feel like they're on fire.

"I wanted to hurt Joel." You swallow. "I wanted to make him feel as horrible as I do so I said the one thing I thought would hurt him the most. I thought it'd make me feel better."

Softness and pity creep into Jennifer's features.

"Did it?"

"No."

Hurting Joel didn't fix the pain, if anything it compounded it. And you dragged poor Luke into everything. Poor Luke who’s done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment after everything.

"I'm so sorry Jennifer. Fuck, I feel so awful."

"Hey, we said no secrets. You're just holding up your end of the bargain." She shrugs, amused.

"Please tell Luke I'm so sorry for dragging him into this. I'm too mortified to tell him myself."

She nods, crossing her legs on the couch. You’re amazed at her capacity for forgiveness, confused and envious of this carefree way she has about her.

“Jennifer, can I ask, how could you forgive Joel after bringing you into all that shit? He did all that stuff at the dance and-"

"-Then I slapped him." She says it so casually, almost like she just remembered.

You stare at her, blinking rapidly as the words settle.

"What?"

"The second I realized what had happened," Jennifer smirks your way. "I slapped him real hard. Maybe it knocked some sense into him?"

You can't help but let out a small chirp of amusement, covering your mouth with your hands. The thought of Joel getting slapped across the face in public is strangely satisfying on Jennifer's behalf.

Jennifer has this casual, slow ease that you wish you could emulate. She leans further into her chair now, a languid movement as she ponders your prior question.

"I think the thing I've learned since you know; everything I've gone through is... Tomorrow's not promised. I could be murdered on patrols or infected could breach the walls tomorrow. So I guess I ask myself if this anger I'm holding onto serves any purpose."

She tucks her feet up under her legs on the couch, continuing.

"When Joel apologized to me I saw his sincerity, I knew he was truly sorry. And then when I saw how he held you and loved on you I just knew there was a deeper story. So yeah, I forgave him and I moved on."

You absorb her words, feeling strangely moved. She sees the way your face drops, almost as if you’re reeling and she leans forward, a hand outstretched wiping at the air.

"I know that sounds like I'm saying forgive and forget like its some easy thing to do. That's not it,” she enthuses. “It's just, I guess if Joel added some joy to your life maybe it's something to consider in the future."

You nod at her, realizing there is still so much about your best friend to discover. Maybe she could teach you how to let go of this bitterness. You pause, letting her words wash over you and she tilts her head.

"Can I ask what would Joel have to do to make you forgive him?"

This is something you haven't taken time to consider. So much of you was wrapped up in your dark feelings for him you never considered there was ever a possibility of reconciliation.

"I don't know that it's all about forgiveness," you tell her honestly after a moment's thought. "I think our whole foundation was fucked up from the start."

"What do you mean?*

"Like, at first I was scared of him. Then I just wanted to turn off my brain and he was so good ordering me around that we fell into these weird roles. I started to depend on him and he always kept me at a distance. At first I didn't mind but the more we shared and talked the more I found myself..."

"Loving him?" Jennifer supplies.

You blink back the wet of your eyes, unable to say the words out loud. But she knows it, and she seems to sense the heavy weight that now rests on your shoulders.

Her voice turns lighter and she fixes her gaze on you.

"Okay, one last question and it are a serious one" Jennifer says and you see the small lift to the corners of her mouth. "What was the sex like?"

She ducks just in time to avoid the pillow you throw at her head.

///

Seeing Jennifer and Luke together makes something in your body sing. They look so right together. The way they gaze at one another, the way Luke moves her hair behind her ear before he kisses her. They join you at lunch hand in hand later on that day, both of them looking giddy. You wanted to tell them the good news together.

"Hello lovebirds."

Luke's face flushes and Jennifer giggles. Luke slides into the seat across from you, smiling up at his girlfriend.

"I'm gonna get some soup," Jennifer says pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You want anything?"

"Coffee?"

Jennifer nods, flashing you a wink before heading to the counter holding the food. Luke watches after her with a moony expression on his face. You're going over your latest notes working on your next recipe when his voice reaches out.

"So, Jennifer told me about... Uh, what you told Joel," Luke says with a grimace.

You want the earth to swallow you up right now. You cover your face, groaning and shrinking in your seat. You knew that this was coming but you’d hoped he’d not mention it to you. You thought maybe he’d laugh it off with Jennifer.

"I'm so sorry Luke."

Luke leans forward slightly, voice dropping. "Why would you tell him that?"

You lower your fingers to see him looking at you with a soft expression. This is Luke after all, your friend, the man who supported you with your shooting, the man you supported at his singing event. He doesn't look angry, he looks concerned.

"I wanted to hurt him."

"That's what Jenny said," Luke nods, "I thought you hated each other, but Jennifer says you were together?"

You stare at Luke, realizing that Jennifer must have skipped over a few details.

"Uh, no, we uh, yeah... I guess we were kind of together."

Luke blinks at you in surprise, the information settling over him as you sit across from him in tense silence.

"For how long?"

"A couple months." You shift in your seat wishing Jennifer was back. "Jennifer didn't already tell you this stuff?"

"She was pretty vague; she said it was your information to share." Luke clears his throat and you see his throat bob. You go back to writing in your notebook, but Luke isn’t finished. He cocks his head to the side, studying you.

"So what happened? Why did he treat you so awful at the dance?"

"He said he was trying to keep me safe," you say rolling your eyes. "That if he was distracted by me then he couldn't keep me and Ellie safe."

"Oh," Luke sounds ponderous before nodding. "I get it."

You stare at him gob smacked by his response. Jennifer rejoins the table just as you snap back.

"What do you mean you get it?"

"I mean I get why he did it," Luke says, taking the coffee from Jenny with a "thanks, hon."

Jennifer and you stare at Luke until he realizes, placing his coffee cup on the table, glancing between the two of you in confusion. "What?"

"You said you get why Joel treated her so badly?" Jennifer says her tone sharp. "You think it was okay?"

Luke's eyes widen, realizing what he's said in front of two women who clearly don't feel the same. He almost chokes on his coffee.

"No no, never said it was okay," Luke says, concerned. "It's more... As a guy I can see why he did it. I've talked to Joel enough times to know he's shitty with expressing himself."

"So? That justifies him treating her like shit?" Jennifer says, defensively.

"No," Luke soothes. "I'm just saying I get why he did it, not that it was the right thing to do. I'm saying that Joel might've thought it was the only way he could keep you safe. I mean, you know his history better than me, is it possible?"

Sarah. Tess.

You're quiet for a moment, thinking over your time with Joel, of the secret pains he shared with you. It gives you pause but Luke sees Jennifer's eyes on him and must feel like he has to continue.

"Doesn't mean what he did was right, but-" Luke abruptly cuts off, "fuck, he's here."

You glance up at Luke from your notebook, eyes widened to see Jennifer's face frozen in a half wince as she glances behind you towards the large doors of the dining hall.

"He just walked in with Ellie," Luke murmurs, his eyes drifting over your shoulder briefly before a stricken look crosses his face. "What... What do I do?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, your cheeks warming.

You're supposed to meet Ellie here today for lunch, that's probably why he's here. He’s just come to drop her off. Or, you realize with a sinking feeling in your stomach, he's here to kick Luke's ass after what you said. You cringe as you force yourself not to look Joel's way.

Jennifer grabs your hand from across the table, her eyes on you.

"Tell me about the new recipe."

"Huh?" You're half aware of what she's saying, the other half painfully aware of Joel's voice as he speaks to Ellie behind you.

"Tell me about the new recipe you're working on," she repeats, motioning to the paper you've scribbled on.

"Oh, it's an apple turnover," you say, focusing on her eyes. "It's uh, an idea. I haven't made puff pastry in a long time."

She nods, not allowing you to look away from her. She keeps your attention, calming you.

"Sounds delicious."

You smile. "Yeah. I loved them as a kid."

You hear your name being called and now you turn to see Ellie smiling and jogging over to you. Over her shoulder you see the back of Joel's head as he exits the hall, a coffee in hand.

He's not coming over. He clearly saw the three of you, Luke included, and he didn't pick a fight. You feel your body relaxing as you let out a slow exhale.

Relief floods you as Ellie comes to stand beside the table, offering a brief hello to Luke and Jennifer before glancing over at you.

"Hey," you say with a wobbly smile. "Just the girl I was hoping to see."

"You said we were having breakfast together and that I needed to bring my book?" She says motioning with a hand holding a glass of milk to her sketchbook under her arm.

"Take a seat."

Ellie slides in next to you, her shoulder bumping yours. She drinks her milk slowly, eyes on you, curious when you take a look at everyone around the table.

"So I wanted to tell you all, uh, that I'm opening a bakery. But not in town. It's out by that old farmhouse. Well, it is the farmhouse," you say slipping over your words as you excitedly tell them everything.

"I'm gonna live in half of it and the other half is going be the bakery. I'll make all the bread and stuff for the town, but I'm also gonna be making specialty items like cakes and scones and stuff like that."

There's a moment of silence in which all three figures around the table look to one another before staring at you.

"I'll do the sign," Ellie suddenly announces, bringing out her sketchbook. "I found a really cool book on calligraphy the other day so we can make it look really nice."

"You know I have experience in building," Jennifer informs you, her eyes alight. "Framing and all that, so I'm in for that. Plus I need to help you decorate this new place because I love you, but your place now is totally void of color."

"I'll do cabinetry," Luke says, making a mental note as he looks thoughtfully in the distance. "I can do built-ins as well depending on load bearing wall placement. When can we see it?"

And then as if just realizing, Jennifer jumps up from her place across the table to come around and capture you in a bear hug.

"Holy shit congratulations!"

Ellie echoes this statement, giving you a quick side hug as Luke nods, telling you that you don't have to worry, that with a little elbow grease they'll have the place looking like new.

You feel a smile break over your features as you realize your dreams are even closer to becoming a reality, thanks to the community that surrounds you at this very table.

///

“Your deal.”

“I’ll take two.”

The Miller brothers sit at the table in Joel’s home playing cards and sipping whiskey a few weeks later. The space is warm and quiet, almost serene if it weren’t for the intermittent sigh from the elder Miller. Tommy can see that his brother looks like shit with heavy circles under his eyes and a general weariness that patrols can’t explain away.

Ellie bursts in from the garage with a bag slung over her shoulder. She greets Tommy with a wave before looking at Joel with a solemnity she usually reserves for serious talks.

“Where’s my glove?”

“Think I saw it by the couch,” Joel says, glancing up from his cards to watch her flitting around the space, her eyes searching for the striped object she wears. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m gonna go to the dining hall,” Ellie tells Joel breathlessly saying your name as she falls to her knee to grab a glove that fell under the couch. “She wants to talk to me about a project she wants me to do some of the art for.”

Ellie misses the flinch in him at the sound of your name, but Tommy sees it plainly from across the table. It hurts him to see it, even as he shuffles the cards and glances over at Ellie. She pulls on the found glove, coming to see Joel’s cards before pointing at his whiskey glass.

“Can I have some?”

“Nope,” Joel replies without glancing up from his cards. “Be back for dinner.”

Ellie rolls her eyes at the fatherly tone, but she doesn’t say anything other than a quick goodbye before closing the door behind her. Tommy and Joel fall into a quiet game, speaking only when it’s time to exchange cards.

The topic of you is one that Tommy doesn’t broach often, but at the continuous hangdog look on his brother’s face Tommy can’t handle it anymore. He drains his whiskey glass before tapping it onto the tabletop, drawing Joel’s attention.

“Maria’s started goin’ to that new woman, Heather.”

“Who’s that? Your deal.”

“She used to be a therapist,” Tommy says, shuffling the cards before dealing them. His eyes jump between Joel and the playing cards. “She’s real good.”

“Mhmm.”

Therapy had always been too woo-woo for the Miller boys. Growing up with parents that didn’t believe in it made it seem like a pseudo-science, something akin to snake oil. How much could come from talking to some stranger for an hour?

“I can’t believe the difference,” Tommy continues on airily. “She’s a lot better. Sleepin’ better, spendin’ more time with Douglas.”

“That’s real great,” Joel says truthfully before he looks at his cards. “I’m glad she’s doin’ better.”

Tommy inhales slowly, lowering the proverbial hammer.

“I think you should go see her too, Joel. I really think it’d help.”

The silence is suddenly so thick in the room that Tommy could choke on it. Joel’s jaw bulges as he clenches his teeth at his younger brother’s words. His dark eyes remain trained on his cards, his thick fingers tightening around them before he speaks in a low rumble.

“Burn the card, Tom.”

///

"You need the deck extended for outdoor seating," Luke suggests as he and Jennifer walk through the farmhouse with you. "But those rotted planks need a major overhaul."

You nod, making a note in your book.

"It's been a really wet winter," Luke mentions, running his hand along the wood arch going into the kitchen. "Have a bad feeling that'll go into spring."

"What does that mean?" You ask concerned.

"Just means a delay," he tells you with a reassuring smile shot your way. "Gotta let the lumber we have dry out before we chop new stuff down."

Of course, you don't waste here in Jackson City. But that doesn't bother you,

"We can do the interior framing," Jennifer suggests helpfully. "We probably have enough building lumber in the barn storage for that. Just gotta check with Tommy and Maria."

Jennifer and Luke insisted on coming to see the farmhouse today and you were more than eager to show them, almost skipping all the way there.

Jennifer had a blueprint all sketched out thanks to Ellie, and is very knowledgeable about building and framing. You were blown away by what they came up with.

Half the house will stay as is, a sweet farmhouse style with tall windows and warm-colored wood floors. It will end in three bedrooms, two bathrooms and a large living space by the hearth that will also hold a chairs and a table for eating.

The bakery will be attached to the back of the house with a converted shop to peruse items as well as outdoor space to sit and enjoy the baked goods in nicer weather.

A wall is going to be constructed separating the two spaces via the kitchen and sliding farmhouse doors. When you look at the sketches Ellie made of the place you couldn't help but give her a watery smile.

"Let's see upstairs!" Jennifer gushes before rushing up the stairs, taking them two at a time as Luke grins behind her.

"Wow even with the bakery there's so much room left" She says amazed as she pulls open the door closest to the staircase.

The wallpaper is peeling and the floors front grimy, but it won't take much to make it beautiful.

"What will this room be?" Jennifer asks, motioning to the empty space as she scans it.

Ellie's bedroom.

The thought comes to you quickly, loud and startling. You'd just pictured her in there so many times hunched over her desk drawing. Sitting on her bed as you brushed her hair. Reading in a chair under the window.

"Don't know," you manage to eek out after a second. "Maybe storage?"

""Or a guest room?" Jennifer winks, "for, say if your best friend comes over and you both end up drinking too much wine and she can't make it home so she has to sleep over?"

"Totally," you say with a forced chuckle.

Jennifer and Luke laugh, moving onto the bathroom as you trail after them, closing the bedroom door behind you. Suddenly this tour doesn't feel as exciting as before.

They chatter excitedly between themselves before finally arriving at the master bedroom. Jennifer claps excitedly when she pushes open the door to reveal honey-colored wood, a brick column running between the tall windows on either side.

You'd envisioned something for this room too. A man with broad shoulders holding you in a plush bed. You bringing him coffee in the mornings before pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder to wake him. A man with a soft, full mouth bringing you to pleasure as the moon glows in through the windows. A man with wide hands massaging your back as you drift off to sleep, murmuring how much he loves you

But you won't have that. You can't have that man anymore.

"Wow, you're gonna be able to get a big bed," Jennifer laughs as the three of you walk the perimeter of the space. You blink back the wet along your waterline.

"Yeah, I guess so."

///

"Major renovations will have to wait until spring," Tommy tells you a week or so later in the dining hall. "Lumber is gonna be a bitch to do in snow and rain."

"That's what I expected," you say nodding. “Luke mentioned.”

Even though that's exactly what you had been expecting, you can't help but feel a little disappointed. So many of your items are already eagerly stored in boxes.

"Good news is me and some of the guys went through and the place is good enough to move into by the end of March if you want," Tommy adds.

"Wait, really?"

Tommy nods, his eyes disappearing when he smiles down at you.

"Just wanna make sure we get the place sealed properly first, unless you want mouse roommates."

You throw your arms around his neck in excitement and he laughs, patting your back stiffly.

"Sorry," you say pulling back immediately When you realize your outburst. "I'm just so... It's so great."

Tommy grins, giving you a goodbye before heading over to the next table to chat about the next town hall meeting. Jennifer and Luke sail into the space hand in hand, making you smile just at the sight of it. They’re so perfect together, so well suited that it makes you smile.

Jennifer leans over your shoulder, reading your recipes as Luke grabs her a tea.

“Holy shit that looks so good,” she gushes as she points at a sketch of a raspberry cake.

“Tommy says that the building can’t start until late spring, so I figure summer will be the grand opening. So, I’m thinking of summer recipes,” you tell her in excitement, flipping through the pages as Luke joins you both at the table.

“So I’m gonna do a raspberry cake and a blueberry tart.”

"That sounds so freakin' good," Luke groans at the thought. "Can it be summer already?”

“I agree,” Jennifer pouts as she slips into the seat next to Luke, their shoulders pressing together. I'm sick of all this rain."

It's been a particularly dreary and wet couple of months. Most of your time is spent indoors working on recipes and packing up your home.

"I'm thankful for the extra time to work on recipes," you insist. "Otherwise my grand opening will consist of bread and a few cinnamon knots."

"I wouldn't mind that at all," Jennifer sighs happily before she sits up straight her eyes wide on you. "Wait, could you make a garlic bread?"

"For you Jennifer, I'll make anything."

///

You walk to the medical building in the main square of town, the scar on your hand itchy even though your hand is healed up nicely. You check in with Lily every few weeks as she requested, just to make sure it continues to heal properly.

She’s finishing up with someone else in the office, you can hear them talking quietly as you sit there on the bench, your eyes drifting around the space. It’s a fairly bare place, only bench seating and a few landscape pictures on the walls. It looks like the kind of art you used to see in hotels on vacations with your family.

Mrs. Knapp exits the room, thanking Lily and giving you a sweet little wave before she leaves, the jingle of the bell over the door signalling the end to her visit. A tired-looking Lily welcomes you into the room, digging around in her large cupboard for something. You hear the gentle clinking of glass before she turns back, urging you onto the exam table.

“You’re still feeling good?”

“Yep.”

“It looks good,” she says officiously holding your hand to the light. She inspects it before dabbing it with a cream that smells strongly of mint. “Put this on at night and the scar should eventually fade.”

You smile excitedly, flexing your healed hand. “Thanks.”

You stand, taking the salve in the glass container and grin. She gives you a once over, almost like she wants to say something but decides on a small smile and a quick, “take care of yourself.”

You nod, taking the bag holding your notebook and pencils from the floor, eager to work on some more recipes. You have some ideas you’ve been tossing around in your mind and without the bandage you feel in even better spirits. You decide you’ll stop by the market and grab some ingredients.

You pop out of the medical building, noticing that the Christmas tree in the center of town is being undressed by some of the folks in town. They chat pleasantly as they remove garland and lights and baubles from the large tree that sits in the center of town. You feel a little disappointed at the sight of the colors being packed away, but it means that spring is on the horizon and along with spring comes summer and your future that awaits.

The square is busy this time of day and you take a moment to take it all in; the two older women chatting back and forth about some of the grocery items, the children who squeal and throw snowballs at one another, the couple you recognize as Bonnie and her husband laughing and holding coffee as they walk by the tree.

You turn, a smile crossing your features when you see Arthur standing by the steps, talking animatedly with a sweet-featured Asian girl that looks to be about Ellie’s age. You overhear them chatting about artwork and tattooing as you near them, wanting to say hello.

But then there’s a murmur in the crowd and like a nightmare you notice Joel is walking towards the medical building, his frame unmistakable even in the light snowfall. For a horrible moment you think he’s going to approach you out here in front of all these people. Instead he lifts his eyes from the ground in front of him and notices you. His eyes widen, like a frightened horse and he stops himself immediately mid-stride.

The two of you stare at one another; hearts thrumming as the whispers around you begin, hissing snakes in the background. Arthur and the girl have turned to face you, along with the women who were shopping at the market.

You feel so many eyes on you that it causes your cheeks to prickle with embarrassed heat. Your fingers rub together at your side, anxiously.

They're laughing at me. They're judging me. They're thinking what's wrong with me? Why am I not running into Joel's arms? Why is he just standing there, staring at me? Why am I just standing here? Fuck, I hate every single person whose just standing there watching. Fuck them all.

Joel stands like he's rooted to the spot, his wide shoulders hunched up by his ears

The old, trembling, terrified you is gone. She died out there along with the raiders. You're done being a pushover to your own emotions. The old you put up with shitty treatment from Joel. It allowed him to fuck with your head. It made you fall into bed with a man who always held you at a distance.

But not anymore.

So instead of shrinking away from the looks and whispers you hold your head high and turn away, heading home without giving Joel a second look. You feel his eyes on your back you as you leave, but to your relief he says nothing and makes no attempt to follow.

///

“I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“You wanted to make a change, Joel. And I’m here to help you with that.”

Joel feels his irritation flare at the put-on soothing tone from the woman across from him. Her sickly sweet voice sets him on edge, feeling like she’s acting phony. He sits on the floral couch in the middle of the woman’s living room with a mug of coffee in one hand and his other damp palm clutching his knee.

Heather is an older woman with stringy blonde hair and deep-set blue eyes. She is always wearing an oversized sweater and she always has time to talk. Heather arrived last month with her granddaughter Millie, fitting into Jackson City almost like she’d always lived here.

Now seated amongst her feline artwork on the walls and holding the warm mug, Joel feels strangely vulnerable. He hasn’t even taken his jacket off, feeling like it would be liking peeling himself away under her soft gaze.

“Let’s start,” Heather says picking up an egg timer and turning it. “You have forty five minutes to talk about everything and anything. Nothing you tell me leaves this room. I’m here to listen.”

Joel cringes at the way she speaks, all sugary sweet.

She waits a long while for Joel to start, but he finds he can't find the words. When he doesn't come up with something she gives him a patient smile.

"How about this, when you came here you probably did so because of a problem you're facing, right? Let's start there."

He looks down at his mug of watery coffee, thinking about the time you snuck him the Folgers. Back when he could look at you, touch you. Back before he fucked everything up out of fear.

“I uh, I saw someone I used to, uh, be with,” Joel finally says, feeling the blood rush to his cheekbones. “Recently. And it was hard.”

The town is only so big; Heather likely knows all of this already if she’s as social as she seems. It embarrasses him, but at the same time he doesn’t know what else he can do. The pills from Lily don’t help his sleep and he’s tired of feeling like shit every day.

“Okay,” Heather nods. “What made it hard?”

“She wasn’t happy to see me. Not that I think she should be. And I, uh, I think about her a lot.”

Heather leans forward to show she’s actively listening.

“What specifically do you think about?”

Joel is quiet. He doesn’t know how to explain that you're back safe but you're not you. You're different altogether. Joel finds that he likes parts of this new version. He respects that you're stronger with a growing confidence. He enjoys that when he does see you, you’re smiling or your focused. No more skittering from place to place, no more hiding.

But you're not the same woman who laid with him in bed. The last time he saw you your eyes were flinty, the warmth drained from them. He sighs, hating that he has to say these words aloud to Heather and not to you.

“I think about how shitty I treated her. And I think about how I need to stay away from her," Joel sighs.

If Heather knows about you and Joel she doesn’t show it. She simply sits back, crossing her legs at the knee lacing her fingers over them.

"Why is that, Joel?"

"She told me to leave her alone," Joel says before he feels like he needs to explain himself. "But I know if I could just sit her down and explain-"

"But you can't."

Joel is startled by Heather's firm reply, momentarily struck mute before he tries again.

"Yeah, but I know if I could just talk to her -"

"But you can't," Heather emphasizes. "She's told you what she wants, Joel. She wants space from you and you need to respect that. Every time you insist yourself upon her you're breaking that trust."

This stings.

"I'm not tryin' to," he insists softly.

"I'm sure you're not," Heather says with a piteous glance shot his way. "But as you can imagine actions speak louder than words."

"But what if she wants space from me forever?"

"Then you'll give her space forever," Heather shrugs. "I know that's not what you want to hear, but it's the truth."

Joel is quiet, fuming at this whole exchange. What was the point in coming here? Just so this older woman could shit on him for being desperate to see you? Heather lets the silence stretch for quite a long while before she begins prompting him.

"You obviously have deep feelings for this woman. Tell me more about her," Heather suggests. "When did it start?"

"A little over half a year ago."

"And there was an immediate attraction?"

Joel thinks back to the first time he saw you, the flash of crimson around your neck.

"I think at first I was just curious. She was so quiet, always scanning a room she went into like she was waiting to get jumped. It reminded me of me."

Heather nods. "And that upset you?"

"No, not at first," Joel shrugs. "Then we got paired for patrols and she was so scared and skittery. I thought I was doin' her a favor by bein' harsh with her. Thought it would toughen her up."

Heather crosses her legs, not saying anything. It makes him feel uneasy, like he has to fill up the silence.

“I didn’t wanna be attacted to her, it just sorta snuck up on me. She was nothin' like Gabby, nothing like Tess, nothin' like any woman I'd ever been attracted to. She was so soft."

"Meaning?"

"Gentle. Like the world wouldn't gobble her up." Joel almost sighs when he thinks about your open smile. "Everyone after the outbreak was so hardened, but not her. And the thing is she deserved to be. Especially after everything she'd been through you'd think she'd be twisted and angry. But she was just so thoughtful and sweet to everyone. I mean, Ellie took to her right away."

"And who is Ellie?" Heather interjects, slowing him down.

"Ellie's my kid," Joel says brusquely. "I kinda adopted her. S'a long story."

Heather nods, taking mental notes. "Ellie's opinion matters a lot to you."

"Uh, yeah," Joel nods. "Plus my brother liked her straight away and his wife and ... Honestly everyone who meets this woman likes her. She's just that kinda person."

"What kind of person?" Heather asks curiously.

"The kind you feel good bein' around," Joel says after a moment of thought. "The kind that makes you feel safe and makes you wanna be a better person."

There's a lightness in him as he speaks to you, a warmth like a sunbeam shining in through the window to warm him. It makes the world seem honey tinted and beautiful just to be in the memory of your goodness.

"And do you think you were that for her, Joel?" Heather pontificates. "Do you think you were the kind of person she liked being around? Someone who made her feel safe?"

Joel feels like he's been punched. The sunshine warm feeling he's been holding onto at speaking about you is suddenly sucked from the room leaving it drained of color.

"I don't know."

The timer suddenly goes off, startling Joel before Heather reaches to turn it off. She gives him an encouraging smile.

"We have to end there for today I'm afraid. And I want to thank you Joel for all you shared today, I'm honored you felt safe to share."

Joel nods awkwardly at her words before placing the still full mug onto the coffee table between them.

"I'd like to see you again next week if you're comfortable with that?" Heather continues. "I think there's a lot for us to dig into."

Joel stares at the egg timer, searching himself for the answer. He doesn't like this sensation of being vulnerable. It makes him feel on edge. He hates the ugly floral fabric on her sofa, and the boring paintings she has on her walls.

But at the same time talking about you felt really good. He feels he has no one else to speak to about it, Tommy and Maria are your friends as well and Ellie is his kid. Flashes of your face, of your laugh, your voice hit him and if he can only talk about you in these sessions then it's inevitable he will continue to return.

"Okay."

///

Ellie arrives one evening with a sketchbook under her arm and an eager smile on her face.

"I wanna show you what I've got so far. I know you said you liked the first version of the sign but I wanted you to see this one too."

You invite her in, making a pot of cocoa and the two of you take a seat at the kitchen table.

"This is perfect," you say amazed when she opens the sketchbook to show you several proposed signs styles to use for your bakery.

"I wanted to do these little...uh... Flower de something," Ellie says with a vague motion to the corners of the sign. "Arthur taught me, but I can't make 'em fit."

"How about if you moved them here," you say pointing to a spot in her book. "Might be a little smaller but then it might be easier."

Ellie realizes what you're trying to say and she nods emphatically before putting her pencil to the paper.

"Good idea."

You yourself have your own notebook open to a blank page as you try to recall some of the recipes you liked the most. You can't think of things too difficult to make, you need recipes that you can use the local harvests for.

Carrots are always in abundance in the greenhouse and you hurriedly write at the top of the page: Carrot Cake.

Ellie glances at your writing, curiosity in her features accompanied by a nose scrunch of distaste.

"Is that .. does that have actual carrots in it? Who wants carrots in a cake?"

You smile up at her, nodding. "It sounds weird but trust me, it's delicious. I’ll teach you how to make it next week if you want."

“Alright.”

Ellie looks dubious but she continues to sketch across from you. The two of you work in a comfortable silence, one that warms you. Ellie has a calming presence about her when she's focused. You like sitting there working together on independent projects sipping hot cocoa and listening to the fire crack in the hearth.

"I forgot to say that Dina wants to know if you want help with renovations," Ellie mutters, her attention still on her sketching. "I told her I'd ask."

"That's so sweet of her," you say, touched. "She can help on the weekends if she wants. I don't want her missing school over this. Or you, Ellie."

You give her a pointed look that she rolls her eyes at. There's a brief knock at the front door before it's pushed open.

"It's me!"

Jennifer walks through holding swatches of fabric. She greets you as she kicks off her boots at the front door.

"Hey Ellie," she says warmly as she enters into the kitchen.

"Hey Jen," Ellie replies with a smile. She watches as Jennifer places the paper bag beside you, giving you a grin. "Fabric samples."

You peek your head into the bag, delighted at the rich fabrics that greet you. These won't be for the shop but your own home. You didn't want much, just a new chair to have by the fire and a few pillows for the couch.

"Oh wow you are so talented," Jennifer says as she pours herself some hot chocolate and takes a seat at the table.

You're surprised when you see Ellie's cheeks go pink as she mutters her quiet thanks.

As you passively watch this interaction something suddenly clicks for you. The sniped comments Ellie sent Jennifer's way from the start. The way Ellie always disliked Jennifer up until recently was so similar to how she acted with Dina you can't believe you didn't realize it.

"How are things with Dina?" Jennifer asks with a warm smile.

Ellie shrugs, eyes shooting to Jennifer before landing back at her sketchbook. You have to suppress a grin. How did you not see that Ellie was a girl with a crush on a pretty older lady?

You yourself had always been attracted to the handsome teachers at your school, the older actors on television that made your teenage heart flutter. Ellie is no different - Jennifer is a beautiful and strong woman and you want to laugh at the realization you never clued in.

"Luke says he wanted to come by and see the cabinets so he can take some measurements," Jennifer tells you between sips. "Plus I had an idea for the back of the house, what do you think of a small little build-out with a thick window so that when it's cold you can just hand folks their orders without having to freeze?"

"That's genius," you tell her with wide eyes. You never would have thought of such a thing.

"Well, I like think I'm not just a pretty face," Jennifer says with a playful chuckle thrown your way that you join in on.

Ellie just blushes further.

///

It's been a few weeks of seeing Heather. Sneaking off with vague excuses if Tommy or Ellie comment on his exit. He has a feeling Tommy knows but is too respectful to say it. He prefers it that way, this secret hour for himself every week.

He walks with his hands in his pockets and a stern look on his face for anyone he passes. He makes sure the street is empty before he jogs up to the porch, knocking furtively. Heather always greets him with a warm smile, ushering him inside where she has a coffee waiting for him.

Some weeks are hard. Weeks when Heather challenges him, weeks where she reminds him of his cruelty to you. Where they dig deep into the things you said about thinking he knows better than everyone. She makes him face the ugly way he treated you.

And she doesn't stop there. There are weeks where she makes him talk about Sarah to the point he feels that familiar panic overtake him. The kind that makes his hands shake and his lungs squeeze. She teaches him breathing exercises, instructs him on ways to face the anxiety and move it from his body.

Heather pushes him to the point of almost storming out several times. But then he thinks of why he's there and he rides it out. Session after session he tells himself this is the last one, and yet he continues to come back.

"You've briefly mentioned your ex wife Gabby," Heather says gently one day. "And a bit about the woman from the QZ?" She pauses, trying to recall the name from previous sessions. "Tessa was it?"

"Tess."

Joel stretches his arms against the back of the couch. He's gotten used to the floral fabric, almost comforted by the rasp of the fabric against his palm now.

"Right, Tess," Heather nods. "And despite these intense relationships, when you speak of this woman in Jackson you appear different."

Heather is kind enough not to say your name aloud. You are the woman in all sessions. Joel doesn't think he could hear your name week after week.

"Because she's the only person I've ever felt about this way."

"Not Sarah's mother? Not Tess? I assume you would have felt deeply for them both."

"I did," Joel nods, wincing at the memories that flood him. "Sarah's mom was the first girl I ever loved. But we were so young; it was a different kinda love."

"And Tess?"

"Tess was a good woman," Joel offers, shifting in his chair before he clears his throat. "A real good woman. She deserved a helluva lot better than what she got."

Heather nods, recalling the information shared.

"But she didn't make you feel how this other woman in Jackson does?"

Joel hates the way Heather's eyes burn into his, the unrelenting pressure to share his deepest wounds. He knows that this is the purpose of being here. That this is what he needs to get over you, but his heart aches when he thinks about you.

"Tell me more about Tess," Heather says when she notices Joel's reluctance.

Joel swallows thickly as Heather leans forward, a look of warm interest on her face.

"Tess helped me avoid thinkin' about the hard stuff. She was tough. She'd lost a kid too so we understood each other. We made a good team."

"A partnership?"

"Yeah, I guess." Joel nods.

"And yet you say this other woman here in Jackson is the only one you've felt such deep feelings for."

Joel stares at her before wearily exhaling.

"I wanted to want Tess the same way she wanted me," Joel admits quietly. "It would've been so easy to just be together like she wanted."

Joel recalls the words Tess spoke to him, ones she'd never said aloud until that moment with her light eyes desperately searching his.

"I never asked you for anything - not to feel the way I felt."

Joel thinks about Tess' final moments, the way she told him to go, the strength in her face and he's not surprised to feel his eyes watering.

"Tess was so strong, so fearless. But I... I was too sealed off, I guess. Tess knew me before I met Ellie, before I started openin' up about Sarah and all that."

"Do you think you could have felt about Tess the way you feel about this woman now?"

To Joel it feels like betrayal to shake his head no.

"I liked Tess a lot," he admits after a moment, scraping his nail against his cooled coffee mug. "I might have loved her. But no, I didn't have that same feeling I have with this woman."

"Interesting," Heather says in a way that makes Joel feel scrutinized. "I wonder why that is. By all intents and purposes Tess seemed like your ideal match."

"I didn't need her and she didn't need me."

It escapes him without thought, the words delivered to Heather whose eyes have gone bright.

"Do you think you need to be needed Joel?"

The egg timer goes off before he can reply.

TWO MONTHS LATER

"Ready?"

"Ready."

You raise the sledgehammer over your head and bring it down with a mighty grunt. Rotted floorboards groan before giving way.

Luke grins at you, lowering his worn safety glasses.

"How did that feel?"

"Really fucking good."

You and a small group of artisans from town are helping you to do some of the bigger remodels of the home. Mainly removing the old rotten sections and replacing them with the lumber recently cut. The place is a mess, your personal items inside still in boxes, but it doesn’t stop you from waking up every morning with a smile on your face.

Joel hasn't been by to help with any of the construction. You asked Tommy to make sure of it. And after the blow up on your porch all those months ago Joel has been staying away from you. And as it turns out, everybody else.

"I never see him anymore," Jennifer confides in you. "Not even in the dining hall."

You just nod and change the topic. You don't notice how she watches your down turned face, an inscrutable look on her own.

"He took a break from patrols," she tells you another day as you scrub at the baseboards of the old farm house.

She's not reporting on Joel, per se, but still proving passive information. You could tell her to stop or ignore it entirely, but a small, secret part of you still aches to know.

"How come?"

"Dunno, I heard some of the other guys talking about it when I went to check on the horses," Jennifer says between grunts over one particularly stubborn bit of grime.

You don't question Ellie about it. Joel is a non topic between the two of you. Your bakery, her and Dina, art and animals always find their way into conversation so it's not like you're lacking in things to talk about.

Life is moving along as it always has, punctuated by good days and bad. There are moments when it hurts to see Jennifer bringing Luke his lunch.. Days when the sight of Arthur and Penny on a walk hand in hand makes your chest hurt.

But you'd never begrudge them the joy. They deserve a love like that.

You make paper flowers and you bake and you laugh with your friends. But when it comes to Joel you've changed. No longer do you seek out his eyes in the dining hall. No longer do you slide into his bed after a nightmare. You're a stranger to him.

And that should be the end of it, that should be the book closed and re-shelved never to be open. But there are times when his face is behind your eyelids when you make yourself come. It's his voice in your ear telling you that its you who makes it go quiet for him.

There are nights when you reach across the large mattress you rest on, wishing that it was his warm body your fingers were sliding over. Days when you remember how you could open up to him and talk about Charlotte. Afternoons where you think of what it would be like to rest your head on his lap before the fire, the two of you reading as he smoothed your hair with his palm. A life shared.

But then you wake yourself from the reveries with reminders of what he did. And while the pain of such actions never go away, over time they do begin to lose some of their sting.

///

You meet Kevin Washington during your second month of renovations. He and Luke come by one morning chatting animatedly about the deck.

"Hey, I don't know if you two have met but this is Kevin,"' Luke says as the two of you shake hands. "He was one of the fellas that came last winter with the horses."

"That's right," you smile warmly. "Arrow right?"

Kevin nods. "Arrow's mine. She's a good girl. Luke told me that he was helping you build a deck and I figured I could lend a hand. I used to help building similar stuff back in the QZ."

Kevin has deep dimples and thick midnight hair he wears in a loose braid down his back. He has light pox scarring in his bronzed cheeks but you think that adds to his character. His eyes are the darkest brown you've ever seen. He's a little taller than you, sturdily built with a sensual mouth that curls into a friendly smile.

But the thing you come to adore about Kevin as he helps with the build is that he's always so cheerful. He laughs loudly when something amuses him, he squints his eyes shut and howls, slapping his knee. You love watching it. It's so pleasant seeing someone that finds joy in a world full of darkness.

Over lunch breaks during that first week he tells you about he and his brother living with his adopted family the Washington's. That they adopted them both when they were young.

He laments that he wishes he knew his own heritage better. That he wishes he knew his true Blackfoot name. That sometimes he thinks the outbreak was just nature's way of giving it back to destructive humans.

In the coming days you gravitate towards him, fascinated by a man who emotes so easily, who always seems so happy to see everyone. He must feel similarly because he always has a kind word to say, always a polite "mornin' ma'am" when he sees you and isn't shy to share how he's amazed at the vision you have for the farmhouse when you point out different plans you have.

"Anyone would think this place was just a rundown heap. But you saw a future in it," Kevin says with a low whistle. "That's impressive."

His praise delights you. You don't know if it's because he has nothing to gain from you by offering it or just because he's a capable and clever person. Either way you find that you enjoy his company. It's nice to have a new friend in Jackson.

"Are you into him?" Jenny asks one night as she braids your hair in front of the fire. "He's pretty cute."

"He's handsome enough," you acknowledge.

"But?"

But he's not Joel.

///

Ellie’s been popping by to work on the sign with you, frustrated that you still don’t know what you want to call the place. She helps scrub and paint when she can, but most of the time she sits on the stool watching you mixing dough and talking about life. You enjoy her sweet voice as you smile and sprinkle flour onto the gleaming counter top.

But today she’s not at her usual spot, she’s standing by the kitchen window and peering out of it.

“Why is that Kevin guy here again?” Ellie says with a sour expression.

She continues to stare out the window where Kevin and Luke are doing final touches on the new deck.

“He’s a builder,” you say with a frown. You feel heat creep up your neck as you pull the fresh buns from the oven as you realize her tone is verging on accusatory. Her frown grows deeper.

"He’s here all the time. Even when he’s not building.”

“He must really like free bread,” you say with a little smile that Ellie doesn’t return. She walks over to you with her arms crossed loosely in front of her.

“We both know why he's hanging around all the time and it’s nothing to do with free fucking bread."

You don’t want to get into this with her, especially when there’s nothing to get into. You really have no feelings like that for Kevin. You don’t know how long your bruised heart will be out of commission, but something tells you it’s a long way from being healed.

"Ellie," you warn lightly.

"Joel’s still in love with you," she bursts out and you're devastated to see the hurt in her dark eyes. "I know he is. He's never given up on -"

"Ellie, stop," you say sharply. You try to keep the wobbling from your chin as you add a desperate little: "Please, just stop."

"Are you really never going to forgive him?" She demands and you hate that tears are starting at the corner of her eyes too, clumping her lashes together.

“Ellie I don’t want to talk about this.”

For the first time in a long time you see Ellie’s face contort into anger. She pushes the stool out of her way, sending it clattering to the floor. You call out her name sharply but she’s already storming out your front door, slamming the door behind her.

You watch out the window to see her marching past the men standing by the deck. Luke and Kevin call over to her, likely asking her about school but she doesn’t slow. She just shoots them the middle finger and a loud “fuck off” before leaving the property.

Kevin and Luke shoot you a puzzled look through the window and all you can do is shrug.

///

Kevin spends lots of time with his younger brother Will. Much like Kevin, Will is pleasant and cheerful, but he keeps more to himself, is more reserved. Regardless of this you and Jennifer try to bring him out of his shell. You invite the Washington Brothers out for drinks at the Bison during lunch, knowing it won't be as busy and knowing that certain people don't enjoy it during the day.

Will stays for one drink before the noise of the place gets to him. He winces at a particularly loud laugh by Barry and mutters that he has to go, leaving behind a still full pint.

You all watch him go, disappointed that you could keep him here but understanding the anxiety he must be under.

"He saw our Dad die in the QZ," Kevin confesses to you all. "Got hung for smuggling right in front of him. I was working, I didn't even know until it was too late. He hasn't been the same since."

All of you are solemn, hearts sinking both in pity and terror that such a world exists outside these walls. Even more than usual you're grateful for making your way to Jackson City.

"I just wish I could do more for him."

Kevin's jovial face is suddenly drawn, his deep eyes troubled. It cracks you open, leaving you gooey and emotional.

"You're doing everything you can," you insist. "He's lucky to have you. And you're strength is making him strong, I promise."

Something passes between the two of you, a communion that only two eldest siblings can understand. This forced parental role that makes you feel like your heart walks around outside your body.

"I think I needed to hear that," Kevin says sweeping his sleeve over his watery gaze. Thanks."

He's so solemn looking that you can't help but lean over to offer him a timid hug. He immediately reaches out and holds you tight beside him in the booth, murmuring his thanks.

He's not afraid of emotion, not afraid to share that he's upset. He makes a soft sniffling noise against your shoulder and you feel your eyes water in response.

Jennifer exchanges a tight look with Luke who squeezes her hand. Then her eyes fly over to the open door and you don't notice how she suddenly looks so stricken.

///

Joel is exhausted. He's been up for days and he needs a break from the monotony of working inside the radio room at the tower. His head aches from the lack of sleep and he knows that he has another long week ahead of him. But his brain won't shut off long enough for him to sleep.

He walks into the Bison wearily, aching for something to get him drowsy enough to sleep. He doesn't have the pills he used to rely on in the QZ, so booze will have to do.

He sees you immediately, your presence a magnet for his eyes even subconsciously. At first he feels a bit of delight for the unexpected run in - he can't be blamed for this accident surely? - but then he sees the broad native man holding you against his barrel chest and Joel feels a wave of anger and devastation build in his stomach.

His first instinct is to march over and pull the man's hands from your body. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? You’re Joel's!

But then he remembers your words: "I'm not yours." You're not his. And the devastation is much more acute. It steals the breath from his lungs as he stands there dumbly at the door just staring. You rub the man's back in soothing circles, murmuring something to him as he holds you against him.

That coulda been me. I coulda had everythin'.

Joel knows that what he's watching is the result of his own idiocy, but it doesn't make it sting less. Doesn't make the roll of his stomach any more bearable.

Then he catches Jenny's eyes on him from across the booth to you. He sees the sorrowful way she looks at him, full of pity. It shames him further and he wordlessly leaves, letting the door close behind him.

He makes his way home not angry, not defeated, just calm. Ellie is already in bed, her door closed and the lights off. He makes his way to his bed, collapsing onto it. He’s not tired,

Peace is a strange bedfellow for Joel. After decades of running from the infected or raiders or armed guards and even his own emotions, the quiet is almost worse. The quiet leads him to think and when he thinks things turn ugly.

He's so twisted up about everything that his dreams take on a similar tone of sharp teeth and dark shadows. At least back in the QZ he had pills he could take to stop these. White circles taken dry to help him sleep, to take away the long, dark nights.

He has booze now if he needs it, but it doesn't work the same. He doesn't want to depend on it, too aware of how a casual desire to forget can turn into a gut wrenching addiction. But tonight he has to clear his mind, to do his homework as Heather calls it even when he rolls his eyes at the term.

"You don't like to talk about Sarah," Heather said gently in session this very morning. "But that makes her death the only narrative you have for her. You think Sarah. My dead daughter. The one I failed."

Joel winced at the blunt phrasing, wishing he'd never shown up at all today. But Heather pushed him, familiar with these defensive expressions.

"Tonight I want you to clear your mind. Close your eyes, deep breath. And I want you to think of Sarah when she was little. Just one small memory of her where you felt nothing but joy."

It had seemed an impossible task. It seemed every time that Joe closed his eyes, all he could remember was the blood, the screaming, the cries of pain and terror.

He knew he would need more than just a memory, and so he went to his brother's house that afternoon for a token of memory.

And so he lays awake in bed tonight and for the first time in weeks you are not the first thing on his mind, nor is Ellie. It's his his beloved child as he holds up the picture of her that he'd left at his brother's.

"Hi babygirl," he says to her static image, dark eyes scanning the glossy photograph.

He can still hear the sound of her excited squeal when she saw him coming over the hill to the soccer field crawling with parents and others for the tournament.

"Dad! Dad! Come sit up front!"

He'd come straight from work, sawdust still clinging to his jeans as he jogged over. He didn't think any parent was as proud as he was that day, jumping up to cheer each goal Sarah made.

And the snapshot of his memory in that one moment of her on the field taking a penalty kick. Despite her thirteen years she looked so tiny, so young as she scanned the crowd for him. When her large eyes found his he saw the relief. A look that said, 'of course, there you are. I knew you'd be there.'

Joel feels his chest starting to heave in memory of it. The photo he holds now had been taken by one of the other soccer moms. He with his arm wrapped around Sarah's shoulders as she posed with her trophy.

And then like a cascade he’s affronted with memories, snapshots of times with the soundtrack of her laughter and the way she called him Dad. Her sweet toddler face peeking over the kitchen table at him. Those big hazel eyes full of mischief when she thought she got away with staying up past her bed time in the second grade. Her bubble of excited laughter when he took her trick or treating with her friends, the year before she got too old and cool for it.

And then finally the way she’d gazed up at him when he held her for the first time in the hospital, the room sun soaked and his daughter looking up at him with all the trust in the world.

A handful of photos flipped through like shuffled cards, snapshots of his daughter with no darkness or despair. Only the sunshine moments, the happy yellow and pink tinged memories of her girlhood, of her goodness.

For the first time in a long time the tears that fall from his eyes aren't in pain or in regret. They're tears of fond memory, of nostalgia, of a love that expands and constricts his heart all at once.

And now he thinks of you, of how Sarah would have absolutely adored you. How he can picture the two of you on the couch drinking tea and laughing over something he said. Ellie's there too, leaned over the back of the couch, eyes on you and a grin on her face. Joel can picture it so vividly that alone in his bed he actually reaches forward, as if he could touch you.

He lives in this fantasy for a bit, imagining the loves of his life sitting there together. He falls asleep with a soft curl at one side of his mouth, and his mind fades blissfully into a pleasant dream for the first time in years.

///

Your bed feels empty a lot of the time.

You think it must be because of the size. They’ve given you a large mattress, one suited to the large size of the bedroom. But it feels like overkill when it’s just you here. Sometimes Buckley stops by for a scratch and a cookie, but most of the time it’s just you working away at recipes, reading in front of the fire, or tossing in your large half-empty bed.

Tonight you can't sleep with your mind going in a million directions. There are thoughts of the upcoming bakery opening, of the garlic knots that aren’t quite rising the way you want them to, of how you need to get out for a walk tomorrow because your back is getting stiff. Your hand smooths the blankets around you in hopes of lulling you to sleep but you feel the familiar ridge of your scar.

You look at your palm, running a forefinger over the lingering raised scar there, visible in the blue moon’s shine through your window. You muse that it’s almost like a new lifeline or a raised road on the map of your life. Who knew your map would lead you here to a new home?

The scar intersects another on your palm, almost suggesting the shape of a jagged heart. It makes you think of Luke and Jennifer and how perfectly they go together, like missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. You think of the devotion Tommy has for Maria, and the unparalleled love they have for Douglas. You think of how fiercely protective Ellie is over Joel and vice versa.

After a few moments of gazing at and stroking the scar you decide to rise from your bed and pull on your shoes. You walk out into the night, the velvet sky full of stars. The air is pleasant, the promise of spring well on its way.

You arrive at the greenhouse quickly, desperate for the scent of earth and vegetation. It calms your nervous system.

You're so fixated on going inside you don't realize the lock is half hanging on the door. You just push your way in, inhaling deeply. The air is humid and warm and you want to enjoy it, but you're not alone.

Joel.

He's bent over one of the vegetable boxes, digging in with his bare hands.His wide shoulders are hunched, his flannel shirt rolled to the elbows. He looks tired, his eyes heavy lidded and his mouth thinned in concentration.

And despite everything he put you through, despite the anger you hold onto even now, a traitorous thread of desire winds itself around your heart at the sight of him. You shift, loosening dirt underfoot.

At the sound Joel's head jerks up and he looks like he's seen a ghost. You can actually see the air leave his body.

"Hi," you offer tentatively taking a step towards him, your eyes dropping to his soil covered hands. Joel shifts uncomfortably, eyes dancing over your face briefly.

"Ellie wanted to make, uh, some carrot cake for you, so..." He holds the carrots up by way of further explanation. “She said you both had some big fight and she wanted to make it up to you?”

"Wasn’t a really big fight. I’m not upset."

“She wouldn’t tell me anythin’ about it.” He forces a smile, “teenagers.”

He lowers his eyes to the garden box, thrusting the carrots into the cloth bag he's brought. You can tell he's eager to leave and you're fine with that; you need a bit of quiet. And yet seeing him here away from prying eyes makes you want to keep staying in his orbit. You step forward a bit more, close enough to see the way his shoulders tense when you speak.

“How are things?”

Joel’s eyes which had been resting firmly on the carrots in his bag now drag up to your face. You’re starting a conversation, you’re reaching out. He thinks of what Heather would say but comes up empty so he wings it.

“Uh. They’re okay. Thanks.”

“Good.”

“How about you?” Joel says, wishing his throat wasn’t so dry. “How’s the bakery comin’? Ellie and Tommy told me about it. That’s a real big accomplishment.”

“Yeah, I’m really excited. It’s been a real learning curve doing renovations. Some of the framing is a bit tricky but, you know,” you shrug, “it’s good to learn new skills.”

“I could always-“ Joel starts and then immediately stops what he’s about to offer. He needs to stop assuming that you need him to swoop in and save things for you. Heather has been trying to beat that into his brain for months now.

“That’s good you’re learnin’ new stuff.”

“Yeah.”

The silence stretches on and you can see Joel getting ready to stand up, to leave.

"I'm stuck on a name for the place though," you suddenly offer awkwardly. "The Bake Shop seems appropriate but boring and cutesy names aren't really my style so I guess I'll just go with Bakery or something equally uninspired."

You stop talking abruptly, realizing that you're chattering away to fill up the silence. You wait for Joel to say nothing, or just leave the greenhouse altogether. You look back at the ground, feeling your face warm. Joel clears his throat again, his voice a little scratchy.

"Could ... Would you be okay if I made a suggestion?"

You raise your head to look at him in surprise. He's still knelt by the carrots, his hand still half buried in the dirt. He looks uncomfortable, like he broke a promise to himself by offering up that sentence.

"Sure," you answer with a subtle nod, "go ahead."

He swipes a tongue over his top lip nervously and you have to force yourself to focus on any other part of his face.

"What about, Charlie’s?"

Everything in the greenhouse goes quiet, so silent you feel like you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

Charlie’s.

It's perfect.

Joel seems to take your silence for disappointment and so he winces, shaking his head as if he's trying to dislodge such an idiotic thought from his mind. He immediately straightens, taking a few carrots with him.

"Damn, maybe that's too personal or it's a-"

"I like it."

"You like it," Joel repeats slowly, like he can't quite believe it. But he's relieved to note you don't look upset, if anything you look less tense.

"It's perfect actually." You smile a bit to yourself before whispering, "Charlie’s."

Joel watches the serenity cross your features and feels his body vibrate, like every atom in his body craves anything you'll offer: the warmth of your skin, the sweetness of your smile.

And at the same time he knows he has to leave. He has to remember what Heather said. You don't want him like he wants you and that's okay.

Seeing the calm that crosses your features is enough for him. He'll carry the memory of that home with him, nurturing it within his chest cavity like a single flame he doesn't want to ever extinguish.

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you like it," Joel finally says clearing his throat. "Anyway, I got the carrots so I'll leave you be."

He shoves the rest of them into the bag he brought, wiping the excess dirt from his jeans hurriedly as you stand there watching him.

He strides past you in the narrow aisle between the vegetables and the door. He holds his breath as he passes you, knowing if he inhales your soap and shampoo he'll be too weak to keep walking past you.

He moves slowly and you can't help but inhale when he passes by you in the narrow lane of vegetation.

You curl your fingers into a loose fist, closing your eyes as he passes by. The scent of warm soil, his almond soap and something that is so uniquely Joel makes your eyes prickle with tears.

You could move, but something roots you in place. There's this strange compulsion that makes you want Joel to stay. You know he's about to leave, you can hear his hand on the door.

"I never slept with Luke."

You notice the sound of his boots slowing to a stop. Your heart pounds in your ears, your throat almost closing as you wait for his response.

"I know you didn't."

"You did? How?"

"I like to think I kno-knew you pretty well," he self corrects. "It just didn't seem like you. Figured you were sayin' it that night to hurt me."

Your head drops slightly.

"I don't blame you," Joel offers at your response. "I deserved it and worse."

There's nothing left for you to do but sigh. It feels like a natural conclusion to the conversation and your starting to feel more than a little emotional.

"I should get goin'," Joel says gently to your back. "It was nice seein' you."

His hand goes to the door again, his eyes traitorously glancing back over to you. You still haven't turned around, you still face away towards the greenhouse and he feels emboldened to add something that's been weighing on him. Without your eyes he might be able to say it.

"I hope this is okay to say, but I'm really so sorry for everythin'. I treated you like shit and then I tried to justify it. I brought your friend into it, I told you what you wanted instead of talkin' to you. And then I thought I could make it up to you by just takin' care of you even though we all know you don't need anyone takin' care of you."

You don't turn to face him, you don't want him to see the tears that are starting along your waterline. You just keep your head tilted down, arms crossed over your front. You hear the shift of his feet against the gravel.

"The truth is I was scared if I was distracted I'd lose you. I just... I pushed you away thinkin' it was the right thing to do." You hear Joel swallow thickly. "When I heard you took off after Maria I realized how fuckin' stupid I'd been. But it was too late. I'd already ruined everything."

You're trying to absorb his words but so much is coming at you.

"I'm startin' to understand that the way I loved you was a selfish kinda love. And I'm sorry about that. You deserve love that makes you feel good and secure and that doesn't come with strings and..." he realizes he's rambling and so he stops, ending with a soft, "Anyway, I'm just sorry." He takes one last long, shuddering breath from behind you. "I don't blame you for hatin' me."

With that you hear his feet taking him away from you, closing the door after him, sealing you in the greenhouse alone.

You face the closed door, feeling the warmth of your tears slipping over your cheeks. It's only the plants that hear your whispered reply.

"I don't hate you, Joel."

///

It's April twenty eighth.

You'll never forget that date. It's the day you woke up early, eager to get started on the landscape of the farm.

It's the day you threw yourself into the shower, smiling and whistling.

And it was the day you heard tentative knocking at your front door that you opened to reveal an older woman with tired eyes that filled with tears at the sight of you.

You blinked disbelievingly at the figure who stood in front of you dressed for travel with muddy jeans and tangled hair.

You choked out the next word as your knees fought not to buckle.

"Mom?"

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