Something quiet and wild festered in her gaze. At first, Joel took it for shyness. But as the months grew cold, he watched it morph into something tangible, something he could almost touch. It danced so close to the surface of her gaze that Joel swore if he’d reach out, his wounds would be stitched together with the starlight of her stare.

Joel longed to learn the light of her touch, to learn the gentle song of her voice. But the world would never allow him something so pure and unaltered. He wasn’t deserving of the kindness of her stare; he had learnt that long ago when he was thrust into the vile dangers of this world. 

Despite Joel being convinced that there was no longer a light left for him in this world, it didn’t stop her from lending him the softness of her twinkling gaze. She watched him like he was worth her kindness.

Her gaze, soft as a fawn’s, like she had leapt straight from the winter woodlands, enticed him like an ancient spell. Her stare, wide and gentle as she stole glances his way, tangled into the roots of Joel’s veins. He found himself unable to tear her from his thoughts, like she were a vine, grown wild and untamed, whispering into the corners of his mind.

It was tonight, under the gentle glow of amber light, that he watched her. A drink in his hand, the liquid swimming against the glass in gentle waves.

His eyes were focused on the caress of your hand, although faint, along another man’s forearm. He let a heavy sigh escape from his lips, drowning his thoughts in the glass of whiskey. 

“You gon’ keep starin’ at her like a fool, or you gon’ go over there,” Tommy muttered with a grin beside him.

Joel was silent, all but a grumble escaping his chest as Joel shot his brother a look, “Don’t know what the hell you're talkin’ 'bout.”

Tommy’s eyes held an all too familiar glint of mischief as he nudged Joel’s shoulder. “Sure you don’t,” he winked. 

When Tommy motioned to the bartender for another drink, Joel shifted his eyes back to you. But your touch had since fallen from that boy’s shoulder, your attention averted elsewhere. The softness of your gaze was settled on none other than Joel.

Your velvet gaze lingered over his form, drinking in the sight of his large hands as they swallowed the small glass. You nursed a similar drink in your own hands, although it appeared so much smaller in Joel’s grasp. 

Lingering for a moment longer, your eyes trailed over Joel’s rough and calloused hands. Your mind immediately flooded with memories of his touch. 

Your thoughts unravelled down a rabbit hole in your mind, reminiscing about the gentle graze of his skin against your own. How, during patrol, his strong hands would envelope yours in a gentle grip, correcting your hold on your gun. How his touch would ignite hot flames, spreading like a wildfire over your body.

Indulging in your quiet admiration of the man, your eyes followed a slow path up his body, finding his gaze already on you. 

Blinking, you dug your teeth into the plush of your bottom lip, your cheeks blossoming in a darkened shade of pink.

He’d been watching you. And he’d seen you doing the same.

You attempted to divert your attention back to your date, but words fell from his lips in scattered sounds you couldn’t decipher. His name, you could barely recall; he had been nothing but a means of distracting your thoughts from Joel. 

Except, it clearly wasn’t working. 

It hadn't been your intention to tune out the man, but every syllable that left his lips fell flat to your ears. Your thoughts were elsewhere, wavering back to the man whose eyes you could feel piercing a hole into the side of your face.

Stealing another glance at Joel, you told yourself it'd be the last time, but when his gaze, sweet like honey, locked onto yours, any self-control you had melted like ice under the first light of springtime.

The rambling of your date had stopped; this time, his words were clear as day, “Are you even listening?”

Straining to tear your eyes from Joel, you turned to face your date. You swallowed before letting a smile grace your lips, “Of course.” 

The smile that stretched across your lips was sweet; you made sure of it, but you couldn't help the bitter taste it left on your tongue. 

The man across from you remained oblivious to your false smile and the whereabouts of your thoughts.

“So what do you think about heading back to mine?” The man offered.

Your smile dropped almost instantly. You knew exactly what his words entailed.

“I don't think that'd be a good idea,” you said, eyes now glued to your hands as they fidgeted in your lap.

Nerves started to spread through your body, crawling up your skin in sharp, intense spikes. The man eyed you silently for a moment, a certain wild glint in his gaze that gave away his thoughts.

And you knew that look all too well. 

But the man didn’t let up. “Well, at least let me walk you home,” he reached across the table, grabbing your hand. 

Your body tensed under his touch, and you swore his hands were like claws the way they prickled your skin.

“I should go.” You said politely, trying to tear your hand from his grasp, but his grip only dug deeper into your flesh.

Your eyes widened as he roughly yanked your wrist, trapping you under his grip. In your panic, your gaze snapped to Joel, your eyes hiding a silent plea behind them.

Joel had been watching the entire exchange, his knuckles whitening as they tightly wrapped around his glass. Joel’s chest flared with a bitter heat, simmering in silence as his gaze remained steady on you. 

Your date didn’t seem to notice your discomfort, and if he did, the way his grip burned into your wrist made it clear he didn’t care.

All it took for Joel to shoot out of his seat was a single glance; your eyes, laced with desperation, carved a silent message into his chest.

Joel was across the room in an instant, his words cutting through the tension that seared between you and your date. “Everythin’ al’right over here?”

Your date scoffed, but his grip loosened when he followed the voice to find the stern face of Joel Miller.

“Uh, we were just leaving.” Your date tried to reassure Joel. “Right?” He continued, turning to you.

But you didn’t respond. That was enough for Joel; your pleading gaze peering up to him struck a protective chord in his chest.

He wasn’t letting you leave with that man.

“Dates over,” Joel said, pulling the man out of the booth. “You better be leavin’.”

Your date struggled to free himself from Joel's grip, almost tripping over his shoelaces in the process. He steadied himself, muttering, “Yeah, whatever,” sending you a glare before storming out of the Tipsy Bison.

Relief flooded through you as you let a long-held breath finally escape your lungs.

A moment passed, and your gaze, still fragile, settled like a slow mist over Joel’s face. Your eyes traced the gentle curve of his nose down to the plush of his lips. 

But your eyes flicked back to his eyes upon hearing his gruff voice, “Y’okay?”

“Yeah,” your voice was quiet as you brought your other hand to soothe the reddened skin around your wrist. “Thank you.” 

Joel’s eyes fell to your wrist, his jaw tightening as he caught a glimpse of the bruise forming on your wrist. Joel had to stop himself from reaching out and running his rough hands along your skin. 

In an attempt to anchor himself, he curled his knuckles into a fist, his blunt nails biting into his palm.

He’d never forgive himself if any harm came to you, much less if it were by his hands.

Joel half believed that if he even thought about touching you, hellfire would spurt from the ground, swallowing him. 

It was almost as if you were a divine test sent to shred the last of his morality. And God knew he had little left in him, but he clung to that fragment of his conscious like a lifeline. 

But whenever you passed by his vision or wandered across his mind, that speck withered into something almost intangible. 

Despite the reasoning Joel hid behind to keep you at arm's length, there was one thing that always drew him in like an anchor. 

Your eyes. 

The gentleness of your gaze was like a flood sent to anoint him. Your eyes whispered something holy over his body, something he couldn’t quite grasp, as though it were a compassion never suited for a man like him.

Even so, it sank into the chambers of Joel’s chest, breathing life into a feeling he thought to be long buried. 

So when you drew your gaze from your wrist, the softness of your stare stripped away any composure Joel thought he had possessed. 

The words slipped from his lips without a second thought, “Would you like a drink?”

Your eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, and the lightness in Joel’s chest suddenly disappeared, anticipating your rejection.

But then you smiled, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

As you left your seat to follow Joel to the bar, you swore you caught a glimpse of a smile on Joel’s lips. 

It was a rare occurrence, Joel smiling. 

So you bottled the memory, ensuring it was stored safely in your mind, somewhere you’d never forget it.

At the bar, Joel motioned the bartender to pour you a drink. You sipped it slowly, savouring the burn that lingered down the back of your throat.

The night moved slowly, like it was a scene from a painting, you absorbed each detail and brushstroke. You noted everything, memorising the fall of his voice from his lips, rough and worn like an old house. The warmth that flickered in his eyes like a flame as you spoke drew you closer, his breath fanning over your skin in gentle waves.

Joel opened his mouth, but before any words could escape him, a drawl, similar to his own, filled the air.

“Well, well,” Tommy slurs as he brings a firm hand to rest on his brother’s shoulder.

Joel groans at the sight of his brother, who is still stumbling on wobbly legs as he grips Joel’s shoulder tighter for balance.

Tommy grinned widely, and Joel knew that look of trouble anywhere. “Would ya’ look who finally grew a pair.” Tommy nods towards Joel before looking over at you.

Joel flicks his eyes to you, your brows were furrowed slightly in confusion, but a small smile of amusement was plastered on your lips. 

Tommy lifts his drink, the liquid swirling against the glass. He opens his mouth to speak, his index finger pointing from Joel to you, “This—”

“Al’right, Tommy,” Joel grabs Tommy by the shoulder, maneuvering him away. “That’s enough,” he gruffs. 

You could hear the faint chatter of Joel and Tommy from where they stood. Tommy wavered uneasily on his feet, and Joel tried to steady him while he continued his drunk ramblings. 

When Joel returns to the bar, he doesn’t take a seat; instead, he brings his forearm to rest against the bar top. 

You eye him expectantly. 

“It’s late,” he mutters, drawing his eyes over you before settling on your face. “Let me get ya’ home.”

You felt a bit disheartened that your night with Joel had come to an end so quick, but the promise of him walking you home was something you couldn't resist.

Down the main street of Jackson, your boots scruffed against the dry earth. The breeze wove through the trees, trickling through the leaves. The wind held a brittle edge to it, reminding you winter was near. 

The sound of Joel’s heavy footsteps seamlessly blended with the rhythm of the autumn night.

A breeze filtered through the trees, brushing over your skin, leaving you shivering. You cursed yourself for not bringing a coat. You tugged your sleeves over your icy hands before folding your arms over your chest. Your palms ran small circles over your upper arms down to your elbow in search of warmth.

You heard the rustle of movement beside you, but this time it wasn’t the shuffle of cracked leaves. 

It was Joel.

His coat had slipped from his broad shoulders, leaving him in a faded green flannel. 

Joel didn’t say anything as he shifted closer to you, draping his heavy coat around your form. He tugged it gently into place, his big hands brushing over your shoulders. 

Even though you were buried under layers of clothing, your skin still bloomed with heat where his touch had lingered.

“Don’ wan’cha catchin’ a cold, darlin’.” Joel's voice was rough but quiet under the gentle rustle of the autumn air.

A soft shade of pink settled just below your eyes. But you blamed it on the cold.

Shortly, the dirt roads led to your small home on the outskirts of Jackson. The porch stairs creaked like bones as you ascended them.

When your footsteps reached the wooden porch, you turned around to face Joel for the final time that night. 

There was a gentleness in Joel’s gaze as he watched you. 

“Goodnight, Joel." Your voice fell into the silence like the slow cascade of the autumn leaves.

You held his gaze for a moment. Joel didn’t speak, soaking in the warmth of your twinkling stare.

Joel’s eyes brushed over your features like he was committing you to memory—and he was. It wasn’t often he found himself the object of someone’s tenderness. The only looks people spared him in Jackson were ones of disapproval and disdain. 

But yours was different, a different he didn’t deserve. 

As you were about to take his silence for an answer, his voice broke through the air. “Goodnight.” His eyes didn’t waver from yours as he spoke.

Joel’s heart leapt when you lent him your final smile of the night, before disappearing into your home.

As you kicked off your shoes, your hands moved to shrug off your coat—but you paused, remembering you were still wearing Joel’s coat. 

The fabric brushed against your arms as you dragged it off your shoulders. You held the weathered coat, the faint smell of smoke and pine travelling to your senses. 

You sighed with a soft smile as you hung the coat by the door, and you found yourself wondering if Joel was shivering on his way home.

But when you closed the door, you didn’t see the smile that threatened to spill over his lips.

That night, he walked home with a lazy smile across his face, the cold breeze doing nothing to cool the warmth that fluttered under his ribs.

The auburn leaves deepened in hue as the nights grew colder. A light mist had begun to settle over the streets of Jackson like a gentle hush spoken by the Earth. The leaves shivered as a breeze blew through the branches. 

The pale light of the morning trickled through the trees before casting a gentle glow along the floorboards of your home. 

Your fingers were focused on threading the frayed shoelaces of your boots before tugging them tightly. 

When you reached to pull your coat from its resting place along a line of hooks, the scent of old pine hit your nose. Your movements paused, but only for a moment, before you continued easing your coat from the hook. You tugged it around you, the woollen lining like a fortress of warmth against the brittle chill of the autumn morning.

Then you allowed your gaze to fall on it—Joel’s coat.

It had been days since he’d lent it to you on that walk home. You could still recall how the wind bit into your skin, and how the weight of his coat had swallowed the cold. Even the faint smell of smoke had lingered on your skin when you crawled into your warm bed that night, invading your senses as you drifted in and out of sleep.

When you awoke the morning after and stepped foot out of your bedroom, your eyes instantly fell on the coat. And from that day forth, you spent every waking hour feigning oblivion to its existence.

You’d found endless excuses to not return Joel’s coat. Would it be odd if you showed up out of the blue? What if he didn’t want to see you?

Buried beneath all those excuses laid secrets you weren't quite ready to admit. Secrets that you kept locked behind your lips, but were written in your eyes in twinkling letters.

And if Joel could decipher the constellations reflected in your gaze, he never let it show. Every interaction with him left you feeling unsure of how he felt, if he even enjoyed your presence. 

Sometimes he was silent, never sparing you a glance, other times you swore you could feel the aching tenderness that bled from his gruff voice. In those moments, when you caught a glimpse under his rough exterior, you were always left wanting more.

But Joel never let up. Never let you know too much of him, even if it was your gaze alone that could crack through to his soul, feeding light to the wounds left by time.

As long as you kept that coat, let it live by your door, you kept a piece of Joel. Hesitant to give that up, despite only owning this small fragment of him, it was still his. And you’d do anything if it kept you tethered to Joel.

So here the coat remained, hung along the empty row of hooks, carrying the memory of that night, and all the feelings you didn’t want to let go. 

You sighed, letting your gaze fall away from the coat. You clasped the door handle, twisting the cold metal to meet the gentle morning breeze. 

Following the dirt paved roads of the town, you arrived at the stables. 

As you entered the stables, you felt a final brush of wind wash past you, threading through your hair. The sound of chatter emerged as you moved deeper in, leaves crunching under your step.

There was a group of boys, you recognised some of them. The air in your lungs stilled as your gaze landed on him.

It was your date, or more so your failed date, particularly when Joel had torn him from your shared table.

You had spent the night kicking and turning, anticipating this morning's patrol. You had thought about talking to Tommy, requesting a new partner. But you didn't want to be an inconvenience, so you bit your tongue. 

You snuck past the group, moving towards a stable and releasing the latch. 

When you emerged from a small stall, straw and mud clung to your boots. Following behind you was a horse, her hooves thumping against the ground as you guided her by your hold on the reins. 

The horse’s trot halted behind you as your footsteps were disrupted by a broad figure dressed in flannel. You knew who it was before you even met his face. The same familiar scent that had been lingering in your home for days on end flooded your senses again.

With hesitance, you dragged your gaze upwards, finally settling on soft, brown eyes. You expected them to be framed by an all too familiar frown, but the only lines that existed on Joel’s face were ones etched by time. 

“Joel…” you struggled to string together any words, not expecting to see Joel here.

Before either of you could let another world drip into the space between you, another voice cut in, calling your name.

The voice stung your ears as you replayed the memory of that night.

Joel’s eyes peeled off you, now burning into the man across the room. “You’re off patrol.” Joel stated bluntly. 

The smug grin that seemed to always be glued to the man’s face fell at the sound of Joel’s word. In hurried footsteps, he stomped over to the pinboard. A scowl was set across his features as he analysed the patrol list for his name, only to find it hidden under erratic lines of ink.

“Who the hell crossed my name out?”

“Tommy,” Joel said simply with a grunt. 

The man scoffed, muttering curses under his breath as he left the stables, presumably to tear down Tommy’s front door.

You turned to Joel, confusion threaded into your brows, but he spoke before you could get a word out. 

“I’ll meet you at the gates.” His voice was gruff as he muttered, moving past you.

Your gaze followed him as his hands came to unlatch the wooden stable door. So many questions rattled through your head as you watched him saddle his horse, his eyes focused on anything but you.

Then the realisation sank in; Joel was your new patrol partner.

Joel had been finishing up his patrol shift yesterday afternoon, returning his horse to the stables. As he was getting ready to leave, his eyes mindlessly drew over the bulletin of messy papers, falling on the patrol sheet.

His eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he spotted the name beside yours. Tearing the sheet from where it was pinned, he marched over to Tommy’s with the paper scrunched under his grip. 

Tommy had barely opened the door before Joel had barged past him, waving the paper in his hand.

“I don’t care who it is,” Joel huffed, slamming the paper onto the kitchen table, the wooden legs creaking under the pressure. “I don’t want that boy patrollin’ with her.”

Tommy pressed his palm over the paper, smoothing the creases. “Joel, what the hell are you talkin’ about?” 

Joel sighed, running a hand over his face. He didn’t know why he was so bothered by this—by you. 

And God forbid if his brother found out, Joel wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Jus’ get me a damn pen, I’ll do it myself.”

Tommy squinted at his brother, but nonetheless obeyed, passing a pen to Joel.

In harsh motions, Joel buried the name under relentless scribbles of ink.

Tommy leaned in closer to catch a look at what had got Joel so riled up. When he saw your name beside the mess of ink, he couldn't help but let a smile tug on his lips. 

Tearing his eyes off the page for a moment, Joel caught the teasing grin that lingered on Tommy’s face. He shot a glare at Tommy, “What?”

“I didn’t say nothin’,” Tommy replies, a sly smirk still on his lips. “But y’know we patrol in pairs,” he paused, “she can’t go on her own now.”

Joel knew exactly what Tommy was getting at. He sighed before staring back down at the page. Tommy was right. 

Beyond the walls of Jackson, you and Joel travelled along the dusty earth, a canopy of trees stretching over the two of you. It’s silent, all but for the gentle whistle of the wind and the trot of horses' hooves along the ground. 

Basking in the silent solace of the wilderness, you let yourself believe everything that existed outside of this moment had been nothing but a horrible dream. There was no raging fungus plaguing the earth. Your family was waiting at home, and your mother had cooked your favourite for dinner. It was almost easy to believe that everything was okay, that anything ever bad that had happened to you was far away. You were safe beside Joel. 

That small solace, even if only in your mind, had been ripped away when the crack of leaves and twigs erupted from the bushes. 

Joel’s hand rose to motion you to stay put. Your fingers curled around the reins of the horse, nails biting into your skin as you held your breath.

Through the layered leaves, a figure coated in bronze fur sprang into your path. A few feet ahead stood a doe on dainty legs as it quipped its head around, wide eyes staring back at you.

Joel lowered his palm slowly, trying to not alert the skittish animal. The deer was covered in specks of white like snowfall, as it gazed up at him. A wave of warmth entered his chest as he watched the deer quietly observing the both of you with its wide, twinkling eyes. 

Then your voice floated to his ears in a soft flutter, “Joel.”

Joel’s eyes followed your voice, finding a gentleness so similar to a doe living in your wide gaze.

“I haven’t seen a deer in so long.” You said, whispered as though it were a secret.

Joel’s gaze traced over your face, observing the admiration that flooded your features. His chest bloomed ever so slightly, like something breathing back to life. 

He couldn’t understand how you did it. How a part of you remained untarnished from this world. 

When you turned your head, your starry eyed gaze settling over him, a revelation dawned on him.

You were proof of the goodness that remained. And deep down, a part of himself that he kept shunned, still craved the light that he lost so long ago.

Joel had nothing to give you and he despised himself for it. 

You deserve good. But all Joel had that was good is now buried in the past.

That’s what he told himself; it’s what he believed. 

But he would be lying if he didn’t recognise the feeling in his chest that had been growing like ivy since he met you. How every time your gaze clung to him, the hollow cavern of his chest flickered with a flame of something that died long ago.

Suddenly, Joel’s horse began to stir slightly, and he tangled the reins into his grasp in an attempt to steady the horse. 

But as soon as the horse had erupted with noise, the deer had scattered on its cloven hooves into the woodlands, vanishing from Joel’s sight. 

🏹 💌 ࣪﹒🦌

taglist: @graveyardofemotions @billionairecowgirl @cuteanimalmama @pleurspetal @shortnndsweet @shortnndsweet @glitterspark @catsareawesome09 @00rangeshoney @martuxduckling

Since arriving in Jackson only a short month ago, you’ve found comfort in the mundaneness of your new life. A warm bed, blanketed by soft cotton sheets and the silent solace of your own home. It was something you thought you’d never experience — a place to call home. Your mind, once clouded by the constant unease that accompanied survival, was laid to rest. The most worrisome of your concerns was now centred around your daily chores at the stables. 

The sky laid a veil of darkness over the town, the moon illuminating a gentle path down the dirt-paved streets. Under the faint glow of the waxing moon, you were riffling through a haystack, dry strands falling from your grasp like water. A dainty, silver locket had got caught in the wool of your sweater, and while untangling the chain, it slipped from your grasp into the endless pile of hay. While your grappling with the haystack was proving to be futile, you refused to relinquish your search, for this tiny locket was all you had left of your mother.

The tread of footsteps approaching the entrance to the stables startled you, your head flicking up at the sound. Beneath the threshold stood a man, his worn flannel straining against his broad arms, as a hand ran through his hair, tousling the strands. Your eyes followed his movements, noticing how his hair was littered with misty, silver streaks. His gaze caught yours, his stare equally steady as it was weary, and he gave you a once-over. You must have looked insane, wide-eyed and hair dishevelled with your limbs half tangled in a pile of hay. And if the expression on the man’s face was anything to go by, he must have thought so too. 

Faint creases carved between his brows as he took in the sight of your current predicament. “Evenin’,” he mumbled with a short breath.

You nodded, your gaze still lingering as his footsteps trailed to the noticeboard, his eyes searching through the overlap of pinned papers. 

Turning your attention back to the disgruntled pile of hay, you began rummaging through the mess like a stray dog searching for a bone. By some miracle, your eyes caught a faint glimmer of silver buried under fine strands of hay. Scurrying to brush away the dry and stale hay, your fingers reached to clasp the cool steel of the locket. 

When your hand emerged from the sea of fine hay, a sense of dismay flooded through your chest. The dainty little heart that once hung so prettily on a delicate silver chain was severed loose, the chain lying tangled somewhere in the endless pile of hay. You exhaled a weary sigh as you stared at the lonely, cold heart in your hand. 

Your coat hung on an otherwise empty row of hooks, mounted directly beside the noticeboard.

Your footsteps trailed across the uneven ground, boots dragging over scattered pieces of straw. The man hadn’t moved since you last laid your eyes on him, still you glance over to him, noticing how his arms stay folded across his chest. Unbuttoning the pocket of your coat, you let the coolness of the locket slip from your palm and fall into the pouch. As you were about to do up the button, securing the safety of your precious locket, you caught the man shift beside you. When you glanced over, you found his eyes already settled on you.

You let a beat of silence pass before you offered a soft smile. “Can I help you with anythin’, sir?”

His gaze faltered, flicking to the ground and back to the mess of notices. “M’alright, sweetheart.”

The sound of his voice drew through the air and filled your ears like a slow melody. Your heart fluttered in beat to the gentle tune. The shape of his voice lingered in the silence after like smoke, curling into your lungs. 

His eyes resumed their focus on the noticeboard, but it was as if his gaze pierced right through the paper like pins. If the hollow look in his eyes was anything to judge by, you’d think he was completely uninterested in whatever it was he was reading. You squinted your eyes, nudging closer just slightly, enough to sneak a glance at what his eyes were fixed on. Your eyes widened as you followed his gaze, a bit stunned when you found them tracing the scratchy handwritten letters of a flyer. 

Women’s knitting club. Every Tuesday morning at the Tipsy Bison.

Your eyes fell to his face, stone cold and serious. 

“Knitting, huh?” you said, trying to bury the hint of amusement under your voice.

The corner of his mouth twitched downwards, and the lines between his brows deepened. Slowly, with a hint of hesitation, he turned his head towards you, a frown now set into his rough features.

“Excuse me?” His voice was flat and unimpressed, eyes narrowing with confusion.

You let a small smile slip, nodding towards the flyers. 

“No,” he murmured, “Jus’ looking for the patrol—”

“Well, that’d be right here.” You pointed to the middle of the noticeboard, a list of paired names descending the yellowed paper. And it was almost as though the paper was pinned there deliberately, crystal clear and hard to miss. 

His hand came to run along the back of his neck. “Yeah, um,” he muttered, “thanks.”

You hummed gently in response and gave him a final glance before turning on your heels. Boots trucking along the dusty earth that had swept itself into the stables, clumps of hay and dirt stuck to the battered soles of your shoes. 

Only a few feet away, you stood by the weathered wood of the horse’s stable. You bent down to find a brush, grabbing it from the rusty toolbox that hung from the wall by a few loose nails. The dim glow of the lantern shed just enough light for you to find the latch of the wooden gate. The hinges squeaked as you manoeuvred the rough wood, sharp like splinters against your tender palm. The scent of hay had become familiar and housed a sense of comfort as it flooded your senses. Bringing the brush to stroke along the horse’s fur in slow, steady strokes, you watched flecks of dust fall to the ground. The horse shifted slightly under the motions of the brush.

“You’re doin’ it wrong.” That same voice, melodic and smooth as whiskey, rang behind you.   

The movements of your hand came to a pause, fingers curling tighter around the brush at the sounds of straw crunching under his boots. Peering over your shoulder, you catch the harsh shadows of his face under the dim light. 

“I think I know how to brush a horse.” He simply gruffed in response, seemingly not believing a word of it.

He raised his hand, hovering closer to yours, “May I?” His eyes flicked to the brush before meeting yours, something delicate woven into their gentle stare.

You nodded, fingers loosening and falling slack around the brush as you passed it to him. His fingers grazed your skin, his own calloused and rough, leaving a spark of embers in their wake. You took in the sight of how his large hand engulfed the brush, barely noticing how your cheeks flushed with soft clouds of pink. 

The brush lingered in his firm grip as he brought his other hand to lay a few gentle pats along the horse’s neck. His motions were careful as he cooed reassuringly, “atta girl.”

You catch the softness in his tone, your heart dancing in your chest at the gentleness of the strong, gruff man before you. 

“You watchin’, sweetheart?” His voice, still steeped with tenderness, barely registers until he gazes back at you. You try to hide the heat blooming across the apples of your cheeks with a smile, but his eyes instantly flick to your lips.

“Yeah.” You mutter, a bit breathless. Attempting to draw his focus back to the horse, you say, “She must like you, she’s calm.”

He hums, a ghost of a smirk threatening to spill onto his lips. “That’s ‘cause she’s mine.” He hands you the brush before stepping back, gesturing you to fill his space. “Show me how I taught ya.” 

You lift your hand to lay a gentle pat along the horse, her ears fluttering lightly in content. You smile. 

He mumbles a small, “atta girl.” A soft pink crept to your cheeks at his words. He must be talking to the horse — of course. But any doubt you had about who the words were intended for vanished when he spoke again, “You’re doin’ good.”

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realise you were holding. You didn’t turn to face him, not until the rosy tint along your face faded. “I reckon your horse likes me better,” your voice teasing, hoping to lighten the tension you felt coiling under your skin.

He laughed, though it was more of a snort. “So,” he began, “You new ‘round here, or have I jus’ not seen your face before?”

Your brush strokes settled to a slow pace, smiling when you stole a quiet glance over your shoulder. “Yeah, only been here a month.” Your motions stopped, turning to face him fully, “Jackson seems fairly tight-knit, I’m sure you would’ve noticed me if I weren’t new.”

A smile danced upon your lips, and he returned it in the faint quirk of the corner of his mouth. You gave him your name. 

His eyes gleamed with hesitation and restraint; he opened his mouth only to close it again. Finally, a few short words escaped him, spoken with truth, but the true meaning carved out and hollowed. Nonetheless, it was the truth, to the extent he could muster. “Yeah, I woulda.”

Before he left you to the quiet of the stables, muttering a brief goodnight, he offered you his name. It fell from his lips like he was surrendering a secret, and it lingered in the silence long after he vanished.

You spent the rest of your shift with the sound of his honey-stained voice, smooth but rough around the edges, looping through your head like a song you couldn’t forget. The beat of his name danced on your tongue, threatening to spill into the dark quiet of the night.  

Joel. Joel. Joel.

A soft hush settled over Jackson; the changing of seasons was seen in the gentle descent of scarlet leaves. They drifted like feathers through the cool breeze of the autumn air. Your boots left a trail of patterns in the damp mud of the earth as you hauled a basket of chicken eggs. 

Closing the tiny gate of the chicken coop, you fiddled with the latch to find that the hook was missing. You sighed, noticing the rusted latch, assuming the hook too had been corroded by time before snapping off. Most likely lost to the scatter of grass patches collaged in crimson and gold leaves, or subjected to the inquisitive pecking of the chickens.

You follow the trail back to the stable, hoping to find Tommy there and inform him about the rusted latch. 

Your shoes dig into the mud, almost tripping over yourself when you halt suddenly, eyes fixed on the man lingering in the stable.

Joel.

He was leaning against a sturdy wooden beam, his tousled hair peppered with silver looked lighter under the daylight. His flannel, a washed-out mossy green, clung to his arms, the fabric bunched neatly where he’d folded it to reveal his forearms. 

You hadn’t seen Joel since that night he’d come into the stables; it had only been a few days, but seeing him now, you realised how much your heart had been poised for his return.

You cleared your throat, “Joel?”

His head rose to where your voice sounded, his eyes warmed with the colour of fallen leaves when he caught yours.

He uttered your name in greeting. “Jus’ doin’ some uhh…” His voice trailed off, his eyes darted around briefly, “some maintenance.” 

“Tommy’s got me on it.” He sighed at the mention of his brother, as if the mere mention of Tommy irritated him, yet you couldn’t help but find it endearing. Especially after seeing the tenderness he was capable of, how his eyes glowed with warmth under the dim light of the stables a few nights ago.

“That’s great!” You exclaimed, eyes lighting up. Joel would be able to mend the broken latch.

Joel eyed you hesitantly, a bit taken aback by your burst of joy, especially since Joel didn’t find the pop of his joints when he bent down to fix a measly stair all that exciting. “It is?”

“Well, yeah,” you gestured to the basket filled with eggs that hung from your grip, “I was just down at the chicken coop, the latch is busted.” 

You eyed him expectantly with a smile, but all he did was stare. So you spoke again, a bit more hesitant, “I mean, if you have time—”

“Yes, ‘course,” he interrupted you like he’d suddenly been gifted his brain back. “I’ll uh, just grab my toolbox.”

A smile escaped your lips, “Great,” you beamed. You moved further into the stables, finding a safe spot to settle the basket of eggs for the meantime.

Joel and you arrived at the chicken coop in a short time. He laid his box of tools by the coop, lowering himself to his knees. He let out a stifled groan as his knees came to rest on the soil that was clouded by dried grass. You watched him examine the latch, giving the door a few swings, the hinges creaking slightly. 

“Is it fixable?” You asked, your eyes settled on the slow movements of his hands, how he handled the tools with such precision. You felt your skin flush as the thought of his rough, calloused hands and how good they’d feel against your own. 

“Sure is, sweetheart.” Joel leaned back, his hands coming to rest on his thighs. “Jus’ gotta replace the latch and it’ll be good as new.”

While Joel busied his hands with a screwdriver, you were kneeling a few feet behind him in the messy patches of grass. You watched with a smile plastered on your face as a baby chick waddled towards you. The little ball of yellow fluff stared curiously at you when you carefully brought your hand to cup its trembling body. Your heart melted as you watched the baby chick nestle into the palm of your warm hand.

You snuck a glance at Joel, only to find his eyes settled tenderly on the sight. But when you went to open your mouth to speak, he cleared his throat, “M’ all done.”

You smiled and thanked him. But as Joel’s back was turned to the coop, a scrawny chestnut coloured hen was scampering towards him, flapping its wings wildly. You opened your mouth to warn him, but it was too late; the chicken darted its beak forward, pecking insistently against Joel’s ankle. 

Joel’s brows furrowed, shooing the chicken away, “Damn chicken.”

A soft giggle was muffled under your palm. Joel’s gaze landed back on you, and you let your hand slip, more laughter escaping your lips. The lines etched between his brows eased gently at the sight of you. 

“She likes you,” your voice was buried under a fit of giggles.

Joel let out a gruff sound of amusement, “Sure.”

After that day, you began to see a lot more of Joel. You saw him in passing, on the way to the stables, while he was fixing your neighbour's broken porch stairs. But you also saw him at the stables, muttering about damn Tommy always complaining ‘bout somethin’ being broken.

But you didn’t miss the way his eyes appeared a little warmer when you laughed, or how his breath hitched when your hand grazed his. Soon enough, you found yourself waking up with one thing on your mind.

Joel.

The morning sun illuminated the stables in golden streaks of daylight, delicately enchanting the dusty ground littered with hoof prints. You heard faint chatter approaching the entrance, although there seemed to be a lack of response from whoever else was with them. 

You fiddled with the buttons of your coat, shrugging the fabric off your shoulders before slipping it onto the rusted wall hook. You turned around with a smile when the patter of footsteps entered the stable. 

It was Joel, accompanied by a much younger man, and judging by the disgruntled look on Joel’s face, he seemed to be chewing his ear off. You caught Joel rolling his eyes when the man beside him started chuckling at his own joke.

Joel’s expression immediately shifted to one of softness when he noticed you. Carelessly abandoning the man beside him, who shot him a confused look, Joel walked towards you.

“Good mornin’ grumpy,” you said with the sweetest smile.

Joel let out a gruff noise that’d cause just about anyone to think he was annoyed by your antics. But the tenderness in his eyes, gentle like a feather, said otherwise. 

“Mornin, sweetheart.”

A rosy tint coloured your cheeks at the nickname. It seemed you still hadn’t gotten used to being around Joel, with how flustered he’d always manage to make you.

Joel’s eyes fell down your form swiftly, stopping at where your boots dug into the soil. A light frown broke across his face before he leaned down with his palm outstretched. You followed his movements carefully, a hint of confusion etched into your features until his fingertips grazed the ground, clasping a shiny little charm. 

The faded silver, littered with scarce speckles of shimmer, looked so small in Joel’s palm. His hands, calloused and weathered, held the locket like it was something too delicate for his hold.

He didn’t speak, eyes glued to where the tethered heart rested cold in his palm.

“Oh,” the shake of your voice, ever so faint, echoes in your ears. “It must’ve fallen out of—“

“It’s broken,” Joel said bluntly.

You cleared your throat, shuffling your boots where you stood, “y-yeah, I lost the chain.”

Joel didn’t utter a word, his soft expression gone, replaced by something you couldn’t quite read. You were about to speak, if only to ease the silence, when a voice, one Joel had heard far too much of this morning, broke your daze.

“Hey, uh, Joel?” The man spoke uncertainly, as if Joel were a wild dog, one wrong move away from tearing his limbs clean off. 

Joel let out a sigh that was blatantly heavy with annoyance before snapping his head towards the man. You caught how Joel’s eyes narrowed, sending the man a glare that caused him to gulp, averting his gaze and busying his trembling hands with the horse reins.

That same guarded expression lingered across Joel’s stone features. His amber eyes, once warm under your stare, were suddenly so guarded and distant. His eyes didn’t falter from your palm when he let the charm slip into your grasp. His touch, so reverent, lingering like he might never let go, betrayed his composure. The truth lingered in his touch, and what lay hidden beneath his veil of stone became visible, even if only for a moment; if only caught by your eyes.

He turned on his heels without a word. As though it were your last breath, your voice rushed from your lips, “Joel?”

His footsteps faltered. An unsteady silence swayed between the two of you before he finally lifted his head to look at you. It was slow, like the act itself might break him. 

You met his eyes, begging the warmth of your own gaze to melt through his ice-cold surface.

“Just...” you swallowed, letting your voice slip into something tender, like it alone could offer him protection. “Be safe.”

You busied yourself for the next few hours tending to the animals, ensuring they were fed and cosy in their little homes. You were on your way back from feeding the chickens, recalling the way they scattered like wild animals when you littered some poultry along the ground. A gentle smile hung from your lips as you entered the stables. A feeling of content settled in your chest; you were happy here in Jackson.

The peaceful line of your thoughts was stripped away and replaced with dismay at the sight of Joel dismounting his horse, a scarlet wound carved along his face. Your footsteps became rushed as you hurried over to Joel, taking the reins from him and steadying the horse. 

“Joel,” your voice broke with concern, “what happened?”

When Joel turned his attention to you, his wound had smeared along his skin in crimson streaks.

Your hands cupped his jaw gently, cradling him as though he were something fragile. Joel’s breathing steadied under your warm touch. The sternness of his gaze shifted into something softer under your stare. You felt his large hands envelope your wrist, coating your skin with the heat of his closeness. 

“It’s nothin’,” he mumbled, gently drawing your hands from his face.

“Joel, you’re bleeding.” You ushered him to sit on a tiny wooden stool, leaving him momentarily to fetch a first aid kit.

Returning to his side, you knelt by him, opening the tin case to find the bottle of disinfectant. 

“Nothin’, really,” Joel mumbled, stubborn as a thorn. “Jus’ a scratch—“

His words fell flat as he winced under your touch, a damp cloth cleaning around his wound.

“Sorry,” you muttered, gauging the pain that flickered through his face.

Carefully, you nursed the cut, washing the stray specks of blood from his cheek. The smudges of blood dissolved to reveal the faint lines and sun-scarred features of Joel’s face. Despite the current situation and the worry that still flooded your senses, your eyes wandered over his face. You’d never seen him this close; his rough features, hardened by time and survival, appeared so soft under your gaze. 

If only you knew that it was your gaze alone, tender and indulgent, that could crumble his composure to ash.

Joel’s eyes never strayed from your face as you catered to his wound. He thought he’d have to show up here injured more often if it meant you’d anoint him with your reverent touch like this again.

His hand lightly brushed against yours in a gentle caress, pausing your movements along his scarred skin. His touch was different this time, like something laid deep under his skin was finally pleading to make itself known.

“Hey, I uh,” his voice began low like a melody only meant for your ears. “I got somethin’ for you,” he shifted to reach inside his pocket, a tarnished chain emerged from his coat, hanging loosely in his grip. 

Your face softened at the sight of a frail chain engulfed in Joel’s palm. 

“Joel, where—“ you voice faded at the realisation. The delicate chain sparkled with a faint glimmer on his skin, and it was all for you. “You didn’t have—”

“Trust me, it was nothin’,” he interrupted, but your eyes couldn’t help but trace his wound with guilt. He must have noticed the sudden change in your expression, as his gaze softened, “Go get me the locket, darlin’.”

You obliged, lifting yourself from the ground and moving towards where your coat hung. Your fingers delved into the unbuttoned pocket, capturing the silver charm in your grip.

When you turned around, Joel was no longer hunched over a stool far too tiny for him. He dusted his palms over the jean material that hugged his thighs as he stood there silently observing your movements.

Walking over to him, your teeth scraped over your bottom lip nervously as you dropped your heart into the palm of Joel’s hand. You watched him thread the loop of the heart through the chain.

“Turn ‘round, sweetheart,” he said, voice mellow and warm like sunlight.

You swallowed, your movements following his words as you gathered the hair at your neck. With Joel out of view, you let a tiny breath escape your lips before a thin glimmer of silver danced past your eyes. You felt the cool metal of the necklace find its home along your collarbone, a feeling of warmth restored in your heart. Joel mumbled a soft chuckle as he fumbled with the hook, and you smiled, picturing his huge hands clinging to something so delicate.

When his touch vanished from your skin, you turned to meet his eyes with a look of endearment. “Joel, it’s beautiful,” you say, fidgeting with the charm.

His whiskey brown eyes, drowned in tenderness, fell down your face. Your breath hitched as his gaze traced the curve of your lips. Joel’s eyes flickered between your features with reverence, but he made no movements other than the faint twitch of his hand.

It was you who closed the space, your lips longing and desperate, moulded into the softness of his own. Joel brought his hand up to caress the side of your face, his fingertips dancing along your skin like fire.

Joel’s lips moved into a gentle rhythm with yours, learning the song that danced on your tongue. His other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. You let a small moan slip from your lips, the sound urging him to deepen the kiss. His hands envelope your waist as he drags his touch lower down your body.

He guides your footsteps with a firm hand on your waist, his mouth never leaving yours. You felt the crunch of straw beneath your step as your hands found refuge in the grip of Joel’s shirt. You dragged him to lie along a haystack, but he broke the kiss, drawing your body back to him.

“Sweetheart,” his voice, smooth as honey, whispered in warm breaths against your face. “Not here.”

He groaned when your lips smashed against his, your hands caressing his soft curls before dragging your nails along his neck. His words fell to the floor forgotten as he leaned you back, encouraging you to lie down on the haystack. 

When Joel pressed his hips flush against yours, you let a soft moan fall from your lips. He groaned under the heat of your touch as you drew him in closer by your tight grip on his shirt.

You broke away from Joel’s touch when a sound erupted through the stables, sudden and sharp, followed by the thunderous patter of tiny footsteps. Joel groaned when you pushed him off you and dusted the hay from your clothes, lightly adjusting your rumpled hair.

Another croak echoed through the air, as a flock of chickens scattered through the straw-littered floor. You quickly moved to usher the pesky chickens out the back entrance, their wings flapping in rebellion. 

“Joel,” you turned to see him running a hand across his face, hair dishevelled and straw hanging like loose threads from his clothes. “Help me get them back into the coop,” you pleaded.

“Christ,” he murmured, half dazed and annoyed. 

But when you turned away, you missed the smile that lingered on Joel’s lips as he watched you scamper after the rogue chickens. His gaze followed you like you were the last shining star left in the night sky.

A flutter, soft as butterfly wings, sent a gentle wave through Joel’s chest, paving a path for a lightness to flow through. He didn’t know what to do with this newfound feeling, almost foreign, something he left behind in the old world.

But one thing he knew for certain was that it was shaken awake softly the day he first heard your voice, like a sweet song he’d never forget for as long as he lived.

🧺 ࣪﹒🍓

The river was stained with everything it hadn't forgotten. The storms that brewed over the land left the soil bleeding deep into the roots. The Earth drank the muddy water, tainted and unclean, without judgment. Even tarnished, it breathed life into the earth, whispering the truth; survival wasn’t clean.

Beneath the river, memories of old storms and rainwater buried themselves. Silent on the surface, the river kept its secrets in whispers only heard by the rocks and roots below.

Through the screen door on the back porch, I had watched that river in its silence for as long as I could remember. Every summer, cicadas would gather like a choir, humming an ode to the fallen memories buried deep beneath the water. 

Tonight, I lay by the edge of the river, feeling blades of grass brushing across the skin of my bare legs. The moon is barely visible under the canopy of weeping trees, faint pale light flickering through the tree leaves. The river doesn’t ease my restlessness, but it cradles it, quiet and unjudging, like it too knows the burden of a heavy weight on a heart.

The mournful creak of the screen door against its rusted hinges drags through the air. I peered my chin over my shoulder to be sure it was him. My eyes caught his worn boots as they trailed along the cracked soil towards me. 

“You weren’t in your room.” Joel’s voice was low and heavy, his chest falling with a sigh of relief when his eyes met mine. “Thought somethin’ mighta happened to you.”

I tilted my chin, my eyebrows furrowing slightly at the implication of his words. “You check on me?” My voice left my mouth in unsure breaths, “When I’m sleeping?”

The rattling echo of cicadas grew relentless as the ache of silence settled between us. Joel’s jaw tightened with the weight of unsaid words, his gaze sinking into the soil. His shoe shifted slightly against the muddy earth, as though he might bury his answer beneath.  

A warmth circled through my chest, settling under my ribs like it might belong. It nestled itself inside me, its flame kissing my soul with a sting so unfamiliar, yet my heart filled with a lightness it had never known. “It ain’t like that,” he muttered, his voice trailing low with a weary sigh. Joel dragged his hand down his face, his voice draped in something rougher, cutting through the ceaseless static of cicadas. “Was just checkin’ the locks, makin’ sure the place is safe.” He swallowed, his jaw twitching ever so slightly. “That’s all.”

Silence swelled in my throat, the weight of the night and his stare pressing down heavily on me. His eyes burned with something I barely caught, untouchable as it glimmered faintly beneath the moonlight. “Ain’t safe, you bein’ out here like this.” His words, gentle but firm, cut through the space between us. 

“I… couldn’t sleep.” The words fell from my lips like a long-held confession. My eyes peered up to where he stood, the space between us suddenly feeling so small. My skin prickles with a hidden vulnerability that I desperately try to burrow back under my bones. When I avert my eyes, I miss the hint of softness that passes through his. 

“You should’ve come to me, not out here on your own.”

My palms dust the dirt off my calves before finding my balance on my feet. A brush of heat blows past me as I stand, clinging to the damp patches of sweat along my skin. As I lift my shoulders, straightening my posture to speak, the thin strap of my nightdress slips from my shoulder. Joel’s eyes linger on the gentle descent of the fabric before flicking to the bare skin of my shoulder. “Joel,” I murmur, trying to steady my voice, but the slight tremble betrays me. “I’m fine. I’ve been on my own for a long time.”

He steps closer, his slow, deliberate steps are heard in the gentle thud of his boots along the earth. His eyes trace my features, lingering scarcely upon my lips before meeting my eyes again. My breath hitches in my throat as his hand lifts, brushing my skin gently as he slides the strap over my shoulder. His fingers are careful, feather-light, as though my flesh were sacred, and he wouldn’t dare mar it with the sin that stained his own.

His touch doesn’t linger longer than necessary, but the burn of his skin, even in his fleeting touch, runs like smouldering ash through my body. 

He whispers my name, gentle like a prayer of reverence. “Go inside.”

I swallow, heat flushing to my cheeks as my pulse hammers under my skin. His jaw is tight with tension, and behind his eyes, a whirlwind of emotions claw to break through the surface. The soles of my feet stay put, digging into the mud like I might never move. My gaze is like a dull knife against his flesh, desperately trying to scrape through his stone exterior. My eyes silently begged for him to crumble, burying us both in the rubble of what lay under his stare. For a moment, I was so careless and thought he would.

“Please.” The word left Joel’s lips in a low whisper, like a plea. 

My limbs moved stiff and slow, like my bones might break if I moved too fast. A wobbly sigh left my lips as I turned my back to Joel, leaving him by that river. The path back to the house was only a few short steps, yet it felt like miles.

That night, when I returned to my room, I lay my head down with twice as many thoughts as when I left. As I drifted to sleep, my mind was plagued with thoughts of the river and Joel. That night, I dreamed of resurrection and imagined all the things that swam under the surface sharpening their claws.

Through the crack of the screen door, weathered by time and the blistering breath of too many cruel summers, Joel watched her. A canopy of trees framed her, their leaves bowing to her under the humming heat. The air hung with the sweet hum of cicadas as she danced under the echoes of golden sunlight.

His eyes were transfixed on the slow slip of cotton as she swept it under her knuckles, hauling it over her arms. He followed the soft dip of her spine like a map, his eyes wandering down the gentle curve of her hips.

Joel knew better than to let his eyes linger, yet he found he couldn’t tear his eyes off her, no matter how hard he tried. It was in moments like these that he let his composure slip, allowing himself to drown in reverence at the sight of her. He curses to himself at the memory of her by the same river a few nights ago. The image of her soft lips under the moonlight and the silk of her skin has haunted him endlessly through sleepless nights. The gentle caress of her nightgown as it slipped from her shoulder is a vision that constantly replays in his mind. He chastised himself at the desire that flooded through him that night, how he almost lost himself to it — to you. No, he couldn’t — he wouldn’t allow himself. You were something still good, in a world condemned to suffering. Joel couldn’t bear the thought of his hands tarnishing you, ragged and worn by the years he’d lived and what he’d done to survive them. The weight of it all, everything he’d done in the name of survival, clung to him like glue under the punishing glare of the sun. 

The sharp-toothed edge of shame should have been enough to tear his gaze off her, but he remained hidden behind the rust of that old screen door, watching her like she was something holy and forbidden. Her silhouette danced like a vision he swore he might’ve dreamed, sun curling around her like flames born from a fire both sacred and sinful. 

Her dress lay discarded somewhere amongst the sunbleached grass, leaving her in nothing but her panties. Joel’s eyes were glued to the movement of her fingers as they hooked under the fabric, tugging them down her hips. His breath hitched as he watched them slide loosely down her thighs, pooling around her ankles. The denim of his jeans felt tight as heat pooled beneath his skin, swimming through the rivers of his veins.

When her head turned slightly, he caught a glimpse of her features under the golden streaks of sunlight. 

Joel watched her skin gently sink into the lake, water rippling around her hips like a halo. In that moment, the choir of cicadas seemed to fade out, and all that existed in his world was her. Joel almost believed, by some miracle, he had died and gone to heaven. 

His sight faltered when he caught the rustle of bushes alongside the lake. His heart thumped. It wasn’t the same ache he felt from the angelic vision before him. It was something deeper, and he recognised it immediately. A dread that lingered deep under his bones, lying dormant but never dead. A feeling he couldn’t escape, not even out here.

The morning sun streaked through the window in golden shards of amber. I huffed a breath of warm air, languidly dragging my limbs from the mattress. The faint coolness of the floorboards beneath my feet was a slight relief from the pounding heat. The floor groaned like it too was awaking as I tread down the hall to the kitchen. 

I frowned upon seeing the kitchen and living space empty, a lonely shred of paper sitting on the table. I reached for the paper, yellowed and torn on the edges, and I figured Joel had ripped it from an old book. In bold, scratchy letters, it read, gone hunting. be back soon.

I let the note fall from my grip and flutter back to the table. The house felt hollow in his absence, the silence more unbearable than I remember. 

My fingers peeled the fabric that hung to my skin with sweat, the humidity of the house making the air near suffocating. My mind drifted to the river, imagining the cool current dripping over me, chasing the pools of sweat off my skin. The thought of the river tasted like salvation under the veil of the heat, the cool water against my throat releasing the throttle of the merciless summer. Even within the confines of the house, I felt the river beckoning me, the hum of cicadas luring me like a siren song. My feet found their place on the sun-scorched wood of the back porch. The soles of my feet dug into the earth's mud with each step, and heat moved over me like a steady breath.

The trees wept in exhaustion, their branches bending towards the river in thirst. Nearing the riverbank, I let the thin fabric slip from my shoulders and fall in a slow caress over my skin. 

My clothes lay discarded in a heap by the edge of the river, as I bask in the coolness of the water. The river cradled me, slipping around me like soft silk, easing the burn of the scorching sun. I hum in delight at the gentle kisses the water leaves over my sweat-soaked skin. 

The relief fades almost instantly when I hear a rustle along the treeline, the bushes swishing under the movement of someone. My heart falters, alone and defenceless — in the face of danger. My mind races with all the possibilities, but they soon tumble into ash when a bunny springs from the rustling bushes. I let out a shaky sigh of relief at the sight of the small, harmless creature.

But another noise. This time it came from the house — the faint rattle of the screen door fills my ears from across the grass. Panic seared through my body, and I ducked beneath the river, the water sitting above my collarbones. I shift to stare over my shoulder at the house, my pulse hammering as my eyes find the screen door. But there was nothing. No bunny, just silence.

The knife rocked back and forth as Joel scraped the meat from the bone of the small game he’d caught this morning. It wasn’t much, but it’d keep them from starving another day. 

Joel’s movements were skilled and practised, but his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts flickered back to her body beneath the river, droplets of water sparkling in the sunlight. The knife he yielded cut in sharp, long strides, meeting the bone of the animal. He felt each cut as if it were his own flesh and bone, the knife cutting through him sharp and bitter with shame. He shouldn’t be thinking of her like this.

Joel’s mind was anchored back to the present when the rusted door groaned as it swung against its hinges. The sound caused Joel’s movements to falter slightly as his muscles tensed and his breathing stilled. Joel didn't dare tear his eyes from the knife, but his ears strained to catch the faint patter of footsteps. He followed the sound as it trailed closer to him before stopping. 

“Joel...” The sound of his name on her tongue made his chest ache with something he tried to swallow down. “I didn’t realise you’d be back so soon.”

He didn’t answer except for a hum of acknowledgment, too focused on keeping his eyes steadied on where the knife dug to meet the bone. His mind wandered anywhere and everywhere, all to keep himself from peering up to meet her eyes. 

“Figured I’d fix us somethin’ to eat,” he uttered, voice low, but she still caught his words. 

Joel’s eyes briefly flicked up to watch where her form hovered beside the dining table, fingers laid delicately against the splintered wood of the chair. His gaze trailed upwards to watch water trickle down the strands of her hair, soaking the fabric of her dress. Joel felt an ache coil in his chest, swallowing it down with shame, and he dragged his eyes away from her. His grip on the knife tightened, hoping the pressure of the handle biting into his skin might steady his restless heartbeat. 

He let out a ragged breath before he spoke again. “Thought I told you not to go out there on your own.”

Joel almost thought she had left the room, and he had somehow missed the sound of her footsteps as he was trying to ground himself. But the ache of silence vanished when the next words left her lips, bashful and barely audible.

“You… saw me?” 

Joel’s throat went dry, and the movement of the knife ceased in his grip. 

“Wasn’t nothin’ to see,” he muttered, the words sounding harsher than he’d meant them to be.

The silence returned between them, deafening emptiness except for the gentle drag of her nails along the scarred wood of the chair. They tapped lightly along the withered paint, peeled and cracked, taunting his eyes to follow the sound. 

“Then why won’t you look at me?” Her voice was quiet, almost daring.

Joel sighed and dropped the knife; the thud of it hitting the chopping board echoed through the room. 

“Listen,” his voice rough like gravel. “Told you already, jus’ keepin’ an eye on you.” Joel’s breath caught as he lifted his head to find her gaze, taking in the gentle and dewy glow of her fresh skin. Remnants of the river adorned her skin in tiny droplets, and delicate strands of wet hair framed her eyes as they met his. “Makin’ sure you’re safe.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, blooming like soft clouds of pink below her eyes. Her breath hitched before she spoke, “Did you see—”

“No,” he lied, “jus’ saw you in the water.” The last thing Joel wanted her to think was that he had ill intentions toward her, when that could be the furthest thing from the truth.

He watched her sight falter from his, trailing to the ground. When her eyes came back up to meet his, a weak smile painted her face, but it didn’t meet the apples of her cheeks. 

“Okay,” she huffed, embarrassment still lingering under her voice, small like a whisper. “But I can take care of myself.”

He didn’t say anything, just a low hum of acknowledgment, something deeper buried in its sound. But what he wanted to say, what had been aching to escape his chest since that first night on the porch, was that she didn’t have to. He wanted to be the one to keep her safe and protected, the shoulders that carried that weight. Instead, he kept his lips sealed, the ache cementing its roots deeper into his chest, tugging on his heart, until he was so sure it’d collapse under the pressure.  

The next few days passed in clouds of heat, an uncomfortable warmth circled through the house and settled in the air like mud. I spent the warm afternoons away from the blistering sun, languidly stretched along the cracked leather couch with my nose buried in a book. However, I had been staring at the same paragraph for the past ten minutes, finding it incredibly difficult to keep my focus on the words on the page. My mind, along with my eyes, kept wandering to the man sitting across from me. His muscles shifted under the fabric of his shirt as he reached for a weapon lying on the coffee table. I watched him glide a cloth along the blade before setting it back down. His hands came to rest on his knees, the denim of his jeans taut over his thighs. My gaze lingered as his hands trailed up, brushing against the denim before gently resting on his thighs. Warmth flooded over me when I met his eyes to find his gaze was already on me, his lips tilted into a faint smirk.

“You pretendin’ to read?” 

“No,” I said, almost too quickly. “Jus’ can’t focus.”

He stared at me for a moment, like he might say something. I huffed and buried my face into my book, eyes finding the same paragraph again. My gaze drags along the first few words, feeling agitation building under my skin and heat prickling all over my body, I slam the book against my thighs with a frustrated huff. My head tilts back to Joel, his eyebrows raised slightly in expectancy as he watches me. “Can you teach me how to use a g—”

“Absolutely not.” His voice was sharp and final.

A gentle frown falls upon my face, my eyes pleading as I look into his eyes. “Please, Joel.”

“Jesus,” he groans as he runs his palm across his face. “Fine, c’mere.”

I smile with content and slide off the couch, my skin sticking like glue against the worn leather of the couch. The floor creaked gently when I stepped, rounding the coffee table to take a seat beside him. 

I watched him intently as he leaned forward and grabbed the rifle from the table. 

“Careful,” he said as he positioned my hands on the gun, his touch lingering on mine. My pulse stuttered when I felt his thigh brush against the side of my own. 

His hand slid gently to hold my upper arm, guiding my movements. “Good,” he whispered, his breath brushing faintly over my cheek.

I swallowed, the summer heat doing little to cool the warmth that flushed through me. His touch was like slow embers along my arm, slipping below my skin, bleeding their flame into my veins. A warmth flooded through my body, blurring my senses and narrowing my attention on the ragged fall of air from his lips. I felt the space narrowing between us, slowly closing in, tempting me to lift my gaze to find his.

I traced the soft lines between his eyebrows, his sight drawn on my lips before flicking up to my eyes. His chest rose and fell gently with a warm breath; his eyes held the same look from the night by the river. Except this time, his gaze wasn’t flooded with a whirlwind of restraint, but with a quiet desire that’d grown too close to the surface for him to hide. His gaze didn’t fall from my eyes, didn’t bury itself in the ground; it lingered along my features with soft, delicate glances. My hold on the gun fell weak; his firm grip came to steady the weight, the rough skin of his palms flush against my knuckles. I let the weight slip from my fingers and fall into his, watched him place the gun on the coffee table, his eyes leaving mine for a moment too long. But when our eyes met again, my hands had found a new home, resting delicately against the warmth of his chest. I felt his breath bloom against my skin as I leaned in, and he whispered my name like a warning. The space between us grew so small, and I was so sure he could hear my heart thumping. His fingers twitched like they ached to reach for something, and that’s when I closed the space between us.

His lips moved in gentle hesitation against mine, brushing my lips like the touch might burn him. My fingers coiled against his chest when he brought his hand to cup my cheek like I were something delicate. His hesitance grew into tentative touches that trailed through my hair as he deepened the kiss, the air between us falling into something hungrier. 

When his hand slipped lower, brushing against the skin of my thigh, a soft hum caught in my throat. I shifted closer, my weight leaving the couch as I settled my knees on either side of his hips. His breath hitched as my chest pressed against his, my hips lifting in a slow roll, feeling the heat radiating from his skin under my touch. Shifting against him, I felt the slow drag of denim against my core, and my breath grew frantic as he groaned against my lips. His hands came to rest over my hips, his touch lingering before my gently drew me off him. He rested his forehead against mine when our lips broke apart, his hands still buried in the flesh of my hips. He whispered my name, this time like a prayer. I felt the words thread through me, burying themselves somewhere hollow and ancient in my heart, a fire once forgotten, rekindling in my soul.

The days stretched long over the horizon of the land, their aching bones heard in the bristle of the wind. The air carried the same restlessness that lay buried beneath my bones.

I never did like the summer months. How the sun dug through my skin like knives, shovelling to meet the bone, only to find my body to be empty. Like something had scraped my insides clean, every word spoken from my mouth an echo of something beginning to rot, this summer, I had expected no different. The sun would continue to scorch the same ancient fire that trickled through the tree leaves, leaving embers scattered in the dirt.

But now I knew how wrong I was. Hidden under the waves of the humid heat, he shone like a mirage. I watched as his boots dragged along the ground, dirt clinging to the soles of his shoes. His bones creaked in tune with the rotted wood of the porch steps, as if he too carried baggage as ancient as the stories buried within this house.

“Boots off”, I said, eyeing the dirt that lingered in the shadow of his step.

He didn’t utter a single sound, only sparing me a quiet glance before taking a seat beside me. The chains of the porch swing rattled under both our weights. I wondered if it was something the house could bear — both of us. And I had been wondering that for the past week. How long would it take for the house to spit him back into the dirt and dust of the land? Or would the house keep him, swaddle him like it’s own, like one of us — consuming him so his skin was etched into the walls of this place.

His presence clouded my mind, and the silence between us felt intoxicating and magnetic. I found myself wanting to speak, something we hadn’t done much of since he got here.

“Where are you headed after this?” 

His shoulders remained still, his gaze settled sharply along the land that stretched on into swampland before us.

“Ain’t exactly got any plans. Figured I’d keep moving west.” His voice was a strange sound, foreign to my ears, having only known silence for so many years.

I thought about asking if I could go with him, but I stopped myself before the words could escape me. Worried they’d sound too much like a plea than a question. It was better this way. No one to rely on but myself. No one to disappoint me.

Another thought crossed my mind; this time, I let him hear it.

“What if they don’t find us — I mean, you here?” I found myself correcting my words, “y’know the raiders”, I said more quietly.

I suddenly wish I had never spoken when his response was nothing but the shroud of silence. 

He huffed, “You really think that’s possible? No one stumbling out here and finding you? Ain’t ever gonna be safe in one place”.

Maybe he was right. While this place may keep me safe from what walks the wasteland out there, it feeds me filth from the bones of this place. I had come to find that it was not possible to have both — safety and a home. The walls may keep me from what is out there, but something darker, more human kept me suffocated under the roots of this home. 

Wanting to say something, even if it meant nothing, “I guess you’re right”. 

Heat sank itself into the night’s air, in spirals of suffocation, and it filled my lungs with stifling warmth. My sheets lay long discarded somewhere in the expanse of my bedroom floor. The stale air glided over my skin like the house was breathing its fire down my spine. 

For what felt like forever, my restless movements came to an end as I climbed out of sweat-stained linen. Some time away from the menacing stare of these four walls might do me some good.

The flicker of a lantern crept through the crack of the front door. My footsteps were careful and calculated as I neared the door, hands creeping to nudge the door wider. 

I wasn’t prepared for another intruder. I silently hoped it wasn’t, and for the first time in a long time, I saw my prayer answered. It was carved from the earth with edges frayed and worn, but adorned with a thread of hope. That single spark seemed so bright through the veil of the night. The moonlight captured the curves of strength along his arms as he leaned against the chipped wood of the railing. 

That quiet moment revealed itself to be water in the palm of my hand, slipping through the tiniest cracks when the floorboards elicited a sudden groan under my weight.

His shoulders tensed at the sound, his head almost instantly snapping in my direction. The creases between his eyes settled gently when his gaze met my own. Under the gentle glow of the lantern, the ember of his eyes fell like ash along my form. His gaze brushed the softness of my skin when it settled on the bare flesh on my thighs. My breath hitched when his eye line didn’t falter from where the hem of my nightie danced lightly around my thighs.

Heat flushed to my cheeks under the attention of his stare. I cleared my throat, hoping to draw his eyes off my body.

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

The sound of my voice ringing through the air broke the spell of silence between us. His eyes flickered briefly to meet my own before returning to the plains of dry grass that surrounded the house. My sight remained fixed on him, his face now hidden, replaced by the shape of his shoulders. My eyes sank into the muscles under his shirt, how they shifted slightly as he adjusted his grip on the railing. 

A small hum left his chest, so faint you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren’t paying attention — but I was. 

I hesitantly placed one foot in front of the other, moving across the porch towards him. The wooden planks were rough like bark under the soles of my bare feet. Slowing my movements when I reached the railing, I mirrored his posture, leaning into the chipped wood and cracked paint. My fingers curled like a snake around the railing, the wood sinking into my flesh like blunt teeth. 

I barely recognised my own voice as it climbed up my throat, still not used to the sound after years of silence. 

“You don’t speak much”.

I tilted my chin with curiosity when I heard a gentle huff of air leave his chest. When my gaze met his face, I expected the usual stone-cold expression to be carved into his features. Instead, I was surprised to see the ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. 

“Yeah?”

His own eyes peered down to meet mine. I wasn’t sure why, but I let a smile linger on my lips. He didn’t say anything else, nor did his expression falter, but his eyes spoke the song of something soft and tender. It was the first time I’d felt something like that. It settled in my chest amongst barbed wire and ash. It crossed my mind: when was the last time I was the object of something so tender? And that begged a further question — had I ever been? 

That look in his eyes, a faint glimmer of something nameless, something I would come to unravel in the following weeks. In that moment, it was so brief, still beginning, like a gentle ripple through still water — but I felt it.

My gaze hung onto him as I spoke with a smile, “Yeah”.

His eyes broke away from mine to gaze off into the distance that lay before us. My gaze followed his like a shadow, to where they lingered on a low-hanging tree, branches weeping a silent prayer to its begotten soil. Bowed in devotion or penance — I knew the answer.  

Control threaded into his words, like the truth could slip through the seams, he spoke carefully, “Guess I ain’t got much to say.”

This time, I didn’t smile when my eyes found his; instead, the warmth hid behind my eyes. “I don’t believe that.” 

His gaze flickered to my own, lingering before he spoke, “How long you been on your own out here?"

My breath stilled in my chest, the weight of the years pounding down on me as I spoke.

“Three years”. 

“Not safe, out here”, he murmured, eyes gracing over my face gently. “All on your own”.

Beneath my skin, an ache stirred. I desperately wanted to reach out to him. If only to graze his skin, just to know he’s real. That this wasn’t something I had carved from the loneliness of my mind.

“I’m not alone,” my voice tangled in my throat as the words unravelled. “Not anymore”.

In that moment, I saw his gaze soften to something quiet. His eyes were tracing down the curve of my cheek. He said nothing. And the silence that had crowded the house for all these years suddenly wasn’t so deafening — but blissful.

I couldn’t tell you the precise moment summer began, but I could tell you how the wind died, and the fresh air of springtime faded away, replaced by a heavy moisture that hung in stillness. It was as if the land were holding its breath, waiting for something to snap beneath its glare.

The cry of cicadas clawed into the silence of the night, their death rattle echoed through the trees like a warning. A warning of something punishing and cruel to come. Something you couldn’t quite see or hear unless you’d known it before. A familiarity that you couldn’t trace to its origin, only that it lived deep in your bones, laced with dread. Like a part of you that was sick and twisted with rot, festered somewhere hidden from the plain eye. Unseen, only felt, in a place burrowed deep beneath your flesh, where it was familiar as home, like it had always lived there.

That night, I knew something was coming long before I heard the floorboards bend under his weight. 

As a child, I came to know the house like you would a person. I was young when I first learnt to press my ear against the walls that separated me from the storm of shouts bleeding into the night. On those nights, I swore the house carved every word into its walls, words that I cannot see, but still feel as if the walls were my very own flesh.

When you're young, you don’t have the words for what is happening to you. You only learn them later, but even then, they never sit right on your tongue. I don’t remember half the words thrown into the thunder of those nights, but I still feel them all the same. And I have never stopped.

The house held grief in its walls like it would collapse without it. Like anyone you come to know as a child, you learn from them. The house taught me how to bear my grief silently, hiding it under my tongue, just biding time before I bite.

I had learnt the language of the house through its rumble of the floorboards beneath my father’s unforgiving step, and the shrill of the porch swing in the autumn air. In the way the walls cracked, like something behind it pleaded to claw through. Like death and ruin had draped itself into the bones of this place, and it had started to snap, like the brittle pop of the floorboards beneath my mother’s weary step.

Had it always been this way? Or was it time, and all the weight it carried, that wore the house down? A slow collapse, burying us beneath the weight the house couldn’t bear, and neither could we. 

Sprawled beneath the dawn of the sunrise, I felt the bare skin of my legs graze the damp cotton of the bed sheets, the remnants of the night’s heat staining the fabric. My arm curled beneath my head, and I let my eyes trace the light of the sun that peered through the window. The sun, creeping and slow, bled into the deep indigo that held the night's sky. The indigo hues retreated behind the veil of the morning sunrise, burying the secret whispers of the night’s hymn. 

The floor was painted with streaks of amber and rusted gold. The warmth of the horizon ghosted over the floorboards in waves of light, like a flood of gold and fire. I stayed there a while, listening to the sky sing and dance along my bedroom floor.

I let myself linger in the solace and stillness of the moment, as I knew moments like these weren’t granted often.

Easing out of bed, I bide my farewells to the serenity of the morning as my feet touch the floor. I passed through the golden hues, the light briefly illuminating my form. My hand rested lightly on the frame of the door, left half open from the night before. I peered into the darkness of the hallway before stepping slowly along the uneven floorboards.

The wallpaper peeled the way skin did under the sun’s blistering stare. The brittle plaster of the wall peeled to reveal the underneath, like a peek inside the house’s skin. My feet came to a stop at the end of the hallway, my fingers curled around the framed entry to the kitchen. I knew this house, in a way others didn’t. Like the walls of the place were my own bones. 

Heat sweltered through the air of the house, hanging murky like swamp water. Despite the sweat that clung to my body, a chill crept through me, like a warning, rattling beneath my bones.

The house’s silence felt more like anticipation—a warning.

Then the house spoke. The floorboards groaned under an unwelcome weight.

Heavy and sharp were those footsteps, like bolts of thunder, as they pounded through the room beyond the kitchen. Each step, every groan wrung from the weight on the wooden planks was like the admonition of something dark, lingering beneath the surface, threatening to spill. A reminder that the house didn’t just cradle everything that had lived and died here, it accompanied it. In the way that filth worms itself into anything that stays hidden too long, clinging to the bones of this place.

I heard the echo of glass shattering into pieces and drawers being torn from their place. The scrape of furniture along the floor shrieked through the air like something clinging onto the hinges of death.

I was not going to die in this house. I wasn’t going to be damned to its filth like everyone else who came and went here.

The flicker of steel caught my eye, a frying pan hung beside the stove, beckoning me. Nearly stumbling over myself in haste, I reached for it, snatching it from where it hung.

With my back against the wall, I drew a final breath, holding it like I were preparing to drown.

Then the silence flooded in.

Then the thundering steps began again, each one etching closer.

As if the house were exhaling something ancient, something it had been festering and choking on for centuries, the door spat open. Nearly slamming into me, cloaking me in its shadow, it kept me hidden.

A figure emerged. Battered boots crept onto the slate tiles of the kitchen. He was tall, and in the damp light of dawn, I could almost see the scowl that crawled across his face.

He looked like he belonged here. Every creak and whisper of the house warned me of him, so why did my bones ache with recognition? The same bones that I swore belonged to this house.

But before I let him take sight of me, I freed myself from the shadows, wielding cold steel beneath my fingers like it were fire.

The sun hung high in the sweltering summer sky, its stare burning through the window and trailing down the back of my neck, leaving pools of sweat in its wake.

A flicker of a flame, hailed from the scorching pit above, crept across the man’s bound limbs. His skin, marred with scars, spoke silent stories of who he was and where he’d been. I admit, I was curious to learn these stories from his mouth, his voice, but he was a stranger, after all. The first stranger I had met in three long years. 

I knew it was wrong, dangerous, to be intrigued by a man who had just ransacked my house. But despite every lesson, every warning that my parents and this house had hammered into me about strangers, I couldn’t shake this feeling of unsettling familiarity.

The stranger, now bound with brittle rope biting into his skin, sat across the room from me. Bathed in melted streaks of sunlight, the frown that adorned his face looked almost delicate, like the fraying edge of old lace. 

He began to stir awake, his eyes fluttering like a butterfly with torn wings. And when he tried to rouse his limbs, the binds of the rope anchored him back down into the weathered, wobbly dining chair.

The floor creaked when I shifted my weight, the house erupting with a throaty groan that beckoned his gaze into mine. This was the first time I saw his eyes; they swirled like dark pools of honey. But his stare was stained with something sinful, like the echoes of something old and long buried lived within him. It was almost as if the scars that littered his body were inflicted from within, like claws desperately scraping to break free. I could feel it, almost see it, bleeding out of him and spilling into the silence between us. 

Then his voice–the first to stir through the house in years, slow and rough as gravel.

“Untie me.”

My gaze turned weary, steeped in caution. He noticed. 

“Listen,” something soft cemented into his voice, so brief I could’ve mistaken it. But his face didn't shift; the same cracked stone expression carved into his strong features.

“I ain’t here to hurt you."

I had wanted to believe him. To believe that lie–that I could be safe. 

“You broke into my house,” I said, voice escaping my throat like it had waited years to be heard. It had.

He paused. Like we had all the time in the world. Like time out here moved slower, stretching its aching limbs across the landscape. Sometimes I swore it did, if only to punish me.

The air hung with humidity between us, and the cry of cicadas outside bled into the silence of the house. Reminding me that the world still breathed beyond the walls of this place, with the kind of danger my parents spoke uneasily of. It was the kind that strangers hauled with them, like the devil walked in their shadow.

“I didn’t think anyone,” his voice trailed before he chose his next words, “...still lived out here”.

“That’s how I’d like it to stay,” I said, my voice hardening, “no one knowing.”

He didn’t speak, but his eyes did. They trailed over my face, down my length, like there were secret words burned into my skin; like he could read them. 

“You ain’t safe here.” 

My eyes narrowed at him. Very few places were safe in this world. But I didn’t think it got better than this–I didn’t know better than this.

“Raiders,” he spoke, “they tailed me out here. Only a matter of time until they find this place.”

I wanted to scoff. “Y’know how hard this place is to find? No one just stumbles upon a place like this.”

It’s true. Acres of mud and moss surrounded this place, begging for it to be buried and long forgotten. If the maze of swamps and wetlands didn’t swallow the raiders, the scorching swelter of the heat would. 

His gaze found mine and held it steady.

“I found it.”

It occurred to me that maybe I had gone insane, or had been for some time. Maybe it was the heat, clinging to my skin, seeping beneath my bones, and boiling away any rationality I had left. Or maybe it was the unsettling silence of this house, in the way that it was never truly quiet. Always crying from the crypt of the walls and floorboards; nothing ever truly dying here, just lingering–haunting the halls. 

Maybe it was simply human impulse that drove me to do it. The first person I’d seen in three years, and I couldn’t help but want to believe they were good. That goodness still exists. No matter how dangerous that hope might be.

My fingers twitched with hesitation as I undid the knots binding him to that chair. Even without meeting his gaze, I felt its burn on my skin, like standing too close to an open fire. 

As the last knot slipped loose, he brought his other hand to soothe where the rope had left red marks. I noticed his arm flinching as it moved slowly, his jaw clenching, and his brows furrowing. My eyes trailed down the sleeve of the man, stopping at the red stain on the fabric of his forearm.

My breathing stopped, before returning in heavy pants as I flinched to grab the frying pan that lay discarded on the table. 

“Hey,” he made quick action to raise the sleeve of his flannel, revealing a deep crimson cut along his arm. 

“See? ‘m not infected,” his breath left his mouth steady as he tried to calm me.

My chest rose lightly as I tried to control my breathing. I told myself I was safe. I’d become good at convincing myself into believing it, even when it wasn’t true. That’s another thing the house taught me. How to pretend an ache didn’t fester beneath my skin and crawl its way into my chest.

I returned to his side with a first aid kit I’d dug out from the kitchen, hidden behind empty cookie jars and crockery. 

“I need to clean it”, I muttered as I knelt beside him, eyeing the wound.

He didn’t answer, instead reaching for the collar of his shirt, lifting it over his head with a pained groan. My eyes traced the scars along his chest and arms; some were old and faded, but my gaze was drawn to a carving right below his ribs. It was crescent-shaped, like a faint smile, but it was fading—healing.

Now that his shirt had been discarded, I could see that a gash along his shoulder accompanied the wound on his forearm. It wasn’t as deep, but still oozed with red, raw blood.

I tilted my gaze upwards, only to see his was already on me. His chest rose, slow and controlled, his eyes laced with anticipation. 

I didn’t allow my eyes to linger any longer. I watched as the disinfectant dampened the cloth before lightly holding the back of his forearm.

“Hold still.”

He didn’t flinch. And his gaze, unwavering, remained fixed on me, with a look that I couldn't quite put a name to. 

A soft silence brewed between us; it was tender. Almost enough to make me forget why this man, a stranger, was in my house. My heart thumped loud enough to make my ears burst. And I prayed he didn’t notice the tremble in my hand as I watched how the cloth dampened with his blood. 

My own voice spilled into the quiet, so faint I wasn't sure he'd heard me.

“You got a name?” I muttered before I could stop myself.

“Joel.”

Down that narrow hall, with walls that bled like peeled skin, there was a room that sat untouched. Under the weight of my hand, the door creaked, an invitation or a warning. I didn’t know for certain, but I had a guess.

The air was stale, dead. 

Joel’s boots moved steadily into the room, brushing past me. His footsteps were cautious, like he thought the floor would collapse under him. 

I watched him. Noticed how his eyes travelled the room, while his body stayed frozen. 

When his eyes fell on the blanket draped over the bed, coated in a thin layer of dust, I wondered when the last time he’d slept in a bed was, or at all. The dark circles under his eyes were like bruises of fatigue and something haunting. 

The wandering of his eyes stilled at the dresser, a pair of reading glasses neatly tucked beside a gold-rimmed frame. A man and a woman.

He didn’t say anything. I didn’t expect him to. 

“You can sleep here tonight,” my voice shallow and empty as a grave. I closed the door as if I had never opened it, locking it like I was sealing a tomb.

That night, I slept with a knife under my pillow, as if steel could cut through the filth and rot that clung to the walls of this place. As if it could protect me.

Something was resurrected that day, unearthed and brought back to the surface, kicking and screaming. Whether it happened when I rolled the stone from my parents’ tomb, or when Joel dragged his sin-stained boots into this house.

I didn’t know.

But I was sure as hell about to find out.