bubblegum boy

Nobody stops in for a drink: they just hurry along the main street, jackets no longer affording the protection they gave twenty years before. The townsfolk try their best; but things still have holes, are worn down over time with nothing to replace or repair it with.

Your shift ends, and you step out into the deluge. You’re soaked within minutes: freezing water sluicing down your neck as you hurry for home, puddles in your boots, mud splashed on your jeans. The storm rumbles on unapologetically.

You fleetingly think of Joel, out beyond the gates with Tommy on patrol. Anxiety closes a cold hand around your heart as scenarios creep into your periphery: a tree could fall, they could lose sight of one another, a pack of clickers could get the drop on them.

A distraction. That’s what you need.

The light of day is dying out as you fish in your pocket for your key, fingers shaking as you slide it into the lock. The house is dark, objects usually so familiar to you shrouded in shadows, intensifying the pit of worry simmering in your belly.

You switch a lamp on, light flooding the home you share with Joel.

Scavenged books on the coffee table: Little Women for you, a woodworking manual for him. Thick socks and his shirts hung out to dry, chipped mismatched mugs needing a rinse. The comb you use on his hair, panties he’d pulled off you the night before stuffed unceremoniously behind a couch pillow.

You feel grateful to see the sun rise each day with Joel by your side, walk hand in hand, eat off one another’s plates, curl up on the couch, have him holding you and pushing you down into the sheets you share.

He’s got twenty-two years on you, is stoic and reserved to most. But, Joel’s your family now: you open him up, and he relents willingly, curling his body around yours and spilling his darkest secrets in the dead of night.

You’ve created a life together in Jackson. A slice of stability you never thought you’d have after years of desperation behind QZ walls, nothing but your rotting hopes and despairing thoughts for company.

You deserve this. Someone to love you so delicately and ferociously in equal measure. You and Joel give and take from one another; a seamless, never-ending transaction, a cycle you’ll never tire of.

You miss him with an all-consuming ache even though it’s only been mere hours since he left. It feels this way every day when he heads off at dawn for patrol, but the weather outside intensifies it tenfold this time around.

You want him home. You want him safe.

You head upstairs to the bathroom, stripping your soaked clothes off as you go, kicking them into a sodden pile. Thunder claps right above you, the wind rattling the windowpanes.

One of your patrons this morning had said the storm would blow itself out by tomorrow, and you can only hope it’s true. You busy yourself with your task: running a bath, as warm as you can get it.

The days you remember from your childhood of hot water, steam and bubbles: long gone, a memory you can barely skim with your fingertips. You sink into the water when it’s ready, closing your eyes and letting the day soak off of you.

The gale outside is constant. You long for hazy warmth, the sound of Jackson’s children giggling under the sun, a simple blue sky. You close your eyes, lose yourself in the memory of the fall just passed.

Riding out with Joel, in front of him in the saddle. You’d made him laugh that day, the tip of your nose freezing over as he’d pressed a kiss there. The wind was vicious, bitingly cold. It reminded you harshly that you were alive.

You were still here, despite it all.

You’ve ended up taking it for granted before, but it’s hard to when Joel’s behind you. His steady heartbeat against your own, firm body you know all too well. His hands on your waist, keeping you in place.

His goddamn hands.

Huge. Warm. Covered in scars, capable of breaking a nose clean in two. His deft, thick fingers: lifting your chin to him so you look him in the eye, thumbs leaving bruises on your hipbones, sweetly pressuring your tongue when you open your mouth for him.

You know what those hands have done, are capable of doing. They keep you safe. They let you know the depth of his love for you.

You feel yourself warming up eventually, using the handmade soap bar and wash cloth to rinse the rain out. You hear the door downstairs clicking shut: there’s still always a moment of hesitation in your heart.

You know Jackson is safe. You’re just.. Still trying to get used to it.

“Baby?” you hear his voice. Joel’s voice, calling to you like a prayer through the timber and plaster. “In the bath,” you tell him, and hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs.

The door creaks, and you suck in a breath when see him. “Jesus, Joel. What the fuck happened?!” you sit upright, water sloshing and spilling over the side of the tub in your urgency.

There’s a long, deep gash on his cheek; blood crusted by his nose. You know he’s wiped it roughly and moved on, that there’ll be a rusted stain on his jacket sleeve. Just like you know that sometimes it’s better not to even ask.

“Couple raiders up at the ski lodge. Nothin’ we couldn’t handle,” he smiles at you, and you feel your eyes roll. This man. He bends to kiss you; cupping your cheek, sliding his tongue in your eager mouth.

Joel’s as drenched as you were, hair flat and dark on his head where he’s slicked it away from his face. You can’t help it; the switch he flips in you, watching him lustily take you in, naked below him.

“You need a bath,” you say disapprovingly. You wonder for a moment if the wound on his face will scar. Joel has a collection, and you know the story behind each one, for better or worse.

“Too bad there’s already someone in there,” he sighs, pulling his worn leather belt from his jean loops to drop it on the floor. You can see his belly above his waistband as he moves, and you grow increasingly impatient.

“Don’t be an ass,” you mutter. “Get in.”

Joel smirks as he comes to stand by the tub, eyebrow raised, then wincing as the wound on his cheek stretches. “C’mere,” you tell him, rising to stand in front of him, water sluicing down your body, feet still submerged.

Joel groans, eyes roaming everywhere, hands reaching for your ass greedily as you help to divest him of his clothes. “Christ, baby,” he breathes, squeezing and smacking your behind lightly, and you suppress the squeak in your throat.

Your fingers pull at the buttons of Joel’s shirt, sliding them against the material impatiently. It clings to him, soaked with rainwater, moulded to his strong biceps and broad shoulders.

You’re greeted with damp chest hair as you continue your descent, growing thicker and darker as it sits flush against his skin. Joel’s so firm: you lave your tongue over his collarbone as you push his shirt to the floor, hearing his sharp intake of breath as you graze your teeth against flesh.

“Missed you,” you whisper into him, and you feel his low chuckle reverberate through his chest. “You don’t say, huh?” he teases, and you slide your lips over his to claim him as you pop the button on his jeans.

Joel wrestles himself out of them, kicking his boxers off to join your clothes in the corner. He takes your hand, and you lower yourselves into the warmth together. His knees creak with the effort, and you settle yourself between his hips, back pressed to his chest.

A few moments pass; you intertwine your hands together, kissing his knuckles as you absorb the feeling of just being with him. Nothing can touch you here, you’re sure of it. No painful past can invade the haven of peace he makes for you.

“‘s nice. We don’t do this enough,” he kisses your ear after a beat, and you hum contentedly. The bath is hardly big enough for it to become a regular activity; the sheer breadth of Joel is pushing the water close to the side, his arm hanging off awkwardly.

But, you love that he says it anyway.

He tells you the full story of his day: how he and Tommy had taken the raiders out one by one, the storm proving hard work with the horses on the way back home. He presses soft kisses to your shoulders at intervals; you feel the scruff along his jaw graze your skin.

You shiver, and Joel falls silent.

“Y’okay?” he murmurs, fingertips stroking along your tummy. “I don’t like thinking about you out there,” you admit sourly, and Joel chuckles, palm flat against your skin. “We know what we’re doin’, baby girl. I promise,” he assures you, nuzzling into the side of your throat.

“What if one day, though, you don’t? What if you and Tommy get separated? Say, someone sets a trap for you? What if-“ you babble, anxiety spilling unbidden across your tongue. The weight that’s been sat on your chest all day reveals its fangs and starts to bite, showing no mercy.

Horrifyingly, you feel tears prick at your eyes; vision blurring at the thought of Joel’s lifeless body, dumped or worse. You, alone in Jackson, perhaps never knowing what had happened to him, mourning an empty grave and a broken heart.

“Hey,” his voice breaks through the curtain of your anguish. “Baby, come on. I need you with me,” Joel urges quietly, wrapping himself around you. You see his veins spread out like a glorious map beneath his skin, so vital and present.

He kisses all the skin he can reach from his position behind you, and you feel the warmth of his lips bringing you back into the light; from the dark cloud of the creature sucking the soul right out of you, leaving you drained and vulnerable.

“Remember what we said? Only worry about the things you can control,” Joel says softly. “I gotta do these shifts, baby, but just know every time I’m out there, I’m thinkin’ of you. Thinkin’ about how fast I can get back to you, to havin’ you in my arms, just like this,” he soothes.

You nod, his words like a bandaid over your heart. Rain drums the roof above you loudly, a calming sound, and Joel relaxes his grip on you when he feels your breathing slow down. “‘m sorry,” you whisper, feeling foolish for letting yourself get in your head again.

It’s not the first occasion, and you know it won’t be the last. Each time, though, as Joel gently coaxes you out of it, you know it’ll get easier. Time heals all wounds. That’s what he’d told you.

“Don’t wanna hear it, pretty girl,” he tells you, thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts. “Y’never have to say sorry to me.” You feel him, insistent and thick against your back.

You smile, rubbing your nose in the scruff along his jaw fondly, arching a little under his touch. “If you leave your wet clothes in that pile again, though, we’re gonna have a problem,” Joel teases, and you flick water back at him.

“You threw yours there too, jackass,” you laugh, and you feel Joel shrug behind you. “I come up here, and you’re all alone in the tub lookin’ like this?” he scoffs, rough skin of his hands making you gasp as he reaches for you again to tug you closer.

“Hell else was I supposed to do,” he growls, low in your ear. Joel’s touch is different now: less delicate, more desperate. “We gotta clean you up,” you remind him, as blood trickles slowly from his wound. You shudder as his hands disappear below the water, all over you.

“Later, baby, later,” Joel groans, and you feel desire fluttering in your core. You turn to kiss him feverishly, like he’ll disappear any moment. “Will you let me make you feel good? Help ya to forget?” he asks.

You stare at him for a moment. You’ve memorised the shade of his irises, the way his black lashes fringe his eyes. You love the way he smiles crookedly, skin creasing like lines on a map only you know of, blending his sharper edges into something softer.