Tommy’s waiting by the stables, leaning against the fence with that half-shit-eating grin that says he’s been planning something. He straightens when he sees you, waves a hand up, and shouts a “Welcome home!”

The sun is just beginning to set as you walk home through Jackson. People wave and nod, calling out congratulations as you go down the street. A woman from the mess hall shouts something about what a beautiful couple you make, and Joel nods, his hand on the small of your back. You reach back and squeeze his hand. Being seen with you, knowing others know about the love you share, will always be something he’s grateful for.

He still expects, sometimes, that this all can’t be real, that this is all a mirage of happiness and love, and he had truly paid the price. But you are real and at his side.

Joel’s lips twitch in a slight smile when he sees his house for the first time in a week, and he takes in all the signs of his life rebuilt: the Mr. & Mrs. Miller banner still hung across the garage, Sarah’s garden blooming bright and violet, and the surprise he spots before you do. 

There’s a second rocking chair on the porch. It sits beside his, a bit slimmer and taller than his, but the same dark, worn wood with the same gentle, comfortable curve to the arms—a perfect match in apocalypse terms.

“Oh my god!” you gasp, stopping in your tracks.

“Surprise,” Tommy says.

You beam all delighted and gorgeous at Joel. He grins in return before you bound quickly up to the porch, dropping into the rocking chair, hands running along the smooth wooden arms, and when you look up at Joel, your smile is so wide it’s almost like you were always meant to wind up right here in this chair on this porch.

Tommy claps Joel on the shoulder. “Maria’s idea. Figured she needed an actual chair out here.”

Joel nods, once in answer, and Tommy nods back. They’ve never needed more than that.

You close your eyes, tip your face up towards the setting sun of the last day of your honeymoon. It’s like you’re already imagining all of the quiet evenings you’ll spend out here. Maybe you’ll knit. Maybe you’ll read. Or maybe you’ll just sit and rock the night away, listening to the wind and community that you heal every day. Joel will be right there with you, his hand in yours, as the comfortable silence brings you peace. This might just be Joel’s favorite gift ever.

“Thank you,” Joel says, and Tommy’s smile says he understands everything those two words contain.

Tommy leaves you two with a last “welcome home,” and Joel settles next to you in his own chair, the wood creaking in unison with yours.

He thinks of those first times you joined him on the porch, you wheeling him out into the cool night air. The scent of pine and your sweet vanilla smell filling his lungs, a second chance he could breathe in. Even then, he thinks, he had loved you.

Eventually, you turn to him. “I want to see Jefferson,” you say.

When Joel steps inside his home, he takes the cluttered coziness in. The jackets on the hooks, wedding gifts still sitting atop the dining room table, a knitted mouse on Jefferson’s cat tree, the wooden animals he’s carved on the mantle, and the sage drying in the kitchen window. His house. Your house.

You don’t even get to call out for Jefferson, a meow bursts down the hall, the black and white streak comes tearing around the corner from the kitchen. He circles your ankle with an accusing meow, and you scoop him up. The cat rattles in your arms, purring so loud that Joel can hear it all the way from the doorway.

You bury your face in his soft fur. “Missed you too, buddy.”

Joel crosses the room and rubs a thumb along Jefferson’s chin. The cat leans in, green eyes half-closed in bliss.

You look up at him, Jefferson held in your arms, and your face bright with happiness and love. “We’re home.”

Joel nods. “We’re home.”

After all the losses, the narrow misses, the nights spent alone wondering if he’d ever feel anything but hollow again. And now this, a second rocking chair on the porch. A cat purring in your arms. Your eyes on his. Everything he’s ever wanted.

It’s good to be home.

—-

The clinic door is heavier than you remember. Your first day back. Your first day as clinic head. The title feels too big, too important, but you reassure yourself that Dr. V and the rest of Jackson believe in you. 

Patient after patient makes the morning go so quickly that you barely have a chance to feel overwhelmed. You check pulses, you listen to lungs, you make notes in your journal. Every person sends you congratulations, whether it’s for your new title or your new husband. By eleven, the rhythm is coming back. Your hands still know what to do even when it seems like your brain is still honeymooning.

When you take your lunch break, Joel’s already in your office, tote bag in hand, adjusting the small Jefferson carving he made, setting it just right under the lamp on the desk.

You walk into his arms, humming happily at the warmth of your husband. “My doctor. I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, low adoring voice meant just for you. “Really am, baby.”

You laugh a shaky sound. “I’m a little nervous,” you admit.

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye. “Don’t be,” he says. “You’re amazing.”

You believe him, because he says it like it’s a fact everyone knows, like the sky is blue and water is wet, and you are amazing.

Joel pulls out two sandwiches, and you have your own private lunch date in your office. He tells you about all the construction updates from when you two were gone, and you tell him how the clinic fared without you.

When your short lunch time is over, he hugs you tight and kisses you so softly you almost forget that you have a whole afternoon left to get through. “See you at home,” he whispers against your lips before he leaves.

The day speeds through after that. More patients, more congratulations, more notes scribbled. And when the clock ticks to five, and you slip off the white coat, you’ve survived your first day as clinic head.

You walk home, messenger bag slung over your shoulder, and a wide smile on your lips that you don’t even try to hide. Because here is the thing, the thing that still feels impossible: you are leaving your clinic, and you are going home to your husband in your house. It’s something that used to be so ordinary, but now, it’s a miracle.

Your house is quiet when you open the door. No music, no guitar, no sound of Joel in the kitchen. Just the soft tick of the clock on the mantel.

“Joel?” you call, hanging your bag on the hook by the door.

“Up here!” he shouts from upstairs.

You follow his voice and find him standing in the doorway of what used to be your bedroom. He steps aside without a word and reveals that your old bed is gone and the room has completely changed. The desk has been moved to the middle of the room, with a chair pulled up to it. There’s a bookshelf in the corner, already filled with your few medical books and journals, their spines aligned by size that only Joel would have taken the time to organize. Under the window, there’s a small table holding a few of your potted herbs with a few empty pots for more.

“Wow,” you breathe and then repeat when you fully step into the room. Your own office.

Small tears begin to shed from your eyes when you turn and launch yourself at Joel. You hug him, pressing your face into his chest, and his arms band around you, squeezing you tight.

“Like it?” he asks.

You pull back, and the grin. “So much.”

“Wanted you to have a place to work,” he says. “Know you’re gonna be busier.”

“Thank you,” you choke.

He kisses your forehead. “You’re welcome, baby.”

You stand in your new office with your husband’s arms around you. This is what it means to be known. To be seen. To have someone look at everything in your life and build you your own space to help contain it.

You’ll spend hours at this desk. You’ll search your journals, write your notes, research, worry about patients, figure out treatments, and deal with the thousand small failures that come with trying to heal people in a world like this.

But for now, you’ll just stand here, held by your husband, in the quiet golden light of the evening and let yourself be grateful for this moment, this room, this man, and everything he’s given you.

—-

Joel can hear the pen working against the paper when he stands outside your office, with a cup of tea in his hand. You’ve been in there since dinner, three hours at least.

He knocks softly at the doorjamb, two taps of his knuckles, and you look up. The tiny smile you gift him leaves him briefly unable to remember what he came here for. You’re so beautiful.

Three books are lying open on the desk, pages marked with scraps of paper and your journal is a sprawl of handwriting. You’ve been busy.

“Figured you’d like a cup,” he says, setting the mug beside your elbow.

“Thanks, baby,” you say.

He hears the frayed edge in your voice and asks, “How’s it going?”

He moves behind your chair and places his hands on your shoulders, and as expected, you’re tight and tense. He rubs, working his fingers into your knots, and you answer his massage with a groan of relief.

Your pen taps against the journal. “I’ve narrowed it down. Is it GERD? Peptic ulcers? God, what if it’s her gallbladder?” You sigh. “It’s just… some of the best treatments aren’t available to us.”

Joel nods like he understands, though he has zero clue what you’re saying. But he understands the frustration in your voice, the way your shoulders are already tensing again under his hands. He works his thumbs deeper, feels a knot give way, and you moan a sound that makes that familiar heat pool low in his belly.

“I know you’re doin’ your best,” he says. “And everyone knows that.”

Your head bows, shoulders slumping, and drop your pen. “The text is beginning to swim,” you say, rubbing your eyes.

He spins your chair around. His bad knee protests with a familiar ache as he crouches, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair to crowd into your space. “Then, let me take you to bed,” he says, “and you can get up early tomorrow if you want.”

“You don’t have to convince me.” You’re up in a split second, clicking the lamp off. Joel takes your hand and pulls you down the hallway.

He lays you down on the bed gently. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been thinking about this since the moment you disappeared into your office tonight… especially when you’re only clad in a pair of flimsy pajama shorts and one of his old tees. Joel crawls across the mattress, propping himself over you. He could stare at you for hours, take in all of your beauty, and memorize every tiny, gorgeous detail of you. His wife, his future, his happiness, already melting for him, body rolling under his.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down, palm dragging up the length of your leg. He pushes your shirt up, baring your tits, and he leaves open-mouth kisses down your chest, your stomach, running his tongue in hollows as he makes his way down your body. He cradles your foot, presses a kiss to your ankle before he moves to your other leg, kissing his way back up the inside of your calf and your knee. He kneads your thighs, massaging the tension out, working his way closer.

“You work hard, baby, you deserve to relax,” he grits, lying down between your legs, face pressed in the cradle of your thighs. He breathes you in, all warm and musky and sweet, and he can’t resist you any longer. His tongue runs along your cunt, parting you with his mouth, a groan leaves him, eyes fluttering shut because he just can’t get over how good you taste, how perfect your body responds to his mouth. God, he loves you.

Your fingers twist in the curls of his hair, and he thinks to himself he’d like to skip the haircut he’s due for later this week, wanting you to always pull on the loose waves at the nape of his neck. He wills with every lap of his tongue against your clit for you to forget every patient, every worry, every page of the open books left on your desk.

You’re definitely forgetting, because you’re so greedy for him tonight, hands braced on his head as your hips roll. He lets you ride his face, he goes on and on, happily drowning in the taste of you and the desperate sounds you’re keening out. Your thighs tense around his head, and you gasp that little high-pitched noise that tells him you’re close. He groans against your puffy, needy pussy, and you cum with a gasp of his name, and god what a sound.

It only makes him want more of you. He kisses his way up your belly, up the hollow of your throat until his lips meet yours. You’re reaching, helping him slide his own pajama pants down, and he rests his cock right there in the crook between your legs, waiting, just looking down at you and your lovedrunk face, all soft with heavy eyelids and a little smile.

He runs his length along you, dipping in between your legs, covering himself with your desire before he slowly pushes into you. Christ, he loves the way you wrap your legs around him. His hand slides under your head, cradling you, tilting your mouth up to kiss him as he fucks you slow and deep, letting each thrust press out the last of your stress.

Your arms twine around his neck, nails digging into his back, and he lets you pull him closer, lets you bite his shoulder when he sinks his cock deeper into your heat. He buries his face in your throat, wanting to be as close to you as he can. Chanting your name, he tells you over and over how good you feel, how pretty you are, how he’d do anything for you, always.

You’re already tensing, another orgasm building, and when you shatter again, he fucks you through it as you sob his name all drowning and needy, it’s the only thing he wants to hear for the rest of his life. You clench and pulse around him, pulling him right to the edge, as his hips stutter, breath catching. 

Pelvis grinding against you, Joel cums, spilling inside you with a groan that rattles his whole body. He tightens then slacks, before he collapses against you, catching his weight on his forearms. He just breathes, face pressed into your neck, smelling the heady scent of sweat, sex, and you. Your heartbeat is hammering, and it’s a shared race.

“Joel,” you whisper.

He kisses your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “Yeah, baby?”

You don’t answer with words, just a smile and a curl of your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. That’s enough of an answer. 

He shifts, rolling onto his side and pulls you against his chest. You tuck yourself against him, leg hooked over his hip. He strokes your back, kisses your forehead, feels the way your breathing slows. You look up at him, and he can see the relaxation in your face, the relief that wasn’t there before, and it fills him with a pride he’s only known since loving you.

“Better?” he asks, lips against your forehead.

You nod. “Much,” you giggle.

He smiles, arms tightening around you as he relaxes in the peaceful haze of this beautiful life he shares with you. 

—-

No huge disasters happen during your first few weeks at the clinic, just a lot of congratulations, patients, mysteries you can solve, and a steady build of confidence. By the end of the second week, you feel like you’ve earned the title of Clinic Head, and it stops feeling like your imposter syndrome might just swallow you whole. People tell you you’re doing well, and you actually believe them.

The routine establishes itself without fanfare. You wake up every morning to a kiss on your forehead and a cup of tea or coffee in Joel’s hand. He’s already been awake, adamant on making you breakfast. Most of the time, it’s eggs, sometimes potatoes, sometimes toast or bacon if they’re available that week. He always sets the plate in front of you, with another kiss against your forehead, before he serves himself. You both eat, you a little slower than he, and when he’s done, he scoots his chair back, watching you with that exact softness in his eyes that still, even after all this time, makes you feel loved and adored.

He walks you to work, carrying your bag, his hand against the small of your back or in your hand as you walk together down the road toward the clinic. He leaves you with a kiss, no matter who’s watching, and you watch him head to work, broad back moving through the crowd, standing out amongst your fellow Jacksonians. You don’t open the clinic door until he turns at the corner and raises a hand and sends you a wink in farewell.

Work is work. Every patient, illness, and cure is vital because it’s part of the thousand small ailments of a community trying to survive. You suture cuts, you set bones, you mix tinctures. There’s a rhythm of healing… hurried or slowed, you respond to every beat. 

Steven, Wendy, Linda, and Dr. V–whenever he pulls himself away from retirement–are a godsend. You’ve even taken on a couple of new apprentices, including—to your surprise—Dina. She shadows you with an intense focus, proving herself a quick study and a natural healer.

Most days, around noon, Joel appears in your office, lunch in a tote bag, and a doting smile on his face. You eat together at your desk, and you tell each other about your mornings. Ordinary things… things you never thought would matter to anyone. But they do. They matter to him, and you.

Some evenings you don’t leave the clinic until late, depending on the patient loads, but your home is always your salvation. Dinner cooked by one of you while the other sets the table. You wash dishes side by side, clean up the kitchen, and fold the laundry. Domestic bliss is in everything you do, especially when Joel is right by you.

The best parts of your day are once the sun hides behind the mountains, the curtains are shut, and the fire in the hearth is lit. The couch, a blanket pulled across both of your laps, Jefferson on your lap, purring as you pet him. Your shoulder is always home to Joel’s arm, hand resting against your skin, thumb tracing idle circles on your skin.

Sometimes there’s a movie playing on the TV, maybe if you’re lucky, it’s a newly scavenged movie from the library. Sometimes it’s a book shared between you two, or a single one in each of your palms. Sometimes Joel carves, and you knit, the sounds of your progress soundtracked across the living room. Sometimes you just watch the fire, or let your eyes trace the lines of Joel’s profile in the flickering light. You relish these nights, the particular peace of having nowhere to be.

It’s peaceful. It’s wonderful. Something you once thought had been burned out of the world along with everything else. It’s a simple, unremarkable happiness. A routine. An ordinary life built every day, in a house on a road in a town behind walls, with a man who makes you eggs in the morning and holds you on the couch at night, and transformed a bedroom into an office because he wanted you to have a place of your own.

This is enough. This is more than enough. This is everything.

—-

Boggle, Scrabble, Clue, Sorry. A stack of board games Joel has saved in the back of the closet for a rainy day… or a perfect housewarming gift for Ellie and Dina.

Their house sits only a short walk down two streets. It’s a narrow, gray two-story with blue trim and window boxes that you mention you’ll help Dina fill with herbs. It already looks lived in, with the glow of the lamplight and Sally looking out the screen door.

You knock on the doorframe. He stands at your shoulder, games under one arm, a wrapped stack of cookies in his other hand. He hears the scrape of a chair against the hardwood floor he just helped repair last month, and someone says something, then footsteps.

The screen door swings open, and Ellie’s face is wide and bright, clad in her trusty flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She looks happy, genuinely, ridiculously happy. Her eyes drop to the cloth-wrapped stack in his hands, and her eyes widen. Her mouth opens a little.

“Are those—”

“Gingersnaps,” you say.

“Oh my god. Get in here, come in, come in.”

Dina has set the table. There’s a cloth on it, candles lit in the middle, and there’s a savory smell of roasted chicken and sweet corn coming from the kitchen. Joel sets the games on the side table near the door and follows you in, taking in how much Ellie and Dina have already accomplished. There are already framed drawings of Ellie’s on one wall, a selection of carved horses Joel made for her on the mantel, and the scarves you’ve knitted for Ellie and Dina hanging from a coat hook by the door.

It looks like a home.

“Smells good,” he says when Dina comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

“Chicken,” Dina says. “And corn, and potatoes. Nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy is good,” you say, and Dina grins.

Joel settles into the chair at the table, you to his left. He watches Ellie move around her home with Dina, watches the way she leans against the kitchen counter while Dina dishes things out. It’s so different for her now.

He thinks about the strange arithmetic of family. Ellie wasn’t born his. She had a mother she never knew, she had Marlene, a whole history before she ever wound up in his and Tess’s hands. But somewhere between that and this table, something shifted. She’s now his daughter. There’s no other word for it.

He watches her argue with Dina about whether the corn is better on or off the cob, watches her take the last piece of chicken off the serving plate, and wipes her hands on her jeans.

His daughter.

His daughter, who, after dinner, has finished half the plate of cookies all by herself. Next to the half-eaten platter of cookies, Boggle sits on the table, and as Joel expected, he’s losing. Horribly.

He stares at the letters. They stare back at him. He writes down cat. He writes down act. He even tries tac. He stares some more.

He writes down tact. That’s probably three points. He looks over at you, and your pen is moving fast.

The timer runs out.

The reading off starts. You go first, a long list of words, and Ellie scoffs every time you read out a word she’d also found. Dina has a solid list. Ellie’s is shorter than she wants it to be, he can see it in the line of her jaw.

He reads his list last. Four words.

“That’s it?” Ellie asks.

“That’s it,” he nods.

Dina’s the first to laugh helplessly into her hand. You’re biting your lip with a hidden smile. Ellie’s shoulders begin to rock up and down as she giggles her high-pitched squeak. He keeps his face straight for a second, until he also breaks, and the sound of laughter fills the little house on the street two over from his.

You win. Of course, you win. You announce it, with your hands pumping in the air, and Ellie points at you and says, “Of course the doctor wins!”, and you thank her.

Joel watches all of it. He never expected to have this. A table with people he loves around it. His daughter reaching for another cookie that his wife baked for her.

He reaches under the table and takes your hand. You squeeze back without looking up.

Ellie hugs him tight when the night is over, his arms wrap around her, and his chin rests atop her head. “Thanks for coming over,” she says. 

“Of course, Kiddo, wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

He watches you hug Ellie just as tight, and promise her you’ll show her how to make the gingersnaps she loves so much. 

June 9, 2024

“We’re callin’ for an emergency meeting in the town hall tonight,” Tommy says.

A knock came in the middle of dinner preparations, disrupting what was a quiet, late afternoon. When you opened Jeremiah’s front door and saw how Tommy and Joel were standing, Joel half-turned away and Tommy with tension trapped in his jaw, you immediately knew something was wrong. People don’t look like this when they have good news.

“8pm.”

The tea towel in your hand suddenly feels stupid to be holding. “What’s happened?”

“Stevie and Gerry. They haven’t come back from patrol.”

A cold wave runs through you and your eyes find Joel’s. He’s already drawn the same conclusion you’re drawing. Another ambush. Neither of you need to say it aloud. 

By the time 8pm approaches, you’ve managed to get Jeremiah into his wheelchair and made your way to the hall with him. The atmosphere in the settlement is almost unrecognisable compared to how it was the last time this kind of meeting was called for. Last time, there was a fragile quality to the gathering. The disbelief was what defined that day. But not this time. People are moving through the streets with a restless energy radiating off them. It’s pre-grief fused with something almost combustible.

Gerry you only really knew at a surface level. A handful of pleasant exchanges over the months you’ve lived here, but then the broken arm in March took him off the roster before anything between you could develop further. 

Stevie was a different matter. Any shift that you weren’t paired with Joel, you were almost always paired with him, and in the accumulated hours you shared doing the route together, you’d grown quite fond of him. The more experienced of the two veterans, he was always dependable and kind, especially in your early days of patrolling when you were still learning the ropes and making stupid mistakes rookies make. You’d always thought he was just built for survival, and that even in this world with it’s ruthless cruelty, he’d always be a stubbornly permanent fixture in all of this.

Once you’re inside the building, you find Joel waiting just past the doors. He takes Jeremiah from you and wheels him off to join the other council members assembling on the platform. The council cluster together doing a rather terrible job at looking composed. They huddle together in a collective bracing of what’s coming.

Joel moves the way he always does, contained and looking at nothing too long. You’ve spent enough time studying him though to catch what he’s not giving away to others. He’s just as worried as Tommy, he’s just far better at hiding it.

Tommy and Maria stand near the centre of the platform, paler than you’ve ever seen them. Maria’s pregnancy has advanced visibly in recent weeks and she seems much more exposed now. Tommy stands by her looking like he’s made of old concrete, just grey and bloodless. It’s all round unsettling seeing them this way, particularly when it’s so public.

Michelle and Arron were easy enough to spot across the room tucked against the far wall. Arron’s arm rests across Michelle’s shoulder as she chews distractedly at the skin on her thumb, not really reading the room as much as she’s absorbing it. The hall is just an assault of dozens of conversations happening simultaneously, running along the same anxious frequencies. 

“I don’t know why,” Michelle says. “But I just had a feeling something was going to happen. Things were too good for too long.”

“Well, let’s be honest, after what happened in Dubois,” Arron says, tipping his head in your direction, “we should’ve anticipated something was gonna happen. This feels like payback.”

Word had spread not long after the council were informed about what happened on the supply run. The information became distorted, picked apart and reassembled as it moved through the community though. Enough people had drawn their own conclusions to produce a narrative that you were at the centre of this in one way or another. It reignited people’s suspicions that you were either some sort of mole or someone was hunting you down for some reason.

You’d managed to stop it from getting to you for the most part, but every so often you’d catch someone staring at you for a second too long and it all would come flooding back. The hearings, the voting… It was even starting to make you question if Joel suspected something still even though he was there when you were ambushed. Memories of his accusations have been replaying in your head, chipping away at your comfort.

“So, what? You’re saying this is Joel and Joey’s fault?” Michelle replies sharply.

“No, no—, I didn’t mean it like that.” Arron has the decency to look pained by how poorly that landed. “It’s just— think about it. Two of theirs died. It makes sense they’d retaliate. That’s all.”

“They killed Kai and Archie first,” Michelle reminds him.

“Because they think someone here killed David,” you add vacantly.

“Still doesn’t make it your fault, Joey,” she says. “These are sick people. What happened to David needed to happen. Nothing after that did.”

But guilt doesn’t care for logic and it has a way of persisting through any sort of reasoning. It already reintroduced itself to you like an old friend when Tommy broke the news on Jeremiah’s doorstep. More bloodshed. More innocent people dead. And all of it circles back, by some account, to you. 

You’re feeling a little claustrophobic and considering slipping outside to regather yourself when Tommy steps forward. Conversations cut throughout the room without needing to be asked for.

“Alright everyone,” he says. His voice already has a slight shake to it. It’s abundantly clear there was no rehearsal for this because there’s no way to rehearse for something like this. “I wanna thank you for comin’ out tonight. I know it was short notice… but this is important.”

Arms fold and chins lift across the room. Everyone collectively postured like they’re squaring for impact.

“I’m just gonna get right into it. As some of you may already know, Stevie and Gerry headed out on patrol this mornin’ and… uhh… they haven’t come back yet.” 

He struggles to find anywhere to place his eyes. Across the room, Joel’s find yours. There’s no particular expression in his face, but you’ve become fluent in reading what’s hidden beneath each one, and what’s underneath right now is confirmation of everything you’ve already assumed.

“Obviously, given what happened before, I can understand if you’re worried. Scared… Even angry.” Tommy’s hands land on his sides. “Just know that we’re all feeling the same right now. And we need to remain strong.”

Then the dam breaks the way it does in these gatherings. The crowd splits into an overlapping wall of voices, fury and fear running together until they’re indistinguishable and unrelenting. The sound raises the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck. 

Joel takes a step forward then, positioning himself closer to his younger brother, instinctively anticipating that this could go south very quickly.

“EVERYONE QUIET!” Joel bellows. The volume is almost physical. The bass of it hits you in your sternum like a pressure wave. The loudest voices drop first and the rest follow until there’s only a few stray murmurs left.

Tommy glances sideways at Joel briefly before bracing himself and stepping forward again.

“I know what y’all are thinkin’, but I don’t think I need to remind anyone here that Stevie and Gerry are two of the most experienced men that we’ve got. If anyone knows how to get out of a bad situation, it’s them.”

“For crying out loud, Tommy! They’re dead and you fucking know it!” The voice comes from somewhere at the back and a tidal wave of protests heads straight for Tommy again. This time, his voice cracks across the room before the noise can fully build.

“HEY!” 

It doesn’t exactly have the bite of Joel’s, but it works. The hall pulls back into a simmering, almost dangerous quiet. Things could still go either way.

“We don’t know anythin’ right now. What I do know is if this is the same crowd that took Kai and Archie from us, I won’t rest until every last one of them is taken out. And that’s a promise.”

The silence that follows is total, but not peaceful. The fury hasn’t gone anywhere, but it feels like people’s faith in Jackson’s leadership is starting to dwindle.

“We follow protocol. They have ’til sunrise to make it back on their own.” Tommy looks out across all the faces, meeting them with what he has. 

“If they don’t, we send out a search party at first light.”

—

June 10, 2024

With no sign of Stevie and Gerry by sunrise, the search party rode out into the wilderness. The sky was painted the colour of watered-down salmon at that hour and groups of Jackson’s residents gathered in groups at the gates to wait for their return.

You keep close to Joel and Tommy, not saying much but listening to the low conversations around you and the occasional creak of the watchtower above. Everyone appears to be in a state of pre-grief, suspended with the knowledge of what’s coming but still needing confirmation.

As the hours pass, morning becomes a mild afternoon and the stares start coming more frequently. Not everyone stares, most people are too absorbed in their own internal dread, but enough that it makes you feel increasingly uneasy. The more you catch, the smaller the space feels. Joel notices too, and he reacts by standing a little closer, putting his body between yours and whoever’s looking. 

At last, one of the guards in the watchtower raises an arm and the crowd immediately snap themselves upright. Shoulders press together and hands grasp each other in sickening anticipation. The gates start their slow, grinding separation and everyone tips forward slightly as the gap widens.

All six men that were sent out come through on horseback, expressions empty, much to everyone’s relief. But the relief dies as soon as the blood-drenched woven sacks strapped to the back of two of the horses come into view though. The same type of sacks that brought Kai and Archie home.

From every direction, you hear half-swallowed gasps and uncontainable cries. Your hands move to your face without decision and something enormous and immovable lodges itself in your throat.

Beside you, Tommy turns away in hopeless defeat. Like everyone else, he knew deep down this was going to be the outcome, but it doesn’t make the reality any easier. His head bows and he hisses something blunt into the air. Joel says nothing, but the way his jaw tightens says enough.

The riders begin to dismount and carry out the grim, terrible business of bringing the dead back home.

Without warning and before your body could interpret it, something collides with you, handfuls of your collar bunched in fists and your back meeting the wall of the building next to you with a blunt, breathtaking force.

When your vision catches up, one of the two men who run The Tipsy Bison, Ronnie, is two inches away from your face. Old, scarred and bald, his eyes are red-rimmed and swimming with tears of fury and his teeth are bared in a way that genuinely strikes fear in you.

“This is all your fucking fault!” His voice cracks into a shriek. “That’s my friend! My friend is fucking dead because of you!”

Just as fast as he was on you, Joel rips him off and deposits him hard onto the ground a few feet back. He lands in a graceless heap in the dirt and sits there stunned for a second.

“Keep your fucking hands off him,” Joel says, his voice scarily quiet but cold.

Ronnie gets back to his feet and comes forward again, but is caught by a handful of bystanders. Whether it’s out of concern for you or because they know better than to let him challenge Joel, you can’t say. They speak to him in hushed, urgent voices, hands on his shoulders and trying to walk him back from whatever edge he was about to leap off. It takes a minute, but eventually he loses fight and the grief brings him to his knees. 

Joel turns back to you.

“You okay?” 

You’re still a bit winded from the impact, but his voice, low enough that only you can hear it, is exactly what you need. It pulls you back into your body and makes you feel somewhat solid and balanced again.

“Yeah,” you reply with a thin breath. “I’m fine — I think.”

He holds your gaze for a moment, not fully persuaded or satisfied, before glancing around at the crowd who are still churning with that same restless and unpredictable energy.

“You and Tommy should get inside, away from everyone,” Joel says. “Head back to Maria until everything calms down.” He practically ushers you in the other direction. “I’ll follow in a bit.”

—

For a second day in a row, a meeting was called for 8pm in the hall. What had been reported back to Tommy that afternoon made the first occasion feel, in some distorted way, pleasant in comparison. You were there when the search party’s account was delivered to him. 

Stevie was found hanging from a tree, inverted and slashed open with his internal organs left to dangle freely. Gerry had been found tied to the foot of the same tree with both of his eyes removed. Inside Gerry’s mouth, another note. This time, it read “An eye for an eye.”

The man delivering the report had the image burned into the back of his eyes and was still actively reliving the discovery. That same image had now planted itself in your mind with no intention of leaving any time soon.

It explains the look the returning search party had on their faces as they came back through the gates earlier. The blankness wasn’t exhaustion or anything remotely similar to it. It was pure, unfiltered terror.

Underneath all of that, Ronnie’s voice and the venom in it loops incessantly. This is all your fucking fault. No matter what Joel or Michelle said to try and argue you out of it, they weren’t succeeding. Four people are now dead who had been alive and had a whole life ahead of them before you showed up. The thread connecting all of it started and ended with you and it was becoming impossible to not feel it.

It’s unnervingly quiet in the hall considering it is filled from wall to wall again. Probably close to two hundred people completely depleted after spending the entirety of the day mourning. 

Kai and Archie’s deaths fractured the community’s confidence, but there was some level of healing taking place after the tragedy. This has just split it further, right down to the very foundation that Jackson had been built on. There’s a collective recognition spreading that things were going to be different from here on out.

The people are starting to doubt Tommy and question his leadership. It’s evident in the way people’s eyes move to one another and in the way they analyse how fragile he looks up on the platform this time. He can’t afford a single misstep anymore after today. That much is brutally apparent. 

Joel positioned you close to him beside the platform before anyone arrived without really offering an explanation. You don’t actually need one. Even he no longer trusted the crowd around you. With emotions running even higher, there’s something volatile in the air and he didn’t want to take any chances. 

Tommy takes the centre of the platform and clears his throat, staring out at his people and receiving nothing back.

“Uhh… I appreciate you for comin’ out again tonight, folks.”

The silence is almost aggressive. 

“I wanna start off by sayin’ that this is another dark day for Jackson, and while of course we all need to be there for each other, most importantly, right now, we need to be there for the close friends and families of Stevie and Gerry, two people who should still be here with us.”

Their families aren’t in the room. They stayed home to grieve in private while it’s all still at its most raw. 

Stevie had mentioned his eldest daughter to you once on patrol. She was finishing her training and nearly ready to join the ranks and start patrolling herself. How proud he sounded saying it. He couldn’t wait to be paired up with her and spend some time outside the walls.

“I know everyone is feelin’ all sorts of things right now.” Tommy‘s eyes move carefully to each cluster of faces like he’s checking their temperature. “But I need y’all to hear me when I say this. We are not losin’ any more people. Things are gonna change starting today. Our priority is findin’ whoever’s doin’ this and puttin’ an end to it. Once and for all.”

One of the remaining patrolmen near the front of the crowd stands to his full height with his arms folded.

“And how exactly are we supposed to track these fuckers down when there’s not enough people left to go out there in the first place? We don’t know who these Disciples are or where they‘re hiding. We have no idea what we’re walking into.”

“We’re already workin’ on a strategy for exactly that,” Tommy replies. “And I’m not concerned about numbers. There’s no chance they have more people than us and I can assure you they don’t have men as skilled as ours.”

“Bullshit, Tommy!” Ronnie’s voice pierces from the far side of the room. He’d been standing against the wall and you’d been actively avoiding looking in his direction. Now his arm is extended and he has a finger pointing directly at you. “As long as he’s here, we’re not safe! We’re sitting ducks and everyone knows it!”

Accusations and agreements flood the room and the crowd breaks apart once more. Tommy goes very still on the platform, his eyes losing focus as the volume builds around him and the pressure of it all seems to become suffocating.

There’s no thought behind the decision, but by the time your brain caught up to consider doubt, you’ve stepped up onto the platform and are stood by Tommy’s side.

The noise drops. Not all at once, but fast enough that the contrast makes you tense up a little. You’re not a member of the council. You have no business being up there. And a significant portion of the people now staring back at you believe, with varying degrees of certainty, that you are the catalyst for all of this. 

Being up there is more intimidating and exposing than you would’ve anticipated. The room feels enormous from up here. Somewhere behind you, you can feel Joel’s eyes drilling into the back of your skull, wondering what on earth you’re doing and whether or not he should intervene.

You find a point somewhere in the middle of the crowd, swallow and speak.

“Look, I know I’m still not welcome here. Not to some of you.” You let that sit for a second. “And I understand that. What’s been built here in this town is worth protecting, and after everything that’s happened, I get the fear. But we all know by now that safety isn’t guaranteed no matter who or where you are. And I know that no matter how many times I try to convince you that I had nothing to do with these attacks, some of you are never going to believe it.”

No one interrupts. The hostility isn’t as apparent as it was a moment ago, but it still sits dormant behind many of the faces glaring back at you. 

“But I’d be an idiot to ignore the fact that The Disciples want me. For what reason, I don’t really know. But I’m not going to waste any more time. Words are meaningless and at the end of the day, this isn’t about me. It’s about the four people we’ve lost and how we put an end to this.” 

You glance back at the council briefly, registering each of their expressions and Joel’s clenched fists before turning back.

“So I’m going to prove it. I’m going to go out there and find them.”

A wave of exchanged looks move through the crowd as people check to see if they heard you correctly by reading each other’s reactions. The air transforms behind you. You can feel Joel wanting to take a step forward but holding himself back.

“Tomorrow, 9am at the gates,” you continue. “Anyone who wants to join can come, but I understand if you don’t. I don’t expect it. Either way, I’m going… for Jackson.”

The faces in the crowd reflect back two clear things. Some people were looking at you as if you were making a last statement, helpless in a way that they know how this ends for you. Others were watching with something that’s a fusion of respect and relief, like this is what you should do because it’s the right thing to do.

You look away, unable to hold anyone’s gaze for long. The clod of anxiety in your throat subsides marginally and you step back down off the platform. Joel remains close by, careful to not look directly at you, but struggling to hide the fact he’s trying to restrain himself.

Tommy takes the space back, flicking a quick glance in your direction. “Okay… uhh…” He strokes his chin, ruminating on what you said for a moment. “The council and I are goin’ to discuss this tonight. We’ll have more to say tomorrow mornin’ once we know where we stand.”

He rubs his hands together nervously.

“We’ll leave it at that for tonight, folks. Please get home safely and, uhh… take care of one another.”

—

“Are you out of your goddamned mind?!” 

Jeremiah’s front door opened late that evening and Joel came barrelling through like a thunderstorm, charging straight past you and into the hallway without waiting to be invited inside. He steamrolls his way to the kitchen and you close the front door and follow him.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?!”

“I need to do something, Joel.”

“No, you don’t. Now everyone's gonna expect you to go out there tomorrow.” He paces around the kitchen restlessly trying to find something to do with his anger. He eventually finds one spot to stand in and his hands find his hips. “You should’ve kept your mouth shut! This is not up to you. This is council business.”

“Is everything alright out there, my boy?” Jeremiah calls thinly from the direction of his bedroom. 

Joel catches himself and stops, exhaling through flared nostrils and starting to move in repeated, agitated circuits around the kitchen again.

“Yes, Jeremiah, all good,” you call back. “Sorry for the noise.”

“Very well,” he replies. “Although, if Joel is giving you a hard time, please do remind him that I’m not above using my cane if the situation calls for it. I must rest and I would appreciate it if he kept his voice down.”

You press the inside of your cheek between your back molars. Joel doesn’t look even remotely close to finding it amusing. He comes back to you with the same intensity, but just more compressed now.

“You’re not goin’ out there, Joey. It’s too dangerous.”

“I can’t stay here and do nothing either. You saw how people reacted today. They want answers and they want someone to do something. Since they’ve decided this is my fault, I’m going to make it right."

“This is not your fault.” He says it with a firmness that does not invite any negotiation. He takes another step forward across the kitchen towards you. “I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks or says. You don’t need to be puttin’ yourself in danger for anyone.”

You stare back at him as the irony hangs overhead. The man who spent all this time measuring every move because of how it might appear to others, now standing in your home telling you he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks. You don’t mention it, but he can see it in your face.

“You don’t get to make decisions like this,” he says. “Not without me knowin’ first.”

“What are we supposed to do then, Joel?” you say, getting frustrated in your own right. “Our entire patrol unit is either dropping out or dead. This has to end and it has to end now.”

“I know that! But I’m not havin’ you go out there like bait!”

You huff. “Wasn’t it you and Tommy who wanted to send me out there as bait in the first place? You sure seemed fine with it then.”

“Don’t,” he warns. “This is different. You know that. You should’ve consulted me.”

“Why do I need to consult you? This is my choice to make.”

“Because I care about you,” he says. “And I’m not willin’ to risk losin’ you. Think about Ellie. Think about the people here who care about you—”

“Joel.” Now you take a step closer to him, keeping your voice soft. “This is going to keep happening. They’re not going to stop and things will only get worse if nothing changes. I can’t let anyone else die and I can’t stay here if people don’t trust me. It’s only a matter of time before they start to question you too just for being around me.” You hold his gaze for a long moment. “So I’m going. Even if that means I’m going alone.”

His jaw goes completely rigid. His eyes move off somewhere beyond you and he has that distant, interior look he gets sometimes, like he’s being pulled into an old, unresolved memory. 

When he comes back, he swallows once with his eyes glassy at the edges.

“If I can’t make you stay,” he says, barely above a whisper, “then I’m comin’ with you.”

“No.” The word comes out before he’d even finished speaking. You shake your head at him. “No. You‘re not coming.”

“Why?”

“Because Ellie, that’s why. If something goes wrong, she loses you. No one else here is dying because of me.”

“And what about me?” The sudden softness in his voice is disarming. “I’m supposed to just let you go out there alone and be okay if you don’t come back?”

“Yeah.” You pause, overseeing the stillness in him now. “You don’t need me, but Ellie needs you. You have to stay.”

He narrows his eyes ever so slightly and closes the remaining distance between you with one slow step, his voice dropping low enough that it can’t pass the walls of the kitchen. “What are you talkin’ about? I do need you. And so does Ellie.”

You look away, staring out into the vacant space between you and the stove, anywhere away from his face. “It’ll be easier for her if she only loses one of us. I’m not letting you—”

“What’re you gonna do, stop me?” Joel asks, settling on one hip now, his arms hanging loose by his sides. He analyses the way you refuse to look at him with an expression that’s more depleted than combative.

“There is no choice here, Joey. You’re my partner. I’m comin’ with you and that’s that.”

Biting back tears, your jaw aches from the rigidity. 

He turns and starts to move back towards the hallway. One hand catches the doorframe and he pauses there for a moment.

“I’ll see you tomorrow mornin’.”

—

June 11, 2024

Unsurprisingly, no one else came forward to volunteer by the next morning. Because you weren’t expecting anyone to, you had hoped that maybe it would dull the sting, but it didn’t. At the same time, who in their right mind would go out there knowing what The Disciples were capable of? Maybe you should’ve thought about that too before committing to it yourself. But it’s too late now.

By the time you arrived at the gates with Joel and the horses, a crowd had formed. Standing there in the cold morning air, reading the mixture of expressions, it felt more like a send-off than a show of solidarity. Some wanted to be seen showing up, but others wanted to verify that you were actually keeping your word and going.

Joel came to Jeremiah’s at sunrise to walk with you. Ellie came along too, tasked with keeping Jeremiah company for the day and ensuring someone was there in case he needed help. Both of you said goodbye to them, trying to not make it sound like it was for the last time. It was particularly hard for Joel.

At the gates, Michelle finds you before you finish checking Dusty’s tack. Her arms swing around you and she pulls you into a tight embrace. “You better come back,” she says, her voice muffled against your jacket. “You hear me? Safe and sound.”

Carol’s hand rests on your shoulder as Michelle releases you, her expression barely composed. “Seems ridiculous to say, but be safe out there and good luck.”

Arron shakes your hand and holds it for a moment longer than would be considered normal. He stares at you directly and without performance. “You’ve got this. I’ll see you when you’re back.”

Lastly, Tommy‘s hand turns you around and he yanks you into him without warning, his arms solid and intentional around you. That was the moment where it felt like the ground beneath you became uneven again. The man who saved you, the reason you’re here in the first place, holding you in case its the last time he gets to do so. This really could be your last day, so you savour it all. His smell, his unrelenting kindness, everything about him that made you trust him.

“You two take care of each other out there, okay?” he whispers close to your ear. His lips press briefly and firmly against your temple before he lets you go, leaving you with a final pat on your shoulder. He turns to go to Joel.

You pull yourself up onto Dusty and take one last look back at the town behind the crowd, your eyes drifting across the rooftops you’ve come to know and the soft orange lights in the windows as the sun and the people here rise for another day.

Then you take in the faces below one more time. Michelle’s hand over her mouth, Carol and Arron tucked into either side of her, Tommy looking like he’s trying to think of a reason to call this whole thing off last minute. In your mind, you think about Jeremiah expecting you home this evening for tea and how Ellie will be sat by the window checking every few minutes, hoping to see you both walking back up the garden path like it was any other day.

The nerves had been somewhat manageable until the gates began to screech open once more. You’re suddenly more aware of how dry your lips are and numb your hands feel holding the reigns.

Joel climbs onto Old Beardy beside you and looks across. You meet his eyes and find more than worry etched plainly into his every feature. He looks at you the way he did when that Disciple almost killed you in front of him, and the way he looked at you in his bedroom when he’d asked you to stay. Like you were something he wasn’t prepared to lose.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

—

The ride out towards the trees is quiet, but there’s nothing peaceful about it. Birds somewhere overhead singing in another day, leather creaking and the dull rhythm of hooves on the ground beneath. Everything should feel the same as it always does beyond Jackson’s walls, but the air tastes different this morning. Your senses are more alight than they would be on a typical patrol. Even the sound of the horses feels too loud and exposing.

Joel barely blinks. His eyes move across the landscape methodically, reading the ground up as far as where the forest begins. He’s even more on edge than you, if that’s even possible. From the corner of your eye, you watch him, feeling the guilt travel down your throat and into your gut. He’s out here because of you. Every excuse you’d made last night about Ellie, the risks… He heard it all and still chose to come along. The man is as stubborn as you, also probably even more so.

At the treeline, you both dismount and tie the horses to a low enough branch set back from the path. The plan, agreed on the journey out, was to travel on foot once you were out of the open. Because you’d be covering unfamiliar territory, it made more sense to be able to adapt and cover yourselves without the two huge animals adding to the pressure.  

The humidity inside the forest’s embrace is breathtakingly overbearing. Thick air and even thicker, unexplored undergrowth snagging at your boots with every step. Before you’ve even reached a few yards in, your palm is damp with sweat as it grips onto your rifle. You’re aware of it, the same way you’re aware of your own heartbeat, and now that you’ve noticed it, you can’t stop noticing it.

Every small sound or movement between the greenery causes a small flinch. A branch waving softly on a breeze, something small retreating into the leaves on your left… All of it a violent threat.

The catastrophising starts suddenly and becomes unmanageable before you can even try to contain it. Who would take care of Jeremiah, who looked thinner this week than last? And what about Ellie, who is expecting you both home tonight unharmed?

If The Disciples were still lurking around, finding them would mean them finding you too. The absurd conclusion you have reached is that if they found you first and today truly was your last day, at the very least, it would likely be the end of Jacksons troubles. The Disciples would finally have the pound of flesh that they so desperately wanted, and Ellie and Tommy’s family would hopefully be spared. Jackson would return to the undisturbed, thriving place it once was before you washed up there.

“Just realised you never really talk about home,” Joel says, keeping his eyes forward. “Back in Ireland. Before all this.”

Pulling your attention away from the sea of trees, you glance at him. There’s his attentiveness again. He’s been watching you withdraw into those tenebrous places in your mind. Months of shared patrols have clued him up on all the tells that something has a hold of you. He knows which of your silences are comfortable and which are unsettled. This is him offering you a way back to the light.

“What do you want to know?”

“What it was like over there. What your family were like.”

You think about it while navigating over a thick knot of roots without breaking your stride.

“I remember it being the most beautiful country in the world,” you say. “And the people— Jesus… There’s no people like the Irish.” A brief pause. “You’d have hated it though.”

He looks at you sideways. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, it rains for like eleven months of the year. The stranger sitting next to you on the bus will talk to you for an entire hour whether you like it or not. And it’s a nation of tea drinkers.”

Something about that makes him smile just slightly. His eyes drop to the forest floor for a second.

“So what made you leave then?”

A fair question that didn’t exactly have a straight-forward answer. The version of yourself that made the decision to leave faded away long ago. With two decades gone by and all that happened throughout, it’s hard to know for sure what your true motives actually were.

“I’m not entirely sure,” you say, attempting to work out the thought process in real-time. “Most of the people I grew up with had this dream of getting away from it all. Moving somewhere bigger and making something of themselves. Ireland was its own little world. It was safe. I think I just wanted to see what else was out there.”

“And out of all the places in the world you could’ve ended up in,” Joel says, a dry quality creeping into his voice. “You chose Brooklyn?”

You roll your eyes at him, feeling the pull of an involuntary smirk. “Brooklyn was great, I’ll have you know. It was less of a choice and more of an opportunity that just landed on my lap. I don’t know why, but I felt something in my gut telling me to go. I kept thinking I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t.” You let the thought resolve. “And look how that turned out.”

Joel continues to observe you from the corner of his eye, assessing you and the tone of the last sentence carefully, trying to figure out if it’s just your dark humour or genuine self-deprecation.  

“How ‘bout your family?” he asks. “Think I would’ve hated them too?”

A grin forms before you can stop it. It’s a completely unexpected question. For whatever reason, you’ve never considered how Joel would’ve fit in that picture. As fast as the comfort of it hits you, your heart cracks a little, almost causing you to lose your footing. What could’ve been.

“Nah,” you reply. “If anything, it’d be the other way around. I’m not sure they’d warm to you very fast.”

He looks mildly put out by that. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“My parents were pretty judgemental. Ironically strict Irish catholics. Impossible to impress. My da was very protective of us. I don’t think he ever really believed I could manage out in the world on my own. He insisted on doing everything for me. The issue he’d have with you is that you’d be his competition. I don’t think he ever envisioned another man looking after me. He would’ve struggled with that.”

Joel doesn’t have anything to say to that. His eyes stay forward, but his jaw grinds without giving any indication of what he makes of it. “How ‘bout your mother?”

“You’d have better chances with her,” you say. “She had the most opinions out of everyone, but she’d only share them with others behind your back. But I have a feeling you would’ve won her over. She loved a man that could do it all. The accent would’ve helped too. She loved an accent.”

“Is that what did it for you?” Joel asks, a hint of a faint smirk forming.

“It helped,” you admit playfully, feeling some of the tightness in your chest ease a little.

Then he asks, “And Anna? What was she like?” 

The manufactured cushiness of the last few minutes expires.

Something heavy solidifies in your gut immediately. Hearing her name spoken out loud here amongst the trees makes you realise that you haven’t really spoken about her in a while. 

“You don’t have to—” he says, catching himself quickly. “Sorry. Probably shouldn’t’ve brought that up—”

You shake your head and give him enough of a smile to let him know it’s okay.

“She was everything to me,” you start, your voice betraying you almost immediately. “She was the only thing that almost stopped me from moving to Brooklyn. I couldn’t picture a life without her in it. She was much younger than me, but she was my closest friend.”

The forest goes very quiet around you. All that registers with your senses is the sound of your boots crunching through undisturbed leaves below.

“I’ve never known anyone more full of life,” you continue. “Even after the outbreak. Even after we lost our da. My only reason to keep going was to keep her alive. So when she— when I lost her, I really thought that was the end.”

Joel turns his head to look at you, but he doesn’t speak, doesn’t interrupt. He just gives you room to keep going if you want.

“Every Friday after school, I’d bring her down to the video shop. We would take turns picking the movie for the weekend every week. One week, my pick, the next week, hers. She always chose based on the box cover. The more pink and flowery, the higher chance she’d choose that one.” Some sort of laugh-breath hybrid escapes you. “I didn’t mind though. We’d be on that couch all weekend snacking on dry cereal watching movies. Nothing really mattered back then.”

“Hold onto those memories,” Joel says quietly after a moment passes. “That’s what’ll get you through all this.”

“I try to.” Your voice thins and the tone of it changes. “But they feel… tainted now. Everything does. After what he did to us. I can’t think about her anymore without thinking about him…” You stare out at the trees vacantly. “I feel broken, Joel. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to be put back together.”

He goes quiet again for a long minute, watching you carefully and wanting to offer you something he doesn’t have. He mutters an unvarnished apology under his breath and he means it, but he knows there’s nothing substantial he could say that would fix it right now.

“How about you?” you ask. “Did you have any family before all this? Apart from Tommy.”

As the words leave your mouth, it dawns on you too late that it probably wasn’t the right time for a question like that. It’s out there now though, suspended in the space between you waiting to be answered. He goes somewhere in his head again for some time, barely visible only by the vacancy moving across his expression.

Maybe it’s the surroundings, maybe it’s the worry that you’re both marching towards potential death, but something in him flattens with an eventual exhale.

“Uhh… yeah.”

Then nothing. A long stretch of nothing. Knowing him the way you do, he’s trying to structure together something he has the capacity to say.

“I had a daughter. Sarah. Her name was Sarah.” 

The photograph. The girl with the spiralled, dark hair, wearing a soccer jersey and holding a trophy. Joel’s arm around her and his face carrying a pride you’ve never seen in him before. The suspicion was there since you found the picture, but now you have the answer and another part of his past takes shape.

Still, the implication of using the past tense when speaking about her can only mean one thing. He carries on regardless, and he doesn’t conceal how it hurts him to do so.

“I lost her. On outbreak day. Died in my arms.”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out on a weak breath and feels entirely inadequate. It felt like you knew it before you knew it. There’s a particular type of pain that resides deep inside of him, one that you’ve always sensed and one that has drawn you to him this entire time.

“What was she like?”

He stays silent for another moment. He’s not exactly reluctant, just simply trying to string together an answer to a question he seemingly has never been asked before, or at least not for a very long time.

“Smart. Too smart for a fourteen year old. Real funny too. Kept me honest.” His head lifts back to scan the view ahead.

“Sh-she was caring,” he goes on. “Independent. Felt like she was takin’ care of me more’n I was takin’ care of her. I’d be workin’ late and I’d come home and she’d already have dinner figured out for us.”

“Wonder where she got those instincts from.”

He glances sideways at you and his lip curves briefly and barely, gone before it could be fully acknowledged.

“Thought I’d spend my whole life worryin’ about her. College, boys, bad decisions… The world wasn’t ready for someone like her.” His voice drops and takes on a rough, abraded quality you’re hearing for the first time. “But she was mine. She was my whole world. The only thing I ever really had.”

Your heart shatters in your chest as you picture the photograph again compare how fractured he is now to the proud father you saw. She deserved to grow up, even in this barbaric, hideous world. And he deserved to watch her do it. 

“What about her mother? What happened to her?”

Joel returns from whatever dark corner of his mind he went wandering in. “Uhh—… I don’t know. She left us when Sarah was real young. She had a lot goin’ on in her head. I wasn’t as present as I probably should’ve been. So she left. Never saw her again. Heard she might’ve moved back to Pittsburgh where she grew up, but… She told me not to go lookin’ for her, so I didn’t.”

One hell of a life for one man. Abandoned by the mother of their child, raised his daughter alone, lost her in the most cruel way and is now the guardian of possibly the only person in the world immune to the virus that tore everyone’s lives apart. The protectiveness you had once read as aggression reveals itself to actually be survival. His purpose and his instinct is and has always been to protect because that’s all he has ever known.

“You’re a really good man, Joel,” you say, softer than you intended.

He looks across at you again. “What do you mean?”

You squint up at the light filtering through the canopy above, trying to find the appropriate words. “I mean after everything you’ve been through, you could’ve turned out very different. You could’ve completely shut down. You did for a while, I guess. But you show up for everyone around you.” You pause and let him digest that much before continuing. “You wouldn’t have told me any of this a few weeks ago. That has to mean something, right?”

He stares flatly at you and then huffs silently to himself, shaking his head and looking forward again. “The only reason I’m sayin’ all this is because today might be our last. Don’t be naive enough to think this has got anythin’ to do with me bein’ a good person, because I’m not.”

You watch his side profile, mildly stung by that. A reply is already forming when you hear something sudden and harsh, putting every nerve on edge.

A single gunshot splits through the air, cracking through the trees and dispersing outward in a long, diminishing echo. You both freeze in place immediately to listen through it. Underneath the fade of it, a frantic human voice in distress, and just past that, the unmistakable shriek of runners.

“Help! Somebody help me!”

You’re already moving before a word has been exchanged. Together, you push through the undergrowth faster than is sensible, sacrificing caution for urgency. The sounds grow and separate as you draw closer, making your heart rate rocket upwards.

A clearing opens up ahead and you both drop low and slow yourselves, rifles raised and peering through the last curtain of foliage.

A man collapses in the centre of the clearing with four runners converging on him from behind. He looks like he’s been trying to get away from them for a while. He moves with ragged desperation, like he’s operating on the last of his energy reserve.

He feebly raises his gun and prepares himself for the inevitable, knowing that he won’t be able to take all four down in time. 

But then, from where you’re crouched, the recognition hits you like an oncoming train.

“Marco!”

Eyes wide, you burst out from cover before a reasoning could be justified. Behind, Joel calls after you, “Hey, what are you—” but it cuts off into profanity when he realises he has no choice but to chase after you.

Two of the runners sense your approach and break off to charge at you instead. You draw your blade and drive it into the nearest one’s skull mid-lunge, leveraging its body sideways as a deadweight shield against the other to buy yourself half a second. With a wet resistance, you pull the blade free and put it through the second runner’s face before it can get a hold of you. It drops in a heap at your feet and goes into its eternal stillness.

Joel handles the other two, dragging one off of Marco and wrestling it in a way that looked like it required no effort. The second put up more of a fight but was no match for Joel’s brute force.

The clearing goes quiet, but your pulse is loud in your ears and your breath slams inside your chest. Eventually, the adrenaline starts its slow descent. The next thing you sense is Joel’s glare, communicating several things and none of them approving.

Marco is sprawled on the ground next to you, chest heaving and still coming to terms with the fact he’s alive. He looks between you and Joel with wide and cautious eyes. Then he reaches the same realisation you did a moment ago at the outline of the clearing and his shoulders sink with relief.

“Joey?”

“Who is he?” Joel asks flatly, not even acknowledging Marco.

You extend a hand down. Marco takes it and you hoist him back to his feet. He’s in a really bad way. Gaunt, malnourished, hollow yet somehow still breathing. Overgrown hair, greyed skin and weeks of filth caked into him. Hauntingly similar to how you looked only a handful of months ago.

“This is Marco,” you say, still taking him in. “I know him from Silver Lake.”

Joel turns away briefly, making a sound under his breath that has no politeness in it.

“You made it out,” you say to Marco. As you do, you suddenly become hyperaware of the space on either side of him where his young sons once occupied. Your stomach turns and you hope you’re wrong to presume. “Where are the boys?”

His face changes. That brief warmth that appeared from seeing you simply drains out of it, leaving him looking older and broken.

“They didn’t make it,” he says, moving through each word reluctantly. “They’re gone.”

There’s nothing adequate you can say to a man in his position, but you place a steadying hand on his shoulder. The agony of losing one child is unthinkable enough, but two… And at such a young age. It’s a wonder he’s still going.

“Why are you out here?” you ask eventually. “Where have you been all this time?”

He wipes a hand down his face. “Moving. Going from place to place. Trying to find somewhere… permanent. You know how it is.”

He takes a slow breath. You can sense Joel watching him closely from over your shoulder.

“Figured I’d try find Jackson,” Marco says then. “Is that where you ended up?”

You nod. “Yeah. That’s where we came from. It’s not far. You should come back with us—”

“No,” Joel says without any hesitation or ambiguity.

You turn back to face him. “Joel, he needs somewhere to go.”

“I don’t give a damn. He’s not our responsibility. We don’t know him.”

“I do,” you say, stepping up to him now and standing your ground. “Marco is the one who told me to go and find Jackson. I can’t just leave him out here. He’ll be dead within a week. Look at him!”

“I’m not gonna argue with you about this, Joey. We don’t take in strays. You know that by now.”

You scoff at him. “Really? Because this is exactly how Tommy found me. Lost, barely alive and a second from getting eaten. I wouldn’t be standing here with you if he hadn’t sent me in this direction in the first place.”

That seems to land. Joel’s jaw moves uncomfortably and his eyes bury themselves into yours, trying to find something else he can arm himself with.

“That was different,” he says plainly.

“In what way?”

He doesn’t answer, which is it’s own kind of answer.

Behind you, Marco lowers his backpack from his shoulder and unzips it. Joel’s grip tightens around his rifle.

“Please,” Marco breathes, starting to pull miscellaneous objects of survival and sentimental keepsakes out of it as some sort of desperate offering. None of it holds any real value until he presents one last thing.

An unopened jar of coffee.

You look at Joel and Joel looks at the jar. Maybe it’s a sign or just luck.

“Let him get cleaned up and go through NAP at least,” you say. “He deserves a chance. Just like I did.”

He stares at you for a long, uneasy minute before taking a few authoritative steps through the vegetation towards Marco and snatching the jar from his hands and returning to you.

“Check him for bites,” he says. “Take his weapons and whatever else he’s carrying.”

Marco closes his eyes and bows his head briefly, lips moving in the formation of something that resembles prayers and thanks.

You begin performing the usual checks, taking a look around the collar and sleeves, looking for any sign of infection or blood and finding nothing of concern. Marco willingly empties his pockets, places everything back into his backpack and hands it over to you without issue.

Joel watches from a few feet away, deeply unsatisfied with the situation and not even trying to restrain the displeasure radiating off of him. He doesn’t like this one bit and he’s not the type to pretend he does. Even with the unopened jar of coffee secure in his hand, nothing can quell his suspicious instincts once they get fired up.

“We’re done for today. Let’s head back,” Joel says once you finish and rejoin him. He looks at you pointedly. “And you’re gonna be the one explainin’ this to Tommy.”

AN: Hey everyone! So good to be posting again. Thank you so much for your patience while I took a break to write some more and deal with some personal life stuff.

I hope this chapter lived up to the wait!

I decided to post this weekend to dedicate this chapter to my dear friend @jaymee-draws for her birthday! She has shown so much support and provided incredible artwork (with more to come btw 👀), so I wanted to honour her with the comeback chapter!

Speaking of artwork, a massive thank you to Yomi for providing this beautiful chapter artwork. Our Joely protecting each other out in the scary world. I love it so much. Please go give them some love and follow if you don't already.

While I've been taking a break, I've managed to complete up as far as chapter 33, which to be honest, I was hoping to have a little more done by now, but life has been lifeing. I'm very likely going to switch to bi-weekly posting going forward as a happy medium so that way you guys still get the episodic experience I was going for but I also get a bit more time to get ahead of myself.

But seriously, thank you so much for the continued support and the kind messages while I was gone. It really means the world.

SO MUCH coming in these next chapters so buckle up! Hehehe 😈

And today is just one of those days. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to massage away a kink in his neck that persisted well into the afternoon. But he hadn’t had time to complain or think too much about how excited he was to crawl back beneath the sheets, because the northernmost barn was falling to pieces. 

So, not only was he functioning half empty from the start, but the work today was also strenuous. Sawing raw timber to the perfect length, sanding down the sharp edges, hammering nails into plywood. A full day. 

And when Denise had stopped him on his way home, waving him down with a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade in hand, she’d given him that bright, hopeful smile and said, “Little Sammy ran that damn bike into the back door again. Would you mind fixing the hinges?”

His back ached and his knees were creaky, but Joel soon found himself knelt on Denise’s porch, screwdriver and fresh nails in hand.

It didn’t take long, but it did take every last scrap of energy that remained inside of him.

Joel’s house was always quiet. Too big for him, really. Ellie was in the garage already, lights still on, up too late when she had early patrol the following morning. But Joel didn’t have it in him to remind her how important sleep was. Not when he was running on fumes himself.

So he dragged those tired, old bones inside. Kicked off his boots and jeans right at the door of his room, hung his flannel over the back of the chair at his work bench, and let out a long sigh as he climbed beneath icy cotton sheets.

He’s half asleep, eyes closed and muscles sinking into the mattress, when he hears it. 

The click of the latch on the unlocked front door. The creak of your careful steps as you climb the stairs.

Joel feels you before he sees you. Too exhausted to pull himself out of blissful almost-sleep. The mattress dips beneath your weight, limbs outstretched, seeking him out of instinct. 

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Not the first time you’ve found yourself peering out of your window next door waiting for him to get home. Not the first time you’ve ended up in his bed or in his arms.

And Joel knows he should put a stop to it—you’re too young, too sweet, too…good. 

But he’s too worn out to fight his impulses. He’s tried for months to keep his thoughts pure when you cross his mind, but it’s been a losing battle from the start.

Especially when you’re like this. Warm and soft, pressed up against his side, wearing an old t-shirt he’d let you borrow the night before and not much else. A comfort that feels more like home than this house does.

The tips of your fingers tickle his forearm, rousing him just enough that he lifts the heavy limb so you can crawl right into his embrace.

Joel holds you tight. He always does. Biceps big and strong around your shoulders. He holds you like he might lose you tomorrow, because there’s a part of him that fears one day you’ll wake up and see something you don’t like. 

He worries you’ll begin to see him for what he is; old, weary, tired. Not even half the man he used to be. Not half the man you deserve.

But for tonight at least, you still wear those rose tinted glasses. Pressing sweet kisses to his face; his nose, his forehead, his cheeks. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, making cute, whiny noises at the back of your throat. Like you’re desperate, unable to get close enough despite every inch being pressed against him, leg hooked over his hips. 

You find a comfortable position and still beside him, letting out the same sort of long sigh Joel did just moments ago. But you don’t sleep—your breathing doesn’t even out, your muscles don’t go slack. 

Joel knows what you need. Long before your hips tilt, before you press your center against his thigh, before you whisper his name in the dark. 

“S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deep and dark and sleepy. “C’mere.”

He reaches over and brackets his arm around your waist to drag you on top of him, your center already warm and wanting.

It’s starting to get out of hand, he knows. Starting to become a routine. But Joel doesn’t have many sweet thing in his life, not anymore, and he finds you near impossible to resist. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Take what ya need.”

You lay against his chest, ear pressed right over his heart. Joel kisses the crown of your head when your hips begin to tilt, rubbing yourself against the steadily growing bulge beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.

Soft, wanton sighs leave you at the sensation, and even with a barrier still between you he can feel your clit pulse against the underside of his cock. 

Needy little thing you are. But Joel doesn’t mind—he likes the feeling. Of being needed, wanted. Especially by a girl as sweet as you.

You grind on top of him for a while. Not seeking release, not yet. Just feeling the hard warmth of him beneath you, savoring the weight of his big hands stroking softly up and down the expanse of your back. 

He can feel your arousal growing with each pass, wetness slowly seeping through his boxers, slick and sticky. Joel nudges you gently with the tip of his nose, the prickly hairs of his mustache tickling the side of your face. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get this shirt off, hm?”

When you nod, you pull yourself up tiredly. The movement is slow and thick like molasses, so Joel uses the last of his energy to help you. 

His hands find the hem of the oversized t-shirt and pull it upwards, over your head to be discarded on the floor beside his bed. It leaves you completely naked, bared for him in more ways than one. 

In an instant, you fall back against him, breasts pressed up against his chest. Your skin feels cool against his, smooth and pillowy. “S’warm,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your cheek against the coarse hair that litters his chest, graying in some places.

Joel’s cock throbs beneath you, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He just lets you settle back down and allows you to rest. His hands wander, though, the way they always do. 

Sliding down your back, over the sides of your thighs, thumbs massaging gentle circles. He strokes his fingers gently back up to your shoulders and then brings them down your arms, smiling when he sees goosebumps rise in his wake.

When they settle back at your hips, his touch is a little more eager. Kneading at the softness, inching over the curve of your ass until that’s all his hands are filled with. 

Joel loves touching you. Not just suggestively, but intimately. He loves feeling the closeness and the trust you put in him to take care of you, to keep you safe, to make you feel good.

He massages the supple flesh, holding you close, until his need for you begins to grow teeth, gnawing at his psyche. 

Joel knows he shouldn’t. He knows that. 

But he’s just so tired, and you’re so soft. Gentle and kind. And you make him feel loved—something Joel Miller has not felt for a very, very long time.

He guides you with his hands gripping at your curves, sliding your slick cunt over his aching cock. His breath feels hollow, stuck in his lungs.

When he lifts upward, just a little, enough to provide a little extra pressure, you mewl in response. 

Joel is quick to soothe, shushing softly into your ear. “Shh, you’re alright. Hang on, sweet girl. M’right here.”

He knows what you need. It’s become a nightly ritual at this point. You come to him seeking connection, seeking the comfort of an older man. Most nights you just need to be held, to be nurtured, to be loved the way you deserve. 

But other nights, Joel knows you need a little more. A connection that runs a little deeper.

He reaches beneath you, hooking his thumbs in the elastic band of his boxers and tugging them down his tired legs. Just enough to free his cock, already hard as stone just from your proximity. 

Joel pulls your forward, up his torso, giving himself room to line his length up with your entrance.

He slides in real easy.

You’re already soaked, dripping with arousal. And the moment he’s fully seated inside you, stretching you real wide, filling up your belly, you let out a breathy whine.

It feels right, being here like this with you. It feels like coming home. 

Joel moves you slowly, guiding each roll of your hips, slowing you down when you try to pick up the pace. 

There’s no rush. Not here, not with him. He’ll get you there. He’ll get you what you need. What’s the sense in hurrying through it? 

He wants to savor it. The feel of your sweet, soft pussy, clenching and leaking around his length. The way your stuttering breath tickles his skin. The way your hands grip him harder and harder, holding him impossibly closer.

He wants to savor the way you love him. 

“Gimme a kiss, baby,” he whispers in the dark.

You turn your head, just enough so that he can press his lips to yours. In this, too, Joel moves painfully slow.

It’s not a claiming, it’s an exploration. His lips move against yours, memorizing the feel of them, the shape and the taste. He slowly licks into your mouth, tongue gliding against yours, breathing in your exhalation. 

The building coil around his spine is anything but slow, however. He loves being here with you maybe a little too much. He loves you a little too much. 

Joel thrust upwards, keeping a steady, unforgiving rhythm while he slides his hand between you. His fingers search blindly for your clit and he finds it in seconds, circling those slow, tight circles around the pulsing nerves. 

Your sounds grow louder, release building. The sound of your joining echoes in the empty room, slick and wet and feverish.

He knows your close when you start manually breathing—lungs stuttering, chasing the delicious relief that only he can provide.

“You got it,” he encourages. “S’right there, baby. Give it to me.”

Your eyes stay locked to his, lips parting on a jagged moan. You don’t say anything; no warning, no begging. You just feel it, feel him, moving deep inside you, fucking you through it. 

“That’s it,” he says, voice all soft and warm the way it only ever is when he speaks to you. “There you go.”

He doesn’t stop until you find the natural rhythm of oxygen again, until the shaking in your thighs relents to an easy tremble. 

Joel feels that white-hot coil beginning to spool within himself, and pulls out of you with just enough time to shoot thick ropes of cum over your pubic bone.

He thrusts the underside of his cock through your syrupy folds, a gentle rocking until he’s spent. He somehow finds the energy for a few extra thrusts, smearing his release over your clit.

You don’t move an inch, and Joel doesn’t want you to.

Instead, you just lay there on top of him, sticky mess between you, your head resting delicately on his chest. 

When you reach up to card your fingers through his graying hair, Joel feels his muscles go completely slack, tension bleeding from his weary bones.

“M’sorry I woke you up,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know you were tired.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Joel says, and he means it. “I’ll always have time for you."

He reaches down, past the waistband, cups himself, cock already aching at just one look at you. You’re not even moving, just basking in the sun, eyes closed, ankles crossed, chest rising slow. Your wedding ring glints as you lift your hand to scratch at your sternum, and the pink-gemmed stone glows against your skin.

He watches, ogles even. You must feel his eyes on you, because your hand moves, smoothing along your thigh, then between your legs, all casual as anything, as if you’re not the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He toes open the sliding glass door and steps out onto the deck, coffee in hand, boxers tented with need. “Jesus Christ, baby,” he growls.

You open one eye, lift your face to the sun with a lazy smile. “Hi,” you say, and then—fuck him—you stretch your arms overhead, and his mouth waters.

He stares, quite rudely. You’ve got a bottle of oil in your hand… some sort of fragrant thing Wendy made you. You open it, pour a thin line straight down the center of your body, let it pool and run around your navel, then spread your palm wide and rub it slow, up one hip and down the other. Your hands trail up your sides, fingers running over your breasts, playing with your nipples.

He means for a chuckle, but it comes out as a whimper, and he’s already on the first step down when you lift your hand to stop him.

“Not yet, you’ll block out my sun,” you tease, hands dragging down your thighs, legs parting wider, heels dug into the towel to gift him a good look at your pussy. You pick the oil up, let a stream run down your stomach to your mound, it pools across your skin, and you rub it in, letting your fingers slip and trace circles across your cunt. You’re a slick mess for him, hips rolling as you begin to touch yourself.

He can’t help but stroke his cock, throbbing when he presses some relief into it, but you know… eyes snapping open, a temptuous smile on your lips. “No, baby. You can have your fun later. Just watch me.”

He wants to protest, but he’s never been so transfixed in his life. The restraint it takes to drop his hand is superhuman. You keep your legs spread, one hand circling your clit, the other splaying oil along your ribs and up to your throat, as if you were anointed. The pink wedding band beckons, bright against your finger as it moves over your pussy.

Coffee’s getting cold, but he holds onto the cup as if without it, he’ll float away from you. He’s sweating, feels like he’s shaking from the restraint, from the need to spread you wide open and know you.

You’re moaning, hips rocking up off the faded green towel. He’s obsessed with the way he can tell your whole body is clenching and releasing as you begin to fuck yourself with more urgency, panting his name. “Fuck, Joel. Fuck, Joel. Fuck, Joel,” floats up and out into the vast wilderness.

The muscles in his back and arms are so tight, he can hardly breathe, hand clenched around the mug, and his boxers grow wet from the steady leak of precum he wants to grip more and more out of.

“Do you want to fuck me, Mr. Miller?” you say it deadpan, head turned so you’re looking at him through your lashes.

He lets out a “Yes,” almost a bark.

“You want to put your cock in me, Mr. Miller?”

He nods, jaw too tight, tongue thick in his mouth. You keep up the torture, fucking yourself with two fingers, thumb pressing your clit. Your breathing turns into little gasps and you stare him down. You know exactly what you’re doing to him, it drives him even madder.

“When I let you. I want you to fuck me hard, Mr. Miller. Can you do that for me?”

He nods again, frantic now. “Anything. Just tell me what you want.”

You smile, lift your legs, and part your knees wide. The slick shine of oil and wet glistens, and you fuck yourself with two fingers, drawing them out and showing him how shiny they are.

“I want you to bend me over that railing,” you nod at the deck rail, “and fuck me hard. I want you to smack my ass, call me a good girl as you cum in me.”

He loses it and groans as his back turns to jelly.

Your face sets in determination as you slip your fingers out of you. You get on your knees, reaching your hand up. “Now, come here.”

His mug teeters on the edge of the table he tossed it on, coffee splashed across the withered wood. In two strides, he crosses the deck, takes your shiny fingers into his mouth, and tastes the sweet slick of you. You work his boxers down and off, and he grunts against your fingers when you take his hard cock into your mouth. Your tongue is warm and swirling as you suck him off, tasting his desperation for you. He hits the back of your throat, your chin shines with spit, hungry eyes staring up at him. Joel’s fingers slip into your hair, resting, anchoring himself to you. He can’t breathe, can’t even fucking think, his world is just this: the hot sun blazing down, the wet choke of your throat, your hands planted on his thighs, his fingers through your hair.

You pull off him, mouth leaking a sticky trail of spit and precum as you grin, tongue out, and slap his cock against it. It’s almost cruel in the way his legs begin to shake and he groans. He wants to beg, fall to his knees and worship you, his perfect bride, but you take his cock back, slower, letting the head of his cock drag over your tongue, sucking the crown. Joel’s hands tighten in your hair, and he can feel every muscle in his arm clench as he fights the urge to push farther, to fuck your mouth full of his cum.

“Fuck, baby. Fuck, you’re—” he chokes when you take him deep again and pull off with a gasp. His eyes grasp shut, and all he can see, hear, and feel is his need for you. He fights the pooling low in his belly, reaches for your shoulders. You read him, letting his cock drag out of your mouth, letting him haul you up and kiss you, sucking the taste of himself from your tongue and lips.

He picks the towel up from the deck, places it against the splintered railing, and bends you over it. The angle is perfect, your feet spread wide, your pussy presented to him like a masterpiece. He grabs the oil, pours a river down the crease of your ass, letting it cascade down across your pretty pussy. He runs his hands over you, smearing the oil across your skin, dipping in and out between your legs.

Back and forth, Joel rubs the head of his cock against your pussy, lingering through the oil and your slick. He pushes forward, just enough to rest at where you need him the most, his hands pressing into the cleft of your ass, pulling you open to watch himself rut against you, the tip of him kissing precum right against your hole. He smears it in, drags his hand across your ass before he pulls it away and delivers a sharp smack to it. The sound of his palm meeting your skin echoes across the cove. Your arms flex, head dropping as you moan.

He can’t help the incredulous shake of his head and the grin he sends to the sky when he pushes in and your tightness swallows him. You didn’t want slow and sweet, and he gives you what you want, setting a brutal rhythm, hands gripping your hips, pulling you back into each thrust. The towel scrapes against the bannister as you fuck against, just as desperate as he is. You’re a mess of sweat and oil, radiant and beautiful under the sun.

He slides his thumb up, pressing it against your asshole, circling it before rolling it into you. You gasp, arch your back, and ask for more. “Like that?” he growls.

“More,” you order again.

He grabs the oil, pours it over your ass until it drips down onto the deck. He rubs circles, works you open with his thumb, fucking both holes so hard the railing groans.

Your pussy pulses around him and he feels you cumming, cunt squeezing him so tight he has to grit his teeth and tell himself not to cum. “Good girl,” he snarls, “feels so good. Cum f’me.” His thumb delves deeper, stretching you as you flood his dick.

“Joel, please,” you gasp, babbling, “Joel, please I want… I need…”

He knows. He pulls out, letting the heft of him thump against your asshole. “You want me here, baby?” You nod, a slithering “yesss,” answers him.

He slides in slow, waiting for the stretch to go from burn to ache for you, but you’re greedy for him, pushing back on him, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever loved you more than in this moment. The sounds that leave you are otherworldly, high, and beaming. He covers your back with his chest, arms locked around your sticky, sun-warmed body, grinding your ass back into him, both of you rutting against the railing.

His hand snakes between your legs, rubbing your clit, your whole body loses tension, knees almost buckling as your muscles go slack and his finger rubs another orgasm out of you. Joel’s arms tighten around you, keeping you standing as he fucks you through it and past it, until he lets himself go, cumming so hard he feels as if he might collapse the whole deck. His hips stutter, and he holds you tight, unable to move as his cum floods your ass.

When he feels his breath again, he nuzzles your neck, sucking at the sweat along your skin. “Good girl,” he groans as he pulls out. “World’s best wife. Jesus Christ.”

You chuckle and slump against the deck before he gathers your cumdrunk body into his arms. He’s never felt freer in his life. Sunlight, the blue sky, the cool wind and the smell of pine needles. His beautiful wife blissed out and smiling in his arms. Joel thinks maybe this is paradise.

—-

This is all Joel Miller could ask for… a crackling fire burning by the cove and a beautiful girl in a pretty dress watching him play guitar. He sits in the half-dark, back propped against a wood stump, legs outstretched, feet at the edge of the fire circle he made. You’re a little ways off, on a quilt, knees bent, dress tucked under your thighs. He picks up his guitar, tries to tell himself he knows the song well enough to perform it and gives you a shy smile before he begins to play.

“All alone in this world am INot a care for this world have IOnly you keep my eyes open wideYes it's trueI live for you”

You tip your head back, eyes on the starry sky as you listen, a sweet smile spreads across your lips. He can’t remember a time he wasn’t trying to earn a smile from you.

“Not a thing in this world do I ownOnly sadness from all that is grownIn this darkness I wait for the dayYes it's trueI live for you

For many years I waitFor many tears I wait

All this time my thoughts return to youGive my love, that is all I can doWait in line till I feel you insideYes it's trueI live for you”

When the chords fade, you clap a delighted sound. “That was beautiful,” you say. He grins, heat rising into his cheeks, hating and loving that he still feels bashful when it comes to you.

For the next song, he picks a low, moody tune that he knows you love. He plucks the strings slow, and you instantly know the song.

“Underneath the bridge, the tarp has sprung a leak…”

He doesn’t expect it, but you join in, your sweet voice joining his, voices harmonizing as you both repeat “something in the way.” Your face is set in thought, the flames flickering over it as you lean forward, elbows on your knees, almost studying the moment, the feeling. The two of you, out here, under the safety of the night sky and a ring of flames. Joel’s voice gravels towards the end, letting you take over.

When he finishes, your smile’s brighter than the fire. “That’s my favorite,” you say.

“I know,” he grins. “C’mere.”

You crawl to him, and he wraps himself around you, arms tight, chin on the top of your head. Your sigh warms the hollow of his throat.

“Play me another, tomorrow?” you whisper.

“Every day,” he says, kissing the crown of your head.

—-

“Homebase to Love Shack, do you copy?” Ellie’s voice echoes, and Joel can hear the smug little smirk in her tone even through the distortion. Joel clips towards the radio resting on the countertop, towel wrapped around his waist, hair still wet from your shared shower.

He grunts, presses the button. “Yeah, we’re here. What’s up?”

Tommy’s voice comes on: “Morning. We’re headed your way with the delivery. ETA thirty… so be dressed.”

You wander into the kitchen, also only clad in a towel. “Who was that?” you ask.

“Tommy ‘n Ellie will be here in a half hour.”

Guests during a honeymoon really aren’t a thing, but Joel doesn’t mind. Gravel crunching under horse hooves announces their arrival. Joel steps outside and waves before heading over to help untie the saddlebags. You’re on the porch, and when Ellie sees you, she hugs you. Joel feels the warmth spread from his heart through his body as you pull away, and straighten her collar in such a maternal way.

The bags are left by the floor, and Tommy pulls a sack from the pack and lays it on the kitchen table, revealing sandwiches from the Tipsy Bison, wrapped in waxed paper and still warm.

You sit at the table, next to Joel and across from Ellie, and he sees the happiness etched on your face. It’s in the way your hand rests atop his, the way you listen wholeheartedly when Ellie talks, and the way you smile at all her jokes… even the bad ones.

“How’s Jefferson doing?” you ask, napkin wiping away the mustard on the edge of your mouth.

Ellie chews, then wipes her mouth on her sleeve. “He’s good. He and Sally are happy. But I know he misses you.”

“How’s the honeymoon? Do we gotta worry about y’all never coming back?” Tommy asks.

Joel laughs and shakes his head. “As much as I love it here, I miss our house… ‘n Jefferson.”

It’s a strange thing to feel so content in a world built amongst chaos. For so many years, every meal was wolfed down in silence, every conversation was quiet, every moment of happiness overshadowed by loss. Now, there’s laughter, and food, and light shining in through the windows of his temporary castle.

He watches you and Ellie, talking and giggling. He looks over at Tommy, also watching the scene with a similar dumb grin, Joel knows is plastered on his own face. “Thanks for hosting us, we’ll get out of here, leave you two lovebirds to enjoy the rest of your time.”

Ellie hugs you again as she and Tommy leave, and Joel gets a clap on the back from Tommy. “Radio if you need anything,” he says before he mounts up. “Anything at all.”

“We will,” Joel promises.

Tommy nods and turns the horse, Ellie falling in beside him, and they ride away.

You slide your arm around Joel’s waist, resting your head against his shoulder as you watch them go. “That was nice,” you say.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees. It was. A reminder of the life waiting for them when this perfect week is over… a life full of people who love them.

You stand there together until Tommy and Ellie disappear from view, then turn to go back inside, hand in hand, back to your perfect honeymoon.

—-

Joel wakes before you do, most days he usually does, but today he lets himself lie there and holds you in his arms. Outside, the sky is beginning to turn from pink to gold to blue, and the light gilds you in a dreamy glow. He gets lost in admiring his wife, how you look asleep, the soft, unfurrowed peace of your brow, the line of your lips. He never imagined having this, a woman and a life so soft, he gets to watch the sunrise as he holds his wife.

He could stay here for hours, but he has a plan. He’s careful not to wake you as he gets out of bed, goes to the kitchen and puts the coffee on. He makes a couple of sandwiches, packs some strawberries, and wraps up a few chunks of cheese before filling the thermos with coffee and tucks everything into a rucksack.

When he comes back to the living room, you’re just getting up. “Morning,” you yawn.

“Mornin’, baby,” he says, and you smile sleepily for him.

“Better get up, we’ve got somewhere to go.”

“Hmm?”

Joel shrugs. “Just wanna show you something.”

—-

There’s something about the way you hold onto Joel as he navigates the horse. Your arms are snug around his waist, your thighs squeezing with every jostle. If he had to pick one way to travel for the rest of his life, this would be it.

It’s a crisp morning, but the sun is climbing and warming the world. You ride through the pines and the hush of the forest, the only sound is the soft plod of hooves and the birds in the trees. The trees break into a clearing, and Joel can hear the gasp behind him when you see the bright meadow full of wildflowers.

The horse is barely pulled to a stop before you’re bounding off, already giggling and spinning amongst the wildflowers as tall as your knees. It’s almost painful in the way he watches you, the smile that breaks across his face is wide and unwavering, and his heart aches in the best way at the sight of the woman he loves joyous amongst a field of purples, yellows, and little stars of white.

He dismounts and spreads the blanket on a patch of soft grass. The rucksack gets unpacked, and brunch is spread out across the faded blue blanket. You’re already deep in the field, plucking flowers from the ground, soundtracking the day with your happy hum.

“Gonna bring half the meadow back to the clinic at this rate,” Joel teases, dropping down onto the blanket. You soon join him, leaving your bundle of flowers at the edge of the blanket. You tuck a flower behind his ear, and he pretends to scowl as you giggle.

Coffee, sandwiches, and cheese are enjoyed under the sunlight in a field of wildflowers swaying in the wind. Joel saves the best for last, picks up a strawberry, and lifts it to your mouth. You take a bite, and then kiss the pad of his thumb that catches the juice dripping down your chin. He pops the other half in his mouth, never taking his eyes off your stained lips.

He grabs a smaller one, nestles it against your lower lip so you have to open your mouth for him. Your tongue flicks it in, and you lunge forward, climbing into his lap to kiss him, sweet strawberry on your tongue and coffee on his breath. His hands plant low on your back, splayed possessively over the thin cotton of your dress, and you kiss him slow in a way that makes him almost feel drunk off of joy and sharing a special morning with you.

He studies the horizon. Storm’s brewing, he sees it in the way the grey clouds choke out the blue and roll in. He wraps his arms tighter, presses a kiss to your hair.

“Rain’s almost here,” he notes.

“Mm, could just wait it out,” you say, pushing him down onto his back, straddling his hips, hands sliding under his shirt, nails dragging up his sides. “I don’t want to leave.” You grind yourself against his jeans, making little gasps that have his cock straining for you, and he digs his hands into the curve of your ass, squeezing hard as you rock against him. “Plus, don’t you want to fuck me right here?”

Joel’s breath stutters. “You want me to?”

“Mmmhm.”

The first fat raindrops pelt the blanket. Joel’s never seen anything so beautiful, your face turned up to the gray sky, mouth open to catch the drops. Raindrops patter faster and faster as you grind, the picnic blanket wilting in the grass, starting to soak through from the downpour.

You unspool his belt, pop the button open, and drag his zipper down. Your wet hand wraps around his cock and gifts him a sweet, wet stroke. He grunts, jerks your panties to the side, finds you already soaked for him, heat searing him even through the rain, two fingers slide through your folds, spreading you, coaxing out those sweet whimpers that float out into the damp air.

Rain streams down your back, soaking your dress plastered to your skin, but you don’t care. You just grab the hem and haul it up and off, baring yourself to the empty world. You’re a tangle of soaked dress and thighs atop him, running your soaked cunt along him.

He surges up, twists and rolls you over, covering you, body hunched over yours, rain pelting down and dripping from his nose and chin to your. He noses at your jaw, sucking your bottom lip, then trails kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. Your breasts are glossy with rain, and he bites at your hard nipples, tongue circling, drinking the water from your skin. The rain makes you taste even sweeter.

You push your hips up, seeking his cock, and he easily finds you and sinks into you, slow and so fucking deep. He waits, groans into your breast, and you clutch his damp hair with both hands. The grass and wildflowers tangle around your bodies, the blanket a sopping mess beneath you. He thrusts slow, letting the pulse of you patter along with the falling rain. Your legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back. Rain plasters your hair to your cheek and forehead, and you’re gasping his name with every drive of his cock. You’re keening under him, hands all over his back, clutching, holding, pulling.

He’s never felt so strong, so wanted, as he does when you’re under him and he fucks you through an orgasm, and then another, until your sobs echo across the meadow over the rain. He laps at the side of your throat, sucking the rain from your skin, and when he cums, it’s with a growl, teeth scraping your collarbone as he spills inside you.

He collapses atop you, huffing against your skin, rain washing over him and pooling across the divots. For a long time, you just float amongst the wildflowers like that, the storm subsiding over the two of you and the small world you can call yours.

When he finally rolls off, everything gleams in the aftermath. You reach for his hand, fingers twining. “I can’t believe it’s almost over.”

“Don’t say that yet,” he says, thumb brushing the rain from your cheekbone. “We got all day. All tomorrow.”

He wants to stay here, just like this, forever. You and him, both lying in a puddle, grass and dirt sticking wet to your skin, in a perfect meadow after a thunderstorm.

The storm slackens to a soft, foggy drizzle on the ride back to the cabin, and neither of you say much, trying to commit the memory of today to your hearts and minds.

—-

Once back at the cabin, you unload all of the flowers you picked while he ties off the horse. There’s a way in which you’re watching him untie the ropes and leads. He looks up, catches your gaze, cocks an eyebrow as he knots the rope and stows it. “Something on your mind, Mrs. Miller?”

“Just thinking.”

“Yeah? About what?”

You step closer, run a hand down his arm, fingers pausing at the rope looped. “I like the way you look handling these ropes.”

He stares at you, surprised, then grins. “That so?”

You nod.

He tucks the rope in his back pocket, grabs your waist, and pulls you in. “We can do something about that.”

He leads you inside and pours a glass of whiskey in the kitchen. You enjoy it together, staring into each other’s eyes with each drink. The empty glass is left on the countertop, and Joel escorts you upstairs to the bathroom.

It’s a team effort as Joel undresses you and you undress him. He turns the shower on, lets you step in first, watches from outside the large panels of glass. God damn, how did he get so lucky? You stand under the spray, water streaming down your face and shoulders, eyes half-closed as you let the warm water wash over you. He follows you in, crowding you up against the tile, hands roaming all over your body, washing away the mud and grass and wildflower pollen from your skin. You do the same for him, over his chest, down his arms, across his stomach. The care you show him, the gentleness of your fingers almost undoes him right there.

When you’re clean, he towels you off, walks you to the bed, and lays you down. The rope is already waiting, coiled on the table.

“I have an idea,” he says.

Your lips part, and he sees the hitch in your breath. You smile, a devilish smirk. “Show me.”

He ties your left wrist to the headboard, then the right, just loose enough that you can move a little, just tight enough that you can’t get free. He stands back, takes in the sight of you, arms stretched, wrists tied, body offered up like you’re his own gift.

He walks to the closet, grabs the blue bandana he usually keeps in his pocket and holds it up. “Can I?”

“God, yes,” you gasp.

He wraps the bandana over your eyes, ties it snug, and you gift him a moan before he’s even touched you. He kisses your forehead, your cheek, your lips. “You tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

“Okay.”

Joel takes his time, lets himself savor you, hands dragging down your arms, your chest, your ribs. He licks and kisses your nipples, bites gently at the soft skin of your breast. He trails kisses down your belly, nips at your hipbone, then kneels between your legs and spreads you open. You tremble, you’re so wet for him, and he wants nothing more than to get lost in you, drown in you, live in the heat between your legs forever. His tongue finds you, licking you, savoring and slow, tongue pressed flat against your clit, drinking down every moan and surge you bestow upon him. Your arms are spread tight, anchored to the bedposts, straining against the blindings, and it only makes Joel want you more.

He spits across your cunt, slicks his fingers and slides two in, slowly fucking you, pressing into you until you cry his name. Your hips are bucking, frayed pleas of his name leaving your lips.

Joel works you, one hand in your cunt, one hand pinning your hips to the sheet. He pulls away, lets his breath feather over your wet, swollen clit and grins. “Look at you, sweetheart. Can’t even sit still for me.”

He fucks you deeper, curling his fingers against the sweet, gushy spot that makes you squirm. You’re close, he can feel the strain, so he pulls out, denies you exactly when you’re on the edge for him.

You whine a desperate keen, yanking at the ropes. He loves how gone you are for him, how you beg for him. He denies you his fingers, but gives you his tongue, licking a broad stripe from your hole to your clit. You gasp, and he returns it with a hum into you as he sucks your clit. His cock aches, leaking against the mattress, but he ignores it… he’s having too much fun.

“Joel—fuck, I can’t—” you beg.

Every desperate shake, every bead of sweat, every taut muscle of yours only makes him want you more.

His fingers interrupt you, three of them now, stretching your tight hole. He doesn’t pump, only lets them settle and he just waits, feeling the way you clench, seeing how strung up your body is for him.

“I can’t,” you repeat.

“Oh, you can, sweetheart. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” he growls, fingers twirling, thumb pressing against your clit. You tighten, flutter, and clamp, cunt gripping his fingers as you orgasm for him.

God, he wants that to be his cock so bad. He can’t take it anymore, he grips himself, stroking slow, matching the rhythm of his fingers inside you.

“You look so good,” he gruffs. “I’m touchin’ myself, baby.”

That gets you, your body tightening as you give him an orgasm, shaking so hard the ropes creak. He watches your lips part, head thrashing, sweat and desperation slicking your body. You’re the most beautiful mess he’s ever seen.

He finally climbs up your body, kisses your mouth, lets you taste yourself on his tongue as he palms your thighs, pushes your knees wide, then folds you up so your calves press against the backs of your arms. You’re folded and wide open for him at the same time. “Can you take more for me?” he asks.

You nod all eager and desperate, so he gives it to you slow, watching your face as he seats himself inside your eager hole. You moan so loud he’s sure you’ve moved the mountains back, and he can’t help but groan at how perfect you feel wrapped around him. He fucks you like that, slow and steady, hands locked around your calves, folding you up. He whispers your name, tells you how good you are, how perfect your pussy is, how much he loves you.

He’s obsessed with the way you’re splayed out under him, hands bound to the bed, blue blindfold across your eyes, bottom lip captured between your teeth. Fuck, you’re perfect.

The bed creaks and the sound just makes him want to go harder. He pistons into you, lets his rhythm drum faster and faster into you. There’s a wet slap echoing across the vast bedroom, escaping out of the cracked picture window. Sweat drips from his brow, and his vision stays locked on where you take him, greedy and gorgeous, wet and swollen.

He leans forward, lets his weight press down onto your body, arms braced by your head, hands clasped around the crown of your head, holding you in place. Your breathing is wild, body and rope and pussy so impossibly tight.

You cum again, your whole body quaking under him, your voice hoarse with tears and Joel knows he can’t last, not with you like this. He pulls out, jerks himself twice, and cums all over your stomach and chest, white and hot, marking you as his. His legs want to give out, but he unties you first, peels off the blindfold, and gathers you up, kissing your wrists, your throat, and every salty tear on your cheeks. He rocks you in his arms, lets you come back down to earth, grounds you with each kiss and “I love you.”

The sun sets, and the cabin is filled with the smell of whiskey and wildflowers and sex. You lie tangled together, your head on his chest, your hand over his heart. He looks down at you, kisses your hair, and he feels it again—the peace, the rightness, the sense that maybe he deserves this after all.

—-

Every day of Joel’s life begins perfect now. Even on the days his knee aches, or he wakes up with a knot in his back, or his shoulder clicks when he reaches for something, the first thing he sees is you—warm, soft, still tangled in sleep. And every time he does, he’s reminded that he survived for this. Not just the world, but you, this impossible grace.

He slips out of bed in the early gray of morning, careful not to wake you and pulls on his robe. He pads into the kitchen, sets up the percolator, and leans against the countertop, savoring the ritual. The grounds, the gurgle, the first rich waft of coffee.

The early morning cold hits his face when he walks outside on the porch, but it feels good, makes him feel even more alive and present at this moment. The world is alive, and he’s alive, all because of the woman he loves.

The porch step digs into his thighs, but he doesn’t mind when he settles atop it. He thinks about all the things that should have killed him. Guns, fungus, loss, heartbreak. Things that haunted him every night before you. Anything could still happen, he knows it’s not a safe world by any means. But, he’s grateful to still be here, with you by his side.

You join him outside, robe cinched tight.

“Morning, baby,” he greets.

You smile, sit beside him, and lean your head on his shoulder. He holds out the mug of coffee, and you take it, hands brushing, eyes still half-closed.

He was lying face down, his cheek resting against your chest just beneath your collarbone. His arm draped heavily over your ribs and the rest of his body followed that same diagonal line as yours.

You shifted slightly, extending your legs and reaching both arms over your head, but you had no intention of moving further; you were far too cozy. Joel’s weight was a welcome pressure and his body heat radiated like a furnace. He was wearing nothing but his pajama pants, leaving nothing but bare skin against you, while you remained covered in his shirt.

After one last stretch, you lowered your left hand to his back, letting it rest there for a moment. You leaned into him, just a fraction, and finally allowed your fingers to climb toward the nape of his neck, disappearing into his hair. Joel didn't stir in the slightest; he was out like a light.

Without a second thought, you hugged him, letting your chin rest on the crown of his head. Even with your mind still foggy, you knew the feeling washing over you was overwhelming; he was in your arms, alive.

No. Don't think about that.

You pushed the thought aside and let your breathing sync with his, surrendering to a long while of drifting in and out of sleep as the sunlight through the window climbed higher and higher.

Sometime later.

At some point in the middle of your idyllic dream, Joel climbed out of bed. You noticed immediately because, obviously, his weight disappeared from on top of you and suddenly you felt far too exposed.

Half asleep, you heard him shuffle to the bathroom; the toilet flushing, water running from the sink, and then, a couple minutes later, he was back beside you. He slipped under the sheets and blankets and, with one rough tug, hauled you against him again. You stayed there for a while, tucked against his chest, but you could only hold out for so long.

You seriously, seriously had to pee.

You shifted a little, trying to pry yourself loose; Joel pulled you right back against him. A quiet laugh slipped out of you.

Again, you started wriggling away.

“What’re you doing? Where d’you think you’re goin’?” he mumbled. His voice was low and gravelly with sleep and his eyes still completely shut.

“Gotta use the bathroom,” you whispered through a laugh.

Without another word, he let go of your waist, and you pushed the blankets off yourself too.

Oh, it was cold. The air wasn’t nearly as warm as it had been a week ago, and the floor beneath your feet felt freezing. That, and the fact that you were barely dressed. Your legs were completely bare, every inch of your skin prickling from the temperature.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered as you shut the bathroom door behind you. Sleep was making the cold feel twice as bad.

You rushed through everything as fast as possible, washing your hands and splashing warm water on your face afterward.

Jesus, your hair was a disaster. You fixed it as best you could with your fingers while staring into Joel’s tiny mirror, and the second you were done, you hurried back out.

On your tiptoes, you rushed back to bed and practically launched yourself onto him.

“It’s so freaking cold,” you whispered as you crawled beneath the blankets again, pressing your chest against his, sprawled on top of him.

Joel wrapped both his arms and half the blanket around you. The warmth of his chest seeped into yours almost instantly.

A sudden rush of happiness climbed from your stomach to your chest and burst right beneath your collarbone; you slid your hands along the sides of his head and pressed your lips to his jaw. You scattered little kisses there, trailing them up his cheek, then just beside the corner of his mouth.

His lips pulled into a smile that you kissed too.

“Gettin’ warm?” he asked, tightening his arms around you as his hands slipped beneath your shirt. On the way there, he hooked a finger under the elastic of your underwear.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

You kissed him again, but this time it was slower and deeper. Gradually, your right hand cupped his jaw, your thumb pressing against his chin and tipping it down, coaxing his mouth open wider for you.

You slid your tongue slowly into his mouth, grazing his lower lip with a lingering stroke before deepening the kiss; the lower part of your belly tingled at the taste. The sound that left him was a low soft moan.

The shift in Joel was instantaneous. His breathing hitched and his grip tightened until there was no space left between you. One of his hands slid down from your waist and his palm squeezed your hip, then moved lower to cup your ass. And driven by pure instinct, you shifted too, parting your legs to hook them around his hips.

You pressed yourself firmly against the lower part of his stomach, seeking more friction, and the contact drew another ragged breath from his lungs. Every point where your bodies met felt like it was suddenly sparking to life. Every point, wich basically was… every part of your body.

Your tongue keep exploring the heat of his mouth, sweeping against his in a slow, languid dance. He met you with the same unhurried hunger, his tongue tangling with yours as he tasted you deeply, because there was no rush, no world outside the four walls of this room; no one waiting for you, no one needing you, no looming shadow of duty. In the quiet safety of this room, the only urgency that existed was the pull of your own skin.

The kiss remained sensual and low, a long drawn out luxury you were totally entitled to.

Then, you pulled back just enough to graze your teeth against the soft swell of his lower lip, nipping it once, softly. The small bite broke his composure.

Joel’s breath hitched, and he brought his other hand down, both palms now heavy and big and commanding as they anchored to your ass. He squeezed firmly, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his mouth. And with a possessive grunt, he hitched you higher, dragging your body down against his as he ground his hips upward. The movement was precise, so precise, pressing exactly where you needed it most.

As he pulled you flush against him, you felt it; the unmistakable, rock hard weight of his erection through the soft fabric of his pajamas, pressing big and hot right against your center. The friction was enough to turn your knees weak even as you clung to his shoulders and the mattress under him.

You began to shift against him, a slow and rhythmic glide up and down, grazing yourself against his hard cock through the thin cotton. But you didn't break the kiss; you were too desperate to drink in the sound of the ragged groans catching in his throat.

Your body felt like it was nearing a boiling point. Skin to skin and heart to heart, your pulse was thundering in your ears; frantic, heavy and delicious beat that matched the insistent aching throb between your legs.

Joel’s hands abandoned his grip on your hips then, reaching up to fist the hem of the oversized shirt. He began to bunch the fabric upward as you straightened, sitting up to give him access and raising your arms to help him pull it off. He tossed the shirt blindly to the side, leaving you bared to him, wearing nothing but your underwear.

Suddenly, the cool morning air hit your skin, sending a visible shiver through you as your nipples peaked and goosebumps blossomed across your chest. But the chill was short lived; Joel’s hands were immediately back on you, his warm palms searingly hot as they settled on your waist.

You remained seated over him, looking down as you resumed that torturous, slow movement.

From this vantage point, you felt a surge of pure unfiltered power. What a beautiful sight Joel was, a beautiful wreck beneath you; his salt and pepper hair disheveled against the pillow, his cheeks flushed a deep, rugged red, and his eyes... they were blown wide, dark and glittering like black diamonds in the night. And scattered across his cheeks, forehead, chin, and chest, the cuts and bruises remained vividly visible as a reminder of just how fragile he could be. But not right now, not under your hand.

It was a feeling nearly impossible to put into words. You had never known yourself to be capable of this kind of intensity, or this kind of hunger. With him, and only with him, you felt like a version of yourself you’d never met before. A reclamation of your own body. It wasn't just lust; it was a vivid, electric sense of being alive, a hunger for life that burned brighter than the morning sun creeping across the floor.

You kept moving your hips, and even through the layers of fabric, his cock felt massive; a hard and pulsing weight that throbbed in perfect sync with the wet heat between your legs.

You leaned in, pressing your palms against the broad expanse of his chest, being mindful to keep your fingers away from the dark bruises on his skin. He was burning up, his body like a furnace radiating a heat that seemed to melt you so easily.

As you angled your body over him, Joel let out a wrecked sound and one of his hands traveled upward, his calloused palm sliding over the curve of your ribcage until it found your breast. He traced the swell before settling his thumb over your peaking nipple, rolling it with agonizing pressure until your back arched.

A broken moan escaped you, but he didn't let it fade. His hand drifted higher, until his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat for a fleeting second, just enough to feel the vibration of your next gasp, before his thumb pressed into the center of your jaw, coaxing your mouth open.

He slid his thumb inside, past your teeth, and you took him in without hesitation. You swirled your tongue around the pad of his thumb, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the heat of his touch, all while your hips never stopped their desperate move against him.

Looking down at him through hooded eyes, you watched the way his expression fractured into desperate need as you sucked on him. And then, he slowly withdrew his thumb, replacing it with his index finger. You took it into your mouth without hesitation, swirling your tongue around it until he slid his middle finger too; you sucked on them greedily, letting the wet, slick sounds filling the space between your heavy breaths.

Just after a few moments of watching you, he pulled his glistening fingers from your lips. He didn't let the moisture go to waste; he dragged his damp fingers down the length of your throat, then over the swell of your breasts, the cool air hitting the wet trails he left behind. His hands eventually settled on your hips, digging in with a possessive strength that anchored you to him.

"You're so beautiful," he rasped. "Just perfect."

A deep blush crept up your neck as you smiled down at him, but the sweetness of the moment shifted into something more commanding as he began to nudge your hips upward, sliding you further up his body toward his chest.

"Grab the headboard," he ordered.

You obeyed instantly, eyes locked on his as you reached to grip the wood of the bedframe. Joel adjusted you, dragging your body exactly where he wanted you, before he shifted himself downward until you were positioned right above his face.

"Joel," you whispered, letting out a shy breathless nervous little laugh. "Whare are you doing?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he leaned in to press lingering, warm kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you down firmly, silently demanding that you sit heavier against him. Then, he reached for the edge of your underwear, hooking his fingers into the lace and sliding them to the side until you were completely bared to him.

Joel went still for a moment, his gaze intense as he took in the sight of you, wet and swollen just for him.

"Perfect," he murmured, his breath hitching as he stared. "Look at you... look how ready you are for me."

The sound of his voice sent a jolt straight to you. You could feel the warmth of his exhales puffing against your folds, making you ache.

You lowered one hand from the headboard and brushed the curls off his forehead.

“Just for you,” you whispered softly. “Only for you.”

Joel went still for a few seconds, his eyes locked on your face. Gently, he turned his head and pressed soft kisses to the inside of your thighs. Your hand sank a little deeper into his curls, feeling the anticipation build as his mouth moved closer and closer to where you needed him most.

And then, finally, Joel leaned forward and let his tongue touch you. It was a slow, agonizingly long stroke from the bottom to the very top. He started at a crawl, tasting you with a flat tongued pressure that made your hips buck instinctively. He followed the line of your body, swirling his tongue around your clit with a gentle teasing flick before burying his face against you to drink in the taste of you. Every lap was steady and unhurried, a masterpiece of patience that had you whimpering his name into the quiet morning air within seconds.

But he didn’t break the rhythm. If anything, your soft and broken whimpers only anchored him deeper between your thighs. His tongue continued its steady kiss, flattening against you to drag another slow soaking stroke from bottom to top.

You couldn't stay still. Your hips began to roll in a slow, desperate circle against his face, chasing the pressure of his mouth and trying to sink yourself fully onto him. And the moment you moved, Joel’s warm hands slid down from your hips, cupping the meat of your ass. His fingers dug into your flesh with a possessive soft grip, pinning you down and silently forcing you to take every bit of it.

It was dirty, the slick heavy sounds of his mouth eating you, but there was an overwhelming tenderness to the way he was doing it. His mouth was so hot, so incredibly wet; he swirled his tongue right over your swollen clit with a teasing flick that made your entire body shudder against his face.

"Joel—" your voice broke, a strained sound as your fingers white knuckled around the wooden headboard behind you.

He let out a low vibration of a growl against you and his thumbs pressed hard into your bottom, lifting your hips slightly just to angle you better for his tongue. He began to lap at you faster now, his patience clearly fracturing into something a little more desperate as he drank you in.

The heat inside you was coiling tight, pulling into a heavy ache right where his mouth was working. You were so close; the friction of his flat tongue and the hot puffs of his breath against your folds were pushing you straight over the edge. Instinctively, your spine snapped taut as you leaned back, your head falling back as your neck strained. One of your hands pressed against his stomach to steady yourself, your fingers splaying as the first waves of the climax began to tighten violently around your core, leaving you completely at the mercy of his mouth.

The moment you broke, you broke completely. You clamped down in violent, desperate pulses against his mouth, a sharp, choked cry tearing from your throat as you rode the peak. Your hand buried hard into his stomach, your fingers digging in as your hips bucked helplessly into his face, forcing him to take the thick, soaking heat of your climax. Joel didn't pull away; he held you there with that bruising grip on your ass, drinking you in, his tongue catching every heavy tremor until the ripples finally began to slow.

Your chest heaved, every breath a ragged, costly struggle that rattled in your throat. Slowly, the possessive tension in his hands softened. He let out a low, satisfied exhale against your wet skin, pressing one last, lingering kiss right over your swollen center to seal his work, before sliding his lips to your inner thigh. You shifted your hips back, letting out a weak whimper as the cool air hit the slick trail he left behind.

His large hands began a slow soothing path, stroking up and down the length of your trembling legs, before sliding over your hips to rest heavily at your waist. Joel tilted his head back against the mattress, wearing a breathless smirk on his lips as he looked up at you.

"You okay, honey?" he rasped, his voice rough and incredibly deep.

You managed a breathless smile, your hand leaving his stomach to wipe at your flushed cheek.

"Give me a second," you whispered, feeling your poor little heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs.

Joel let out a soft chuckle and you felt the sound against your thighs.

You bit your lip, tilting your head back for a moment as you tried to catch your breath, before carefully shifting your weight. You slid your knees backward, moving off his chest and unstraddling his face.

That’s when your eyes fell on his lap.

Even through the soft fabric of his pajama pants, his cock was tenting the material so fiercely it looked ridiculous. It was massive, a thick rigid ridge pointing straight up toward his torso.

A purring sound escaped you. Crawling back up his body, you leaned over him, pressing a slow kiss to his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hand drifted down the broad expanse of his chest, tracing a path down his flat stomach until your palm cupped the hard length of him right through the cloth.

"And are you okay, Mr. Miller?" you whispered against his wet lips, your fingers tightening around the thick shaft.

Joel's thighs parted instinctively at your touch and a low hiss escaped his teeth.

"Take everything off," you commanded.

Without wasting a single second, Joel pushed himself up onto his elbows. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pajamas and dragged them down his long legs, kicking them off the edge of the bed. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. He fell back against the pillows, completely bare, his chest rising and falling as you sat back on your heels and your gaze traced every inch of him.

Hooking your fingers into the lace of your underwear, you slid them down your thighs and tossed them carelessly to the floor before immediately moving over him again, knees framing his hips.

Looking down at him, you pooled a thick layer of saliva into your palm and shifted your hips slightly back to give yourself room, and wrapped your wet hand around the heavy head of his cock. You smeared the slick moisture over the crown before sliding your palm all the way down to the base.

Oh god.

He was stone hard, his shaft scorching hot and silky smooth under your wet grip. Along the side, a thick vein throbbed violently against your palm, pulsing with his heartbeat. You began to slowly stroke him, wearing a friction that coated his entire length in your spit, while you leaned slightly forward, teasingly rubbing him right against your soaking wet folds.

Joel’s eyes snapped shut and his head slammed back into the pillow; a deep groan ripped from the center of his chest, his jaw straining as your hand and your body drove him crazy.

Seeing him completely undone brought a wicked smile to your lips. You knew he was fighting with all his might not to grab you by the hips and sink into you right then and there. So while he stayed there, eyes closed and at your mercy, you guided his cock to your opening. You tilted your hips forward, aligning him perfectly, and began to sink down.

Slowly. Agonizingly slowly.

The sensation was so full of him, so intensely sweet, it made your vision blur. He stretched you completely wide, breaking you open millimeter by millimeter as you swallowed him inches at a time. Every internal muscle you had coiled up tight, wrapping around his thick pulsing width like a glove, gripping him impossibly close as you took him all the way in.

You froze, adjusting to the sheer size of him stretching you open from the inside, plugging you so completely that there wasn’t a single millimeter of empty space left between you. Joel let out a heavy, bottomless groan that seemed to echo from the pit of his stomach, his chest expanding as he took a ragged breath. And a long relieved sigh slipped past your lips; you leaned slightly forward, fixing your gaze on his face.

That was when his eyelids fluttered open and his dark eyes locked onto yours. Your expression instantly softened and your eyes filled with sugar and honey; unfiltered devotion as you took him in. His cheeks were flushed with heat, and his gaze was beautifully weighed down by the lingering remnants of the night; his eyelids were just a little heavy and swollen from sleep. His peppered hair was ruined, exploding in messy and wild peaks, little chaotic horns pointing in every direction where your fingers had gripped and tugged at the curls only minutes before.

And then, he smiled. His hands slid up from the mattress, tenderly stroking the curves of your hips and the smooth skin of your thighs. You smoothed your palms flat against his chest, caressing the warm skin as you began to lower your torso toward him, letting your hands slide up his chest until they wrapped around his shoulders. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his.

The moment your mouths met, Joel wrapped his arms around you, locking you against him with a squeeze at your waist. And then, he began to move.

He tilted his hips up, sliding out of you with agonizing slowness; he held himself there, teasing you for a suspended heartbeat, and then buried himself back inside you with one single, deep thrust.

You let out a muffled whimper straight into his mouth.

He pulled back again, dragging his cock nearly all the way out; paused for a agonizing second, and then rammed back in another sudden, deep thrust.

Another broken cry escaped you, but this time, the torturous pace was too much to bear.

Impatient and burning for a steady rhythm, you broke the kiss and pushed yourself up. Arching your spine, you planted your palms against Joel’s chest for leverage and took control.

You began to roll your hips in a slow tilt, rising up and sinking back down, feeling every ridge of him slide out and slide back in, filling you to the brim only to empty you again, over and over. But the slow torture was suffocating; the sheer hunger and raw need for more overtook you almost instantly.

Your pace quickened, your movements growing deeper, the friction escalating rapidly until the wet hard strike of your thighs crashing against his skin sounded loud and scandalous in the quiet room. Joel’s hands immediately clamped onto your ass, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips to help anchor your new found rhythm.

You looked down and completely melted into his gaze; his pupils had blown so wide his eyes looked entirely black, glittering with intense unvarnished lust, while a dark sudden flush crept rapidly up his neck and across his face.

Behind his head, the wooden headboard began to rattle, thudding against the wall with every frantic downstroke.

Overwhelmed by the sensation of him bottoming out inside you, you let your eyelids slide shut, throwing your head back into the morning air as you rode him.

Your hands stayed locked onto his chest, your fingers digging into his warm skin as you kept setting the pace, driving yourself down onto him with unyielding hunger. You were entirely in control, riding him with a desperate rhythm that had your head spinning from the delicious heat radiating from your core. Every single stroke was pure pleasure, a throbbing sensation that started deep between your thighs and rushed like wildfire all the way up your spine, leaving your skin tingling and your senses completely overwhelmed.

Joel was losing his mind beneath you too. His large hands clamped onto your hips, his thumbs digging into the bone to steady you, but he couldn't keep still. His hips began to roll upward, bucking his groin against yours with every stroke, using his own strength to shove his massive length as deep as it could go so you wouldn't have to work as hard for that agonizing depth.

"Ah... fuck," he whispered, a broken curse slipping past his lips. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his face strained, his neck completely flushed as he looked up at you through those beautiful eyes.

You looked straight down at him from your height, your chest heaving, refusing to break eye contact even as a ragged whimper tore from your throat. Joel stared back, his teeth grinding together.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice dropping into a whisper that was dripping with an overwhelming sweetness. "Taking every single inch... such a good girl. Ride it, baby, take whatever you want from me."

The adoring words sent a shiver through you, but before you could even gasp out his name, Joel’s right hand flew up from your hip.

Crack.

The sound of his palm striking the meat of your ass was loud and sharp in the quiet room.

A loud, shocked gasp ripped from your lungs, your hips freezing for a split second as the sudden, stinging heat of the slap bloomed across your skin. It didn't hurt; it was a delicious possessive claim that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight up your back, making your interior muscles squeeze around him in a tight desperate clench.

Joel’s eyes flared, a dark, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he felt you react. He immediately brought his hand down again, landing another stinging slap on the other cheek.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he growled. He squeezed your hips tight, tilting you perfectly before his hips bucked upward once more, burying himself to the absolute root. "Keep going, don't stop, just…"

"Joel, oh my God—please."

You leaned down, your face just inches from his. The stinging heat on your ass and the thick stretch inside you made you completely shameless.

"Look at what you do to me," you whimpered, right against his lips as you ground your hips down. "You're fucking me so good, Joel, I’m so full of you."

The effect was instantaneous; a deep crimson rushed up his neck, staining his cheeks as a tight, guttural sound ripped from his chest. His hands clamped onto your hips with a bruising desperate strength, and driven by his reaction, you shifted your weight, changing the angle. Instead of just the steady up and down, you began to move your hips forward and backward, sliding your slick warmth right against his root. The friction was so intense, so devastatingly good, that your eyes rolled back under your hooded lids.

Your body was boiling, sweat slicked and heavy, and you could feel him hitting every sensitive, swollen internal muscle with a terrifying precision.

"Tell me how it feels," Joel rasped, his voice breaking as he bucked his hips upward to meet your grinding slide, shoving himself deeper. "Let me hear you, baby. Tell me how good you take it."

"It's too much," you cried out, your voice fracturing into a desperate sob as you quickened the pace. "It feels so good, Joel... you feel so good."

"Yeah? You gonna come for me?"

You nodded.

He squeezed your hip, releasing your skin for a fleeting second before another sharp slap landed against your ass. A devastating desolate moan tore from your throat.

"Use your words, c'mon," he rasped, weak. "Let me hear it from that pretty mouth."

The headboard began to crash with violent erratic thuds against the wall as your movements turned frantic. Joel’s thumbs pressed hard into your bottom, helping you rock against him, his teeth bared as his own breath rattled in his chest.

"Joel, I'm gonna come," you gasped out desperately, your eyes snapping shut as a single bead of sweat rolled down the valley of your breasts.

Your fingers balled into tight fists against his chest, your nails instinctively scratching deep into his warm skin as the tension coiled into an intolerable knot. A moan tore from the absolute depths of your throat as the climax finally broke over you; your entire body shuddered, your legs trembling so violently that your rhythm shattered completely, leaving you helplessly riding the explosive waves.

As your strength gave out, you fell forward onto his chest like dead weight, your chest heaving against his. But Joel didn't let you rest. His grip on your ass never loosened; he simply took the control you could no longer maintain.

Shoving his hips up with a raw, relentless hunger, he began to move your limp trembling body to his own liking; driving you up and down his thick cock while you buried your face into the crook of his neck, letting out helpless, broken whimpers and wet sobs against his heated skin.

He was moving you however he wanted, penetrating you hard and incredibly deep, his own breathing fracturing as his groans grew louder, sounding more and more desperate with every heavy thrust that bottomed out inside your soaking warmth.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned into your skin, as he felt your interior muscles pulsing around him in the aftershock. "You're squeezing me to death, baby... I'm right there."

Desperate for the taste of him, you forced your torso up just enough to find his mouth, capturing his lips in a messy kiss. Joel met you instantly, his hands sliding up your back, wrapping his heavy arms around you with crushing strength to lock you tight against his chest. He was fucking you like an animal now, his hips snapping upward in a fast, brutal way that had you gasping for air against his tongue.

You wanted it so badly—you wanted him to fill you completely to the brim, to release everything inside you and feel his thick cock pulsing against your interior walls as he came, wanting him to stay buried deep inside you long after it was over.

But the explosion caught Joel by surprise.

Just as he reached his peak, a rough almost pained groan ripped from his throat. He abruptly tore his mouth from yours, his eyes flying wide with a wild dark light, and before you could even realize what was happening, his hands flew down to your hips, his fingers dig in with an iron grip, and he lifted your body up and off him.

His thick cock snapped out of your tight cunt just as he broke.

"Fuck—!" Joel choked out.

Without the tight seal of your body, his release shot high and heavy thick white ropes splattering across the lower part of your thighs. He stayed frozen beneath you for a few seconds, his chest heaving violently, his hands still trembling where they held your hips.

Your eyes scanned his entire face; his closed eyelids, flushed cheeks, lips swollen from your kisses, and the thin sheen of sweat coating his skin.

You reached a hand to his cheek, holding him still just long enough to press a kiss against his jawline. Smiling softly as he blinked his eyes open and locked them onto yours, you spoke.

"You okay, honey?"

Joel huffed a laugh, his hand sliding up your back. His palm was sweaty, matching the curve of your spine and likely the rest of your bodies. It was a gorgeous disaster.

You rested your head in the notch of his neck.

The heat in your body lingered for about ten more minutes. While Joel got out of bed to grab something to clean you up, you lay face down in the open air, feeling the sun on your skin. It was warm and comfortable, lying there naked in the sunlight on top of his sheets, but the moment your body temperature began to drop back to normal, the chill returned.

Your body was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but at the same time, you felt sweaty and sticky. That was why, when Joel came back and climbed into bed with you, you resisted a little as he tried to pull you back under the covers.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Can I take a shower?"

He gave a lopsided smile, his eyelids heavy with sleep. He stretched his arms over his head and rested one hand against his forehead. "Sure. Right now?"

"I won't be long," you said, starting to get out of bed. You felt a sudden wave of shyness being completely exposed, so you yanked the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around your body.

Joel laughed. "Hey, what're you doin'?"

Walking toward the bathroom, you looked back at him. "I'm naked!"

"Nothin' I haven't seen before, from every angle."

You pressed your palm against the door and started to push it open, but not before looking back at him one last time.

"Yeah, through the lens of lust!"

You rolled your eyes and stepped into the bathroom, feeling the cold floor beneath your bare feet. Unwrapping the sheet from your body, you carefully folded it in half and hung it on the hook behind the door. Then, you leaned half your body into the shower to turn on the water, adjusting it to the perfect temperature to take the chill out of your hands and feet.

Once you were fully inside with the hot water cascading over your head, you let your sore muscles relax. Your thighs and hips burned a little, and your abs felt pretty tender too. That was a hell of a workout you’d just had with Joel; you knew it was going to hurt a bit more in a few hours.

You washed up at your own pace, cleaning your neck, legs, thighs, back, arms, shoulders and everything. You ran your fingers through your hair and over your scalp, breathing in the scent of the shampoo you always smelled on him. You were just washing your face when the bathroom door opened.

You heard a few short steps approaching the shower, and a second later, the curtain was drawn back.

Joel’s face appeared through the steam. "Need a shower too."

You smiled. "Okay, come on in. I was just about to get out."

He slid the curtain open further and stepped carefully onto the wet floor. Moving forward, he walked right under the stream of water, trapping you against the wall. The cool metal handles pressed softly against the skin of your lower back.

Joel looked down and closed his eyes, water dripping from the wet strands of hair on his forehead straight onto your face. He shook his head, sending a spray of droplets over you.

Laughing, you lifted both hands and placed them over his brow. He smiled, and for a split second, you swore he looked completely different; a light transparent smile that brightened his entire face appeared on his lips. But a second later, your focus shifted to the bruises on his cheek, the cut on his forehead, and down toward his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Joel had plenty of old scars there, but your eyes lingered on the fresh bruises, the scrapes along his ribs. It looked like it had to hurt.

Carefully, you reached out and grabbed the soap and the soft sponge next to it, working it between your hands until you had a good lather before you began to clean and massage his shoulders.

"You know," you started, running your palms over his collarbones, "if you wanted to shower with me, all you had to do was ask."

Joel closed his eyes. "Was fallin' asleep. But I got cold cause you stole my sheet."

"What about your comforter?"

"It's on the floor. But I was cold, and I heard the water, and I got tempted."

You moved your hands down his stomach.

"Mhm. Your skin is really soft."

Joel’s hands settled on your waist. "You think so?"

"Yeah. Which is funny," you said, gently touching just below his ribs, "because you wouldn't think so. Your hands are rough, but everywhere else is soft."

He opened his eyes. "They feel rough when I touch you?"

"Not really. They just feel… warm."

"Hmm."

Your hand settled over the bruise on his ribs. For a second, you remembered sinking your fingers into that exact spot just a few minutes ago.

"Does it hurt a lot? Did it hurt earlier?"

Joel shook his head. "Didn't feel it then. But it hurts now, that's for sure."

You crinkled your nose. "I'm sorry."

"No, ain't your fault. It's been hurtin' since before. Always hurts worse after the body relaxes."

"That's true," you said, sliding your hands back up to his shoulders. "You know what? I'm gonna go grab those oils I brought you. When you get out, I'll give you a massage."

Carefully, you nudged Joel aside a bit and squeezed past him. He turned toward you, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he let the hot water wash down his back.

He sighed. "You're gonna turn me into a puddle."

Smiling and feeling a sudden wave of tenderness for how exhausted he looked, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him for just a moment, pressing a delicate fleeting kiss to his chest. His hand slid up to the nape of your neck, his thumb resting just under your jawline to tilt your face up. There, beneath the falling water, he gave you a brief kiss on the lips.

A minute later, you reluctantly stepped out of the hot shower. But it had to be done. You knew that if you stayed in there with Joel, you’d both end up leaving the bathroom at the same time, and by the time you finished getting dressed, he’d already be completely passed out on the mattress.

You found the t-shirt of his you’d slept in tossed to the side of the bed, along with your underwear, and changed while you listened to the shower still running. After drying your hair the best you could, you slipped back into the bathroom to run a comb through it. Joel was just stepping out of the shower as you headed downstairs.

The morning sun was pouring bright through the kitchen windows, and the early air carried that delicious fresh scent you loved. You took in the view through the glass for a quiet moment before grabbing the oils, then poured yourself a massive glass of water, drinking it down as if you’d spent days stranded in a desert. You poured a fresh glass for Joel and made your way back upstairs.

When you walked into the bedroom, he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing his pajama pants. He’d gone ahead and changed the sheets for clean ones, and the comforter was no longer crumpled on the floor.

"Here," you said, holding the glass of water out to him.

He took it immediately, murmuring a soft "'Thank you" before draining the whole thing.

"You ready?"

He furrowed his brow. "For what?"

You smiled, climbing onto the mattress. "Lay down."

He eased himself down onto his back, and you settled in right beside him. Opening the small bottle of heartleaf arnica oil, you poured a tiny amount into the palm of your hand.

"Just a little bit of this, you'll see," you murmured, rubbing your palms together to warm it up. "You're gonna feel much better."

You gently began to work the oil into the bruised and battered parts of his chest and ribs, taking extra care around a few open scratches. You kept your touch light near those spots, massaging the skin around the scrapes to make sure you didn't press on anything that might sting. Joel let out a sharp breath just once, right as your hand passed near his breastbone. When you paused to ask if he was okay, he muttered:

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it."

You smoothed your flat palm over the spot, barely applying any pressure at all.

"Okay, roll over."

He complied right away, letting out a soft groan as he turned over. You repeated the whole routine, pouring a bit more oil into your palms and working your way across his entire back, focusing heavily on his lower lumbar area. You’d noticed that was the spot he reached for most often whenever he sat down or moved a certain way; a familiar ache you felt yourself from time to time. And as you worked out the tension, you knew you were doing something right; Joel was making soft relaxed sounds he probably didn't even realize he was letting slip.

Next, you focused on his shoulder blades and shoulders, applying a bit of steady pressure with your thumbs. That was right when you caught the first faint sound of him snoring. Your movements softened into a light soothing touch, until you finally decided he was out for the count and that you were getting pretty sleepy yourself.

You tucked the bottle of oil back into its small pouch and left it on the nightstand, where the little clock caught your eye: 8:23 AM.

So many more hours left to sleep. You had absolutely nothing to do all morning but rest, and Joel’s bed looked so incredibly comfortable and warm, like a field of clouds.

You snuggled in right beside him, pulling the covers up over both of your bodies. Stretching your arms up over your head, you let out a long yawn, and a minute later, you drifted peacefully back to sleep: utterly exhausted, perfectly comfortable, and completely relaxed.

Still morning, close to noon.

It was a place you didn't recognize. Cold, with tall dark canopied trees that blotted out the meager light in the pale grayish sky. Ruins surrounded you; broken walls eaten away by a pervasive dampness that claimed everything, with green moldy vines bleeding into the old cracks.

Your heart hammered violently as your legs moved with frantic speed, trying not to trip over the clutter covering the ground. Rubble, branches, old trinkets, and fragments of machinery that looked like computers or something similar; you couldn't fully tell. You didn't really know what to do, only that you had to run and run and run, because something terrible was happening.

You could feel that sensation in your chest, that painful hollow that nothing can fill once it's already too late. Your bare arms were freezing, just like your cold neck and cheeks. Your entire body felt numb, and no matter how hard you ran and ran, you couldn't seem to make headway fast enough.

No, just the opposite. Your body could barely move, and you wanted to scream with all your might. But you couldn't stop, because you could hear it the entire time: thuds, noises, voices laughing and suffering. Louder and louder and louder, your legs straining until every muscle synthetic ached, until your body plunged forward and your palms struck the splintered ground.

You scrambled up, getting back on your feet however you could, and plunged into the dark room where the sounds and noise were coming from. A hallway to the right; you ran more, and more, and more, and more into the pitch black, letting yourself be guided solely by the small rings of light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling, until at the very end of the hall, your aching bloody hands slammed open the door and—

"No!"

A gut-wrenching scream tore from your throat like dozens of thorns piercing you from the inside out.

Men —so many men, you couldn't tell how many, only that there were man— filled the room, their faces hidden behind black cloth, and right in the middle of them lay Joel, unconscious.

No, not unconscious. Dead. His face was covered in blood, his clothes soaked through with it, and a massive wound tore through the flesh of his neck. Beneath him, a pool of blood expanded outward, swallowing up more and more of the old wooden floor, quickly reaching all the way to your feet.

You fell backward, unable to stand, and the pooling blood reached your scraped palms, his blood mixing with yours inside your trembling fists.

"No, no, no, no… Joel …" your shaky voice repeated, trying to get a better look at him, trying to reach him, but your knees kept slipping, and so did your hands and elbows. You couldn't…

You couldn't.

"Hey, hey, wake up."

A hand nudged your shoulder, rolling you over at the exact moment your eyes flew open and locked onto the ceiling.

"Hey, you're okay. You're okay."

You snapped your head toward him. Joel was sitting up, leaning his body over yours, his hand resting gently against your cheek.

You were in his room.

"Joel."

"It's okay. Breathe."

A shaky breath hitched in your throat. Your cheeks were soaked, and your chest physically ached.

He lay back down beside you and pulled you close. You buried your face into the notch of his neck, clinging to his body like a frightened helpless creature while a few lingering tears continued to track silently down your cheeks.

His arms wrapped tightly around you, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"What happened?" he murmured, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

You closed your eyes, not wanting to talk about it.

Your hand drifted up his chest. "Nothing. Just a nightmare."

He squeezed you a little tighter against him. "You said my name. Scared me, thought it was somethin' else."

You opened your eyes and tilted your head back slightly, looking into his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't go apologizin'. It's okay."

You tucked your face back into the notch of his neck, feeling your heart still hammering away, erratic and loud against your ribs.

"What time is it?" you asked.

He shifted slightly to check the clock, then quickly settled right back into place.

"Ten to eleven."

"Mhm. We should get up."

"You hungry?"

You nodded. "Starving. You?"

"My stomach was growlin' a little bit ago."

You let out a soft laugh, noticing how the sunlight was no longer focused right on the bed, but had spread out to wash evenly over the entire room.

He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Five more minutes. How's that sound?"

You pursed your lips. "Sounds good to me."

Joel's kitchen. Noon & afternoon.

Concerned that you’d get cold wearing nothing but a t-shirt, Joel insisted you put on a pair of pajama pants from his closet. They were huge, but they had a drawstring at the waist that let you tie them tight enough to fit. Then, he handed you a fresh warm pair of cotton socks.

Today was noticeably colder than yesterday. You could feel a crisp breeze drifting through the open kitchen window while he made breakfast (or was it lunch?) and you sipped a hot cup of coffee, sketching out a list of prep work for school. Joel was frying up bacon and scrambling eggs, having just dropped some bread into the toaster less than a minute ago. The kitchen smelled incredible.

On the notepad resting on the kitchen island, you had a brief breakdown of the material for the first few weeks, along with your reading plan and curriculum for the kids.

Classic fables. The Jackson library and the homes of a few townspeople held a solid collection of all kinds of stories, mostly the foundational ones. You figured it was the perfect starting point for the first group, who were right around five to seven years old. They had been born entirely into a different world, and you believed literature could provide a safe haven for them; a good way to spark their imaginations and give them the words to express them.

The morals could be incredibly useful, too. Lessons on survival, cooperation, cleverness, and above all, fear. As a community, Jackson felt like a safe place, but these kids had fear woven right into their DNA. Many of them had witnessed terrible things before arriving here, and many others had never set foot outside the walls. Fear was deeply rooted in both perspectives.

"And what're you gonna do about the books? Ain't exactly a lot of copies lyin' around," Joel asked, looking over at you for a moment as he pulled the toast from the toaster.

"Well, some of them don't know how to read yet. I'll read aloud to them. It's great for building listening skills," you smiled, "and really fun too. And if the stories aren't too long, we can make handwritten copies. I already talked to a couple of people who volunteered to help transcribe."

"That's great," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah. What about you? Would you like to help?"

Joel looked up at the ceiling, his mouth dropping open slightly. "Uh… I—I mean, sure. My handwriting's awful, though."

"That's not true. You have nice handwriting, it's perfectly legible."

"You think so?"

"I do. Besides, the copies need to be written in block capital letters," you said, looking down at your notepad to jot something else down. "I was also thinking it would be a cute idea if every kid brought in an object, and we came up with a story for each one. What do you think? Think that'd be fun?"

"Somethin' like, if a kid brings in a teddy bear, you make up a story for it?"

You nodded.

"Yeah," he replied. "That'd be fun. Mostly 'cause I imagine they're gonna show up with all kinds of strange objects."

You laughed. "Yeah, just imagine the possibilities."

Joel began removing the bacon from the skillet, placing it on each plate alongside the eggs, before grabbing another dish for the toast.

"And what about the older kids?" he asked, setting one plate down in front of you and the other right beside it. You murmured a soft Thank you. "Fables for them, too?"

"Oh, no. I have much bigger plans for the older kids," you said, raising your eyebrows.

Joel gave a lopsided smile and went to grab the toast, placing it in the center of the island before turning toward the fridge. "Is that so? Like what?"

A spark of excitement flared in your chest. While you were looking forward to working with the little ones, you knew the pre-teens and teenagers in Jackson were going to make for a much more interesting group when it came to discussions and deeper perspectives.

"Well, we're gonna read books too, but I was thinking it'd be a great idea to introduce the concept of diaries and chronicles. There are three copies of The Diary of Anne Frank and a few about the Lewis and Clark Expedition. They also brought in The Giver and Frindle. I think it's a good way for kids to learn a little more about what the world used to be like. Have you ever read that one? Frindle?"

Joel smiled faintly, pulling a tub of butter from the fridge and shutting the door.

"Yeah. Sarah liked Frindle."

It took you a moment to find your voice after that.

"Oh."

He sat down next to you, letting out a quiet sigh as he settled in.

"Called pens Frindle for a whole year," he added, shifting his gaze over to you. "I think it's a good idea."

You smiled. "Thank you."

"What else?" He reached out and grabbed the butter knife, digging it into the tub to scoop out a generous amount.

"Maybe they could write their own chronicles? Or diaries, just as an exercise. And they wouldn't necessarily have to read them aloud or show anyone," you said, lifting your mug to take a sip of coffee. "But it might be a nice way for them to express themselves or blow off steam, as long as it's not hurting them, of course."

"Think they'll all want to do it?"

You smiled and shook your head. "I doubt it. I don't know."

Joel hummed, bringing his mug to his lips.

You popped a piece of bacon into your mouth, and it was so delicious your eyes nearly closed. You tried the eggs right after. Then, after a moment of savoring, swallowing, and giving yourself a little more time to think, you asked:

"You think they'll like me?"

Joel had his mouth full and raised his eyebrows at the question. While you waited for him to finish chewing, you took a bite of toast.

"They're gonna love ya," he said finally.

"And how are you so sure? Teenagers can be..." Your eyes drifted up the walls and across the ceiling before landing back on him. "They can be complicated. And these kids, these kids have been through things. Maybe I show up with diaries and chronicles, and they just think, 'Who does this nobody think she is and what the hell is she doing'?"

He huffed a laugh. "Don't go lettin' them walk all over you. Let them know you're the one in charge."

"Okay, and how do I do that without being bossy in the process?"

"You gotta be bossy, but that don't mean you can't still be nice to them. You can pull it off, I've seen it," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Saw you orderin' the guys around on some of the construction sites before. Even me."

You furrowed your brow. "I am not bossy."

"Yes," he said, looking right at you, "yes, you are."

You frowned. "I'm—"

"And when you're in a bad mood?" He brought his mug to his lips and rolled his eyes.

Your eyebrows shot up in pure disbelief, your lips twitched into a tight smile.

"Excuse me?" You tilted your head. "And you're the one telling me this, Mr. Uncle Grumpy?"

Joel smiled and shook his head.

"That's literally what Benji calls you, isn't it?"

"That don't change a thing," he grumbled, furrowing his brow. "You are what you are. Might as well make use of it."

"Oh," you nodded, "okaay. I will. But don't you go complaining later."

He poked his fork into the eggs and brought them to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Ain't complainin'," he said.

You ducked your head, hiding a smile.

Joel and you ate in comfortable silence for a while, occasionally making notes and chatting about your lesson plans.

The whole thing excited you for different reasons. The little ones had you looking forward to it because you just liked little kids in general; they were adorable and sweet, and their minds came up with a hundred interesting things. That was why you’d loved chatting with Sophie when she was that small; the conversations were always unpredictable and fun, and her imagination was endless. But of course, you’d always made a point to show her all kinds of books and stories, so she had a rich source of inspiration. You didn't know what some of the kids here would be like, or how much they’d interacted with the world, but you were eager to find out and, if possible, be useful to them.

The teenagers were a different story, since you hadn't had much contact with kids that age. But it was just as exciting, and you wouldn't hesitate to ask for help if you needed it. You had no intention of pushing past their personal boundaries and you kept a firm reminder in your mind to be careful with everything you wanted to teach them.

Overall, it was exciting.

After eating, you cleared the table and washed the dishes even though Joel insisted you shouldn't. And while you were doing that, he stepped out through the kitchen's back door, returning a few minutes later.

"Ellie's not out there," he said as he walked back in. "Don't know what she's up to these days."

The moody tone in his voice made you look up immediately. You were drying your hands with a dish towel as you turned around to face him.

"Have you asked her?"

He sighed. "She ain't exactly talkative lately."

"Well, I've seen her around with Dina," you said, resting both palms against the counter. "Just hanging out, nothing weird. They spend a lot of time together, maybe she's with her."

He nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "Keep an eye on her if you can, alright? She really likes you. Maybe... maybe she'd rather talk to you than me, about certain things, you know."

You nodded. "Of course, I will."

He ran a hand over the back of his neck and you watched him hesitate for a second before he moved toward the fridge and pulled it open. He took out a glass bottle about half filled with water and grabbed a clean glass from the drying rack.

You checked the clock on the wall, mounted right above the window next to the table. It was already a little past noon.

It was probably about time for you to head out, wasn't it? You didn't want to overstay your welcome, and you doubted Joel would ever be the type to tell you to leave. So, pushing yourself away from the counter, you walked to the other side of the room and stretched your arms behind your back.

"I think I should probably get going."

Joel turned toward you, the glass of water still at his lips. He swallowed and set it down carefully on the counter.

"Yeah? You got somewhere to be?"

You mentally scrolled through your imaginary schedule: no, you had absolutely nothing to do.

"Uh, not really."

He nodded and pursed his lips, shifting them to one side. "We could watch a movie if you want."

The offer caught you off guard, and it was briefly reflected in the few seconds it took you to answer.

"A movie?"

"Yeah," he said, stepping away from the counter and taking a few paces toward you. "Got a decent collection, if you wanna pick one out."

You smiled, lacing your fingers together behind your back. "I get to choose?"

"I'll give you some recommendations," he said, ducking his head slightly, "but yeah, you get to choose."

Joel's living room. A couple minutes later.

In Joel’s living room, tucked beneath the TV stand, were two players: one DVD and one VHS, both functioning and in perfect condition. Right below them were two small cabinet doors, and when you opened them, there was his collection.

His DVD collection was smaller than his stash of VHS tapes, but that didn't mean it was small by any means. Discs were harder to keep intact over time; most of the ones out there in the world were scratched or cracked, but Joel had stumbled upon a massive stash of DVDs in mint condition at an apartment complex near Jackson a while back. Good Will Hunting, Magnolia, Drop Dead Gorgeous, Seven, Wayne's World, Thelma & Louise, Fargo, Pretty Woman, The Green Mile… and more. There were so many options it was hard to choose. A lot of them you’d never even seen. Most of them, in fact. So, you asked him to give you a quick rundown of each one and which he thought was best for right now. He suggested The Truman Show and Pretty Woman.

"It's got romance and all that," he said, sitting on the couch as he held up the plastic case of his second suggestion, using the romance angle as his main selling point.

You inevitably remembered his harsh words about romantic comedies from many, many weeks ago.

"From the first damn second I saw you," he continued, "half-dead out there in the snow—I felt sorry for you. Everythin' I've done since then's been outta pity. That's all it was. I can't even look at you without thinkin' you're broken. And it makes me sick."

Your throat tightened, something forming behind your eyes. You blinked, hard, and swallowed down the heat rising in your chest.

"If that's what you think, then—"

"And that night? That was a mistake. A fuckin' embarrassment. I hate thinkin' about it. It won't happen again."

"Good. I hated it."

Joel looked at you, jaw clenched, eyes sharp.

"Yeah. Good for you. Cause this ain't one of those fuckin' pathetic romantic comedies you like so much. So give it up."

You took the movie from his hands and looked at the cover, running your thumb over Julia Roberts' face.

"We can watch something else if you want."

Joel’s eyes scanned your face. "No, it's fine. I think you're gonna like this one."

"You sure?" You gave a slow, lopsided smile. "Isn't it just another pathetic romantic comedy?"

His brow furrowed in a confused look, mixed with a faint smile. "What?"

A beat. You sighed.

"A while ago, after what happened at my place that first time, remember? You said this wasn't like one of those pathetic romantic comedies I like."

The expression on Joel’s face began to soften piece by piece, his furrowed brow relaxing as the memory clearly came back to him.

"Right," he said, ducking his head a little. He laced his fingers together for a moment, looking down at his hands for a second before looking back up at you. "I said that, huh?"

You nodded, pursing your lips slightly. "Yeah. You said a lot of things."

He looked at you in silence.

"Can I ask you a question?" you asked after a moment.

"I don't think romantic comedies are pathetic."

"Don't worry about it," you smiled.

"It was mean. I'm sorry. I know you and Sophie liked 'em."

Your eyes locked onto his in complete silence. He looked genuinely ashamed.

"It's okay. And I know we talked about this, but," you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, "did you really mean it? What you said that day? Be honest."

Joel leaned back a bit and looked toward the coffee table, where several DVDs were piled up.

Maybe, maybe he didn't even remember it.

"Did you feel sorry for me?" you prompted him. "You said that every time you looked at me, you just thought I was broken and—"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't feel sorry for you, and I didn't back then, either."

A tight pressure gripped your chest. He looked back up at you.

"I needed to push you away," he confessed.

A beat.

"I know that. But… why?"

His eyebrows twitched. His eyes dropped down to your lap for a brief moment before tracing back up to your face.

"Because I ain't like this. Snow, I," he shook his head, "I don't do this. Not in a long time, I… For me, this is, this is new. That night at your place, things got out of hand pretty quick. I lost control."

You sat up a little straighter, your mind parsing through everything that had happened between you over the last few months.

You knew he wanted to keep his distance; you knew he had a tendency to shut down. But you had never considered it was about physical intimacy. It hadn't even crossed your mind that that would be an issue for him. He certainly hadn't made it seem like one.

"There wasn't anyone else before?" you asked. "I mean, in these last few years."

He squeezed one hand with the other, his brow furrowing slightly.

Yeah. There had been. He didn't have to say it out loud; you could read it plain as day in his body language.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me."

Joel bit his lower lip, a rare hint of nerves, and watched you as you shifted further back into the couch until your spine met the cushions.

He hesitated for a moment, and you instantly resented yourself for throwing out such a blunt question without thinking it through.

"Tess," he said.

You froze. Tess. You turned the name over in your mind. Speaking felt risky right now.

"She was by my side for a long time, before I came to Jackson," he continued, keeping his eyes away from yours. "But it wasn't like this."

"How do you mean?"

He looked up at you. "Don't know. It was... We kept each other company for a lot of years, did a lot of things where we used to live. They weren't necessarily good things, but they were what was needed."

"Where did you live before?"

"Boston."

"Oh, right."

He rubbed his hands together, a nervous habit. "Yeah. Anyway."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you something like that."

Joel gave a gentle shake of his head. "It's alright. Don't worry about it."

You dropped your gaze to your hands. "Well, if it's worth anything, this is all pretty new and strange for me, too. I've never really done this with anyone before. Not like this."

"And what're you thinkin' so far?"

You smiled little by little, lifting your eyes to meet his. "It's been pretty nice."

Joel nodded, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he reached out and took the Pretty Woman DVD case from your lap. He held it up next to his face.

"We're watchin' this one."

Unable to help yourself, you grinned and slid over toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his. Joel seemed caught off guard for a fraction of a second, but his arms came around you immediately, pulling you flush against his chest.

You weren't going to tell him, but that tiny glimpse into his past meant everything to you. You knew he wasn't one for big words, and you knew how hard it was for him to open up about certain things, but he had done it in his own way, and that meant so much.

"Want somethin' hot to drink?" he murmured against your lips.

You hummed. "Yeah."

"Tea or coffee?"

You thought about it for a second. "Whatever you're having."

The sun poured warm and bright into Joel’s living room, even with the curtains drawn. At least with the fabric blocking the glare, the harsh rays weren't striking you directly.

It wasn't even two in the afternoon yet. Resting on the coffee table in the center of the room were your two empty coffee mugs and a plate scattered with crumbs from the blueberry pie you’d brought over yesterday, which you’d both finished off a little while ago.

With your stomach full and the quiet peace of the early afternoon settling in, your eyelids were growing heavier by the minute, even though you’d already slept for hours last night and earlier this morning. It didn't help that Joel was right there beside you; you were tucked into his side, wedged comfortably between the back of the couch and his outstretched body, your head resting on his chest while your eyes stayed glued to the TV screen.

You could tell he’d been drifting in and out of sleep because the second you asked a question or made a comment, he’d snap awake to answer before instantly passing out again.

"She is so gorgeous," you murmured at one point, watching Vivian appear on screen in that stunning red dress with the white gloves and her hair elegantly pinned up.

Joel’s eyes flew open. He stared blankly at the screen for a split second and muttered:

"Yeah."

A second later, his breathing went heavy again. He was already fast asleep.

By the time the movie neared its final act, you had formed a definitive opinion on it: you absolutely loved it. You deeply envied anyone who had gotten to live out their adulthood during that era. You would have loved to see a movie like this in a real theater, to let Vivian inspire you in a few ways; her hairstyles, maybe, or that radiant smile. Or maybe you'd have gone out to find your very own Richard Gere. Then again, right now you had a handsome older man of your own right beneath you. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Carefully, you slipped off the couch, trying not to disturb Joel, and walked over to the TV to take out the DVD. You tucked it back into its case and left it on the coffee table, where the other stacked discs caught your eye.

Inevitably, you ended up sliding another one into the player. The Bourne Identity. A man who can't remember who he is but possesses a lot of inexplicable skills. It caught your attention simply because it sounded interesting, and you remembered having a crush on Matt Damon back when you were little and your dad used to watch movies in the living room.

You took the disc out of its case, popped it into the player, and the moment the movie started, you hurried right back to your spot next to Joel, being careful not to press too hard against his chest or any of his sore spots.

As you rested your face against his chest, your eyes locked onto his neck, just inches from your face. He had that prominent mark running around his throat, purple and slightly greenish at the edges; the clear evidence of an act of violence you didn't even want to picture. It looked like exactly what it was: someone had bound him, choked him, or tried to do something worse.

Yesterday, the mark had been much more vivid, and while it still looked bad, it had softened just a fraction.

You let out a quiet sigh, your eyes continuing to trace his face and the marks left behind while Joel remained fast asleep. His breathing was steady, his chest rising and falling in total relaxation, while a hundred different thoughts and questions raced through your mind. Above all, you wondered: what on earth had happened to him in Ridgeway?

It wasn't like you were going to ask him, and it wasn't like he was going to tell you, but just thinking about it brought a dull ache to your chest.

Instinctively, you draped your arm across his chest, holding him gently as you closed your eyes.

The movie was barely ten minutes in when you drifted off to sleep.

A nap later

At some point in the afternoon, a few knocks at the door jolted you out of your comfortable nap.

Joel woke up instantly, and the sudden movement of his body jolted you awake too. You were still draped over him with your arm resting across his stomach, but you quickly pulled back as the knocking came a second time. The TV was still on, but the movie had already finished and the main menu had been looping for God knows how long.

Joel rubbed his face with one hand, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before he began to sit up.

"What time is it?" he asked, his eyes half-lidded and covered with sleep.

"I don't know."

He sat on the edge of the couch and looked back at you. His hair was a bit messy, his eyes glossy, and a faint smirk lingered on his lips as he stood up with a quiet groan.

"Be right back."

Lying back down, you watched him walk away and stretched your arms over your head. Then, you sat up on the cushions and grabbed the remote, muting the TV and leaning back to stretch your body one more time.

From where you sat, you heard Joel walk to the door and swing it open.

Were you even supposed to be here? Should you hide? Was he going to let whoever it was inside?

You didn't know. You weren't sure how careful you both needed to be with all of this; you’d never stayed over at his place for this long before. You’d already had that slightly awkward encounter with Ellie a while back, though of course, that was different. Joel trusted her, and you trusted her, too.

"Emily." Joel’s voice sounded flat and tinged with surprise as he said her name. You froze on the couch.

"Hey. Sorry, were you sleeping?"

"Uh—"

"I came by earlier this morning but I figured you were sleeping then, too. Just came to drop this off."

Footsteps, a few of them. Emily stepped inside the house. You pressed yourself harder against the back of the couch, though it was mostly pointless; it was positioned right in front of the archway separating the living room and the hallway.

"You didn't have to do that," Joel said. "Here, I'll take it."

Quick, get up and move to the other corner.

You shifted immediately and the hardwood gave a slight creak beneath your feet.

Emily laughed. "No, it's fine—Oh."

Her laugh stopped short.

You looked up toward the hallway, feeling a sudden wave of heat rush up your spine to the back of your neck and your cheeks, feeling completely exposed for a split second. She was looking at you.

And just like that, the cozy safe bubble you’d been sharing with Joel since last night had been abruptly shattered by the eyes of an outsider. Well, not an outsider. Emily. She stood there frozen, holding a glass baking dish with a white plastic lid. Inside, you assumed, was food. Obviously.

Standing entirely still, you became painfully aware that you probably looked like a creature caught red-handed; wearing Joel's t-shirt, Joel's pants, Joel's socks...

Not that she explicitly knew they belonged to him, but she could easily piece it together seeing how everything was completely oversized on you. And either way, everyone knew what pajamas looked like, or what someone looked like when they'd just rolled out of bed.

"Snow," she said, her smile turning tight. Her eyes scanned down and up your body, flicked over to the paused TV screen, and then landed right back on you.

Beside her, Joel stood just as still and caught red-handed as you were, wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants with no underwear underneath.

But Emily didn't know that. You did.

"Hi," you said, smiling like an idiot. You crossed your arms over your chest to cover yourself up.

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to find any useful words.

Turning back to Joel, she held out the dish. "Anyway, this is for you. And Maria said you can take tomorrow off too, if you want."

Joel’s eyes were fixed on you. He took the dish from her. "No, it's fine. I'll be there."

"Alright," Emily said, nodding as she stepped past Joel toward the front door. "Well, see you tomorrow." She glanced back at you, lifting her hand in a brief wave. "Bye, Snow."

"Bye, Emily."

She gave a faint smile and, in less than three seconds, turned and walked out the door. She left Joel standing in the middle of the hallway clutching the baking dish, and you, standing in the middle of the living room with your arms tightly crossed and an expression you weren't even sure how to label.

You looked over at Joel as a nervous, slightly baffled smile began to tug at your lips.

He raised his eyebrows. "Didn't know she was comin' by."

"Yeah, no shit," you said, shaking your head. "She saw me like this."

Joel’s eyes drifted down your body before he shrugged a single shoulder, completely dismissing your worried tone.

"She ain't gonna say nothin'."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and started walking toward the kitchen. Your mouth dropped open at the sight of him, and you followed right behind without a second thought.

"How do you know that?"

"Ain't none of her business."

You huffed a laugh. "And?"

"Eh, I don't think Emily's the type to go gossiping around."

Once inside the kitchen, he set the baking dish down on the counter.

You stopped right beside him. "Oh, because you know her so well."

Joel tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, as if to say of course I do.

You felt your cheeks flare up again. "And now she's bringing you food?"

Joel hummed.

You furrowed your brow. "Does she always just walk in like it's nothing? I could have been naked or something."

He snorted a laugh. "Naked, huh?"

"You know perfectly well that was a possibility."

"Yeah, well," he dipped his head, "good thing you weren't."

Without blinking, you stared him down and crossed your arms tightly over your chest.

"Yeah, lucky us," you said, pressing your lips together. "Next time, tell her it's rude to just barge into a house that isn't hers. Unless you don't mind it, of course."

"It's the first time she's ever come by here."

You raised your eyebrows in pure disbelief. "Worse then."

Joel laughed softly and leaned both palms against the counter. He shook his head gently, his eyes bright with amusement, and asked:

"You don't like her, then?"

You clenched your jaw slightly before forcing yourself to relax, letting out a sigh as your gaze drifted down toward the fridge and the magnets on it. Your eyes lingered on the photo of Joel.

Uh-uh. "No. No, I don't."

"No? Why not?"

You shrugged a shoulder and looked back at him. "I don't know. I know she isn't mean or anything, I just don't like the way she deals with people."

Joel furrowed his brow. "How's that?"

You searched your mind for the right words, but the only ones you could find were simple and honest.

"She can be a bit cold. Or dismissive," you said, raising your eyebrows. "Sometimes I've seen people go up to her to ask a question or request something, and I just don't like the way she treats them. She isn't mean," you lifted a hand, "but she's just a bit indifferent and detached."

He gave a slow nod.

"And I had that completely confirmed this past week," you continued. "Every single time I asked her if there was any news about Ridgeway, she wouldn't tell me anything, she wouldn't even look me in the eye. She just kept saying there was no news," you tilted your chin up a bit, "and then later I'd find out they'd gotten a radio call or something. Even Eliza didn't know about half of it because Emily just wouldn't tell her anything. And it's not like it was confidential information or anything like that. She needed to know, her husband was out in Ridgeway too."

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose. "Didn't know that."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not surprised. She seems plenty nice and attentive with you," you said, raising a single eyebrow. "Maybe she's just selective."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and you bit the inside of your cheek when you caught the faint smirk on his lips.

"I just don't think it's right for someone in her position to look down on people or act like she can't be bothered," you continued. "Because I’ve been there too and I know people are constantly asking questions and looking for things they need. So, okay, it's her job," you crossed your arms again, "then she should do her job. I swear I cannot stand people who get the tiniest bit of authority and immediately turn their backs on everyone else. We're all in the same boat here in Jackson, anyway, even the ones making the calls."

Suddenly, he stopped blinking. He just stared at you, nodding slowly as he began to straighten up, leaning his hip against the counter. Mimicking your posture and never breaking eye contact, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well, you're right," he said. "And I believe you, 'cause you're gettin' so fired up you're actually blushin'."

You clicked your tongue. "I am not fired up."

"Really?"

"Really," you said, opening your eyes wider. "Just… just tell her to do her job. I know you can do that because you used to do it to me all the time."

He frowned. "That ain't true."

"Joel," you smiled, "come on."

"I never—"

"Yeah."

"I never told you to do your job because you did your job," he said, pointing a finger at you. "What I did tell you was to stop botherin' me with everything else."

You snorted, knowing he had a point. "That is not true. You used to get annoyed even when I was just in silence."

He pressed his lips together. "You weren't exactly in silence, properly speakin'."

"Why? Because I was breathing?"

"And those little sighs you'd make every few pages while you were reading," Joel said, gesturing with his hand. "Always made me wonder what the hell was happening in that book to make you react like that."

"Oh Jesus," you rolled your eyes. "How many more times are you going to bring up the sighs? Get over it, man. You were annoying too."

Joel furrowed his brow, but a lopsided smile broke through. "Was I? Not anymore?"

"I'm not so sure about that."

"What was it you called me once?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to recall. "The most insensitive, proud, arrogant man you've ever met?"

Mmm. Something like that. If you remembered correctly, he was actually leaving out a few choice adjectives.

You're the most insensitive, thoughtless, proud, arrogant man I've ever met. And believe me, I've met a hell of a lot of assholes. It was something along those lines, if your memory wasn't failing you.

"Yeah, well," you shrugged, "you told me I was the most unbearable, incoherent, reckless, and delusional woman too. But who's counting, right?"

A low laugh broke from his chest.

What was so funny, huh?

Uncrossing your arms, you turned back toward him and said,

"Why don't you use some of that attitude on Emily, huh?" You tapped his arm. "Maybe that way she'll actually do her job right."

Without waiting for an answer, you spun on your heel and turned your back to him, your legs moving with determination toward the hallway as you planned to head back to the living room. But before you could even take five paces, Joel caught you by the elbow. He arrested your movement, pulling you gently backward and anchoring you flush against him with one large hand wrapped just above your belly button.

He brought his chest right against your back, his mouth dipping down close to your ear.

"Well, I got a better idea. Why don't I just tell Emily we need her help somewhere else and you put that pretty little ass of yours back at the desk across from mine?"

Your mouth dropped open, completely caught off guard by the words. "Joel."

"What?"

You clicked your tongue. "I can't, and you know it."

"I know. And I get the school thing, but Erin’s got plenty of help from Fabrizio and everyone else, and you could still keep doin' your work at the greenhouse either way."

"I do patrols now, too."

He hummed. "Only two days a week."

The way he was talking (like a little red devil perched right on your left shoulder) was pretty manipulative. But you knew exactly where his insistence was coming from.

You were having a good time, and you were getting along well too. You’d be lying if you said you didn't want to spend more time with him. But that was exactly where a clear sharp line needed to be drawn. Because what kind of relationship would you even have if you saw each other almost every single day, and during the nights, too? Didn't he think about that?

Since this whole arrangement had started, you really did enjoy being with him. To be fair, you’d always enjoyed his company, even back when you got along terribly, and you’d actually told him that. You didn't know why, just that you felt comfortable around him. But now, there was a much deeper layer to it, because you were genuinely getting along.

You’d told him just last night: how long could a good streak like this really last if you saw each other every single day, and how long would it take before you or he completely got sick of each other again?

"We already talked about this last night," you said.

"I know, and I get it, alright?"

"Do you?" You turned your head a bit to get a better look at him.

He pressed his lips together, puffing out the top one the way he always did.

"It's just a suggestion. Think about it."

You bit your lower lip slightly, your eyes scanning his face as Joel leaned forward; you could feel him hanging heavy against your lower back.

Averting your eyes from his face, you leaned back, pressing harder against him until you could feel his outline perfectly defined against your backside. You felt him let out a soft huff against your ear.

"Talk to Emily," you said, placing your hand over his on your stomach before brushing it away and stepping away from him.

Joel chuckled low behind you, letting out a rough sigh.

Without looking back, you made your way to the living room.

The clock above the fireplace read half past four in the afternoon, and the light filtering through the curtain and the window was still bright, though just a fraction paler than before.

You sank into the couch and folded your hands in your lap, wondering if this was the right time to leave. You weren't entirely sure. Joel wasn't giving anything away, but then again, you couldn't really rely on his cues. Maybe he wanted you to go, or needed some time to himself and didn't know how to say it. But then again, had he ever actually held anything back?

"What're you doin'?" he asked, appearing through the archway a second later and dropping down beside you. Shifting his hips forward slightly, he took your outstretched legs and rested them across his lap.

A soft laugh escaped you.

Jesus, he truly could act like a needy man.

"Nothing."

"Watch Bourne Identity?"

"Only a few minutes. I fell asleep right away."

He nodded, looking at the screen where the menu was still looping on mute.

"Want to watch somethin' else?" he asked, looking over at you.

You stretched your legs out further across his lap, and he gave your knee a squeeze.

"Do you?"

He pursed his lips. "Sure. Choose somethin'."

You smiled faintly and straightened up a bit, resting your hands between your knees.

He clearly noticed your hesitation; his eyes locked onto your face, waiting for you to speak.

You gave a slightly uncertain smile, feeling your heart flutter with a touch of nervousness.

"You know, I was wondering just a minute ago," you swallowed, dropping your gaze down his chest, "is it really okay for me to stay here this long?"

"What's that mean?"

You looked at him in silence for a second, wondering if he genuinely wasn't understanding the question.

"Well, I mean, is it okay? Or, you know, maybe it's too much?" You frowned, frustrated with how you were phrasing your thoughts.

He lowered his gaze to his hand on your knee.

"You wanna leave?"

"No," you rushed to say, and his eyes snapped back up to your face. "It's not that. I just thought that maybe, I don't know, maybe you wanted some time to yourself? Or something."

Joel let out a soft, lopsided smile, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

Gradually, he turned his head toward you, taking you in completely.

What could he tell you? He certainly couldn't tell you that he didn't want to be alone. Though that was a bit limiting; Joel didn't want you to stay just because he didn't want to be alone. He wanted you to stay because he wanted to be with you.

Was that wrong? Was it too much?

Every time he asked himself that (and it had been several times between yesterday and today), he answered himself in silence with the memory of the last seven days. Those five days of the journey to and within Ridgeway had nearly drained the life out of him completely. His body had been beaten and cut; his eyes had seen more violence in a span of days than during his last year in Jackson.

He really thought that was it. The first few times they pressed a gun to his temple, he was sure they would pull the trigger, and that time they wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled and pulled until he thought his bones would snap, he swore that was it.

But it wasn't, somehow. And he thought of Ellie, of the last hug she’d given him before he left the house; he thought of Tommy, of Benji perched on Maria’s lap. But he thought of you too, and how he’d only left a simple letter. Because he’d thought it wasn't necessary to wake you—what for? He figured he’d be right back. Two days at most. But the time dragged on, and so did the suffering.

Upon his return, his body began to ache. It was as if every muscle and nerve had stayed rigid and numb right up until he crossed the gates into Jackson. He didn't even know how he’d managed to make it all the way back without collapsing. But the moment he arrived, and after settling everything with the guys (even after Hale checked him over and patched him up) his body remained tense.

He didn't feel anything, just a strange ache that ran through him like a massive bruise, one so constant it had already gone unnoticed.

But when he saw you outside Hale’s place, he knew he must be broken. Because on your face, he found the pain he was feeling. You looked at him like he was a ghost; your glassy eyes pierced right through his chest, and he felt the urge to touch you. But before he could do much of anything, you left.

You left, and he didn't see you again until that afternoon, when you made him understand in a rather direct way that you wanted him to leave you alone.

And he wasn't gonna tell you, but he saw right through you. It didn't hurt that you pushed him away. Well, maybe a little; it was hard for him to admit he'd been excited to see you. But he knew your attitude under that weeping willow was a normal reaction. You were angry. And you’d probably been scared, too. So, in situations like these, he just had to give you space; that was a lesson he’d learned many, many decades ago.

The next day, when he ran into Zach at the dining hall and Zach told him you were heading over to his place, he wasn't surprised. He’d been waiting for it, though he felt a wave of relief knowing the wait had been short.

The night before, he hadn't been able to sleep much, but with you here, he’d slept so deeply his eyes were still a little puffy. You tangled yourself around him like ivy; arms, legs, fingers, every part of you intertwined with his, keeping him warm after so many cold and cruel nights.

And it might be selfish, this need to want you here. Surely you had other things you wanted to do, other people to see. Or maybe you didn't, but you had to leave anyway. Joel didn't care; selfishly, he wanted you all to himself, just for today.

So yeah, he wanted you to stay. Just a bit longer. Because he needed and wanted the tenderness of your presence. And the wasn't anything he could do against it.

"Don't need no time to myself," he assured you then. He swallowed. "Stay here tonight."

Your eyes widened just a fraction. Joel knew what he said had caught you by surprise.

"You sure?" you asked softly.

He nodded. "Yeah. And tomorrow mornin' we both go back to our own things, how's that sound?"

You smiled. "Sounds good to me. Though I don't have any clothes," you raised your eyebrows slightly. "I should go grab something to wear tomorrow."

"Alright."

You nodded. "Okay."

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure we'll find somethin' to keep us busy later."

That surprised a chuckle out of you.

You placed your hand over his on your knee. "You really are a dirty old man."

Joel rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation, and shook his head.

"I meant watchin' movies or cookin'. You're the one with the dirty mind."

You hummed, not buying it. "Yeah. Well, you're probably already tired anyway."

He clicked his tongue. "Don't be so sure about that. That nap was pretty revivin'."

Hours later

"See you in a bit." Stretching up on your toes, you gave Joel a quick peck on the lips.

A second later, he opened the front door and you stepped across the threshold, wearing the dress you’d arrived in, your boots, and one of his jackets. Today was much cooler than yesterday, and if you walked back to your place with nothing but what you'd brought, you were going to freeze.

Joel watched you walk away for a moment, closing the door only when you disappeared from his line of sight. Immediately, the house felt quiet again.

For a while, he distracted himself by tidying up and cleaning. He went up to his bedroom and made the bed, straightening things here and there, and left the pajamas he’d lent you neatly folded on the mattress. He dusted the dresser in front of the window, arranging the picture frames on top, and swept every corner of the room as best he could.

Downstairs, he wiped down the already clean kitchen counter. He cleaned the cabinets, then the windowpanes and the backyard door, and just as he was drying the glass, he noticed Ellie arriving at the garage.

She opened the door and slipped inside right away, and Joel didn't hesitate for a single second to seize the opportunity.

He stepped out into the yard, feeling the cool air raise the hairs on his arms, and hesitated for a second before knocking on the garage door.

From the other side, he heard a few muffled noises, and a moment later, the door swung open.

"Hey. What's up?" she said. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was a bit a mess.

"Out early today," Joel said, stepping inside. The girl moved aside to let him pass. "Where'd you go?"

"Had plans with Jesse."

"Ah, Jesse," he rested his lower back against the desk and crossed his arms, smiling. "What kind of plans?"

Ellie frowned and shook her head. "Don't start. It's not like that. What're you doin' here anyway? Don't you got company?" She raised her eyebrows.

In a split second, the smile vanished from Joel's face, and he went completely still.

Ellie tilted her head and waited a beat. "Look, I know Snow's here. I saw you guys earlier."

Joel frowned but didn't say a word.

"I was hungry," she tossed her head back, "so I went into the kitchen to grab some food and heard the TV. You were wiped out."

He stepped away from the desk. "Ellie, look—"

"Please, just don't say anything," she said, holding up both hands and shaking her head. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "I already knew. I mean, I knew there was something, I just didn't think it was so... you know—"

"We're just friends."

"Yeah, right," she rolled her eyes. "Great friends."

Joel hesitated as he tried to speak again, suddenly feeling really nervous. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a sigh.

"Snow and I... we're gettin' along, and—"

"Joel, chill, you're not my dad," she cut him off, waving a hand. "You don't gotta give me some speech like you're tryin' to convince me to like my new mommy or whatever—"

"Ellie."

She stopped talking, and her eyes softened, but Joel still had his brow furrowed, his thoughts tangled up in his head.

"I like Snow," she said. "And I like that you guys are... friends."

Joel pursed his lips and watched her for a brief moment; the look on her face and the softness in Ellie's eyes held no lie or forced reassurance.

He knew she liked you. He knew the two of you had formed a bond while he was away. And suddenly, he wondered if his relationship with you would affect yours with her. Lately, Ellie hadn't been very expressive with him, but he’d seen how she was around you. He hoped that wouldn't change.

"I'm fixin' to make a good dinner tonight. Snow's stayin' over too," he rested a hand on his hip. "How's about you come on over and join us?"

Ellie smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Sounds great. But… maybe another time? I'm pretty wiped, and I still gotta go see Dina."

"Yeah? What for?"

"She found a few parts we were missin' to finish some traps," she leaned back, dropping onto the couch. "We're headin' out early tomorrow to test them."

Joel nodded. "Rabbits?"

"Hopefully."

"Right. Well, I'll leave a plate out for you anyway, alright? We'll have dinner around eight, just in case you change your mind," he nodded. "I know Snow'd like to see you."

Ellie nodded. "Okay. Did you give her the portrait?"

Joel nodded. "And how're you comin' along with the herbs and all that?"

"Almost done with a few of them," she smiled. "I'm headin' to the greenhouse tomorrow to show Snow what I got."

"You could show her now, you know. She'll be back in a bit."

"Nah, I'm good. Don't wanna interrupt whatever's about to go down in there," she said, holding up a hand.

Joel clicked his tongue.

"What?" She raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know you were the type to cuddle up on the couch like that. Ugh," she shuddered, faking a chill.

Joel let out a chuckle, Ellie echoed it.

"Alright. Take care of yourself then," he lifted his chin. "And tomorrow, let's get some dinner, just you and me. How's that sound? Whatever you want."

She pursed her lips. "Can you make that meatloaf you do?"

"Course. An extra large one."

"Alright," she nodded.

Joel smiled and took a few steps toward her. Reaching out, he gave the crown of Ellie’s head a quick affectionate rub. She ducked her head, immediately clicking her tongue.

"Watch yourself out there, alright? And don't be gettin' back late," Joel said, moving toward the open door. "Don't go doin' anything reckless."

Ellie snorted. "You neither, Casanova."

Joel hid a chuckle as he turned around to head back inside the house.

Your house. Ten minutes later.

You got home around half past five in the afternoon. Stepping inside, you caught the scent of the flowers on your coffee table and the entryway stand, mixed with the soap you used for your laundry.

You didn't linger. You went straight to your bedroom, tossed your dress onto the small couch in the corner and kicked your boots to the side, wrapping your arms around your bare body.

The closet doors stood open, and your naked reflection stared back at you as you stepped closer to find something to wear.

Your cheeks were flushed from the walk, and your hair was a bit a mess. But there was a particular shine in your eyes that made you pause and just look at yourself for a moment. It was as if your skin were glowing, as if the expression on your face had suddenly softened.

On your neck, there were two small marks, faint and nearly invisible, that Joel had left either last night or this morning, you weren't entirely sure. But your fingers brushed up to touch them, and it was as if you could feel his mouth there all over again.

You smiled like a fool, your eyes drifting down your body; they passed over the scar on your jawline, the scars on your collarbone, just beneath your ribs, and further down on your right thigh, where several small but distinct marks barely revealed themselves.

You tilted your head, observing yourself and suddenly seeing a difference. As you did, a lock of hair fell across your face.

You caught it between your fingers and breathed it in, then gathered a handful more. Burying your nose in the strands, you closed your eyes.

You smelled like him. From the strands of hair between your fingers to your very skin; his soap, his shampoo—him. The same clean scent of his fresh sheets, the exact same scent that was woven into his skin. You carried it now, and the feeling brought a flutter to your stomach that made every hair on your body stand up.

Well, that, and the fact that you were naked and your house was freezing.

Jesus, stop being so corny, what's the point?

The more time you spent staring at yourself in the mirror, the longer it would take to get back to Joel. So you finally turned away, moved along, and headed into the bathroom.

You took a quick shower without getting your hair wet, since you'd washed it just that morning, and went through your usual routine. With your skin soft and clean and your body much warmer than before, you stepped out of the shower wrapped in a towel. Your feet weren't cold anymore, and neither were your fingers.

Back in the bedroom, you misted yourself with rosewater and put on a little bit of everything you owned, smelling like a dessert all over again and feeling like one, too. You ran your fingers through your hair, brushed it out a little, and reached for the small wooden box inside your nightstand. From it, you took your necklace and fastened it around your neck.

Opting for comfort and practicality, you pulled on a pair of straight-leg jeans that hugged you perfectly up top, thanks to some alterations Isa had done, along with a cropped white tee and a slightly loose black sweater. You were right on the verge of putting on sneakers, but you chose your boots again. There wasn't much use fighting against something both cozy and cute.

Okay, what did you need to bring for tonight?

You grabbed a tote bag and tossed in clean underwear, your hairbrush, and a few other small things. Carefully, you folded the jacket Joel had lent you earlier and slid it inside as well.

You didn't waste any more time. You bundled up in his other jacket (which, technically, was already yours) and went into the kitchen to grab the blueberry pie you’d left in the fridge yesterday. You’d only tried a tiny slice to make sure it tasted right. You packed it into a plastic container and carefully settled it into your bag, strategically arranging everything underneath and around it so it wouldn't shift in any way.

Giving yourself one last look in the mirror and knowing that at Joel’s place, nothing but a tiny little hand mirror awaited you, you stepped out of your house just as the sun in the sky began to turn that sea of blue into a field of orange and pink.

Joel's house. Late afternoon.

The second Joel opened the front door, a delicious aroma hit your nose.

"Mmm," you breathed in, stepping into the entryway. "What am I smelling?"

Joel took the bag from your hand and closed the door behind you. With a smile, he lifted his chin and nodded toward the kitchen.

He’d changed his clothes and wasn't in his sleepwear anymore, but in jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt.

He look so good.

"Go on and look," he said.

Smiling, you walked over as the scent grew even richer. Your eyes instantly locked onto the pot on the stove. You stepped closer while he carefully took the container with the blueberry pie out of the bag and set it on the counter.

Inside the pot, vegetables were simmering away, releasing a thick sweet steam, covered and surrounded by a dark glossy sauce.

"Is there wine in this?"

He nodded, and your mouth watered instantly.

"Started a good while ago," he came up beside you. "Seared the venison, took it out, cooked down the veggies with the wine, and threw the meat back in. It's been stewin' for a while now. You real hungry?"

Smiling, you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. "I didn't know you knew your way around a kitchen like this."

"I don't know that much," he shook his head. "Just a few things I'm fixin' to stick with forever."

You laughed. "Is this one of your specialties?"

"Yeah. This, and the meatloaf I'm makin' for Ellie tomorrow."

"Oh, did you see her? Is she here?"

"No, she left a while ago. But we talked for a bit," he nodded. "Said she was headin' to the greenhouse tomorrow to see you. Wants to show you what she’s done with the herbs."

You were genuinely excited to see what Ellie had been working on. You thought it was incredibly sweet of her to want to help you out with all of this, and you were sure you’d find a way to thank her properly. Favors are favors, and they ought to be repaid right.

"I can't wait to see what she's done."

Joel smiled. "You're gonna like it."

It was only fair that you set the table. While Joel cooked, you arranged the plates, silverware, and everything else, though you still felt like you had too much time on your hands. But you distracted yourself by picking something to listen to; Joel had a box full of cassettes and handed over the authority for you to choose the music. You picked a Fleetwood Mac compilation and spent the rest of the time keeping yourself occupied with the glass of wine he had left on the table for you.

You had rarely ever had wine. Looked like almost never before arriving in Jackson. But here, they had a decent amount of alcohol, both produced by the community and brought in from the outside. Cider was pretty common, as was whiskey, but wine was a much trickier thing to come by for some reason. Joel, being who he was and knowing the people he knew, had a few bottles tucked away in a small cabinet in his kitchen.

He wouldn't let you help with the cooking, insisting he had it under control. That left you with only one job: sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of wine, just watching him. It wasn't like he had a whole lot to do after a while anyway, since the meat pretty much cooked itself, only needing a quick check every now and then. During that stretch of time, he pulled up a stool next to you with his own glass of wine, and the two of you talked about everything and nothing, mostly just casual drift.

"Pet Sematary," he said, bringing the glass to his lips.

"Never read that one."

He raised his eyebrows. "You ain't ever read Pet Sematary?"

You shook your head. "No. I only read Carrie, and honestly it didn't really make me feel any better."

"You gotta read Pet Sematary. Reckon it’s one of the few books I actually finished cover to cover when I was a kid."

"Weren't you big on reading?"

"Preferred doin' other things," he said, tilting his head. "But I got that book for Christmas one year, and then I caught the flu and spent a week in bed. Read the whole damn thing. Let me tell you, havin' a fever dream after readin' somethin' like that wasn't nice."

You laughed. "Is it really that terrifying?"

"Well, I was eleven. Doubt it’d scare me none now."

"I remember my parents watching the movie once, but I didn't pay much attention. I wasn't really into horror. Either that, or it scared me and I just didn't want to look." You suddenly sat up straighter. "You know what book I know you’d love?"

He frowned just a fraction.

"Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry," you said. "You ever read it?"

"Not that I recall."

"It's about two old Texas Rangers who decide to drive a huge herd of cattle all the way from the Mexican border up to Montana. But they run into just about everything along the trail. It’s a Western, so you can picture it. Storms, bandits, different towns. I loved it when I read it, it's incredibly entertaining and," you raised a finger, "deep. It’s not just about the adventure, you know? It’s about the fact that the whole world around them is changing. It's the end of the Old West."

He nodded. "Modernity."

"Exactly. And they’re old men from a generation that spent their entire lives chasing outlaws and living in places where the government had no control. But everything’s becoming obsolete, you know? Their whole way of life."

"Yeah," he smiled, "it happens."

"I've got it on my bookshelf if you'd like to read it," you raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'd like that. I gotta give you my notes or somethin' afterward?"

You laughed. "Only if you want to."

Dinner turned out to be an absolute triumph. You sat with him at the table by the window, savoring every single bite. The venison was incredible; the meat was so tender it practically melted in your mouth, to the point where you didn't even need a knife; you could cut it with just your fork. The vegetables were delicious and just as tender, their rich flavors almost making you want to roll your eyes in pure bliss.

Joel, of course, got a little cocky about it. There was a smug smirk playing on his face that he was clearly trying to hide. Still, you secretly suspected the man hadn't even realized it was going to turn out this damn good.

Between the waiting in the kitchen and the dinner itself, the two of you finished the first bottle of wine without even noticing. Midway through the meal, Joel cracked open the second one, which turned out to be just as delicious. You were really starting to get a taste for it; the flavor paired so well with the food that you couldn't bring yourself to turn down another glass, and then another, and maybe another.

And you weren't sure if it was the alcohol or something else, but you’d gotten so hot you shed your sweater before your third glass.

By the time you finished your second helping, you knew the alcohol was starting to do its thing. You felt it first in your feet, in that pleasant buzzing warmth around your skin, and then in the floating lightweight feeling warming up your chest. But most of all, you knew it because your eyes started losing their modesty.

You caught yourself tracking the movement of his lips every time he spoke or took a sip from his glass, your gaze lingering without a shred of hurry. You got completely pulled in, watching his profile under the soft light; the sharp line of his jaw, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. Your eyes drifted down to his hands, tracing the veins standing out against his rolled up sleeves, and you couldn't stop a clumsy wine addled thought from taking over your mind: oh wow… his fingers are really, really thick.

But there wasn’t a thing you could do about it; the wine had already hijacked your filters, and your eyes stayed exactly where they wanted to be. You knew you were being obvious, taking way too many seconds to meet his gaze whenever he spoke, like a woman suddenly turned shy.

And Joel, of course, wasn’t any fool. He noticed.

You caught the shift almost instantly. He stopped talking so animatedly, and his rhythm eased into a lazy drawn out cadence as his voice dropped a register, turning deeper and huskier.

His posture in the chair relaxed, leaning just a little closer to your side of the table, cutting down the distance between you. His eyes, which had been fixed on yours, began making their own unhurried sweep across your face. They lingered on your wine flushed cheeks, dipped for a split second to your mouth when you bit your lip, and drifted back up. He held your gaze for a long stretch of time, sending a tingle straight down the back of your neck.

When he picked up his glass, his fingers traced the curve of the crystal. A tiny, barely there tug pulled at the corner of his mouth; he knew exactly where your attention was anchored.

Oh, Jesus... you wanted to tear him apart.

But not here.

Dinner having ended quite a while ago, you got up from your chair and gathered your plate and his. Joel was up right after you; he cleared the glasses and the rest of the table, tucking the used napkins between his fingers while balancing the wine glasses and the empty bottle in his other hand.

Weaving your way into the kitchen, you placed the dishes into the sink with extra care, trying to let the clatter of the stoneware drown out just how hard your heart was thumping, and turned on the faucet. The rush of running water filled the room for barely a second before you felt his heat right behind you.

Joel stepped up right against your back. You felt the solid pressure of his chest nearly brushing your shoulder blades a moment before his arm shot past your side, planting his palm firmly against the edge of the counter, trapping you completely against it. His other free hand reached up without a hint of rush, gripping the handle and shutting off the faucet, cutting the water dead.

"Later," he said.

You felt his breath hit your neck, and your head tilted back on instinct. Understanding the invitation, Joel pressed his entire weight against your back. The solid unyielding feel of him felt so damn good you squeezed your eyes shut and smiled shamelessly.

His hand shifted from the edge of the counter, sliding down to your lower stomach. He flattened his palm there, pressing gently into the soft heat of your belly, before his hand began a steady inching crawl upward. At the same time, his lips found your exposed throat; he kissed you right there while his hand kept drifting up, caressing your chest. And as his palm brushed over your chest, his thumb grazed your nipple through the fabric of your shirt, catching a quiet sigh in your throat.

Your eyelids felt too heavy to keep open. Joel’s mouth kept tasting your neck with short nipping kisses and soft suctions, his hand traveling higher until his long fingers and broad palm wrapped around your throat, squeezing firmly from the sides.

A muffled groan tried to break free, but his grip trapped the sound against your skin, making the vibration rattle right in your vocal cords.

With a tug, Joel pulled your head back, forcing your spine to arch as he locked his hips tight against yours.

His other hand traced down your side, mapping the curve of your waist and hip, squeezing your flesh with a hunger that was driving you out of your mind. The wine and the friction of your bodies sparked a desperate ache between your thighs, and you didn't know how much longer you could go without tearing his pants off.

Sensing your restlessness, Joel nudged one of his legs between yours. With a firm shift of his thigh, he forced your legs apart and hitched his knee right into your center. You let your weight drop, desperate for the pressure, grinding down against him, but the thick denim of your jeans blocked the full sensation and the partial friction only fueled your frustration.

Joel caught onto your desperation and surged even harder against you, and you could feel him fully hard, a rigid ridge pressing into your backside through the layers of clothes. Unable to hold back, you reached a hand blindly behind you until you found the front of his pants, and wrapped your fingers around his crotch, squeezing firmly through the fabric.

The sudden boldness caught him off guard; Joel let out a low groan right against the skin of your neck as his grip on your throat tightened just a little more.

With a sudden jerk, he hauled you away from the counter. His hands dropped to your hips instantly, digging firmly into your flesh as he started steering you out of the kitchen.

A breathless nervous laugh slipped from your lips, cutting through the silence of the house as the two of you moved toward the hallway. And before you could even plant a foot on the bottom step of the stairs, you slapped his hands away, spun around, and bolted up the flight.

Halfway up, curiosity got the better of you, forcing you to glance back over your shoulder. Joel was already tracking you; his posture was stiffer, his eyes so dark and locked on yours. You let out a soft amused gasp and scrambled up the rest of the way.

As you cleared the final steps, your fingers hooked the hem of your shirt, yanking it cleanly over your head and dropping it behind you like a breadcrumb on the trail. Right before hitting the doorway of his bedroom, your hands flew to your back, unhooking your bra and letting it fall, too.

Joel trailed you without missing a beat. You heard him pause for a split second below to scoop your shirt off the floor, and then he kept coming, completely unhurried, stopping to grab the bra next. He was giving you a head start. He was granting you the exact window you needed to slip into the bedroom, kick off your boots, and shed your pants.

Hearing his heavy tread approach the threshold, you padded silently on bare feet into the bathroom. From inside, you caught the low huff that rumbled from his chest when he stepped into the room and found the bed empty.

The cool night air drifting through the bathroom window instantly prickled your skin, making your nipples harden and the hair on your arms stand up, but you didn't give a damn about the chill. You planted both hands flat and firm against the edge of the marble sink, arching your spine completely and tilting your ass toward the doorway; right at the perfect angle for where he was bound to appear in less than a heartbeat.

And yeah, just a heartbeat later, Joel filled the bathroom doorway. He stopped dead in his tracks, going completely still, frozen under the frame.

A thrill shot through you just from watching his reaction. Joel held your clothes in one hand, his eyes locked onto your bare skin, tracking the curve of your hips and your exposed ass. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscle bunched, and that sudden paralysis of sheer awe and desire on his face let you know you had him exactly where you wanted him.

Joel tossed your clothes onto the bathroom counter without a shred of care, while you stayed completely still, watching him. He tightened his jaw and brought his hands down to his waist.

Slowly, he unbuckled the metal latch of his belt; the leather creaked and the metal clinked in this quiet bathroom as he whipped it through the loops in one clean yank. Your pussy throbbed just looking at him; so mean, so serious, so intensely focused as he popped the button of his jeans and dragged the metal zipper down with a harsh rasp, never taking his eyes off you for a single second.

As he began to close the final few inches between you, an intense flutter turned your stomach over. Joel settled right behind you, planting one of his big heavy hands flat against your hip, digging into your skin to anchor you in place, while his other hand went straight for your center, hooking the fabric of your panties to the side.

Your breathing was already ragged and heavy, and your throat felt so dry you could barely swallow. Trying to hold onto that thread of control from the game, you tried to look back at him.

"You should get yourself a mirror," you murmured.

Joel huffed a laugh.

His thick warm fingers parted your wet folds. "Yeah," he said.

You shut your eyes instantly, letting out a low moan as you finally melted into his touch. His fingers were soaked in you immediately, sliding top to bottom. He brought the pad of his index finger up until he found your clit, pressing and rubbing in firm circles that made you flinch and arch your spine even deeper against him.

The wet obscene sound of his fingers moving inside you filled the bathroom instantly. But Joel took his time to torment you, sliding his middle finger along your slit and stretching your wetness before pushing a single knuckle inside your pussy. He went in easy, stretching you open, and a choked moan escaped your lips. A second later, he slipped a second finger in, opening you up from the inside, and began to thrust into your depths, curling his fingers upward to hook the exact spot that made you lose your mind.

"Shit, baby... you're fuckin' soaked," Joel growled in your ear, and the sound of his dirty voice only deepened the spasms already starting to ripple through your walls.

Your hands gripped the edge of the sink so hard your knuckles turned white.

The wet sounds of friction between his hand and your pussy were loud, giving away just how ready you were; every time he buried his fingers to the hilt, your eyelids grew heavier.

You started to lose all sense of rhythm, rolling your hips back on pure instinct, begging for more and more and more. But Joel didn't give in; he kept his hand steady, pumping inside you, catching your dirtiest, most shameless whimpers right out of the air.

"Joel, please," you stammered, letting your head drop forward. "Fuck me already, don't make me wait."

He cut his movements instantly. With a dragging touch, he slid his fingers out of your wetness. You lifted your head and licked your dry lips, desperately trying to catch your breath.

"You gettin' bossy on me now?" he asked.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you glanced back over your shoulder. Joel already had his cock in his hand, stroking it up and down, using the same hand that was coated in your own slick. The sight of his size and the heavy veins tracing his shaft made you swallow hard.

"Over the sink, now. Put your hands further out and lean down," he ordered.

You obeyed instantly. You stretched your arms across the surface, planting your palms firmly against the cold marble that clashed sharply against the heat of your body. You slid further forward, arching your spine to the absolute limit and pushing your backside out, offering yourself to him completely.

Joel stepped forward, erasing the space between you. You felt the burning tip of his cock hunt for your entrance, pressing right where the ache of your need was loudest. Easy, he broke into you in one controlled heavy push, burying himself deep, inching further and further until he filled you to the brim.

He stretched you so wide you choked back a cry against the marble. He went dead still, granting you a few agonizing seconds for you to adjust to his thickness and squeeze tight around him. Feeling his pulse throbbing inside you was pure heaven.

Then, he started to move. At first, they were short testing thrusts, but as the rhythm leveled out, a whimper of pure relief slipped from your lips.

Joel took you at your word; he fucked you with relentless consistency, driving deep into you with every single stroke, making the wet echo of his hips slamming against your cheeks ring out through the bathroom. The moans spilled uncontrolled from your mouth, impossible to hold back.

Bit by bit, any trace of patience melted from his movements, turning harder. Joel reached a broad hand up to your shoulder and, with a firm yank, forced your upper body back, arching your spine flush against his chest. And without giving you a second to catch your breath, he shifted that same hand straight to your throat, squeezing with just enough pressure to pin you tight against him while he kept hammering into you from behind.

The shift in the angle made him sink even deeper, ripping cries and sobs of pure pleasure that vibrated right against the flat of his palm.

And just when you thought you couldn't open up any wider, Joel used his boot to nudge your foot, forcing your legs further apart. With a quick heavy grip, he hooked his free hand under your thigh and hoisted your leg up over the edge of the sink, splitting you completely wide open.

Locked in that vulnerable position, he started fucking you hard and fast, a pacing that completely stole your balance. Desperate, your hands scrambled to find a handhold on the wall or the counter, but you couldn't reach a damn thing; the sheer speed of his thrusts was rattling your entire body.

Joel had you pinned so tight against him that the only thing you could do was cling to his arms, burying your nails into his skin. You held onto him, feeling your one steady foot on the floor nearly lift with every strike, suspended in the air by the force of his hips.

To say you didn't recognize the sound of your own voice was an understatement; you didn't think you’d ever made noises as broken as the ones Joel was ripping out of you with every single thrust. It was a completely new sensation, being entirely undone, unable to do a damn thing but cling to him so you wouldn't shatter completely.

Slowly, his movements began to lose their speed, turning heavier. You felt his chest heave hard against your back as he dialed back the pace, locking you tight in his arms. He let your dangling foot finally find the floor, easing the strain on your muscles, and softened his grip on your body, though he stayed buried deep inside you.

Driven by the lingering slip of pleasure, you reached an arm back over your shoulder, searching for the touch of his skin. Your fingers found the nape of his neck and sank right into his curls, tangling in that soft hair you loved so much.

You tilted your head back, offering your lips in a silent plea, and Joel caught your jaw gently and planted a deep dragging kiss on your mouth.

While kissing you, his free hand carefully guided your leg down from the sink, helping you find your footing. He steered you away from the marble counter, backing you up toward the bathroom door.

Only when you hit the threshold did Joel pull out of you all at once, leaving a choked whine on your lips at the sudden cold absence. Before you could even protest, he brought his palm down in a stinging smack against your flushed ass.

"Bed," he ordered.

You moved toward the mattress immediately, your legs shaking and a delicious ache pooling between your thighs. You collapsed flat on your back against the mattress, sinking into the sheets, and hooked your fingers around the waistband of your wet panties, yanking them off and tossing them onto the floor. All while you watched him shadow over you from the dim light.

Your eyes, completely blown out, tracked Joel’s body as he stripped down under the faint light. He yanked his shirt off in one motion, revealing that broad torso, then kicked off his boots, and finally shed his pants, letting them pool on the floor.

God, he was so big. Huge everywhere; the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his ribcage, his massive arms, and that tremendous length pointing right back at you, glistening and heavy with thick veins.

You spread your legs wide on the mattress, begging him back, utterly unable to look away.

Joel climbed onto the bed, making the springs groan as he settled immediately between your open thighs. He gripped your knees, pushing them back toward your chest to split you open even wider, and lined his cock up with your pussy.

He slid in inch by inch, savoring the fit, stretching your already sensitive walls, but the second he was buried completely inside you, he gave you no quarter. He picked his rhythm right back up.

You held onto him with everything you had, wrapping your arms tight around his neck and digging your nails into his broad back while he fucked you hard, deep thrusts making you bounce right against the mattress.

The wet friction of your bodies took over the room again, mixing with Joel’s pants directly in your ear and your own shameless moans.

"Joel, please," you cried out, squeezing him tighter. "Put all your weight on me."

He lifted his head, locking his eyes onto yours.

"Put all your weight on me," you repeated.

"I'm gonna crush you."

"No, you won't," the heavy impacts chopping up your voice. "Please."

Joel let out a rough pant and buried his face right next to yours as he slowly let his body drop over you. You felt his weight gradually press you down into the mattress; his chest flat against yours, his stomach against yours, blanketing you in sheer heavy man.

"Yes, yes, yes," you started to babble, letting your eyelids flutter shut as your arms wrapped around him and your fingers buried deep into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You were right on the edge, suspended in that eternal second where the pleasure gets so sharp it almost hurts. Your legs were wrapped tight around his waist and your nails were dug into his shoulders, feeling the coiled tension in every single muscle.

Then you felt it. You caught that subtle unmistakable shift in the vibration of his body; the way his cock went even harder, pulsing and throbbing inside you, expanding to its absolute limit. Joel let out a guttural grunt, a purely animalistic drawl of a sound that drowned in the crook of your neck as he completely lost his rhythm and his grip on control.

Knowing you had him right there, that he was about to fall apart for you, was the final push that shattered your gravity. Your own orgasm hit you all at once, a hot burst that clamped your internal walls in violent desperate spasms around his length.

Joel roared against your skin the second he felt you clamp down on him, completely trapped by your climax. He delivered a few brutal frenzied thrusts, driving so deep you felt like you were splitting in two, before cursing loudly and dragging himself back with desperation.

You unlocked your legs from his hips to let him clear, and he grabbed his cock, letting go right over your belly. He was so flushed, his face so raw and undone, that your eyes could do nothing but watch him, panting and silent, while your own muscles kept riding out the tail end of your release.

He leaned forward, planting one forearm beside your head, and brought his face down to yours.

You cupped his face; your fingers pressed gently against his jaw as you pulled his mouth down to meet yours.

Joel's room. Half an hour later. Night.

You flicked off the bathroom light and shut the door behind you.

The effects of the wine were still floating through your system, but now it was pure exhaustion weighing you down. You knew you were gonna sleep like a baby tonight, so before climbing back into bed next to Joel, you went straight for the alarm clock on his nightstand.

"Six thirty sound good to you?" you asked, turning the clock around to set the dial.

"What time is it now?" he wanted to know. He was lying back with his hair still a little damp from the shower, wearing a dark blue cotton t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Quarter to ten."

"Ain't as late as I thought."

You smiled. "Right. I figured it was at least eleven."

"Six thirty's fine."

You set the alarm and slipped the clock back into its spot.

Carefully crawling over Joel’s legs, you slid under the covers as he pulled the sheet and the comforter up over you. You dug your toes into the mattress, stretching out on pure instinct just from the happiness of being comfortable, warm, and knowing you were in for a perfect night of sleep.

You draped your arm over Joel’s chest, and he leaned into you, shifting onto his side to blanket you with his body heat.

"Oh," he murmured, pulling back for just a second to click off the lamp on his nightstand before wrapping his arms right back around you.

The bedroom fell into darkness, but the moonlight streamed through the window; pale, soft, and soothing. It was a full moon tonight.

"Goodnight, Joel."

He let out a low sigh. "Goodnight, Snow."

divider by: omi-resources

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June 4, 2024

Showing up with breakfast muffins is objectively ridiculous and you realise it as you walk up to his front door. There’s something borderline farcical about standing on Joel’s porch holding the small lunchbox like it constitutes an apology he already said you don’t owe him. Still, the guilt of accidentally digging up something he had buried got worse after you left yesterday and you had to do something about it.

You knock and wait. A minute goes by.

Nothing.

A second, firmer knock then. 

Still nothing. 

That’s when the worry starts to barrel in uninvited again. It’s hard not to start thinking about the way he shut that drawer yesterday and wonder if he’s doing the same to you now. But he asked you to come back today. He wanted you here.

Trying to play it off, you glance around and attempt to not appear anxious. You decide on one last attempt and knock a third time, much louder now. Even with his bad ear, he’d feel it through the floorboards.

No answer.

Did something change overnight? Did he get back in his head and let it consume him when you weren’t around to stop it?

You’ve already turned to step off his porch in quiet defeat, swallowing the pain down when you hear the latch.

Whatever state you were expecting to see him in, it wasn’t this. He looks rough. Really rough. His eyes are at half-mast and his shoulders carrying none of their usual authority. It’s startling to witness.

“Hey,” you say carefully.

“Hey.” His voice is rougher than usual and scrapes uncomfortably out of his throat. “Sorry. Didn’t hear you knockin’.”

You just stare at him for a moment. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah…” He scratches across his stubble. “Just didn’t sleep last night, that’s all.”

“Oh,” you say, suddenly feeling like you’ve just interrupted an attempt at getting some rest. “I can come back tomorrow instead if you—”

“No— no.” He seems to wake up just enough to blurt it out quickly. “I was waitin’ up for ya. Come on in.”

You follow him in and the house confirms everything. His workstation is still scattered with yesterday’s shavings, there’s dishes on the counter and in the sink that nobody bothered to deal with and the living room looks like it has been completely neglected. This is evidence that the man had gone upstairs, shut the door and stayed there after you left. You do your best not to acknowledge any of it openly as you look around.

One thing you love about Joel is how he moves. It’s like watching a lion overseeing its pride. Today, however, he moves like every step requires energy he simply does not have. He makes it as far as the kitchen counter and parks himself there, leaning and taking the weight off of his legs.

“I brought these,” you say, holding up the lunchbox uselessly. “Thought you might be hungry.”

He takes it from you and turns it over in his hands before popping the lid off. He inhales a whiff and and something about him mellows to a degree. “Made these yourself?”

You shrug. “With Michelle’s help. Spent the evening with her and Arron after Jeremiah went to bed.” A short pause. “Wanted to make you something after yesterday.”

He musters up as much of a smile as he can before pressing the lid back on and setting them aside. His eyes drop to the tiles as he leans back against the counter again. “Sorry for how I reacted. I didn’t mean to… y’know—”

“It’s fine. I promise.” And you mean it. “Things were going a little too well. It was bound to happen.”

He looks up at you now like he expected consequences and can’t believe he’s receiving unearned generosity and understanding instead. He’s been up all night convincing himself he’s botched whatever this is, and here you are buffing it out with humour.

You stumble over and take the space next to him and let your shoulders sit together. The morning light filters through the kitchen windows across the mess neither of you is addressing.

“We’ve been through this already,” you begin. “This isn’t going to be easy, for you or for me. But I’m not here because I want answers you’re not ready to give me yet. I’m here because I want to be here. And I hope you know that by now.”

His chin stays dipped, eyes vaguely aimed somewhere near your feet. “How can you be okay with me knowin’ so much about your past but you knowin’ hardly anythin’ about mine?”

You give it a minute of thought.

“The past is the past,” you reply, glancing sideways at him. “We’ve all got one. I had to give mine up for safety, for trust. Yours isn’t mine to take. Maybe— hopefully one day you’ll feel capable of sharing it with me. But what I care about right now is the man here with me today.”

He takes a long breath and holds it before letting it out slowly. His hand starts to move across the counter, his fingers finding the edge of yours. You turn your hand over and close it around his and trace your thumb idly across his knuckles. Tommy’s voice asking you to be patient with him loops in your mind.

“It means more than you’ll ever know,” he murmurs eventually. “Just don’t know why you’d do all this for such an old sad sack o’ shit like me.”

“Ah, give over,” you tut. He turns to look at you. “You asked me for time, so I’m giving you time. And I’ll wait as long as you need me to. Until then, you’re my oldsad sack of shit.”

The lines between his brows loosen. He leans across to kiss you. There’s no trace of coffee or toothpaste, just his warmth. When your lips part with a soft pop, his eyes hang half-open, blurred by tiredness and whatever the kiss drained out of him.

“Why don’t you go lie down?” you suggest then. “Go get some rest.”

He straightens up a little and glances around. “Uhh… Yeah. Are you… are you comin’?”

“I’ll follow you in in a bit,” you say, pushing yourself off of the counter. “I want to get all this stuff put away first.”

“No, no…” he says dismissively. “Ellie’ll do it when she gets home.”

“She’ll be tired and she’ll have homework,” you reply, already rolling up your sleeves and starting to stack dishes. “Besides, I don’t mind. I have a little energy I could burn off.”

“I’m not havin’ you clearin’ up in my house—”

“Joel.” You cut him off with a stare. “I want to. Now go on. I won’t be long. Should only take me a few minutes.”

He holds his stance for another second before surrendering. He swipes a hand down his face and moves off into the living room, not having the energy to argue any further. You hear the distant sound of him losing the battle with gravity and dropping onto the couch followed by a long, exhausted exhale. 

The layout of his kitchen comes back to you quickly. You’d practically memorised it the afternoon you helped Ellie bake her own birthday cake without meaning to. Dishes get rinsed and returned to where they belong, the dried clods of mud crumbled around the floor get swept up and dealt with and the layer of wood dust gets cleared from his work station. It’s nothing over the top, but the place looks like itself again.

“Alright, all done,” you sigh, rounding the couch to find him. “Do you want me to heat you up one of the breakfast muff—”

You halt in place. 

He’s out like a light. Feet up on the armrest, one arm tucked behind his head and the other draped loosely across his stomach.

Your heart turns to mush at the sight of him. Any plan for what the day would entail is resigned in that instant.

“Hey,” you whisper, tapping the side of his foot gently. “Mind if I join you?”

His eyes open by the smallest fraction. They’re clouded and barely there, purely from surfacing back out of the deep sleep he was about to slip into. A low sound comes out of him before he starts making space and lifting his arms. It’s less of a sleepy invitation and more of an instinct.

You pull the red knitted blanket from the back of the couch, kick off your boots and tuck yourself into the gap he’s made. Your head settles under his chin and his arms come around you, one hand pulling the blanket up and the other taking hold of your forearm. 

A long exhale from him follows which lets you know he’s gone again.

You stay awake for a little while. There’s no real reason to, but you just find yourself enjoying listening to the way his breathing deepens, the way his hand stays circled around your forearm but goes gradually more slack as sleep takes him fully. 

Whatever kept him awake all night apparently left him the moment he felt safe enough to allow it. He waited for you and he opened the door. He’s resting because you’re finally here. 

His snoring starts up eventually and the heat of him becomes utterly sedating. Your eyes grow heavier with every breath you take until you finally follow him into a state of tranquility.

—

Your mother stands at the water’s edge. The sky above Silver Lake is colourless and her skin matches it, grey and papery, depleted of everything that once made it look alive. She’s speaking, but the space between you keeps swallowing her words. You can barely make out what she’s saying. I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry. Over and over. The gun appears in her hand and is pressed to her temple without warning.

Your heart starts to thud and you run to try and save her. The gravelly beach beneath your feet tilts, and no matter how hard you try, the distance between you only opens wider. 

Then you hear the bang. Blood coats the rocks where she lies. Your own scream comes from somewhere outside of your body and it’s louder than anything you’ve ever heard.

David rises from the water behind, crawling up the shore towards her body. He’s almost unrecognisable with his face reduced to a pulp of knife wounds and cordyceps claiming much of his body with thick, fungal plates. He opens what’s left of his mouth to reveal tendrils sprouting from his throat along with haunting, wet clicks. 

He starts to charge directly at you.

“Joey?”

Joel nudges you awake and his voice chases away the hazy images in your mind.

Your eyes snap open and for a brief second, you’re disorientated and trying to figure out where you are. Your pulse hammers in your throat and your whole body is tense and shivering like it’s still locked in the nightmare you just got pulled out from. As Joel’s living room starts to reassemble around you, you become aware that he’s still underneath you and you’ve got a fistful of his undershirt bunched in your hand.

“Wh-what happened?” Your voice comes out ragged. You lift your head from his chest.

“Nothin’. Everythin’s okay.” His voice soothes without even trying. He notices the fright still sitting behind your eyes. “You were mumblin’ and twitchin’. Were you havin’ a bad dream or somethin’?”

More sensation starts to return in stages. His arms are still around you and you’re overheating from the blanket.

“Yeah. Just a dream.” You swallow. “Sorry. It happens every now and again.”

His hand cups the back of your head and guides it back down to his chest. His other arm closes around you even tighter. “S’okay, baby. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Happens to me too sometimes.”

Your fingers curl into his shirt again as the last stubborn traces of the nightmare ebbs out of you. He starts stroking up and down your back in slow motions until eventually, the shaking ceases and your breath untangles itself. 

You’re almost slipping back into sleep when a distant, cheerful voice from somewhere outside Joel’s house reaches you… and it’s getting closer.

“Alright, see you tomorrow!”

Ellie. She’s home from school.

The two of you are on your feet and moving in a graceless, soundless panic before you’ve even thought to question it. The velocity in which you snatch your boots off the floor and Joel folds the blanket back over the couch ironically resembles two teenagers caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing.

“Bathroom,” he says, nodding towards the one tucked away under the stairs out in the hallway. “Go. I’ll try get her upstairs.”

Being asked to physically hide yourself still stings despite everything, but Ellie walking in on the two of you like this deserves more than fifteen seconds of preparation. You take your boots and head for the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind you with as little noise as possible.

At the same time, the front door pushes open. Ellie’s sigh carries across the hallway.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey kiddo.” You hear it straight away. His tone sounds like he’s trying too hard to conceal something. It’s too even and not like him. There’s no doubt she’ll notice that. “How was school?”

“Boring. Same as every other day.”

You stand there and listen to the muffled sounds of her dropping her bag somewhere and unzipping her jacket. All of it sounding way too close to the door between you and the scene.

“Got much homework?” Joel asks.

There’s a pause long enough that you can feel her suspicion forming. It’s clearly not normal for him to show this much interest in her day at school.

“Not really. Why?”

“No reason. Just— I want you gettin’ it done earlier from now on. None of this leavin’ it ’til last minute any more. Head on upstairs and make a start before dinner.”

She pauses again. 

“Why do I have to do it upstairs?”

“Because this is my house and you’ll do as your told,” he says with a touch too much force than the situation calls for.

You clamp your eyes shut and try to communicate with him telepathically. Dial it back, Joel. Jesus.

“Let me guess,” Ellie says, her voice changing from suspicious to more understanding. “Didn’t sleep again?”

You hear Joel shift on his hips and let out a small exhale right outside the door. “Yeah. Sorry. Rough night.”

“Dude, you need to get that under control,” she says, starting to move around again. “You can be such a dick when you don’t sleep.”

“Language.”

She rolls her eyes so hard you can hear it through the wood. “Sorry, sorry…”

Then, you hear her stop right by where the foot of the stairs are.

“Uh, what’s Joey’s jacket doing here?”

Your internal organs fall out of you to the tiles below. You hung it up on the banister when you arrived earlier. It was mild enough outside this morning that you didn’t even really need to bring it. You just grabbed it out of habit. And now it’s there, giving away your presence like it’s a neon sign.

Joel’s not quick enough to think of an explanation. He leaves it two seconds too long so you act on instinct and impulse. You flush the toilet and let it confirm that you are indeed in the house. After counting to ten, you push the door open and step out into the hallway with as much casualness as you can possibly gather.

Joel’s face is the first thing you see. His eyes are pulled wide open and he’s frozen in place wondering what the hell you’re doing. Ellie is stood by the banister where your jacket hangs, confounded by what’s unfolding before her.

“Hey, Ellie,” you say in the voice of someone who was absolutely not just standing in a tiny bathroom under her stairs listening to the entire conversation she was having. 

“Hey…” You can see her glancing between you both, picking you apart and trying to piece together what’s going on. “What are you doing here?”

It registers then how strange it must be from her perspective. You’re essentially a staff member at her school and a confidant she has grown to trust. And here you are, chilling at home with her guardian in your free time when you have no real business to be doing that.

“I, uhh… I was just passing through,” you begin, already aware that this is going to require some seriously believable engineering to get by Ellie. “I dropped off some breakfast muffins for you to try.” You flick your head back in the direction of the kitchen. 

“I made them last night. I wanted to see if you liked them. Thought maybe we could practice them together sometime or get Elise to do them for the next masterclass. I wasn’t even supposed to stay long, but I really needed to use the bathroom before the walk back and Joel kindly offered, so…”

She continues to dissect you. The sleep crease on your cheek, your hair flattened on one side, the relaxed attire… Something about the blankness in her expression tells you she’s not buying it. It’s too over-explained and convenient, but she opts not to dig into it.

“Oh, cool…” she says in a way that only sets you more on edge. “Well, I was actually going to stop by Jeremiah’s later to ask if you still wanted to teach me Take On Me. I know you still have a few days off work, but—”

“Of course,” you say. “No, yeah, let’s do it. How about tomorrow? Are you free after school?”

“Yep!”

You look over to Joel who’s still trying to hold himself together. “Is it okay if I stop by tomorrow then?”

He glances between the two of you and his chest slackens from letting out the breath he was holding. “Yeah… Okay. As long as your homework gets done.”

—

June 5, 2024

“Ugh, I’m never gonna get it,” Ellie says, dropping her hand from the strings. “Why is it so hard to switch from this chord to this one? I can’t get my fingers right.”

She has spent the bulk of the evening attempting it and the frustration has been accumulating steadily. There was a precise moment where she stopped playing her guitar and started fighting it.

The porch holds the last of the day’s warmth. The sun is dragging itself down slowly behind the roofline across the street. Joel is inside putting together something for their dinner. Behind the screen door, Ellie’s schoolbag is slumped against the wall where she left it the second she got home.

“Okay, I think it’s time for a break,” you say, feeling the need to step in before she throws the instrument across the yard. “You’re doing really well already, but sometimes just taking ten minutes can help reset.”

“No, my stupid brain and stupid fingers just need to coordinate properly,” she mutters.

“Hey. Enough of that. You’ve literally just started learning it today. These things take time.” You hold out your hand. “Give me the guitar.”

She gives up and shoves it across to you. You settle it on your knee and look at her for a long moment. 

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” you say. “You’ve got a lot of skills under your belt already that most fifteen year olds don’t have. Look at how quickly you picked up the bow.”

“I know,” she says. “So why am I not getting this as easy? It shouldn’t be this hard.”

“There’s not one person alive who’s perfect at everything,” you reply, turning the tuning peg absentmindedly. “And things aren’t always easy. But think about it, it’ll be so much more rewarding when you do get it. Because you will get it. A part of the skill is the patience it takes to master it.”

“But, I am patient!” she says, as though you’ve accused her of something.

Your tilt your head and raise an eyebrow at her. “Ellie… You are many things. Patient is not one of them.”

She goes to open her mouth, but aborts and just sits back in Joel’s chair. You can’t help but smile.

A comfortable enough silence passes. The neighbourhood hums quietly as everyone starts to wind down for the night. Ellie twirls the guitar pick between her fingers, passing it back and forth and staring blankly at the wood beneath her.

“Joey, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Another rotation of the pick. She hesitates, but then decides to just plough ahead.

“Is there something going on with you and Joel?”

The question crashes into the evening like a meteor and you find yourself trying to do anything but overly react to it. You take a sudden interest in the streetlight furthest from the house and keep your eyes fixed on it.

“Uhh— What do you mean?”

“Like, are you two…” She takes a second to choose her next words carefully. “Seeing each other?”

Nothing gets passed this little twerp. She can read people better than you can read a fucking billboard. Every time she showcases this unsettling talent she has, you’re not sure if you admire or despise her for it. Usually, you end up leaning more towards admiring because you start imagining what she’s been through that has required her to develop and sharpen this particular skill.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you say. “Why would you even ask that?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Because it’s really fucking obvious.”

“Hey, language,”, you quip, but then immediately catch yourself.

She produces the most insufferable smirk because she knows she’s cracked the code. You can physically feel the secret slipping between your fingers. The one person Joel didn’t want to find out yet above everyone else now knows.

“Joel and I are just friends,” you say with as much conviction as you have in you. “He’s my partner— patrol partner, I mean. You don’t need to be worrying about it.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” she says pleasantly. “I just wanted to know. Besides, I think it’d be good for him. To have someone. Especially someone like you.”

She quietly picks at a splinter in the arm of Joel’s chair and you wonder how a fifteen year old could possibly know what would be good for a man like him. 

“He’s different when you’re around,” she continues. “He’s been different since… Since my birthday, I guess.”

Your eyes are still glued to the far end of the street. You take a long and slow breath in and out. “Hmm, yeah. Well, it’s got nothing to do with me, so…”

“Ding ding ding, my bullshit-o-metre is going off,” she teases.

You’re about to double down when you catch a glimpse of scarring on the underside of her forearm. The skin there has healed over and is left smooth and shiny. You’d forgotten about the bandage she had back in March around her birthday. She catches your eyes dipping to it and quickly tugs her sleeve down.

“Ellie, is that a burn?” you ask. “What the hell happened? It looks really nasty.”

“Nothing. It was just a stupid accident.”

You tilt your head again at her. “Come on, if we’re going to be grilling each other with questions, you can give me a little more than that. Tell me what happened.”

Before she can answer, the front door swings open. Joel leans out and takes in the scene before looking down at her schoolbag. “Ellie. Homework. Food’s almost ready.”

She reaches over, takes the guitar back from you and starts to get to her feet. “Is Joey staying for dinner?”

You go very still and look at Joel. He glances between you both as she approaches the front door.

“Yeah,” he says after a brief pause. “If he wants to. I made enough.”

The grin that breaks across her face is entirely too unnerving and makes the hairs on your arms stand up. She tops it off with an exaggerated smoochy face, obvious enough that Joel catches it, before bouncing back inside.

His neck almost snaps turning to face you as she passes him by. Whatever laxness he had in his face has curdled into unbridled horror. He checks behind him and then steps out fully onto the porch and pulls the door closed behind him. 

“What the fuck was that? What did you say to her?”

You jump to your feet. “Nothing! I didn’t tell her anything, but she knows!”

“What did she say? How does she know?” The urgency in his voice almost frightens you.

“She asked if there was something going on between us. I said there wasn’t, but it was like she already knew. Apparently we’re not that good at hiding it.”

He looks off down the street, his jaw tightening and hands finding his hips. “I don’t fuckin’ believe this… How the hell would she—…”

“I think you greatly underestimate how smart that kid is, Joel.”

“Oh, I know all too well,” he grumbles. “She just wasn’t supposed to know yet. No one’s supposed to know.”

The stress visibly flourishes in his features so you step closer to try and offer him some level of comfort and reassurance. “Hey, hey… Look, I know this isn’t what we planned and I know it’s scary, but she didn’t seem to be bothered by it at all. She actually seemed quite… happy about the idea of it, if it were true…”

His jaw stills for a second before he exhales hard through flared nostrils. “That’s not the point, Joey. I’m not ready for her to know. I wanted more time. It was supposed to be just for us.”

“Well, I don’t think we have that luxury anymore, Joel,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not how you wanted it, but we’ve got to do something. Continuing to pretend like this is not happening is the worst possible thing you could do right now. For you and for her.”

He lifts his eyes then and looks at you like you’ve just said something extremely dangerous. “What’re you sayin’?”

You hold his gaze and bite down on your bottom lip. “I think you should just tell her.”

“Are you— Have you lost your goddamned mind? Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“Joel. She already knows,” you repeat. “I didn’t want to be the one to confirm it for her. It’s not my place. But she knows, and the longer you lie to her face, the less she’s going to trust you in the long run. Believe me. She needs to know she can trust you.”

That seems to register deeply in him. Trust, and the breaking of it, appears to be a subject him and Ellie might have faced at some point in their history.

“I know it’s a lot to consider,” you continue, “and I can understand not wanting everyone in the settlement knowing, but Tommy and Ellie… these are people that care about you. This is your family. And unless you’re planning on ending this, I think they should know because it’s too messy to hide. Think about how much easier it’ll be if we can at least just let our guard down around them.”

He goes very quiet and very still. He stares down at the porch boards fighting himself. The breeze picks up suddenly and rustles the trees surrounding his yard.

You take another step closer and reach to brush a finger against the side of his hand, just enough to let him feel your touch. His hand reacts and his fingers curl into yours.

“I’ll be right there with you if that’s what you want,” you say. “But she deserves to hear it from you. You know she does.”

Eventually, he nods. Once and barely.

“I’ll tell her at dinner.”

—

“Looks good,” you say as Joel places a plate of vegetables and buttered bread in front of you. It doesn’t, if you’re being truthful, but someone had to break the uncomfortably awkward silence at the table.

“Why can’t you cook for us more?” Ellie asks you from across the table.

“Because Joey doesn’t live here,” Joel says, shooting her a look. “He lives with Jeremiah. Now eat.”

He drops into the seat beside you and starts shovelling carrots into his mouth without another word, eyes fixed to his plate and brow scrunched grumpily. He’s rigid with nerves.

You pick up your own cutlery and make a start.

The first carrot you chew confirms what you suspected. It’s overcooked to the point it’s almost liquid. It just tastes like the boiling water it was cooked in. No flavour, just mush. Your eyes flick over to the salt shaker, but you resist.

“Want some salt?” Ellie says then, lifting the salt shaker like she knew you were thinking about it.

You glance at Joel next to you and then back to her. “No. I’m fine, thanks.”

She pops her eyebrow knowingly and then proceeds to lace her own plate with it until Joel notices and tells her that’s enough. You’d rather suffer through the rest of this food as it is than hurt his feelings any more than they already have been.

Everyone has almost finished eating by the time you realise no one has spoken a word. Every scrape of cutlery around the table feels amplified. Ellie has remained quiet all throughout dinner which is very unusual for her. She always fills the silence no matter where she is. It’s practically her function. A part of you wonders if she’s keeping quiet because she’s waiting for someone else to fill it tonight for a change.

Under the table, you reach over and press your knee against his. His eyes slide over to you and he reacts like he was trying to forget what he set out to do tonight. From your periphery, you watch him fight himself one last time. He swallows down his last mouthful, pats his mouth clean with his napkin and readies himself with bunched fists.

“Uhh— Ellie.” 

His voice comes out with a flakiness to it. He’s already unsure and wobbly.

She stops mid-mouthful and looks up. Without even needing to acknowledge it, you can sense that he can’t look at her directly.

“I got somethin’ I need to talk to you about.”

Her eyes flick between the two of you. The tips of her ears flush red and she presses her lips together to hide the smile pushing up at the corners. You can almost hear her saying this is gonna be good in her head. She places her fork down and leans back, open and ready.

The room quiets even more around him. It takes him a moment to get started.

“I— uhh… I heard you asked Joey a question… out on the porch earlier today,” he says quietly. “About us.”

He speaks like every word is the equivalent of stepping on glass.

“Mhm.” She doesn’t blink.

He wipes his clammy hands on his jeans, still not able to face her.

“Well, uhh—… I thought I should let you know that, umm…” He and his words start to fall apart slowly. His shoulders sag and his head dips to his lap. “Me and Joey— uhh…”

Even Ellie’s expression softens watching him struggle through whatever it is he wants to say. The amusement drains out of her now that he’s shrinking. It’s almost pitiful to witness.

He’s just about to continue on and push through when he gives up on himself and collapses inward.

“You say it,” he mumbles to you under his breath. “I can’t— I’m sorry. Fuckin’ stupid…”

You hear the frustration in it. It’s not aimed at you or Ellie, but it’s difficult watching it swallow him whole.

Taking a breath, you straighten up a little in your seat. Beneath the table, your hand finds his where it rests on his thigh. You curl your fingers around it and give him a small squeeze.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, just for him. “I’ve got you.”

When you turn back to Ellie, she’s already watching and waiting.

“What Joel wants to tell you,” you say, picking up where he left off, “is that he knows you’ve noticed that we’ve been spending a lot of time together. Outside of patrols and stuff.”

She measures you like she already knows where this is all going and she’s just waiting for you to cough it up.

“Well,” you continue, trying to choose the right way to say it, “that’s because we enjoy spending time together. And we’ve gotten… quite close in the last while.”

Beside you, Joel visibly squirms. You feel it more than you see it. His hand tightens under yours and the rest of his body goes rigid like he’s bracing for some sort of impact.

“Joel is a really, really good man. He’s helped me with a lot since I got here. And I’ve helped him too, I think. And somewhere along the way, we’ve realised that we rely on each other — and that we care about each other… a lot.”

Ellie’s expressions remains unreadable, but she’s listening. Really listening.

“So when you asked earlier if there was something going on between us… I lied, and I shouldn’t’ve lied. I’m sorry I did. But I did it because this is something Joel wanted to tell you himself in his own time… when he was ready… because it’s important to him. But I think you know the answer.”

Your thumb traces back and forth over Joel’s knuckles and it’s unclear who it’s more grounding for, you or him.

Ellie tips her head forward slightly, peering at you through her lashes. “So… you two are seeing each other?”

You don’t want to answer this part. Instead, you wait and let him do it. He eventually looks up from his lap. His eyes move from you to her and he gathers up every last bit of courage he has knowing he’s got the final word. 

“Yeah.”

A single syllable, but now it’s out there. He did it and you can’t quite believe he did it. Your hand squeezes his again. His body language hides nothing. It’s abundantly evident that it took a lot for him just to do that.

Ellie’s cheeks tint a little and that small flicker of amusement returns to her eyes.

“Cool,” she says, like you’ve just told her some mildly interesting fact about space she hasn’t heard yet and not something that has had Joel in knots this entire time.

You look at her across the table and the smile you wear is just for her. She’s young, but she’s intelligent enough to understand what she’s just done for him, and by extension, you. You see it in how she knows to not use it as an opportunity to tease him the way she normally would or make it into anything it doesn’t need to be. By being appropriately gentle, she just took an enormous burden off of his shoulders, and you’re full of gratitude for that.

Joel’s eyes find yours then and they give away exactly how he’s feeling. He doesn’t know quite what to do with it. He’s jammed somewhere between relief and disbelief. All that tension he had held on to, all that fear, and she just… accepts it like it’s nothing. Now it just needs to find it’s way out of his body.

"So you're… okay with it?" he asks, still shielding himself as if she might change her mind. "It doesn't bother you?"

She almost winces at that, like the question itself is a little painful to receive. “Psh, nope. Why would it bother me? I like Joey. Joey’s cool.”

"I just—…" He exhales and collects himself. "It doesn't change anything. Between you and me. I need you to know that."

She picks at the ends of her fingers and nods like she understands the gravity behind those words. A small silence passes before she looks back up at you both. “Wait, so how long has this been going on? Am I literally the last one to find out?”

“Not that long,” you say, your fingers still laced through his under the table. “It’s still quite new for us. But only you and Tommy know, and we’d like to keep it that way for now. Okay?”

She nods again.

“Ellie.” Joel’s voice is considerably more firm than yours. “I mean it. You can’t tell anyone. Not until we’re ready.”

“Yeah, I heard him the first time, jeez…” she replies. “I won’t say a thing.”

He analyses her for another moment, checking for any potential cracks in her demeanour, before finally letting it go. “Alright, well… clear your plate away and go to your room or somethin’.”

She slides her seat back, takes her plate to the sink to rinse it and then begins to make her way out to the hallway. Back at the table, you and Joel follow suit, collecting what’s left of the dishes to finish tidying up.

She stops in the doorway and turns.

“You know,” she says, making you both pause. She takes the sight of the two of you in, standing together in the amber light of Joel’s dining table with dishes in hand, like she’s piecing you together in a new way for the first time. “You guys kinda suit each other.”

She says it simply and like she’s pleased with herself for saying it. Then she’s gone. Her footsteps go climbing up the stairs and her bedroom door closes.

The silence she leaves behind is very different than the one before dinner. 

Joel leans forward onto the back of a dining chair, propping himself up and letting it take some of his weight. His eyes find the tiles below and he lets out a resolute exhale as he starts to process what just happened. You set down the dishes you’re holding and cross to him. Your hand moves up his arm and stays there. You fold yourself against his side, resting your face on his shoulder and your arm curving around his back.

“You did it,” you whisper against his flannel, pressing several little kisses there. “I’m so proud of you.”

He doesn’t move for a minute. He just stands there and lets it all flow through him.

When he finally straightens and looks at you, his eyes are glossy and a little lost. Not lost in a bad way, lost in a way that someone would look if they carried that much shame and worry only to learn that they never needed it in the first place.

“How do you feel?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “I dunno…” he says. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on… I just didn’t think it’d be like this. I don’t know what I thought was gonna happen.”

“She’s not like us,” you reply softly. “You’ve got to remember that, Joel. Ellie didn’t grow up with what we grew up with. None of this matters to her the same way it did for us. She’s like Tommy. She just wants you to be happy.”

He absorbs that somewhat and nods slowly, his gaze drifting somewhere past you before finding their way back.

“Would it be alright if— uhh…” He clears his throat and tries again, quieter this time. “Would you mind stayin’ tonight? I just— I think I’d sleep better if you were here.”

The shyness of it, the need… it makes you melt. It’s still very much apparent how hard it is for someone like him to be this way, so you don’t take it for granted. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I can stay. I’ll just need to go and get Jeremiah sorted first. I’ll be back in a bit.”

—

Joel eases his bedroom door closed with a soft click once you’ve returned and everyone has decided it’s time to turn in for the night. With Ellie tucked away in her room and getting herself ready to sleep, you can’t help but notice the subtle difference in how he moves around his room now. He’s still carrying some residual tension from the reveal earlier tonight, but he’s definitely a little looser. Even when he answered the door downstairs just now, there was an openness that wasn’t there before and almost a relief that you had returned.

Your patrol backpack has been repurposed to an overnight bag for the night. Some spare clothes and a few essentials, nothing major. You set it down at the foot of the bed and take in your surroundings like it’s the first time. Nothing has inherently changed except the eyes that look around it now. Everything feels different through this lens.

The room still holds Joel’s version of cozy. It’s practical and a little worn-in, but it’s tidy. Lamps hum warmly in the corners, casting shadows along the walls. Every surface still holds tools, books or just random belongings of his. Nothing feels out of place though.

At the window, he draws the curtains closed to shut out the quiet stretch of street outside.

“How’s Jeremiah?” he asks, unbuttoning his flannel and toeing off his boots.

“He’s actually doing pretty well,” you reply, doing the same, starting to shrug off your own layers. “You know how much I hate leaving him on his own, but I think he enjoys having the place to himself. Less of me hovering around him all day.”

By the time you’ve brushed your teeth, he has already changed into his nightwear and passes you in the doorway with a graze of his shoulder as he heads to take his turn at the sink.

The bathroom door swings half-shut behind him and you take a second to just watch him. It’s strange how easily it’s all slipping into place. It feels almost presumptuous to wonder if this could become a regular thing, but the thought is there nonetheless.

When he reemerges, you’re standing at the end of his bed.

“Which side do you want me on?” you ask.

“You choose,” he murmurs, barely glancing over as he busies himself with folding the last remaining articles of clothing left lying around.

There’s no need to overthink it. Naturally, you gravitate to the same side he made you sleep on the last time and tuck yourself under the covers.

The sheets are fresh and cool against your skin as you slide in. You catch the scent of soap as you pull them up over your chest. You watch him circle the bed before following you in and leaning down to press a light kiss to your forehead.

He reaches behind him to switch off his bedside lamp. In that moment, something nags at you. You consider letting it pass. Tonight has already taken enough out of him and out of you. But you need to know the truth.

“Joel,” you say quietly, just before the lamp goes off. “I need to ask you something.”

He pauses and glances over his shoulder at you. Whatever he sees in your face makes him stop. He turns back to face you and props himself up on his elbow.

“What’s wrong?”

You take a long breath in to buy yourself a second, trying to think of the smartest way to ask.

“I know today has been a lot. And I meant it when I said I wasn’t looking for answers that you’re not ready to give me yet, but there’s something I really need to know.”

He shifts again and sits up a little like he’s bracing for whatever it’s about to be.

“How did Ellie get that scar on her arm?”

It drops on him heavier than you intended it to. The stillness is immediate. His eyes become quite vacant as they drift past your shoulder. You can see thoughts starting to churn uncomfortably in his head.

“I saw the bandages before and I asked her, but she wouldn’t say what happened,” you continue. “I asked her again out on the porch when I saw it had healed over, but she still wouldn’t tell me a thing. She just kept saying it was nothing.”

His gaze drops to the rumpled sheets between you. He swallows nervously. 

You hesitate, but then decide to push a little further.

“It didn’t look like nothing. It looked like she was trying to cover something.”

That pulls his eyes back to you. He receives it almost like it’s an accusation. Without you needing to say it, he knows what you’re insinuating.

There’s no mistaking what he’s thinking now. You can see it written all over his face. You’ve stepped on the line, maybe even over it, but he’s calculating whether this is something he can be truthful about with you. After the past few months you’ve had with him, if he can’t trust you at this point, maybe he’ll never be able to fully trust you.

It takes a long moment, but he eventually breathes out slowly, like he’s decided what he needs to say.

“She’s immune.”

He says it flatly and with no build-up or cushioning. The words are so disorientating that you’re not even fully sure you heard or understood them correctly.

Your brows pinch slightly. “What do you mean immune?”

There’s a clench in his jaw. His eyes stay glued to the creases in the sheets like he’s reading from them, like it’s easier than looking directly into your eyes.

“She got bit,” he says then. “Long time ago now. But she didn’t turn.” He pauses and swallows. “It just healed. By itself. That’s how she ended up with me. Someone wanted me to take her out west — to Salt Lake City. Fireflies had a base out there. Said they might be able to use her to make a cure.”

Your head feels overloaded and like it’s struggling to keep up. Every piece of information shatters everything you thought you knew even more.

“A cure?” you repeat, but your voice is barely audible.

“It ended up not workin’,” he continues. “So we left. Came back here so we could be with Tommy. Give her a life worth livin’. Keep her safe. She burned herself to hide the bite. Didn’t want any attention.”

You drag your gaze away from him because looking at him feels like too much right now. The world you’ve been surviving in, as broken as it already is, has never felt more out of alignment. 

Immune. The word runs circles around you and refuses to sit still. A cure. A concept you didn’t think was even possible anymore. 

All the years passed. All those that were lost. The idea that things could’ve been different or still could be different. It’s crushing. It’s too great to even comprehend.

“If people knew,” Joel says, and this time you feel his eyes on the side of your face, “I don’t know what they’d do, so they can’t find out. There ain’t anyone else like her. Might never be anyone else like her again.”

Just when you thought you had him figured out, he uncovers this layer to him that completely rearranges any notion of reality you had. Jackson doesn’t feel quite as simple anymore and neither does this.

“If we’re really doin’ this,” he murmurs, each word measured carefully, “I need you to swear to me that you’ll keep her safe. No matter what.”

Your eyes meet his again. They’re heavy with the burden of what it takes to be around him. Joel’s fear is never loud, it’s always buried deep enough that only those who truly know him get to see it.  He’s speaking to you in a way that should feel like you’re being given an ultimatum. But you made your mind up the day she barrelled into you in Elise’s bakery, whether you knew it or not.

You give one slow and certain nod. “No matter what.”

Joel watches you carefully after that, in that way he does when he’s testing for any fragility. You just let him. You can feel it in the way his eyes move across your features. He doesn’t find anything. You mean it and he knows you do.

Still leaning on one elbow, he reaches over and cups the back of your head to pull you into him. He kisses you with intention. It feels less like affection and more like an unspoken oath you’re making here in his bed. When you part, your lips separate softly and he keeps you close for another minute, foreheads pressed together while the quiet breathes around the two of you.

Then he shifts lower beneath the covers, settling into the mattress and ready to rest. Instinctively, he reaches to pull you against him, but you stop him halfway and flip the motion on him, guiding him carefully until his back rests flush against your chest instead. You tuck yourself into him, your arm slipping under his and lacing your fingers together. You press feather-light kisses to the back of his ear.

Tonight, you’re holding him.

After the day he’s had, after everything he’s done to include you, you don’t want anything from him now other than to let you hold him. It’s a wordless gesture to let him know that he no longer has to carry the full weight of all of this by himself anymore. 

Things between you have moved faster than you ever imagined they would. Faster than either of you probably intended. But that’s the new world. It’s all about survival and rebuilding. Healing. It just so happens that you’re both puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together the way you do right here in this bed.

Who knows how it will end. Who knows if any of this is a good idea.

All you know is that lying here with him, with Ellie asleep a few doors down the hallway, it’ll all be worth it.

—

June 6, 2024

The first thing that registers as you stir awake is the light, brilliant and insistent pouring through the gaps in the curtains. The second is the empty space beside you when you stretch your leg over to feel for his. The sheets have already gone cool where Joel had been. 

The en-suite door is open and no one is beyond the frame. The house feels eerily quiet and there’s a sharp chill in the air that the duvet had been shielding you from. Propping yourself up on both elbows, you look around the room one-eyed as you slowly surface from sleep, listening for any sign of life until you hear something.

Before your heart has a chance to start ticking, the clang of something heavy being placed on the hob in the kitchen downstairs confirms someone is still here.

Once your chest has unknotted, you climb out of bed, throw on some fresh clothes and head out to the hallway. Ellie’s bedroom door is still closed, but she’ll surely be up for school soon. 

You head downstairs and round the corner to find Joel in his pyjamas at the stove with his back to the doorway, moving around the kitchen like he’s taking the job of cooking breakfast way too seriously. 

The kitchen is a little warmer, golden and smells of butter heating gently in a pan. Sunlight spills through the window in angled, honey-coloured rays, spread across the countertops and dishes that have already started to accumulate by the sink. 

He doesn’t seem to have heard you come down the stairs. He only realises you’re there when you mumble “morning” from the doorway, your voice still sandpapery with sleep. He turns fast enough to suggest he wasn’t expecting you to be awake just yet.

“Oh. Mornin’.”

You flatten your hair and cross the tiles to him, drawn by the promise of his body heat and the smell of bed still clinging to his skin. He sets the eggs he was holding down on the counter and opens his arms just as you reach him. You press your cheek into the side of his neck, close your eyes and just stay there to breathe him in. His arms encircle you and hold you against him and his mouth presses comforting kisses into the side of your head.

“You alright?” he murmurs quietly. “Sleep okay?”

The answer you give is more of a noise than it is language. It’s a soft, sleepy mhm. You lift your head to find his mouth and kiss him once before returning back to the space between his chest and jaw. He starts to sway you slowly in place and lets you stay there with him until you’re ready to detach, peel yourself away and drop into one of the dining room chairs.

“How d’you like your eggs?” Joel asks, turning back to the pan.

You scrub both hands across your face and yawn before answering. 

“Sunny side up.”

He gets to work, so you just sit back and watch. The level of concentration he’s using for the task is downright adorable, but you do your best to make it seem like you’re not enjoying it more than you should be. He clearly really wants this to go right.

“I’m gonna make a pot of coffee,” he says over his shoulder. “You want some?”

“Nah, I’m grand.”

He turns to look at you fully then at a speed that is almost comical. His face drops because he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

“Of course I want coffee,” you say, grinning back at him.

He shakes his head disapprovingly and reaches for the coffee tin on the top shelf near the stove. He rattles it in his hand before pulling the lid open and peering in. “I’m runnin’ a little low.”

It should be no surprise seeing as he’s been making more servings than he normally would since he found out you love coffee as much as he does, but he’s assessing and calculating roughly how many more cups he’ll get out of what’s left.

“Don’t worry about me then,” you say. “Save it. I’ll just have water.”

He gives you a look that he would only reserve for suggestions that he considers thoroughly idiotic. “No, I’m makin’ you some. I keep it for special occasions.”

“Then don’t waste it on me,” you repeat. “It’s a finite resource. Save it for a special occasion.”

But he’s already spooning some out into two separate mugs. “I’d argue today is a special occasion.”

That makes you go quiet. Inside, your chest feels like it’s struggling to contain your heart. There’s no way to hide what’s going on on your face, so you pick at the corner of the napkin lying on the table next to you and let yourself continue to be surprised by this man who has done nothing but surprise you in the last few months.

“If you’re sure,” you say finally.

He carries one of the mugs over and sets it down in front of you. 

“Just means I’ll have to go find more soon,” he says. “And when I do, you’re comin’ with me.”

Your eyes meet across the table for a moment, long enough for the idea to form in your imagination. Riding out together at some point in the future for something as ordinary as coffee seems way more romantic than it probably should.

“Need a hand with anything?”

Joel surveys the kitchen in a quick audit, tallying up what’s left to do. “Uhh, no. S’pretty much all done. Just waitin’ for the bread to toast.”

It’s only a minute later that the toaster pops and you watch him start to assemble everything onto plates. A thought repeats in your mind, how strange it still feels to be sitting in his kitchen. It feels like watching a dream play out in front of you. It’s reality allowing one of your wildest fantasies to seep through just for once. Your fingers have barely closed around it and you already can’t bare the thought of letting it go.

Plates start hitting the table, and that’s apparently all the signal that’s needed to summon Ellie from her bedroom. She barrels down the stairs and stops for a split second in the doorway when her eyes land on you first. You can’t blame her for forgetting you were staying the night. It’s a new visual seeing you sat at Joel’s dining table with sleep still holding you — and it’s still early in the morning. 

She smiles, somewhat delighted with the scene that greets her, and drops into her chair at the head of the table.

“Sup.”

“Morning,” you say. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” she says, picking up her fork and examining the slightly burned toast and eggs on her plate. “What about you two?”

You glance across to Joel, who is finishing dumping dishes into the sink with his back to you. “Really well, actually. We were out like a light. Especially Joel. He was exhausted.”

“Well, just so you know,” Ellie says, lifting her brows as she starts cutting into her eggs. “I didn’t hear a things, so don’t worry.”

The look that Joel gives her from across the kitchen would frighten a heavily armed raider, but as always, Ellie remains totally unfazed and unaffected. “Keep quiet and eat your food.”

“I was talking about snoring.”

You duck your head and bite the inside of your cheek to suppress the chuckle that’s attempting to disrupt the silence left behind.

Joel drops into the seat next to you and starts eating. If the unspoken awkwardness of everyone adjusting to this wasn’t there, this would be rather peaceful and comfortable. It’s the ordinary percussion of a shared meal. Cutlery against ceramic, the crunch of toast… Blissfully plain.

Your eyes are drawn to the kitchen window and a thin cloud moving slowly across the pale sky. With the inhale of a breath, you realise for once in God knows how long, you don’t feel dread. There’s nothing to worry about in the next hour, the next day or even the next week. You’ve taught yourself to not put too much faith into feelings like this because they never last, but maybe this time they will.

“This is nice,” Ellie pipes up after a while.

Both you and Joel look up at her from your plates. Her eyes move between you and she has that same satisfied smirk that make her freckles appear more prominent on her nose and cheeks somehow. 

“What, the eggs?” you ask, glancing over to Joel. “Yeah, they’re actually really good. They turned out perfectly.”

“No, I mean…” She waves her fork in a vague arc to gesture to the three of you arranged around the table in the remarkably simple way that you are. “This.”

She just goes back to eating like it’s nothing. 

Joel’s eyes have already found yours by the time you look back at him and they stay there for a minute. No one else would be able to read what he’s thinking the way you can. He’s having the same realisation you did moments ago. He’s watching something he imagined, hoped for, becoming real right in front of him. 

In some ways, maybe Ellie is reaching that same conclusion too. In one way or another, all three of you have craved safety and belonging and everything under the umbrella of that. And here, at this table, it feels like you may have finally found it.

Outside, the world comes to life for another day. There’s warmth when you curl your hand around your coffee mug, but it’s nothing compared to what’s going on inside of you. 

And right on cue, the dread comes crawling right back, cruel and unwelcome, because now you have something that you can lose.

AN: And there we have it, folks! The final chapter of this act. Thank you so much for reading this far.

I'm going to be taking a few weeks off from posting while I write the next chapters and try to catch up with myself. I have no exact idea how long it'll be for the next chapter, but it'll be a few weeks. Make sure you're following me on my socials as I'll keep everyone updated there! (SuniSid3Up on Twitter and suni.sid3.up on IG).

Some more BTS stuff -- Since I posted chapter 28 last weekend, my dad developed some chest pains and went to get it checked out and it turns out he was on the verge of having a major heart attack and is now preparing to get a quadruple bypass surgery, so things have been a little nuts for me the last few days. His surgery is coming up and I don't know what lies ahead, but writing is helping me stay sane and level to some degree.

Like I said last week, I hate asking for this, but I would love it if you could like, share, kudos, comment on the story as much as you can because it makes all the difference! I hope you go back and re-read your favourite chapters while I'm gone too because it's fun finding all the little details and easter eggs buried in there.

Also can we PLEASE give it up for the incredible artwork for this chapter by my friend Jaymee?! Please go send her lots of love and follow/support her.

Jo and Cillian had truly outdone themselves.

The Ritz-Carlton was a masterpiece of teakwood and volcanic stone nestled along the Wailea coast, and the view was absolutely breathtaking. Massive sliding glass doors revealed everything, from the Pacific stretching out like a deep blue silk shroud in the distance, to an endless line of palm trees swaying in the breeze.

It was an enviable location for anyone wishing for a dream wedding, and if this was your room, you couldn't help but wonder what the newlyweds' suite looked like. High, plush beds with comforters as soft and white as cotton, blue and earth toned accent pillows resting against fluffy inviting pillows, and a delicious clean scent permeating every corner. Opposite the bed sat a delicate console topped with a large TV, and next to it, a small sofa just as pristine white as everything else.

You smiled to yourself and kicked off your shoes; a welcome relief after a ten hour flight. Your lower back ached slightly, the back of your neck was slick with sweat, and a faint headache was beginning to brew. But you were in Maui. Finally.

It was the first time you had left Austin in a very, very long time. God knew you needed it; after so many years cooped up within the same few miles, any escape offered to you was welcome. Besides, you could consider this a reward.

When Jo and Cillian first sent the invitation, you thought they were out of their minds. There was absolutely no way you had the time or the money to jet off for an entire weekend wedding. You were buried under work and had recently taken out a loan just to keep your workshop afloat, so you didn't RSVP right away. You figured the best you could do was send a lovely gift to their address. Perhaps one of those custom armchairs you crafted, the one Jo had loved so much. No, two of them. One for her, and one for him.

Fast forward a few months, and you already had the plane tickets in hand. Business had started doing much, much better, and you had finally gotten your head above water, so you could actually afford a weekend away. Plus, the room was already paid for; how could you possibly say no to that?

You walked toward the sliding glass doors, your bare feet relaxing into the floor as the scenery unveiled itself behind the glass. The wind seemed to be blowing hard, and when you slid the door open, the rush of warm humid air brushed against your neck and cheeks.

The scent of plumeria blossoms was intense, and the sound of the ocean crashing against the black rocks made you smile. You stepped out onto the balcony, feeling the sun warmed wood beneath your feet, and pulled out your phone. It only rang for a few seconds.

"Hey, Dean… Yeah, I just walked into the room," you said, leaning against the railing and closing your eyes to block out the sheer vastness of the paradise in front of you. “It’s unreal, honestly. Jo and Cillian picked the best place on earth… I miss you too. A lot.”

You sighed, catching your breath. Dean’s voice was a bit muffled on the other end.

"Sorry… I can’t hear you very well," you said, pacing from one side of the balcony to the other. Dean asked something. “I think the signal’s terrible out here. Can you hear me?”

You pressed your other hand over your free ear, as if that would actually help. Obviously, it didn't, so you clicked your tongue and frowned.

"I think I’ll call you back in a moment, yeah?" you said, raising your voice for some reason as if that would do the trick. It didn't. "I’ll text you now. I love you."

You pulled the phone away from your face and glanced at the screen. Shit. Okay, no big deal. You’d just send him a text.

Signal is bad here, I'll call you in a bit :) <3

"You gotta head down there, closer to the palm trees, off to the right. Stand right about there, and the boy'll hear you a whole lot better."

The voice came out of nowhere, drifting over from the nearest edge of the balcony. To your right, just on the other side of the dividing wooden partition, was a voice you knew better than your own.

Your heart gave a violent shudder, but you forced yourself not to jump. You turned your head by fractions; the movement felt absurdly careful. None of this was funny.

Joel.

Joel was standing right there, leaning against the railing and peering just slightly around the edge of the wall. He held a glass of water in one hand and his phone in the other.

He turned toward you, his mouth curving into a relaxed smile. He looked exactly the same, yet so, so different. The sun had etched fresh lines around his eyes, and his beard carried more gray than you remembered. His features seemed softened somehow, though they were still just as rugged.

"Joel," you said, your tone far too polite. "I… I had no idea you were staying next door."

“Guess that’s just bad luck,” he replied, a half smile brushing his lips without ever reaching his eyes. "How you been?"

You bit your tongue and your jaw tightened. “Really good. You?”

Really good. Great. Thriving. The best you had been in years. Your business was doing well, you looked good (maybe the best you had ever looked in your life) and every single night you went home to a man who respected you and loved you, but above all, a man who was actually there. Dean.

"Doin' alright myself," he answered, shifting his gaze out toward the horizon, watching the blue ocean and the palm fronds swaying back and forth.

The hair on his forehead drifted with the breeze, and he squinted slightly against the sun. A fine sheen of sweat coated his brow, and the tips of his ears were flushed pink.

Two years. Two whole years had passed since you last laid eyes on him. You had sworn to yourself that it would be the final time, and you had kept that promise. That morning, you slipped out of his bed while he was still fast asleep, leaving absolutely no trace behind. It was the hard stop to a cycle that had once seemed endless.

But that was just how you and Joel were; it was how you had always been. Ever since you crossed paths by pure chance at a bar fifteen years ago. Your eyes had locked with his, he was the one to approach you first, and you spent the entire night tangled up in each other, talking about everything and everyone until the sun came up and he had to head off to work without a single wink of sleep.

Two years of dating, ten years of marriage, and one year of seeing each other off and on post-divorce. Walking away from him had been agonizing; after signing the papers, you ended up in his bed more than once, and he was in yours far more often than you cared to admit. Until that one morning you finally walked out; you left a brief note on his kitchen counter telling him that enough was enough, that you needed to leave this behind, and then you blocked his number and left for good.

Two years had passed since that day. You hadn't seen him since.

You offered a faint smile and nodded, dropping your gaze to the planter beside the window.

"Alright. Uh, see you around," you said, not even waiting to see if he would answer. You immediately stepped back inside the room and slid the glass door shut.

Through the glass, you watched as his hand disappeared from the balcony railing.

Your feet sank into the sand and tiny grains scattered with every step you took.

You had to do something, and fast. Talk to Jo, beg her to swap your room with someone else or pay out of pocket for a completely different one if you had to. You needed to act.

Ever since you ran into Joel two hours ago, your heart had been pounding harder than usual. Tachycardia, maybe; as if he were a massive, undiluted cup of black coffee, far too strong, messing with your anxiety and sending your blood racing through your veins.

You hadn't even called Dean back. There was no earthly way you could speak to him without the emotions tearing through you right now bleeding into the tone of your voice. He would know instantly that something was up, that you were hiding something. And the second you told him it was about Joel, that he was right here, separated by nothing more than a single wall, you knew he would catch the very first flight out to Maui. Because Dean knew everything, or at least almost everything. He knew it had been a brutal divorce, not because you had fought constantly through it, but because it had been so damn painful, like ripping a fingernail straight from the skin. The wound still throbbed.

Right in front of you, the ocean spread out pure and beautiful. The waves crashed against the shore, melting at your feet and soaking you up to your ankles. The hem of your skirt fluttered in the breeze; delicate sheer crimson fabric that draped down to your calves. And the sun blazed with the exact same brightness as your top, a cropped form fitting canary yellow.

You knew it was possible he would be here. You knew Jo and Cillian might invite him. Jo had actually given you a heads up a few months before the invitations went out.

Joel might go, are you comfortable with that?

Of course, absolutely. It's your wedding, I'd hate for you to feel bad about inviting someone just on my account. Just do it, seriously, no drama.

And now he was here, though you had at least held onto the hope that you could avoid each other a bit more. To not run into him at the ceremony, or during the dinner; to stay far enough apart that this could pass without any aftermath. What kind of aftermath, exactly? You weren't worried about arguing with him, nor were you worried about the conversation turning awkward and filled with cruel jabs. That wasn't how you and he operated; it never had been. You were worried about other things, things that were far beyond what you could handle right now.

Suddenly, a woman's voice called your name from a distance.

"Hey, hey!"

You turned around instantly, recognizing it right away and letting the pure excitement wash away every single one of your anxious thoughts.

"Hey!" You started running toward her with your arms wide open, and in your head, cheesy music started playing, like the entire world slipped into a cinematic, frame by frame cadence like those funny montages of people reuniting after a lifetime apart.

Kathani was running toward you with that exact same energy; her hair billowed in soft brown waves, dancing across her shoulders just like her light blue dress. She looked like a fairy.

"Kat!"

Your arms wrapped around her in a breathless embrace. Long months had flown by since you last saw each other, maybe even a whole year.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you," she said against your shoulder, squeezing you even tighter. "You look so so beautiful, from a distance I honestly thought I spotted an angel!"

"Oh, stop!" You gave her a playful little shake, stepping back a bit to get a better look at her. "What are you talking about? You look absolutely gorgeous."

"We both look gorgeous."

You laughed. "I'll take that."

She offered a warm smile and rested her hands on your shoulders.

"Jesus, how are you? Last month I almost made it out to Austin, but work got in the way and I couldn't go. How is everything back home?" Suddenly, her eyebrows shot up. "Hey, Jo told me Joel might be coming—"

Your eyes went wide as saucers. "Kat, you gotta help me. His room is right next to mine."

"What?"

You nodded quickly. "I swear, please, you have to help me."

"But how? What happened? Like, right next door?"

"Yes. Right next door," you shrugged helplessly. "The second I arrived, I went out onto the balcony to call Dean, and there he was on the balcony right next to mine, which is basically attached. He must have heard the whole conversation!"

Kat smirked. "Oh my God, I bet he absolutely wanted to crawl into a hole and die!"

"Kathani!"

"What?" She shrugged. "You know it’s true. The only reason he even showed up is probably to see you. Since when does Joel take trips like this?"

"I don't know, it's been a while. Maybe he does now."

"Right, now," she rolled her eyes. She let out a breath and studied you for a quiet moment. "I'm sorry. How are you holding up? How do you feel about it?"

How did you feel about it? How did you feel about it… how did you feel about it.

Conflicted.

"I'm fine," you said, turning your gaze back toward the ocean. "I mean… I'll manage." You looked back at her, giving a firm nod. "I'm in Maui. Look at this view, it's gorgeous."

"It really is."

"I don't want Joel overshadowing this."

"Hey," Kat gently touched your arm to catch your eye. "Take a breath. I don't think he's going to try and cross any lines, not after how things ended. And if he does get in your space, I'll get rid of him for you."

You laughed. "Easy there. I just need to pay him no mind and that's it. We'll be spending most of our time out of our rooms anyway."

The sky was a striking blend of pinks and oranges when you made your way down to the beach for dinner. It was paradise; a long, long table was set up right in the center of the open air restaurant, draped in a crisp white tablecloth and adorned with centerpieces crafted from local flora. Servers drifted around, putting the final touches on everything for the rehearsal dinner.

You had headed down early to grab a drink.

Switching rooms was out of the question. Earlier, during the welcome cocktails, you had pulled Jo aside to ask if a swap was possible.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Why? Is there something wrong with yours?"

A bit flustered, you told her, "It’s right next door to Joel's."

Jo frowned and shook her head. "No way. I specifically told Nora to put you two far apart."

Nora, one of the planners.

Well, long story short: it was a total communication breakdown. Apparently, the phrases they can't be next to each other and they have to be next to each other sound way too similar, or maybe it was bad phone reception, or ambient noise, or who even knows. Nora had purposely booked you in adjoining rooms. And when you saw the look on her face when Jo brought it up (a look of pure wedding-induced panic and stress) you simply threw in the towel.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. I don't want to cause any trouble, it's your wedding."

And it was. You weren't about to demand a new hotel room just because your ex husband happened to be on the other side of the wall. Jo was already stressed enough without having to fix your mess, which, to be completely fair, wasn't even that catastrophic.

Fortunately, Joel had kept his distance during cocktails. He stayed on the periphery, had a drink or two, and then you watched him head out before the mixer even wrapped up.

Now, you were sipping your drink, settled at the bar while smooth music filled your ears and the distant sound of the tides eased your mind.

Bing. Your phone lit up.

[Kat]: emergency meet me in the lobby NOW

[Kat]: hurry before dinner starts I have to tell you something

You frowned and instantly slid off your barstool, taking care not to let your dress tangle around your legs. It was brand new, a light blue shade that perfectly matched the dinner dress code. You had been paying close attention to details like that. You even wore a white flower tucked into your hair right above your ear.

With your drink in hand, sipping from the straw, you walked over to the lobby, and the moment the automatic doors slid open, you spotted Kat standing near the reception desk. Her eyebrows shot up the second she caught sight of you, and she approached with long hurried strides.

She grabbed your arm and pulled you off to the side. You nearly spilled some of your drink but kept the straw securely between your lips.

You knit your brows and took a sip. "Mh—hey, what's goin' on?"

Kat let out a breath. "Have you seen Joel?"

"What? No, why?"

She pressed her lips together tightly and gave a firm nod. "He didn't come alone."

"What?"

"Joel. He didn't come by himself. I just saw him go up the elevator with a woman, and she kissed him."

Your heart did a strange jerky twist that. For some reason, it actually stung.

You swallowed hard, and your eyelids suddenly felt heavy.

"But he was completely by himself during the cocktails."

"I think she arrived later."

Caught completely off guard, you took a step back.

Okay.

What could you even say? Nothing. It wasn't as if you were supposed to feel bad about it anyway; you yourself had been in a wonderful new relationship for several months now. Did you even have a single right to feel even slightly slighted just because he had a girl—

Jesus.

You knit your brows. "Are you absolutely sure it was him?"

"Yeah," she said, crossing her arms. "He didn't spot me, but I definitely saw him. They got out of a car at the entrance and then headed straight for the elevator. She had a suitcase."

"But Jo would have told me. If Joel was bringing a plus one, Jo would have let me know."

"What if it slipped her mind? Or what if she deliberately avoided mentioning it for some reason?"

"Why… why would she do something like that?"

Kat raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips slightly, right on the verge of saying something.

Before she could get a single word out, you cut her off.

"It's fine. I have a plus one too, it's just that Dean couldn't make it," you shrugged. "Joel has every right to bring someone."

"Yeah, but he's staying in the room right next to yours."

Oh. Great. Thank you, Kat.

"You're not being very helpful," you said, crossing your arms.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, tilting her head back slightly. "Look, come sleep in my room tonight, okay?"

"Jesus, Kat," you said, shaking your head, "I think… I think you're blowing this way out of proportion. Joel and I… we're divorced, alright? I have a new life. I don't care if he's with someone else, or if he's right next to my room. I freaked out earlier but," you laughed, "it's no big deal, seriously. I can handle it."

Kat nodded, though you knew it was highly unlikely she believed a single word coming out of your mouth. She knew you entirely too well; she had been right there during that first year after the divorce, watching you go back to Joel again and again, returning and leaving, back and forth. And she had been there when you walked out for good, too; she had comforted you more times than you could count.

"It’s been two years," you made clear. "I’ve moved on, and clearly, so has he."

"Clearly?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "What’s with that tone?"

You scoffed. "Nothing. I know exactly what you’re thinking, okay? But it’s over. Joel is in the past. I have Dean now."

"Okay, I know. But just think about it," she said. "About my room tonigh. My door is always open."

Going for your third glass of wine in less than an hour was definitely not a good sign. But she was loud; her voice was too high pitched and bubbly, and she wouldn't stop chiming in with remarks about every single thing anyone else said. Tiny comments, kind comments, but incredibly grating comments because they simply hammered away at your brain.

She was the polar opposite of you, and for some reason, that left you with a twisted feeling in your chest.

She was twenty five years old. You had never envisioned Joel as the type of guy who would date someone so young, someone so different. You couldn't wrap your head around how that even functioned; had he suddenly changed, turning into someone who now enjoyed things he never used to? Had he transformed into one of those divorced guys in their forties who date girls in their twenties just to feel young and revitalized? He used to make fun of those type of men.

He didn't seem like the man you knew; now he was quiet, chuckling every now and then, bringing his glass to his lips every time she told him "not to be silly" while tapping his shoulder and tilting her head.

But then again, he wasn't the man you knew. Because you didn't know him anymore. People change a lot in two years, and he certainly wasn't your Joel anymore. He had stopped being that a very long time ago.

The only saving grace was that they were seated all the way at the opposite end of the table. You could easily get out of interacting with them, or even looking their way, and that was exactly what you did for the most part.

What was the point of wasting your time on that stuff when one of your closest friends was about to get married? None at all.

So you ate and drank and caught up with your friends, actually having a wonderful time despite your miserable luck. And as the alcohol began to make you feel more loose and upbeat, you couldn't stop laughing at every single story everyone shared. Anecdotes from when she was little, a teenager, and even after heading off to college or starting to date Cillian. Some of them you remembered vividly, because you had been right there.

And the entire time, every now and then, you could feel it. His gaze, locked right onto your profile, burning your skin in a shameless way. You did everything in your power not to look over, to give no hint that you knew exactly what he was doing, and you succeeded through the whole dinner—until Jo's sister launched into that anecdote about the time Jo got locked out of the house and they tried to scramble in through the bathroom window.

While trying to squeeze through, her shorts caught on the window frame, and Jo tumbled to the floor completely bare from the waist down. Her shorts and underwear were left dangling from the window.

Oh Jesus, you remembered it so vividly. It had been so fun. She had come down to open the front door with a towel wrapped around her hips and her eyes were streaming with tears from laughing so hard. And when you went upstairs and saw her poor, sad little torn panties hanging from the frame, you burst out laughing just like you were doing right now.

A wave of pure amusement swept through you, and you threw your head back, covering your mouth as a tiny snort escaped your throat. And then, completely on instinct, your eyes sought him out.

He was watching you, of course, but his lips held a still quiet smile. You suddenly remembered those old days when he would deliberately make you laugh until your stomach ached and you made those funny noises. You used to hate it, you always had, but he would tell you they were sweet and nice, and how much he loved hearing them. You had never understood it. Now, he just smiled in silence, eight seats away from you.

You smoothed over your tight flushed cheeks and dropped your gaze as you picked up your wine glass. You just had to wait a little longer for dinner to wrap up and for the small party to migrate to the other side of the room.

You were doing just fine, weren't you?

A few seconds later, you looked back at him. He wasn't watching you anymore; his eyes were fixed on his wine glass, which he held by the stem with his fingers, tracing the clear glass with his thumb. Then, he let out a long, heavy breath through his nose and brought the glass to his lips, emptying the entire contents in a single swallow.

"We’re getting married tomorrow!"

Jo’s shout was so full of pure joy and laughter as Cillian spun her around the dance floor that your heart truly felt like it expanded and a wave of warmth washed over you.

You watched them from the bar and lifted your phone to snap a photo. Several, actually. You had no idea how many shots you had taken by now.

At some point during the night, just a few minutes ago, Joel and his girlfriend (Jen, according to a whisper from Kat half an hour earlier) had headed out. And because of that, you felt so much lighter and more comfortable in the space.

It was for the best, this whole keeping your distance thing. And honestly, the fact that Joel had brought someone was probably for the best too, since it prevented the two of you from drifting toward each other in any way. Come to think of it, what a shame Dean hadn't come along. Everything would have been so much easier to handle with him here. I mean, you had invited him, and he asked if you were sure. And I mean, at first, you weren't so sure. I mean, what were you even saying? How many drinks had you even had by now?

Dean. Dean, you needed to call him.

Shit, your feet were killing you. So you kicked off your heels as you walked toward the steps leading down to the shore. Leaning against the railing for balance, you unbuckled the delicate straps from around your ankles, dangling the shoes from your fingers a few seconds later as you descended bare footed. You dropped them somewhere there.

Oh, good heavens. The sand felt incredible beneath your bare skin.

You tilted your head back, letting out a deeply relaxed sigh. In front of you, very very far away, the ocean shifted beneath the moonlight, looking exactly like a painting. The sky was completely clear, with a massive perfectly round moon hanging at the absolute peak of the heavens.

Your cheeks were warm and your neck was flushed, but the gentle breeze brushing against your skin cooled your arms, your legs, and your bare back as you strolled toward the water. It was refreshing. The further you wandered, the more the noise of the party faded away, giving your mind a little more room to breathe and your thoughts space to wander.

You really should take advantage of this and call Dean now. But it was probably late. He was bound to be asleep by now; it had to be the middle of the night back home. No, it definitely was. You had checked.

Shit. You left your purse up there.

You turned around to look back at the celebration in the distance and a smile tugged at your lips.

From afar, everything looked so beautiful. The sky was pitch black, but the place looked like a glowing jewelry box filled with tiny people moving in every direction; jumping and laughing, their voices reaching you as soft overlapping sounds, like tiny ant voices.

Jo and Cillian looked so blissfully happy. They were dancing right in the center of the floor, and though you could barely make them out through the crowd, you could still spot them instantly. He had his hands around her waist, holding her close as they moved together. They were so deeply in love, so radiant. You remembered that exact feeling vividly, as if it had been yesterday.

No, it had been thirteen years ago, at a lovely little venue back in Texas. It hadn't been anywhere near as fancy as this, but it had its own unique charm. You remembered the flowers everywhere, the tablecloths as bright as white light, the napkins monogrammed with your initials. You actually still had one tucked away in a small pale pink box. You still held onto so many of those trinkets; entirely too many of them, which you honestly should just throw out. Why keep holding onto them?

You were young when you married Joel. He was young, too. Just two twenty somethings full of goals and dreams.

You were barely twenty one when you first met him, and from that very first moment, you knew it was something special. Something forever, you thought. And two years later, he asked you to marry him. It was a bit of a chaotic mess that ended up turning into something incredibly sweet and beautiful.

It was a rainy night. Joel had taken you out to dinner and scored movie tickets. About Time had just hit theaters and he knew you were dying to see it because you had watched the trailer on Youtube. So you had dinner and then you headed to the cinema. Of course, he hadn't anticipated the ending leaving you so sad, and he had to comfort you in the dark of the theater while you tried to get your sobbing under control. And by the time you walked out, the downpour had gotten even worse.

Huge puddles flooded the streets, and as you walked to the car, you slipped and landed right on your ass. Your clothes were caked in mud, which splashed all over Joel, and a few seconds later when he tried to pull you up, he went down himself. It was so fun; the two of you couldn't stop laughing. Every time you tried to stand up, you just kept sliding around, your outfit ruined and his right along with it. And by the time you finally made it inside the car, you were both an absolute disaster.

You knew that hadn't been his original plan, or at least, you found out later. Joel had set up a beautiful arrangement on his apartment balcony, but the rain completely ruined his plans. And when you finally got back to his place, you looked at him; soaked, dirty, covered in mud, with his hair a mess and his clothes completely unraveled, and you just kissed him.

"We're a mess," you murmured against his teeth as he guided you inside the apartment.

He laughed, and that was when you noticed it; he was incredibly nervous. The way he looked at you was different, and for a second, he almost looked physically ill.

And then, he went for it. He slid his hand into his pocket, and before pulling it back out, he confessed his love to you all over again. He dropped down on one knee.

You had never been happier in your entire life than you were right there, in that tiny apartment, with just the two of you.

Three years later, Joel bought you another ring. According to him, the first one wasn't good enough. You disagreed; you absolutely adored your ring. He had worked so hard to afford it, and it meant the world to you. But he insisted on giving you a new one, something much larger. He was doing well at work by then. So he put together another dinner, one completely uninterrupted by rain, and presented it to you on a perfectly clear night.

But time moves fast, and many years later, those are nothing more than memories.

Maybe you should go for a walk to clear your head.

You let out a breath and turned around to head in the opposite direction—

A sharp gasp caught in your chest, and you froze in your tracks. Your hands immediately flew to your chest.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he said, holding up a hand. "Didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry."

You knit your brows, still feeling your heart hammering away.

Joel stood right in front of you, with a worried look on his face. His brows were slightly drawn, his eyes glistened, and his hair drifted in the sea breeze. He wore a white, long sleeved button-down with a few of the top buttons undone, revealing a hint of sun flushed skin at his chest. His cream colored dress pants billowed slightly in the wind.

"I thought you left," you said.

He shook his head. "No. Jen wasn't feelin' well. Just walked her back to the room."

You felt a faint throbbing behind your brows. "Is she alright?"

"Got a headache, is all."

"Oh."

It only took a split second for your eyes to lock onto his, freezing you both in place.

He swallowed hard.

"I didn't know our rooms were gonna be right next to each other," he said.

You paused for a beat.

"Neither did I."

He gave a slight, quiet nod, a heavy, downcast look lingering in his eyes.

"I can ask for a different room tomorrow morning, if you'd like."

You offered a faint smile, though your eyelids felt incredibly heavy.

"Yeah, okay," you said, taking two steps forward and brushing right past him. "Thank you."

As you moved away, Joel tracked you with his gaze. You turned as you passed him, keeping your path along the shoreline in an escape attempt that felt frustratingly drawn out. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck.

"I'm sorry." His voice carried clearly through the moonlight behind you.

You stopped instantly, completely unable to help yourself, and pivoted on the sand to face him.

"I shouldn't have brought her here." He took a step forward.

You gave a single shake of your head. "Joel, it’s fine."

"No, it ain't."

"It really is."

"I can tell it ain't," his brow furrowed.

"Then why did you bring her?"

"I don't know. Seemed like a good idea right up until I got here and saw you."

You huffed a breath. "Is it my fault now?"

"No, no," he rushed to shake his head. "That ain't what I meant at all."

You closed your eyes and ran a hand down your neck. Frustration bathed you as you felt the heavy weight of the alcohol in your veins.

"Joel, just… don't. Please don't," you said, taking two steps back. "It’s fine, it is. You’re with someone else, and so am I. We don't need to be having this kind of conversation, not right now."

It looked as though he was right on the verge of saying something. He parted his lips for a moment, but snapped them shut a second later. He stayed perfectly still, holding you captive under his gaze, because you couldn't bring yourself to do anything but stand there and look right back at him.

"We haven't seen each other in two whole years," he said then, like a tired accusation.

"Joel…"

"You left me a damn post it note."

Your mouth fell open, your chest beginning to rise and fall more rapidly as your breathing turned sudden and shallow. He seemed more worked up now, too.

You couldn't do this.

On pure instinct, you spun around and practically fled. You walked as fast as your feet could push through the sand, breaking away from him.

Behind you, you heard his voice calling out your name, getting closer and closer with every passing second. You only made it a few yards.

He caught you by the arm, and your name spilled from his lips like a breathless sound.

You wrenched yourself free from his grip, spinning around.

"Please, don't do this," you pleaded in a whisper, locking eyes with him. "What'd you want me to do? Just stay there? Watch us keep running in the same damn circles?"

Joel stepped back, taken aback, but his gaze never wavered. His jaw tightened, the wind blowing a stray lock of hair across his forehead.

"Could've said goodbye," he said. "Face to face. We deserved more than a goddamn note left on the table after everythin’ we were"

Your heart squeezed tight.

"You and I could never just say goodbye, Joel. We tried a hundred times. You know exactly how it ended every single time."

Joel closed his eyes for a beat, and you knew the blow had landed right where it hurt.

The silence that followed was absolute. And when he looked back at you, the vulnerability in his glistening eyes made your chest ache.

"If it was that hard..." he started, "then why'd we have to say goodbye in the first place?"

Your lower lip trembled. "Joel... don't."

Your vision blurred completely as tears flooded your eyes, spilling over before you could do anything to stop them.

It was cruel of him to ask you that now. Not when you’d spent two whole years trying to convince yourself you’d made the right choice.

You’re with Dean, you reminded yourself urgently. Dean is at home. You’re happy with him. And you couldn’t forget that Joel had moved on too; his girlfriend was upstairs at the hotel.

Joel fell quiet. He shook his head again and again, like he was trying to rid himself of a thought he couldn’t outrun. His gaze dropped to the sand, fixing on some distant spot before he spoke.

"These past few months, I’ve been lookin’ for a house…" he admitted softly. "Lease on my apartment’s almost up, and I figured maybe it was time for a real home. And every place I walk into, I catch myself lookin’ for big windows, a wide backyard, and some corner with enough light to work without havin' to turn the lamps on in the afternoon."

Then, he looked up, locking those glistening eyes straight onto yours.

"I could buy it," he said quietly. "I make enough now to get a real nice house. But what the hell’s the point of all that money if you ain’t in it? Tell me somethin’… why is your voice still in my head every time I make a decision?"

It took you several seconds just to draw breath.

You swallowed hard, absorbing the bruising impact of his words. You had to forcefully suffocate your own thoughts, the ones screaming that you were completely consumed by him, too. That sometimes, when you were in your shop holding a piece of sandpaper, his voice would appear out of nowhere, reminding you to always go with the grain so you wouldn't ruin the finish. Or that every time your car engine made a strange noise, you’d remember his advice to check the hoses before panicking. His ghost was everywhere.

But you couldn't tell him that. So instead, you said;

"Your girlfriend is upstairs."

You spun around abruptly and took off at a brisk pace, nearly breaking into a run in a desperate attempt to get away. The ocean breeze whipped against your face, but it did nothing to cool your burning cheeks.

Glancing back, you saw him: Joel was gaining on you with long strides, his white shirt billowing in the wind. Tears escaped without control, blurring everything in sight.

You whipped around to face him the moment you felt him too close.

Joel stopped short. His face was twisted with ache, and he stood completely still and quiet for a few seconds. His eyes shone brighter now, welling up with a thin glaze of tears that grew thicker by the second.

"What are we doin'?" he asked then, cracking completely. He stepped a fraction closer, repeating with desperation, "What are we doin'? It was supposed to be us!"

You swallowed hard, feeling a physical pain right in the center of your chest, as if Joel’s words had cut straight through your skin.

You looked at him through the tears that refused to stop falling.

"A lot of things happened, Joel. Did you forget that already?"

He stared at you in silence.

"I needed you!" You confessed.

"You pushed me away, every damn time," he countered.

"I was grieving," you shot back. "I know it was hard sometimes, but I was grieving."

"I was grieving too," Joel snapped. He took a step toward you, desperate to make you hear him. "That was my baby too. And every time I tried to get close to you, you... you just pushed me back, pushed me away like you couldn't stand the sight of me. Like you didn't want me there."

"Of course I wanted you there! You were my husband," you cried out, letting out a shaky, nearly choked breath. You paused, looking at him with all the frustration you’d kept locked away for years. "But where were you? You spent more time out there than you ever did at home."

Joel ran a hand over his face, completely spent, and let out a trembling sigh.

"I was scared," he confessed. "There’d never been anythin’ we couldn’t fix together before. But this... this was bigger than us. Every time I walked through that front door, I felt like I'd failed you. Like I couldn't protect the one thing we wanted most. I was terrified of sayin' the wrong thing, terrified of makin' it worse. And it felt like makin' it worse was the only damn thing I knew how to do."

"So you left," you shot back, pointing at him. "You just kept leaving. You weren’t there." Your voice trembled harder with every word. "You thought no matter how many times you walked away, I’d still be there waiting for you, and that’s not how this works." Your eyes burned as fresh tears spilled over. "I was scared too."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said, taking a step forward. "Not a day goes by where I don't think about what I could've done to stop it, to protect us—"

"How could you have stopped it? It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't mine," you whispered. "All those years..." You shook your head. "All those years I felt like a failure for not bein' able to—I tortured myself thinkin' it was only a matter of time before you got tired of me and walked away. And then when it finally..." You shook your head again, refusing to let the memory surface. "The only thing I needed was for you to be there."

"How could I ever get tired of you?" he asked with painful disbelief. He gave a quiet shake of his head. "I told you a hundred times. You were my family. Anything else, we could've gotten through it together. I married you 'cause I wanted you, just you. Kids or no kids, I wanted you."

You stared at him in absolute silence. His words cut right through you, leaving a burning ache in your chest, yet at the same time, they felt like a warm, long overdue embrace around your heart.

Why didn't he say all this back then? Why did he have to wait all this time to lay it all out, right in the dead of night, in the middle of all this?

You froze, the weight of the years crashing down on you, and gave a shake of your head.

Taking a step back into the cool sand, you whispered, "It doesn't matter now."

"It does t—"

"No, it doesn't," you cut him off, your voice hardening. "It's too late. I'm with someone else, and you are too."

"I don't love her."

"Joel."

"What, you wanna pretend we both just moved on?"

"We're divorced," you said, the word tasting like ash in your mouth.

"I never wanted to divorce you and you know it," Joel countered.

You shook your head and then you felt it; panic starting to crowd out the ache.

You had to get out of there. You needed to leave this beach right now, before you broke, before you did something you couldn't take back.

You lunged to the side, trying to bolt past him, but Joel reacted instantly, catching you by the hands. The heat of his touch burned.

In a blind reflex, you slammed your palms against his chest and shoved him back with everything you had, breaking his grip. And you ran.

You ran with your breath clawing at your lungs, fleeing toward the small party. You knew he wouldn't follow you there; Joel would never push his way through your friends to make a scene, or to keep telling you things that shouldn't matter anymore.

When you finally hit the steps leading up from the beach, you spotted your heels tossed in the sand right where you had left them. You didn't even pause to pick them up. You took the stairs barefoot, crossed the room where the music was still thumping, and with trembling hands, snatched your purse off one of the chairs. You headed straight for your room. All around you, everyone was far too drunk to even notice.

You had spent the entire day mastering the art of looking anywhere but at him.

During the morning, it was easy. Mainly because he was nowhere to be seen. You were confined with the other bridesmaids and Jo’s family. In her hotel room, time flew by in a blur of wedding prep. Everyone talked, laughed, and rallied around Jo to soothe her nerves. Good nerves, born from being on the verge of something beautiful and life-changing. Not the bad ones that make you want to bolt out the back door of a church.

During the ceremony, everything shifted. As a bridesmaid, you stood on one side of the altar, while Joel stood on the other as a groomsman. The distance was safe, but it wasn't enough; you felt his eyes on you the entire time.

Whenever you looked toward the newlyweds, Joel caught your peripheral vision, his dark eyes fixed squarely on your face. He didn't break eye contact, not even when the crowd burst into applause. It was constant; even if he turned to smile or speak with someone else, it was only a countdown until his eyes found yours again. And then, the realization hit: you were watching him, too.

Of course you were. If you caught him staring dozens of times, it meant your own eyes were wandering toward him just as often. A simple truth that struck you just as Jo and Cillian walked down the aisle between the rows of seats, everyone celebrating the union of their beautiful love.

You kept your chin up, gripping your bouquet so tightly your knuckles turned white and pretending the heat rushing to your cheeks was just the early afternoon sun. You decided then and there that enough was enough. You couldn't keep looking at him, or he would keep looking at you. Moving forward, the best option was to ignore him entirely.

So you stuck to Kat like glue. You hadn't told her what happened the night before; you hadn't told anyone. Apparently, neither had he (which was to be expected) though you couldn't help but notice how Jen's eyes locked onto you just as much as his did.

There she was, right in the middle of the wedding guests. She wore a faint smile that seemed perfectly natural on her face, but her gaze swept up and down your body, over and over.

As a rational person, you knew exactly why she was doing it. You were her boyfriend’s ex-wife. During dinner the previous night, the two of you hadn't interacted at all. And when you felt her trying to approach you before heading to her room, you had turned on your heel and fled, pretending you hadn't seen her. She probably just wanted to introduce herself; Joel had likely told her the bare minimum. You, however, had zero interest in meeting her.

As a woman, though, you feared a deeper reason. Some energies are impossible to ignore, like the raw tension between her boyfriend and you, standing on opposite sides of that altar like a sick joke. If Jen suspected something, or if she noticed how Joel couldn't keep his eyes off you (and she only needed a functional pair of eyes to see it), you didn't blame her.

You just had to ignore them both. It was easy enough during the ceremony.

But the real trial began at the reception.

By seven in the evening, the Maui sky had transformed into a stunning canvas of coral and purple hues, fading out over the Pacific. On the open air terrace by the beach, the reception was already in full swing, with some guests already on their second drinks. Strings of warm fairy lights flickered between the palm trees, fighting against the encroaching twilight that swallowed the coastline, while the warm breeze carried the tides mixed with the sweet music from the live band.

All around you, everything was pure luxury and charm. The venue was breathtaking, and every detail was exquisite; from the decor near the beach exit to the main dancefloor, the ornaments hanging from the ceiling with tiny crystal stars and delicate ribbons, and the tables arranged with flawless glassware and matching chairs.

You stood near the outdoor bar, laughing out loud as Kat made an exaggerated toast with her champagne flute, while Gemma, Jo’s sister, swept you both into a hilarious anecdote about the morning's chaos. You laughed along despite having been there yourself, then pulled out your phone to show Eric, Gemma’s husband, a video of the whole thing.

Between the tropical cocktails, the catchy music, and the girls banter, you finally felt your shoulders drop; for a wonderful stretch of time, you managed to immerse yourself entirely in the party, genuinely enjoying the moment. And you were incredibly grateful for it.

It was only when the girls drifted toward the dance floor that you found yourself alone, waiting for your next drink. You leaned your weight against the wooden bar and, almost unconsciously, let your eyes sweep across the crowd illuminated by the hanging lights. It was a quick instinctive scan; a final defense mechanism to ensure the perimeter was clear, confirming that neither he nor his girlfriend was nearby before you could fully let your guard down.

You exhaled a quiet sigh, watching your hands against the wooden bar.

"This place ain't got nothin' on our little wedding, right?"

The voice echoed from right behind you. You whipped around.

Joel was there, leaning lazily against the counter, giving you a sidelong glance. He looked effortless cocky, completely relaxed. He looked devastatingly handsome in his suit, though his collar was already unbuttoned and his tie hung loose.

Not again.

"Joel," you warned.

He picked up on the warning right away. His stance softened slightly as he stood up straighter, throwing his hand up in peace.

"Sorry. Just jokin'. Ain't tryin' to stir up trouble again," he said, stepping a bit closer and shaking his head. "Just wanted to say I'm sorry. For last night. I crossed a line. Too many of 'em, to be honest, sayin' what I said. It wasn't right of me."

He cast his gaze downward, looking genuinely remorseful for a brief beat. Right then, under the amber lights, you finally caught the dark tired shadows bruising the skin under his eyes. He looked exhausted.

You didn't say a word, but you nodded slightly, accepting the olive branch.

He looked back up, pinning you with his gaze. "Don't you worry about me, okay? I won't be botherin' you again."

"How sure are you about that?"

Joel offered a smile that didn't make it to his eyes.

"In the last two years, did I ever bother you?"

"I blocked you."

He huffed an incredulous breath through his nose. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

Joel clicked his tongue, taking a sip of his drink. "Nah."

Your brow furrowed as a prickle of stubborn pride hit your chest. Grabbing your purse from the bar, you reached inside for your phone. Your thumb flicked across the screen as you glared up at him.

"I'm telling you, I blocked you."

He raised the glass to his lips again, and just before taking a sip, his eyes locked onto yours over the rim. "What you wanna bet?"

Anoyed and determined to shut him up, you went into your contact settings and pulled up your blocked list. Your eyes darted across the screen. There were a couple of unknown numbers, some old spam contacts you didn't even remember blocking, but you searched and searched... and the list was far too short. None of them were Joel.

You froze right there in the middle of the party. You knew it with absolute certainty because, despite two years of radio silence, you still remembered every single digit of his number by heart. None of those numbers matched his.

Had you seriously never blocked him?

You sighed, setting your phone face down on the bar.

"Alright." You glanced over in the opposite direction.

Across the room, Kat was staring at you with her eyebrows raised. She threw up a hand as if to say What the hell are you doing?. You answered her with a tight flat pout.

You turned back to Joel; he was watching Kat with a faint half amused frown.

Without moving much, his eyes dropped back down to you.

"Anyway, I'm sorry," he said, nodding gently. "For all of it. I really am."

You just nodded back.

The tension in his brow softened, and his gaze traced your face; eyes, mouth, eyes, eyes, mouth, eyes.

And then, he asked;

"Is he a good man?"

A beat.

"Yeah," you said softly.

"Does he treat you right?"

You swallowed. "Yeah. He does."

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "Good. I'm real happy for you."

The second those words left his mouth, you caught it: the tiniest twitch in his right eye, almost imperceptible. A minute tremor he couldn't hide.

Joel held your gaze for one last second, and then he gave you a small wink, just like he used to. With a faint smile, he pulled himself away from the bar and walked off, disappearing into the crowd.

Dinner passed in a rush of laughter and scattered conversations across the tables. There were emotional speeches; the best man brought Cillian to tears with a childhood story, and when it was your turn alongside the bridesmaids, you managed to keep your voice steady and bring a smile to everyone's faces.

After what had happened the night before, you didn't want to drink too much alcohol; you’d only had a couple of glasses with your meal, keeping your feet firmly on the ground.

By the time dinner wrapped up and the dance floor opened, the vibe grew much more relaxed. The semi-formal atmosphere completely dissolved under the colored lights now washing over the place. You were actually having fun; you danced for a long stretch with Kat and the girls, and later, Jo’s dad pulled you out for a few clumsy but incredibly fun spins that had you laughing out loud. In the middle of one of those upbeat songs, your eyes caught Joel in the center of the floor, dancing perfectly like a gentleman with Cillian’s mom. Your gazes locked for a split second, barely a heartbeat, before you both quickly looked away.

You kept enjoying yourself. Songs flew by, along with casual toasts and group photos. But later on, as you walked near the edge of the room, your eyes drifted toward the back.

Joel and Jen were sitting at a secluded table, away from the main lighting. You allowed yourself to watch them for a moment, hidden behind the crowd. Their faces were dead serious; her brow was furrowed and her arms were crossed, while Joel spoke in a low voice, gesturing faintly with one hand. They looked like they were arguing. Having a quiet argument, at the very least. But before either of them could look up and catch you staring, you broke eye contact and moved to another part of the room.

But the damage was already done.

Suddenly, a wave of absolute desolation hit you like a bucket of ice water. The air around you began to feel heavy, suffocating, and a sharp ache settled right beneath your ribs.

You needed to get out of your own head. Urgently, you pulled your phone from your purse and tried to call Dean. You needed to hear his voice, to remind yourself that you had a real life waiting for you back home, to cling to him like a lifeline. To remember you had something else.

The line rang.

And rang.

And rang. But Dean didn't pick up. You hung up, waited a few seconds, and tried again. Then a third time. Nothing. Just the sound of the voicemail.

You dropped your hand, slipping the phone back into your purse with a mix of frustration and anger, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat.

"Hey, there you are!"

Jo’s cheerful voice snapped you right back to reality. Your friend approached you, her cheeks already flushed from the alcohol, holding her glass at a slight tilt. She was wearing a gorgeous white dress that hit just below her knees, loose and flowing perfectly against her body.

"I've been meanin' to talk to you all night but I've been so busy!" she laughed, running a hand through her hair. "Nobody warned me I’d spend my own wedding just listenin' to the guests!"

You smiled, forcing down the suffocating feeling from a second ago. "Everyone’s gonna want a piece of you today, Jo, it’s your night. But enjoy it; everything is beautiful, and you look even more stunning."

Jo offered a tender smile and threw her arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace that smelled of her expensive perfume. When she pulled back, she looked at you closely; her smile faltered slightly into a remorseful pout.

"Hey, I am so sorry... I had no idea he was bringin' someone. We gave a plus one to all our main guests and I just didn't think that—"

"Jo, it’s fine. Seriously."

Jo shook her head, frustrated. "No, it’s not fine. The nerve of him. You didn't even bring Dean. I really wish you had."

"I'm telling you, everything is completely fine," you insisted, forcing a bright smile. "I'm having fun, can't you tell?"

Jo tilted her head back a bit, narrowing her eyes to read you, but the pure bliss of her own wedding night made her give in.

"Well, yeah. I guess you are."

Right then, a collective shout erupted from the dance floor. A big group of people was forming a circle, clapping along to the beat and calling for the newlyweds.

You glanced over and gave her a gentle nudge. "I think you're needed over there."

Jo grinned mischievously. "Yeah... and you're coming with me!"

Before you could even protest, she grabbed your arm firmly and dragged you toward the center of the floor, pulling you both right into the middle of the circle. The DJ dropped an absolute classic: Abba’s Dancing Queen. And the energy of the room swept you up completely. It was one of your favorite songs.

Suddenly, there was no room left to dwell on phones that didn't ring or tables hidden in the back of the room. Jo started dancing dramatically in the center, making you genuinely laugh, and you joined right in; jumping, singing the lyrics at the top of your lungs with the rest of the guests, and clapping as others took turns showing off their best moves in the middle. For a few minutes, surrounded by your friends, the music numbed the ache in your chest. You let yourself lose control, floating in the pure fun of the night and the embrace of the people you loved most.

You couldn't tell how much time slipped by, but it had to be at least four or five songs. Standing in the middle of the circle, you ran your hands through your hair to push it away from your face. It was boiling hot inside, or maybe it was just your racing pulse making you feel like the air was running out.

Stepping away from the group, you backed up a few paces with a permanent smile straining your lips after minutes of non stop laughing.

You glanced to the side, right where the exit to the outdoor grounds opened up, and the pull of the fresh air was immediate and far too tempting to ignore. You walked in that direction, leaving the pounding thud of the music behind, and stepped out into the night, heading down the short flight of stairs to the lower level.

Resting your hand on the wooden railing, you walked down the ramp toward the right, keeping your eyes fixed on the dark infinity of the ocean, where the crests of the waves glowed faintly under the moonlight.

You stopped, letting out a long heavy sigh and running a hand over your neck to catch the cooling breeze.

Look at this place, you’d barely even enjoyed it. With all the wedding chaos and everything else, you hadn't found any free time to look around. But tomorrow you could; after brunch, the afternoon was open for everyone, and you assumed the evening would be too. Jo and Cillian would have their own activities as newlyweds, and some guests were leaving due to work; most of them, actually. But you were staying until Monday afternoon, and so was Kat. You’d be able to do all sorts of fun things. That thought actually made you excited.

You decided to turn around to watch the party from a distance, but the instant you shifted your body, the air caught in your throat.

You saw him. Joel was standing right there, less than two meters away. He was leaning his hip against the railing on the other side, staying completely still, almost camouflaged by the shadows and the branches of a large bush covered in tiny pink and white flowers. He was staring right at you.

A spike of panic shot through your body. You wanted to speak; you wanted to tell him you were sorry, that you had no idea he was down here. Because it was obvious you had crashed his alone time.

Your brain went on the defensive, screaming at you to turn around, head straight back up the ramp, and return to the party or at least find another corner of the hotel to breathe. But your feet wouldn't cooperate.

You couldn't say a word, and you couldn't move. You just stood there, locking eyes with him in absolute silence. You watched him, and he watched you. And in that second of paralysis, Jen's existence didn't even cross your mind; nothing existed outside of that suspended space in the dark.

Before you could gather enough air for another breath, the distance simply… vanished.

He was on top of you, and you were on top of him. You’d never know how it actually happened, who closed the final gap or who took the first step, but suddenly Joel’s arms were wrapping around you and his mouth was crashing onto yours.

It was a devastating kiss, charged with an intensity that shattered your whole body. His hands flew urgently to your face, cupping your cheeks with desperation, while his lips smashed against yours in a hungry claim. Your bodies pressed completely together, erasing any trace of air between you. Not that there was much left to begin with.

Without breaking the kiss, Joel spun you around in a fluid movement, pulling you right to where he’d been standing, and pressed you firmly against the railing. You felt the cold wood bite into your back, immediately followed by the overwhelming heat of his body crushing into yours. One of his hands dropped forcefully to your waist, anchoring you to him, reminding every single inch of your skin exactly who owned this memory.

Your heart was racing out of control, hammering so violently against your ribs that you could hear it in your ears, drowning out any coherent thought that dared to surface in your mind. There was no Dean, no past, no mistakes. In that dark corner beneath the flowers and facing the sea, you couldn't think about absolutely anything else but him.

Kiss him; kiss him deeply. Deeper, devouring any shred of doubt that might be left in you.

You felt a blind desperation flood your veins, a voracious hunger you didn't even know you had been harboring, suddenly demanding more, and more, and all of him; all, all at once, all began happening far too fast, as though time had accelerated with no way to force it back into its natural rhythm.

The heat of his skin and the firmness of his hands clouded your judgment entirely, pushing you right to the edge.

In a sudden move, you forced your lips to break away from his. You pulled back just a few inches, just enough to look into his eyes in the dim light, your breath ragged and your heart thumping in your ears and between your thighs.

You didn't even recognize your own voice when you said;

"Go to my room in ten minutes."

Before he could react or utter a single word, you planted your hands on his shoulders and, with a push that was sharp from urgency but soft with desire, you broke free from his grip.

You caught one last glimpse of his stunned expression and bolted back toward the stairs, fleeing at a frantic pace toward the light and noise of the party, with the taste of Joel still burning your lips and your tongue.

You reached the room with your heart beating a mile a minute, your racing pulse thumping in your ears as you walked barefoot across the soft carpet.

God, what were you doing?

This was terrible, complete madness. You’d walked in barely five minutes ago, and you’d spent the last three leaning over the sink, splashing cold water on your face and staring into the mirror, desperately searching for the strength to put on the brakes. But you found nothing. Your mind threw out a thousand reasons to stop, but not a single one could douse the fire in your belly or prevent what you were about to do.

And then, the sound came: knock, knock, knock.

A violent jolt shook your stomach, filling it with wild butterflies as if you were twenty one years old all over again, and you hated with all your soul that that was your very first thought.

You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands down the fabric of your dress, and stepped toward the entrance.

You opened the door just a crack, peeking through the narrow opening, and Joel was on the other side, staring dead at you through the small space. There was no doubt in his eyes; only a tired, exhausted, desperate, and silent hunger.

Without uttering a single word, unable to break eye contact, you threw the door wide open. Joel stepped inside immediately and kicked the wood shut behind him, closing it with a soft thud that sealed the deal. He lunged toward you with firm strides, crowding you back into the room; his right hand caught your waist and, with a yank, flushed your body right against his hard frame, while his other hand flew straight to the back of your neck, burying itself in your hair.

He kissed you, and you melted into his arms instantly.

Joel crushed you against him, devouring your mouth while his fingers raked over you in pure desperation. His hand at the back of your neck forced you deeper into the kiss, while his other palm slid firmly down your back, tracing your curves until it anchored at your thighs, squeezing the firm flesh. You put your hands all over him, starved for the physical contact you had missed for so long; your palms slid over his jacket, up his chest and broad shoulders, before wrapping around his neck to drag him even tighter against you. You let out a muffled moan against his lips.

Joel broke away for a split second just to catch his breath, panting, and his hands immediately dropped to your dress. Finding the hem near your hips, he bunched the fabric up in a frantic rush, gathering it past your navel before yanking it over your arms in a clumsy anxious motion, tossing it to the floor. You were left in just your panties and strapless bra.

You trapped his lips again in a hungry kiss while his fingers fumbled for the clasp of your bra; the lace gave way and dropped to your feet, leaving your breasts completely bare. Urgently, you brought your hands to Joel’s chest, tearing at the buttons of his shirt with fingers clumsy from the rush. In one continuous motion, you stripped the shirt and jacket off his shoulders together, leaving him bare chested, and he immediately reached down to undo his dress pants.

Everything grew overwhelmingly intense all at once; you could feel every part of your body screaming, starving and desperate for him. You crawled backward and laid down in the middle of the bed, feeling the cool air of the room hit your bare breasts and send a sudden shiver straight to your nipples. You settled onto the sheets, watching him with ragged breaths as he kicked off his pants and boxers in one quick motion.

Joel’s desperate erection, massive and rock hard, pointed straight at you, glistening faintly with pre cum under the dim glow of the lamp. He crowded over you, sliding between your thighs, while his large hands hooked into your panties and stripping them down your legs with a rough tug.

You parted your legs completely for him, exposing yourself, and Joel let out a shaky exhale, and leaned down to kiss you again. It felt like coming home.

His tongue clashed against yours in an incredibly wet, deep kiss while you instinctively arched your hips upward, feeling the heat of his shaft grazing your entrance. Joel ripped his mouth away, panting; he brought his hand to his lips, spitting a generous amount of saliva directly into his palm, and locked his eyes onto yours with animal intensity as he reached down and stroked himself a few times, lubricating his cock.

You moaned in protest at the delay, your hands raking over his tense shoulders as you shifted your pelvis desperately, begging for the contact. Joel dropped his hand and repositioned the hot, swollen head of his cock right against your soaking entrance.

He hovered over you, his arms rigid and the muscles of his back bulging from the sheer effort of holding back. Then, he began to sink into you inch by inch, the desperate restraint making him gasp out loud. He was too thick, too massive, but your pussy was so incredibly wet that it yielded, stretching to harbor him completely as he pushed deeper and deeper.

A sharp cry tore from your throat when he filled you to the brim, the delicious, scorching pressure of his hardness stretching your walls. Joel pressed his forehead against yours, cursing under his breath, completely overwhelmed by how fucking tight and wet you were.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you," he growled against your ear, losing the last shred of control he had left.

Any remaining restraint shattered into a dirty, animal need. Joel began to fuck you with wild desperation, thrusting hard and deep, burying himself completely inside you with heavy strokes that made the bed creak. Your body was burning with pleasure, and so was his; he was slick with sweat, the heat of his skin plastering against yours with every single hit.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, squeezing him tight to lock him inside you, forcing him to go even deeper. He was flush against you, his chest heaving against yours, his lips finding your neck to bite and suck the skin there while your brain remembered every single one of these familiar sensations. It was overwhelming.

The sound in the room turned completely obscene: the loud, wet friction of your bodies colliding, the echo of your unhinged moans, and Joel’s raspy grunts vibrating in the dim light. You were so fucking wet that every thrust made a slick, dirty squelch that only fueled the filthiness of it all and drove your heart rate higher. He was so fucking hard you could feel the pulse of his cock slamming against your deepest spot, tearing you apart with pleasure in an intense friction that made you lose your mind.

Joel grabbed your hands, interlocking his fingers tightly with yours against the pillows, using you as an anchor to drive the pace even faster. He was losing it right along with you, driving into you as if he were trying to brand you forever—no, he had already done that, so deeply that even now, fifteen years later, you were still a fool for him.

He squeezed your trapped hands while keeping up the frantic pace, the relentless impact of his hips against yours unyielding. He was completely surrendered to the desperation, searching for you at your very core. And you were already there, right at the bottom.

Then, Joel let go of one of your hands. That sudden freedom let you react; you whipped your arm up, tangling your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck to drag him down. You sought his mouth, trapping his lips in a desperate kiss that he met instantly, and a muffled groan vibrated in your throat. And in that exact heartbeat, something in the air shifted.

Joel’s wild, frantic thrusts began to lose their frantic speed, but none of their intensity. His movements grew heavier, deeply concentrated and profound, stripping away the raw animal haste to make way for absolute surrender. The rhythm transformed into an overwhelmingly intimate friction; each time his body sank into yours, he did so with an agonizing drag, holding himself deep inside you for an eternal second before pulling back just enough to drive right back in.

He stared dead into your eyes through the dimness of the room, his heavy breath crashing against your cheeks, searching for your gaze. His free hand came up to your face, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb while he penetrated you with a gentleness that made you arch your back, completely defenseless against him. You felt every single inch of his cock sliding inside you, hot and massive, filling not just your body, but every empty corner you had kept guarded during these two years.

And his body was so close to yours that you could feel the frantic hammering of his heart melting right into your own. Your moans shifted, turning from unhinged cries into quiet, breathless sobs of pure pleasure and relief.

The tension began to build in your belly in an unbearable way, a burning tide tightening your muscles from the inside out. Joel noticed; he felt you start to spasm and contract around his cock, trapping him in a hot soaking fist.

"That's it, baby... let it go," he murmured, licking your neck.

You couldn't hold it back any longer. Your hips lifted in one final unconscious spasm and your orgasm hit you like a lightning strike, making you shudder from head to toe as your inner walls squeezed around his shaft in violent, delicious waves. Joel let out a low, animal grunt, completely broken by the tight pressure of your climax.

Stripping away any remaining gentleness, he buried himself inside you one last few times with brutal thrusts, sinking right to the root, and froze there. His body went completely rigid, the muscles in his arms and back locking up like stone as he tore a raspy groan right against your ear.

Instantly, you felt the thick scalding jets of his come blasting inside of you, filling you to the brim and overflowing from your soaking pussy as he came with a force that left him shuddering violently on top of you.

Joel collapsed over you, letting his weight settle onto your body without crushing you, his breath ragged and his face buried deep in the crook of your neck.

Neither of you moved; he stayed buried inside you, softening but still pulsing, as the silence of the room settled back in, broken only by your exhausted gasps and the distant echo of the ocean outside the window.

There was no going back now.

______________________________________________________

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“Oh my god,” is all you can offer.

“Our home for the week. We call it Patroller’s Secret Paradise,” Joel shifts in the saddle, turning to meet your eyes. “S’impressive, isn’t it?”

You melt at the thoughtfulness and the soft pride in Joel’s voice. “It is.”

Tommy and Jesse are already there, unloading the supplies from the packs. You swing off the horse first, reaching a hand out to help Joel down. When his feet hit the ground, you catch the wince across his face.

He still smiles, though. “Long ride,” he reasons, “but worth it.” Big, sun-warmed arms wrap around you as you marvel at the house. “They cleaned it all up for us,” he whispers. “Tommy and Jesse. Fixed it up ‘n stuff. Stocked it too.” His voice gets lower, catching almost. “Wanted it… to feel special for you… for us.”

It’s like a fantasy come true, and all you can do is stare and blink unbelievingly. “How did you...?”

“Tommy ‘n me found it years ago. Use it sometimes as a hideaway when we’re out scouting. Barely anybody knows about it.”

“It’s... I don’t even know what to say.” You shake your head, overwhelmed by the sight and the secret of it all.

“Got something else to show you too.” 

He leads you around the side of the house, down a stone path, broad shoulders block most of the view in front of you, but when he steps aside… you see it: a secluded cove, water lapping at the pebble-and-sand-lined shore. The sound of running water, from the stream feeding into the cove, might just be the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

“Joel... It’s perfect.”

“Follows all the way up to the lake,” he points. “Water’s crystal clear. We can swim.” His gold band flashes in the sun, and you follow it to the horizon, where tall trees flank all sides.

This is your honeymoon. It’s such an absurd concept in the existence you live in that it almost feels fictional. A week alone with your husband, Joel Miller, with no responsibilities, no patients. Just you and Joel in this perfect, hidden place.

“We’re gonna have a good week,” Joel says, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

A sharp whistle breaks the sweet moment. You both turn to see Tommy standing at the edge of the path, hands on his hips. “Got the horses unloaded, and we should probably head back before it gets too late.”

You walk back to the cabin, Joel’s arm around your waist. Tommy and Jesse are already mounting their horses, the pack animals relieved of their burdens. Tommy tosses something to Joel—a small black radio.

“Check in every morning, afternoon, evening, and night,” he instructs. “I’ll be here Wednesday to drop off more things.” He tilts his head, a wide brotherly grin spreading across his lips. “Other than that, y’all enjoy the week.”

Jesse nods respectfully and offers a smile and a “Congrats,” before yipping his horse into a trot.

You and Joel stand together, watching as they ride away. Tommy’s hand raised in a final wave before they disappear around the bend.

“Ready, baby?”

You nod, too overwhelmed for words. Joel leads you up the steps to the wide porch and pushes open the heavy front door. It creaks open and your jaw drops. 

You’ve never been anywhere like this. Everything here is decadent and huge, the foyer alone is massive. Golden wood is everywhere: the walls, the floors, the furniture. The floorboards almost look just polished in some places and ancient and sun-bleached in others. On your left, a wooden staircase curls, and you imagine the grand entrances that once happened here.

Joel holds your hand tight as you wander past the entryway. In the living room, the stone fireplace is the focal point, taking up most of one wall. There’s a ripped leather couch, sitting caddy corner, and a mattress lying on the floor already covered with a patchwork quilt and pillows.

And then, there’s the windows. You cross the room to them, the view outside is staggering. The cove, the mountains, and the expansive Wyoming sky. You feel like you’re on top of the world.

“I know it’s not much,” Joel says, his voice low with an almost uncertainty. “But I thought—“

You turn and catch him mid-sentence, and kiss him.

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “Everything’s perfect.”

His smile is so slow and gentle, it makes you want to cry. “Happy honeymoon, Mrs. Miller.”

The tour continues, the kitchen almost feels like the owners just stepped out for groceries, frozen in time from almost thirty years ago. There’s a walk-in pantry, empty now, but you still like to imagine all of the shelves lined with cans and boxes. The counters are made of stone and still glossy, even under the smattering of dust.

You walk up the staircase together, hand in hand, and the steps hardly even creak. There’s a long hall, lined with doors. It’s almost as if you’re playing house, pretending at a life you never got to lead as you make your way through every room. 

The master bedroom sits at the end, windows taking up one whole wall with a king size four poster bed in the middle of the room. You run your hand along the mattress and grin. “This is the biggest bed I’ve ever seen.”

Joel stands in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his jeans, and lets you take it all in. “Figure we can sleep in here or downstairs, wherever you want. I just wanted to make sure you had a real bed.”

“Anywhere with you is good.”

He gifts you that shy smile of his, before his head tilts towards the bathroom. “Think you’ll like what’s in the bathroom.”

You do. It almost feels like you’ve been dropped in the middle of a museum exhibit titled “Wealth In 2003.” There’s a giant clawfoot tub set directly in front of a window. It gleams, all polished brass and bright white porcelain. 

“Do we have hot water?”

Joel nods. “S’also hooked up to the dam.”

It doesn’t take long for you and Joel to unpack your bags. The walk-in closet is palatial, and you place your simple and practical belongings in the drawers while Joel hangs his flannels and your dresses. It feels so strange, like you’re really on vacation, especially when Joel kisses you, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, big arms surrounding you.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark as they roam over your face. “Wanna go for a swim?”

—-

You slip off your shoes, burying your toes in the cold mud and smooth river rocks. There’s a new sensation shooting through your body, an almost relief in this action, like one of those moments when a patient pulls through, or you remember you’re safe and loved.

Joel lays a towel down, covering his pistol, still mindful that though this is paradise, danger can still lurk right around the corner. 

The daylight radiates off the water, and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt so warm and complete, especially as you watch Joel unbutton his flannel and peel off his white undershirt. You can hardly pay enough attention to slip your shirt and pants off, struggling especially when you lower your jeans down your legs as Joel does the same.

“Take it off,” he says, reaching for the hem of his black boxers. “All of it.”

You’re so quick to shuck your underwear, to feel this rare type of naked independence with the man you love. Joel’s all precious metals lit by this light. Golden skin speckled with bronze freckles and silver scars. 

You both wade in, hissing through teeth as the water creeps higher up your thighs, then stomach, then chest, until you’re both wading. Joel’s groan echoes through the water as his buoyancy gives him relief, and you anchor yourself to him, arms wrapping around his neck, letting your legs entwine. He lifts you, hands gripping your ass under water and gives you the sweetest, happiest smile. You grin back, unable to stop the glee coursing through you.

“We’re really here,” you say, unable to keep the wonder from your voice. “On our honeymoon.”

He groans and stares down at you, eyes heavy-lidded. “Told you I had a surprise.”

His smile meets yours when he leans in for a kiss. Your hand slides down his chest and the plush of his stomach, he’s already hard, and you stroke him once, slow, pulling away to watch his head tip back and his mouth go slack.

He groans and you laugh, until he captures your lips again. You make out lazily, floating in the water, your legs wrapping around his hips. You grind against him, letting the water slosh before he lines himself up, eyes locked on yours, and then pushes in. The water buoys you, makes it easier. He braces both hands on your ass and starts to fuck up into you, his teeth bared with the effort of keeping it gentle, but you can see how badly he wants to let go.

“Harder,” you say, and he does. He lifts you higher, so that you can ride him, your breasts bouncing above the surface. Here, there are no infected, no patrols, no alarms or obligations; there is just you, and your husband, and the endless blue of the water and the sky.

He cums with a low groan, arms squeezing you so tight it’s almost painful, and you follow, burying your face in his neck as your body shudders and then goes limp. You cling to him, Joel’s heavy breaths against your ear, and you chuckle at how perfect this moment is.

When you both trust your legs enough to finally stagger out of the cove, Joel wraps you in a towel, hands rubbing up and down your arms until goosebumps fade. He snags your abandoned clothes and slings them rakishly over his shoulder as you both stumble up the path back to the house.

—-

Inside the cabin, you check in with Tommy as Joel builds a fire in the massive stone hearth. You curl up together on the mattress, bodies still damp from your swim. He pulls the patchwork quilt up and tucks you into his side. Your eyes move from Joel to the sunset and back, neither of you says a word to each other, just trade kisses and sighs of contentment.

It’s only when your stomach growls when you get up. “I guess we should eat.”

You share a dinner of leftover pizza from last night’s celebration, sitting at the eight-person dining table as the mounted deer heads and golden-framed landscape paintings look down upon you.

When it gets too dark to see, you light a few candles and lie together on the mattress in the living room, naked under the quilt. Joel’s soft bicep is your pillow, his other hand traces circles along your stomach so gently it almost feels absentminded were it not for the way he’s studying your face.

“Happy?” he asks.

You nod. “Incredibly.”

Joel tells you about the day he and Tommy found the cabin, how it was so untouched they almost wondered if it was a trap, how it was easy to convince the council to let you two leave for a week, and how patrollers haven’t seen anything worrying around these parts in over a year. You feel overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of how Joel made sure to gift you this beautiful “vacation.” You don’t know what to say to thank him, so you just lean in and kiss him.

The kiss is sweet at first, but it deepens with every traded grunt and moan. Joel pulls you closer, and his chest rumbles against yours when you nibble against his pillowy bottom lip. He cups your cheeks, thumb stroking the curve of your jaw. The shivers of need follow his hands as they drift lower, grazing your hip, then your thigh. He gently rolls you onto your side, kissing your shoulder, your neck, the soft spot behind your ear.

“Get on top ‘a me, baby, wanna see my pretty wife.”

You oblige, straddling his hips, giving him a slow rut and grind, sliding your pussy along the heft of him resting against his stomach. His hands grip your hips, big brown eyes and furrowed eyebrows staring up at you. You feel like a goddess, lit by the candles and fire, and the heated gaze of dark brown eyes. Joel’s hand flows down your hip to between your legs, pressing his thumb against your clit, kissing it with the sweet pressure of his thumbprint. You fold over, lips pressing against his, tongue licking into his mouth. He grips himself, runs his weeping head against your wet, and you moan, hands cording through the waves of his hair.

“Fuck me,” you plead, hips lifting, hovering right above his cock. Joel lines himself up and your bodies work in tandem together when you sink down with a gasp.

“Christ,” he groans, head falling back against the pillow, neck corded with the tension only you can give him. You pull away and sit up, the pink stone of your ring flickering against his chest when you brace yourself. You rise, thighs trembling, then sink back down, hips gyrating to take all of him and his stretch. 

You’re still amazed at your fortune. Joel is your husband, yours to ride, yours to take, yours to love.

He lets you move at your pace, and when you lean back even more, pounding and grinding against his cock, greedily riding him, he lets out an incredulous chuckle. “Look at you takin’ all of me.”

You watch his face, the reverence there. Joel’s always loved you with devotion, but you feel a new edge to it, an almost worship. Maybe it’s the honeymoon, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re forever, but he looks at you like he’s found God. He grits out your name, brow furrowed and jaw taut. That vein on the side of his neck pulses, matching the flutter of your own pulse.

His hand cups your cheek, and you give his wedding band an impulsive kiss, pressing your lips to the gold as your bodies move together. The gesture undoes him. His eyes flutter, and his body turns uncontrollable, hips bucking up into you. “Jesus—” he gasps, “baby, fuck—”

You keep kissing the ring, again and again, letting your teeth scrape the metal just enough to make him groan. He wraps his arms around you and sits up, chest to chest, and you clutch at his shoulders as he thrusts harder into you.

You grind and ride, using his cock to fuck yourself into oblivion, totally blissed out. Maybe it’s the luxury of having nothing to do, nowhere to be, or maybe it’s the candlelight or the fire or the fact he’s finally your husband now.

Joel’s hands dig into your hips, pulling you down with each snap of his pelvis. You feel the stretch in your calves, in your hips, every nerve below your waist.

You’re so close, your clit riding the thick root of his cock. You keep your eyes locked on his, begging him to see you, to keep you here in this impossible, perfect present. He can’t look away either. 

Candles burn low, the fire dying to embers, and yet you both glimmer in the dark as this perfect moment becomes a world of its own. The pleasure and love are bright and hot, and when Joel tenses beneath you, his face burrowing in your neck, your name almost sobbed into the sensitive skin there, you cum with him. He fills you, thick and pulsing as you clench around him and breathe his name out.

Joel collapses back onto the mattress, pulling you with him. His cock throbs inside you, and you’re so full of his bliss, you’re sure it’s running down the seam of your thighs, but you don’t dare move. You nuzzle your nose into the fuzz of his chest hair, breathing his skin and sweat. Beneath you, his ribs rise and fall, slowing down, your body synced to his.

“Mrs. Miller,” he groans, lips pressed to the top of your head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You never thought you’d see a day like this, never thought you’d have a husband, or a honeymoon. Joel makes the world feel like it never ended, like everything that matters is right here, with his arms around you and his heart hammering against your ear.

—-

This morning might just be the brightest you’ve ever woken up to. The birds chirp outside, and the golden sunlight slanting through the cabin’s windows gently rouses you from sleep. Joel sleeps heavily, mouth open, one arm draped possessively across your ribs.

You lie there for a long time, just memorizing all the small, beautiful things about the man you love. You trace the line of his jaw, the crease at his mouth, the dimple that’s soft in sleep. You’ve woken up so many mornings like this, marveling at how handsome a man Joel Miller is, even in slumber.

No clinic waiting for you, no blueprints for Joel. Just this cabin, this bed, and your husband for seven glorious days.

You carefully shift out of his arms, pull on his discarded flannel lying on the arm of the couch, and pad into the kitchen. The percolator is filled and set on the stove, some ginormous hub that easily set the original owner back six figures. All of it seems like a part of the world that’s been lost for so long… from the matching appliances, to the shiny stone countertops, and the huge windows that look out amongst nature undisturbed.

You unwrap Joel’s trusty chipped owl mug, which you packed just yesterday morning, and fill it with black, bitter coffee. Your husband’s favorite thing in the world.

You settle on the edge of the mattress, and Joel stirs, his eyes slowly fluttering open, fixing on the coffee cup before they drag up to you. He smiles and stretches. “You’re an angel,” mutters, voice still half asleep. He rolls and rests on his side, a content smile lifting his lips, before his eyes turn dark. “Put the coffee down, it can wait. C’mere, Mrs. Miller.”

He makes love to you as the sun rises above the vast treeline and the perfect cove. It’s lazy and decadent the way Joel takes care of you, grinning up at you as you ride him again, growling out all the filth and adoration he knows you love—how you’re perfect, how you’re his everything, how you feel so fucking good, how you’re all he wants. When he cums, his big hands cup your ass, and he growls your name so loud it echoes off the walls of your vast, temporary palace.

You share the cup of coffee, tangled in each other and your perfect morning. 

—-

There’s a banditry of chickadees singing in the trees, and you look over at your husband, at his big bare feet, the lazy stretch of his thighs under the blue robe, the band of his wedding ring shining as he scratches his chest. He has never looked more satiated and peaceful than he does as he lets the sun dry him off. You’re spread across your towel, face and front heated by the afternoon.

The water was just as perfect today. You could get used to this.

“We should do this every day,” you say, the words floating up toward the clouds. “Just... this. Nothing else.”

You hear rather than see Joel’s smile. “We could,” he agrees. “Whole week’s ours.”

What a luxury to do nothing, to make your time stretch, to only tell time in kisses and smiles.

When you get too baked by the sun, you and Joel move to the mostly-covered part of the back patio. There are some holes and beams missing, but it shields the sun just fine.

You choose Joel’s lap as your seat, and his arms hold you tight against him. He picks up the book he’s been reading, yet another novel about cowboys in the wild west. “Read to me?” you ask.

He hmphs a sound and clears his throat. His voice rumbles that low level that makes every bad thing disappear. You relax in the crook of his arm, eyes shut, body humming with warmth and contentment. Old West violence and drama, gunmen and dusty trails unfold. He even does the voices. Low and tough for the outlaws, gruff for the aging sheriff, strong and powerful for the hero. You wonder if he knows how much it means to you, the way he tells you the story as he holds you. The slow cadence of his voice and the rise and fall against your head help you drift off.

You wake to the sound of him closing the book and the set of his arms around you. “You’re out,” he whispers against your forehead.

“Just resting my eyes.”

He chuckles. “Figured as much, baby.”

He burrows you closer to him, gently rocking you back and forth like the trees in the wind. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt so at peace before.

—-

There’s leftover wedding cake in the kitchen, and you’ve had it for lunch for the past two days. You’re atop the perfect marble countertop, legs dangling, Joel standing in between them.

He feeds you a bite. It tastes of chocolate and the memory of your perfect wedding. You hum an approval, and Joel watches you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world, even as there’s frosting on your upper lip.

“Good girl,” he grits.

You know exactly what he’s doing, and you let him, your legs sliding apart. He’s already sliding the edge of his thumb up inside your thigh.

“Ya’ know, you have frosting on your face,” he says, all smooth and deep. He leans in and licks it from the corner of your lip, then lingers at the seam, tongue pushing softly into your mouth. You taste chocolate and coffee and the wolvish smile he’s not even trying to hide. He grins when he pulls back, then grabs another forkful of cake, but he doesn’t bring it to your mouth… he taps it against your collarbone, splotching you with chocolate.

“Joel?!” You laugh, a surprised, breathy sound.

“Gotta get that too.”

He tongues the sweet off your neck, wide palms resting over your knees, prying them even farther apart. The fork clatters into the plate when he sets it aside, and then both his hands are under your thighs, hitching you forward. Your ass digs into the edge of the marble, and you yelp at the sudden movement, laughing and catching yourself on his broad shoulders.

Instinct overtakes you, because you already know where this is going, and you arch forward on the countertop, hands braced behind you. Joel’s lips are still sticky with frosting as he kisses you again, his body pressing against the cradle of your spread legs. He’s got you, strong arms caging you in, the heat of his chest pressing against you. But you can only focus on his fingers against the damp seam of your underwear, pulling them aside and dipping deep into your cunt.

You gasp into his mouth, startled but so ready for him. He grins against your lips, and you can feel him smile when you moan. He curls the pads of his fingers inside you, just how you like, so he can watch your eyes roll up for him. “Like that, pretty girl?”

You whine a yes as his thumb digs up to circle your clit. All the while, he feeds you cake. Another bite, this time smeared on his thumb that he slips into your mouth. You suck it clean, and Joel watches you greedily.

He stays close, kissing and biting under your jaw, salt and sugar on his tongue. Your ankles lock at his back, hips rutting against his hand, your wet coating his hand.

“Fuck, you’re so wet f’me.” 

You nod and arch for him, and he sets the cake plate aside. His thumb circles your clit, and you can’t even hold your own head up; you loll back on your elbows, blinking at the high beams of the ceiling, and wonder how it’s possible this man can know your cunt so well.

He keeps going, two, then three fingers, stretching you, and his eyes never leave your face. “There you go, baby. Squeeze my hand. Lemme feel you.”

Your cunt flutters and pulses, choking his fingers so hard he can barely move them. He growls a chuckle, pressing his mouth over yours, swallowing your moans and whines. You cum so hard you see gold behind your eyelids, the same gold of his wedding band that runs along your cunt. You sigh Joel’s name over and over, watching the way pride lights his face as you get off for him.

When you blink the light back into your vision, Joel’s already licking his fingers clean with a groan.

“Shall we get a bath, Mrs. Miller? Get the cake I missed washed off?” You nod and let him help you off the counter, shaky legs and all.

You and Joel spend the time it takes to fill the tub kissing. He gets in first, lowering the bulk of him slowly and settling against the porcelain before you get in, scooting back until your back meets his chest. The water laps and rises, sloshing over your bodies, and you’re caged in by Joel’s arms, bracketing the sides of the tub, his thighs sitting wide apart with you seated in between.

You hum as you feel the warmth of the sunbeams radiating through the windows. Outside is the cove, the pine trees dancing in the wind, and the invisible birds singing you and Joel songs as you relax. You inhale the steam, the luxury, the perfect moment you’re currently living in.

“Am I dreaming?” you ask, head lolling back onto Joel’s shoulder.

He laughs, kissing the crown of your head. “No, baby. S’all real.”

You’re not exactly subtle when you rub your ass across his crotch. It doesn’t take long for Joel to grow hard, cock pressed between your bodies. With a tilt and a tweak, you guide him between the slick of your folds. You arch up, then sink down, taking him this way… he fills you in such a different way, and you moan at the fullness. Joel lets out a groan, hips rocking up, pushing deeper until you’re flush.

His arms snake up under your arms, wrapping around your ribcage, fingers massaging and pinching your nipples, his mouth at your neck, tongue and teeth licking and scraping against your pulse. Water splatters against and out of the tub's walls when you rut against him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Joel breathes against your ear, his hand slinking lower down your body, thumb circling your clit as he fucks up into you.

The world outside of the tub begins to turn to a watercolor… green and blue, and sunlight swirling as you let Joel’s body bestow his luxury on you. He roars your name against your ear as he hammers himself into your cunt, flooding you with his cum. Your orgasm ripples through you, the waves of hot water and Joel’s cum getting fucked into you send you right over the cliff. The tub water ebbs and flows as you both shudder through your aftershocks, collapsed against each other.

When you finally trust yourself to move, you lift, turn in his arms, and kiss him until the water grows too cold, still unbelieving that this life is yours, and Joel Miller is your husband.

—-

Joel is hopeless at poker, hopeless at bluffing, and even more hopeless at hiding how much he wants you. There are cicadas revving in the trees, a wind brushing through the open windows, and the warm candlelight flickering gold. You’re at the dining table, clutching a crinkled hand of cards and biting back your smile. Joel sits across from you, hunched over his own hand, staring at the cards under furrowed brows. He’s barely even dressed now, wearing one sock and a pair of navy blue boxers.

You, on the other hand, are winning and still fully clothed. 

You did not expect playing strip poker with a grown man as competent as Joel Miller would reveal how abysmal he is at cards. You’ve beaten him every game, and you’re loving the trophies of more and more of his clothing being removed. 

Joel reveals his hand: two pair, not bad. But not enough.

Your straight flush is laid down on the table with an exaggerated little “boom.” Joel grunts and scrubs a hand over his face.

“Tough luck, baby,” you mock.

He pouts, scoots his chair back, bends down with a sigh, and takes off his sock. All that’s left is his boxers. The sock is tossed in your direction, and you avoid it with a duck and a chuckle and deal the cards.

A six, two nines, a Jack of clubs, and a King of diamonds. Nothing. You keep your expression neutral but Joel’s watching you like a hawk. No matter what you try to figure out, none of the cards work, and you finally lose to Joel’s full house.

“Well, well,” he growls, leaning forward, candles lighting all of his shadows. “Looks like it’s your turn to lose something.” His eyes flick up and down, possessiveness and desire inking them black.

You’re half drunk on whiskey, and the feeling of being in love, in a house no one else knows exists. You lean back and slip your shirt off. Joel’s eyes go wide and a greedy warmth spreads over his face. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

You stretch and roll your shoulders back and Joel’s nostrils flare. “This was a bad idea.”

Joel was right. It was a bad idea. His luck lasts for a single game, and your flush beats his three pair.

You squeal in delight, collecting the cards. “Deal’s a deal, Mr. Miller,” head tilting towards his crotch. “Take ‘em off.”

He stands slowly, hands planting at the waistband of his boxers. He inches the waistband down and all you can do is stare at his beautiful, wide, half-hard cock. The boxers fall to the floor, he steps out and lets you ogle. He’s all broad and powerful: the furrow of his belly, sprinkled with graying hair, the mass of his shoulders, the thickness of his thighs. The candlelight flickers over the lines of him, lighting the constellation of scars across his golden skin.

“Stroke him for each time you lost, Mr. Miller.”

He snorts, but he spits in his palm and wraps it around himself. It’s always a little overwhelming to see Joel like this, to luxuriate in watching the way his lips curl in a snarl as he thumbs the bead of precum from the head of his cock. He gifts you five long, slow strokes, and you’re pretty sure you don’t breathe through any of it.

“Keep going,” you say, your own thighs squeezed together, slick and desperate from nothing but the sight of Joel in front of you. He spreads his feet wide, starts stroking faster, eyes locked on you. He’s already huffing, chest heaving, the cords in his neck tight.

God, you want him in your mouth, want to taste the slick salt of the precum he’s leaking for you, but this is all part of the game. You want to watch Joel lose it again, naked in the golden light, putting on a show for you, his wife.

One hand grabs the edge of the table, while the other jerks himself, hissing between clenched teeth. He’s bent over the table, fucking his fist. “Baby,” he groans, all ragged and desperate.

“Yes, Mr. Miller?”

“Close,” whimpers out of your big, strong Joel.

“Then come here.”

He does, stepping to your fast, cock still in his fist. He looms over you, all big, broad, and hard. You’re so close now, you have a front row show. You marvel at all of him… the bead of precum on his slit, the way his balls draw tight, the flex and strain of his plush stomach.

So, you take your breasts in both hands and squeeze them together, showing him your intent. “Here?”

He doesn’t even answer, just grunts your name and shudders as the first thick rope of his pearlescent arcs up, landing on your collarbone, the second splattering across your tits and running down the valley between them. He keeps jerking, unable to stop, squeezing each pulse out, milking himself until he has nothing left, the last few drops clinging to his cock before he smears it across your nipple. “Fuck,” he growls.

Hands planted on the chair’s arms, he drops forward, gorgeous face right in yours. He grins with a low chuckle. “Fuck, baby. Feels like I won.”

—-

There’s a large boulder by the cove, the bright sun bakes it in the afternoon, making it the perfect place to rest your back against after enjoying the chilled water. You’re sitting against it, book in hand, while Joel sits next to you, fiddling with his guitar, strumming random songs and notes.

It’s odd, the lazy luxury of the past few days has almost made you forget all the strife and stress of the world, but there is still a reminder that you live amongst destruction. Joel’s gun goes with him everywhere, hidden in plain sight just in case, and you still turn your head whenever you hear a sound escape the heavy treeline. But the danger never comes.

There’s a sound of rustling to the left of you, and Joel instantly stops strumming, placing the guitar to his side and slowly reaching for the pistol… just in case.

But your fears are quickly tamped down by the sight of a herd of deer, approaching your secret cove. You watch them, both silent as they part their way through the tall grass, heads flicking to watch you and Joel, pausing for a moment, then ultimately deciding that you’re no threat.

Joel lowers the gun back to the ground, leans his head against your shoulder, and you watch the wild animals, safe in their peace and their own world.

Neither of you speaks until you watch the deer move back through the tall grass just as the sun begins to set. The sky is lit orange, with streaks of purple and pink all bleeding into each other and the horizon. It’s a sunset for the books.

"Never used to notice them much,” Joel muses, almost absentmindedly.

“Hm?” you ask.

"The sunsets."

"They were always there," you reply softly.

You feel his exhale before you hear it, his thumb rubs thoughtful circles over your knuckles. "Guess you just start seeing things differently when..." He trails off, leaving the thought unfinished.

When you almost die, perhaps. Or when someone saves you. Or when life gives you an unexpected second chance.

"Yeah," you agree, understanding what he doesn't say. "You do."

He takes your hand, finger brushing against your ring. “You changed m’life,” he whispers.

May 27, 2024

Tommy stands on Joel’s porch with his fist raised in the cold, but he hesitates. He’s thinking it over, talking himself through if it’s right to interrupt.

Inside, your fingers are still in Joel’s hair as he kisses you with a sustained, hungry focus that makes it seem like he’s making up for lost time. His hand has found the strip of skin above your waist and the warmth of his touch makes your knees turn to jelly. You lean into him without meaning to and his arm cinches tighter around you, pulling you in closer than you thought possible. 

You can feel the thrum of his heartbeat through the layers of cotton where your chests meet. It’s like his own body is failing to hide what his mouth still struggles to say, how badly he wants this.

And when it ends, it ends slowly. Your foreheads are pressed together and you just breathe each other in. His arms keep you in place, letting you feel what it has done to him. Somehow, that’s the most intimate part of it all, knowing that he is as undone as you are.

The knock at the front door pulls you both out of that moment in a way that’s almost cruel. 

You stare at the door and then each other. His jaw is already working and your heart is now hammering inside your sternum for a completely different reason than it was a second ago. Nobody knocks at this hour, not without a good reason at least.

Joel’s arm falls away and his body immediately rearranges itself, going rigid with panic in a way you’ve learned to recognise. Every loose, open thing about him is sealed back up in an instant and he creates a wedge of space between you. You’re both aware of the irony of it. The confession that neither of you wanted distance is still fresh in the air.

Joel drags a hand down his face and then through his hair. You smooth the front of your flannel down where his hand had pushed it up and try to will the heat and colour out of your cheeks. It all feels wrong, but it has to be done.

You watch him clear his throat, straighten up and cross the room to answer. For a fleeting second, you wonder if you were supposed to find somewhere to hide. But it’s too late. The door swings open.

“Tommy.” It’s not exactly a greeting. It’s more just a fact.

Tommy? The most inconvenient person in all of Jackson for it to be. Your stomach drops through you to the floor. It doesn’t matter why he’s here so late, he’s going to want to know why you’re here so late.

“Joel.” Tommy’s voice is flat in a way that you’ve never heard it. “Sorry. I know it’s late. Saw the lights on. Hope I’m not disturbin’ anythin’.”

The pause before Joel speaks up is maybe two seconds too long.

“Uhh— No,” he says, his voice coming out in a way that Tommy now has every reason to wonder what’s going on. He hesitates for a moment before realising his brother is still outside and he’s blocking the doorway. “Come on in.”

The first thing Tommy’s eyes do when he steps into the hallway is land directly on you in the middle of the living room, like he already knew you were there somehow.

“Joey.” The surprise in his voice sounds like it was placed there on purpose, and it’s not convincing at all. “Didn’t expect to find you out so late. ‘Specially not here. Thought you’d be in bed by now seein’ as you two have patrol in the mornin’.”

“Uh, yeah.” A couple of seconds pass of you just trying to find something to say. You jam your hands into your back pockets to seem casual. “I just dropped by to… thank Joel for helping with some leaky pipes at Jeremiah’s. They’ve been giving us a lot of trouble, but he… fixed them for us.”

Tommy receives that information with a slow and single nod. Then he looks across the room to his brother, who is standing far enough away from you that it draws attention. Joel just holds Tommy’s pointed gaze without adding anything more to it.

“Hm.” He shifts his weight, settling onto his other hip now. “Seems like Joel’s been helpin’ you out quite a bit lately.” He let’s that make its way around the room. “Good to hear."

You ears start to prickle. He knows. And you don’t know how.

“Yeah, well, I was actually just about to leave,” you say, already starting to move towards the door. “Like you said, we’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Hold up.” Tommy’s arm extends to make you stop mid-step. Not aggressive in any way, but enough to make your pulse spike. Joel’s shoulders go taut. “I’m actually glad you’re here. I need to have a word with you two.”

You look over at Joel. His jaw is locked solid now.

“I stopped by Jeremiah’s lookin’ for you,” Tommy continues, folding his arms now with a lopsided smile. “He said you were in Michelle’s. So I went to Michelle’s and she said you were probably here. Sounds like you’ve been gettin’ around today.”

“You know me,” you say nervously. “Always got somewhere to be. Off on my little adventures.”

“Apparently.” He lets that sink into the floorboards below then shifts gears. “Well, I’ve got a little adventure lined up for the two o’ you. I’m takin’ you both off patrols this week. I need you to ride out to Dubois instead for a supply run.”

“Dubois?” you repeat. “Where’s that?”

“About 60 miles east,” Tommy says. “Should take you around a day to get there and a day to get back, so you’ll need to camp out overnight somewhere.”

“And you’re droppin’ this on us last minute?” Joel asks, a twinge of restrained frustration in his voice.

“We got a list of essentials we need. It only got handed to me earlier today,” Tommy says, producing a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and holding it out. “We’ve cleared out most of the other towns nearby. This one’s our next best bet.”

Joel almost snatches it out of his hand and holds it back from his face to read, eyes squinted without his glasses and moving down the list. Medical supplies, stationary, tools, hardware… the miscellaneous things that hold the infrastructure of a settlement together and that the people can’t survive without.

Joel looks up at his brother then with an expression that communicates his thoughts without needing words. It’s a huge ask.

“Don’t worry,” Tommy says, pre-empting whatever Joel is about to say. “I’m givin’ you both the rest of the week and next week off patrols when you get back. Consider it a thank you from all of us. You’ll have earned it.”

“That’s not the point,” Joel says. “It could be dangerous. We don’t know what’s out that way.”

Tommy looks at you both. “Only one way to find out. And besides, you’ve got each other, and let me tell you somethin’, there’s nobody else on that roster I’d trust with a job like this. You two make one hell of a team.”

His gaze moves between the two of you at an agonisingly slow pace, like he’s watching for any change in your body language.

It’s hard to know whether that’s a compliment or a death sentence. Maybe Tommy himself isn’t sure if he’s being pragmatic or just banking on faith. Either way, the prospect of two days on the road with Joel, sleeping God knows where, after everything that has happened, feels complicated and overwhelming. The danger of what’s out there is almost the simplest part.

“So.” Tommy turns to you. “Whaddaya think? You up for it?”

You find Joel’s eyes across the room. There’s a whole conversation happening in that one look and none of it is about the task itself. A supply run is a supply run. You might make it back, you might not. It’s the journey there that is undetermined and how it could change things when things haven’t even been established. For now, all you know is that you can’t say no to Tommy. Not after everything.

You sigh eventually. “Yeah. I’m in.”

Tommy nods, but his expression is a new one for you. It’s not the broad, triumphant grin he usually wheels out when he’s managed to talk you into doing something for him. It’s smaller and more considered, like he knows what you were thinking about to reach that decision. 

“Alright,” he sniffs, giving your shoulder a firm pat. “Get yourself home and rest up. Big day tomorrow.”

With a small inhale, you move towards the door, eager to escape the weight of the air. You feel Joel’s gaze on the back of your head as you leave. At the threshold, you glance back at him, just briefly, enough to let him know you’ll see him tomorrow and good luck with the next however many minutes he’s got stuck with his brother.

The door clicks shut and neither of them moves or speaks for a moment. The house returns to complete silence around them as if no one was home.

Tommy turns to face his brother then, who’s now staring at something between the floor and emptiness, like he’d rather look anywhere else but in front of him.

“So…” Tommy’s hands find his hips again as he measures the man he thought he know inside out across from him. “Joey. Huh.”

Joel’s eyes come up slowly, trying to not appear accused. “What about him?”

It isn’t really an accusation at all. They both know that. Joel feels the smallness of the space pressing in acutely, he’s once again being cornered in his own hallway like the night you confronted him about the kiss.

“I saw you, Joel,” Tommy reveals quietly. No performance or cushioning in it. “The two o’ you. Through the window.”

The blood drains from Joel’s face so quickly that it’s very visible and his expression changes to one that Tommy hasn’t seen since they were young boys. Pure and undisguised fright. 

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” His voice shakes at the end.

“Joel—”

“I don’t know what you think you saw—”

“Hey,” Tommy interjects. No volume or force to it, just enough to silence him. “Stop. You don’t have to do all that. Not with me.”

Joel goes mute. His eyes are glassy now at the corners, glistening with something he is clearly fighting to contain. Tommy can see all of it laid out across his face. The fear, the old reflexes, the shame of being seen as someone he spent decades refusing to acknowledge for the sake of those around him.

“It’s okay,” Tommy says with a quiet patience. “You’re still my big brother. Doesn’t change a damn thing.”

Joe’s lip has a slight tremor to it. He can’t speak nor can he move. He’s completely paralysed from hearing something he never thought he needed to hear, and Tommy starts to realise that. He’s watched this man survive things that would’ve broken the toughest people, and yet here, in his own home, he looks completely defeated by something Tommy didn’t even know about.

“How long has this been goin’ on for?” Tommy asks.

Joel’s eyes drop to the floor. “This month. It started… this month.”

Tommy continues to study him and the way he holds himself with that diminished posture. It can only mean this is something he’s been grappling with for quite some time.

“Does Ellie know?”

Joel’s eyes snap up. “No.” The word comes out faster than anything he’s said tonight. “And she can’t know. No one can know. Not yet. I haven’t even— We haven’t even—” He stops and composes himself. “It’s new. That’s all.”

Tommy nods slowly, turning his thoughts over. In the quiet that follows, Joel stands in it and doesn’t find any comfort.

“Promise me, Tommy,” Joel says, barely above a whisper. “Promise you won’t tell anybody.”

Tommy holds his stare for a long, drawn out moment. “You have my word. Secret’s safe with me. Like I said before. To the grave.”

Even with his word, Joel doesn’t look completely satisfied. His shoulders don’t drop. His expression doesn’t soften to calmness. He just stares back like he’s looking for cracks in it somewhere.

“I just want you to be happy,” Tommy says, plainly and without any unnecessary decoration. “After everythin’. I think you deserve that much at least.”

Tommy begins to move to the door then, placing his hand on the frame. He stops and turns back again.

“Out of everybody in this town,” he says with a small huff that sounds almost like a laugh. “I never would’ve thought it’d be Joey.”

Another pause. “You two take care of each other out there.”

Then he’s gone. The door closes with a gentle click, leaving Joel alone in the hallway with a silence that didn’t feel as heavy as the one that filled his home only an hour ago.

—

May 28, 2024

You’re both bundled up and on the road before the sun has fully risen the next morning. The heavy fog lingers low across the plains, clinging to the grass while the sky decides what colour it wants to be today. 

Joel offered a quiet “mornin’” at the stables and not much else. It was blatantly obvious that the night was unkind to him. It came out through his voice and you’d recognised the sound of it immediately because you’d had the very same type of night.

The horses carry the extra supplies and ammunition dutifully but without any enthusiasm for it. It’s like they’re just as miffed about the early start and long journey ahead. Dusty’s stride has a sluggish quality to it, and you have no intention of pushing her too far today.

You wait until Jackson has shrunk far enough behind you before bringing up the one thing you’ve wanted to ask him all morning.

“How did it go last night? With Tommy.”

Joel keeps his eyes forward. “He knows. He saw us before he knocked. Through the window.”

The chill you feel from that has nothing to do with the temperature outside. You breathe out through your nose and stare out at the dense greyness. The cat wasn’t exactly out of the bag because it was never even in it in the first place. “What did he say?”

“Said it’s okay,” Joel says, his voice careful like he’s still not sure if he wants to believe it. “Said he just wants me to be happy.”

Objectively, that’s the ideal version of events. A part of you feels the warmth of it, but the other part of you reads Joel’s voice, the particular quietness in it, and realises that relief is noticeably absent.

“I made him promise not to tell anyone,” Joel adds. “Not until I’m ready.”

You look across at him. Dusty moves steadily beneath you, her breath coming out in small white puffs. “And? Do you think he’ll keep it?”

He meets your eyes briefly. “I don’t know. I know how it looks and I know I said I’m tryin’, but—”

“Joel.” You shake your head. “It’s okay. I get it. I mean, we haven’t even figured out what this is yet or what we’re doing. No one should know until we do.”

His eyes stay on you. His expression sits between gratitude and guilt. He’s living with the discomfort of knowing he’s being let off the hook when he shouldn’t be. 

“Well,” he says, his voice still rough around the edges. “What do you think this is?”

Dusty flicks her ears, as if she wants to hear your answer as much as Joel does. Old Beardy snorts. 

“No idea,” you reply honestly with a soft exhale. “But I don’t want it to stop.”

—

“We should set up somewhere around here,” Joel says, eyes moving through the branches overhead and noticing the light starting to fade. “It’s gettin’ dark.”

You’ve covered more ground than either of you expected. Less than half a day more and you’ll have reached Dubois — that is, assuming the road stays clear and the weather holds.

The trail bends off the main road into a clearing in the trees wide enough to work with. It’ll provide some cover and plenty of escape routes if needed. It’s perfect for what’s available.

Once the horses are fed and settled, the building ache in your lower back flares into something you can’t ignore any more. The camp comes together relatively easy. You have enough experience that the fire is going and the sleeping bags are out before the last of the light disappears entirely.

Joel drags a log closer to the fire and then lowers himself onto it. “I’ll take first watch.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he says softly, his back also starting to go stiff. “Get some rest. You’re a lot more tired than I am.”

You’re not entirely convinced that’s true seeing as he looks just as wrecked as you feel, but your eyelids are already heavy and making the decision for you.

You shake out your sleeping bag and before climbing in, you cross to him on your hands and knees and press a thankful kiss to his mouth, hoping that he’ll allow it. He comes into it without hesitation, his hand curling around the back of your neck and holding you there. His nose is cold where it brushes yours but everything else about him is warm, generous and careful. 

When you finally pull back, you look at him closely, how his eyes track your lips and how you both carry this uncertainty about what the rest of the trip will bring. “I really hope we make it back,” you say softly.

“Course we will,” he replies, almost a whisper. “We got me.”

The tightness in your chest loosens a touch and you can’t help but smile and roll your eyes. “I always loved a man with confidence. Cockiness, on the other hand…”

A grin and low chuckle comes from him then, and you bank it just like the first time you witnessed it. These rare flashes of something other than hardness on him are like shooting stars, and you wish for another every single time.

He pulls you back in for one more, this time almost like he’s thanking you, before releasing you.

You burrow into your sleeping bad and lie there watching the fire through half-closed eyes. It isn’t exactly comfortable. The ground is uneven and the cold seeps through from below as well as above regardless of the layers. But you’ve slept in worse conditions for most of that month between Silver Lake and Jackson. Now you have Joel. Now you have purpose and a reason to get back. This should be manageable.

Despite the fire, the layers and whatever else, the temperature plummets further within half an hour. Your breath drifts up in pale, misty clouds and the shivering won’t stop no matter how tight you zip yourself up. It becomes so bad that it’s impossible for him to not notice.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice cuts the quiet. “C’mere.” He slides down off the log and settles his back against it, creating a space beside him.

You lift your head from your makeshift pillow and look at him before accepting the invite, manoeuvring yourself over and tucking in against his side with your head now against his chest. His arm comes around you and he starts to deliver long, steady strokes up and down yours until the shivering gradually starts to ease. 

At last, you finally start to feel yourself drift. The fire crackles softly and his breath ghosts lightly against the crown of your head. His chest moves with a soothing rhythm beneath your ear, and out through the dark spaces between the trees, he keeps watch, giving you permission to rest.

—

Consciousness comes back gradually, and then all at once. You don’t know why, but you’re awake. The sky above the tree branches has shifted from ink black to a bruised blue. It’s not dawn yet, but it’s on it’s way.

Then you realise you’re back on the ground and not laid up against Joel.

You sit yourself up way too fast and your neck and shoulders punish you for it. The fire is still going, your belongings are all still scattered around, but Joel is no where to be seen.

The trees stare back at you like they’re hiding something. It suddenly feels darker and more exposed than it did. Your pulse starts to pick up a little under your skin.

“Joel?”

At first, nothing to answer you as you scan the dark shapes around you.

But then behind you, you hear the snap of a twig and the rustling of footsteps. You spin around as fast as your body will allow.

He comes through the tree line looking completely unaware and unbothered, stepping over a low branch like you haven’t just spent several unpleasant seconds fearing the worst.

“Jesus Christ… there you are,” you say, letting the air out of your chest slowly. “Where the fuck did you go?”

“Was just checkin’ on the horses,” he says simply, nodding back in their direction. “Everythin’s okay.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” you groan, tipping your head to the side and trying to work out the knot forming in your neck. “It’s nearly morning.”

He resettles on the log and picks up the stick he’d been using to tend to the fire. “You needed the rest. Didn’t wanna disturb you.”

“That’s not how this is supposed to work,” you say impatiently, watching him prod at the embers. “You need sleep as much as I do. Lie down and get a few hours at least. We’ll just leave a bit later than planned.”

“I’m alright. We should get movin’ soon’—”

“Joel…” you say firmly, not a suggestion and not open for debate. “I need to be able to rely on you as much as you need to be able to rely on me. Sleep. Now.”

He stares at you, the fire popping and casting shadows on his face that highlight the tired lines. It’s not a long standoff. He’s too exhausted to make it one, and somewhere under his stubbornness, he knows you’re right. He pushes himself back off the log with an aged grunt and mutters something under his breath.

You shuffle and kick off your sleeping back and hand it over to him. “Here. Get in mine. It’s still warm.”

He takes it from you and folds himself onto the ground, pulling your sleeping bag around him. He moves in close against your side naturally and without thinking. Within minutes, the tension goes out of him completely and the soft snores come soon after.

You sit with your back against the log and tend to the fire, watching the dark for any movement. Your shoulder becomes heavy and warm where his head rests against it, and you don’t mind at all.

—

A couple of hours have passed and you’re still fighting off the stiff aches as you sit on the frozen ground with your back to the log and his warmth at your side. Joel had been restless for a while, shifting and turning in his sleep until he eventually became still with his head now resting on your lap. 

The woods have started to come to life around you as morning begins to break. Birds first and then the general murmur of insects and other creatures moving about in the undergrowth. It’s the only form of company and entertainment there is out here, so you welcome it.

As you take a swig of water from your flask, you start to feel the need to piss. Very, very carefully, you hold Joel’s head as you shift out from under him and place your backpack there for him to carry on sleeping. He doesn’t stir, so you get to your feet and stretch both arms overhead, your jaw cracking from a deep yawn.

You pick your way through the leafy litter below, stepping over branches and putting enough distance between you and the camp to find the most adequate tree. When you find one, you unzip and let the chilled air fill your lungs as you relieve yourself.

You’re zipping back up when the sound of movement somewhere out in the trees makes you freeze in place. 

A shape, indistinct and dark, moves slowly behind a tree. Enough size and movement that it is definitely something or someone, but not enough light to reveal who or what. Your hand is already on your gun before you decide what to do next.

“Joel.” You call his name. Not loud, but just enough to carry back to where he sleeps. There’s no sound of movement or acknowledgement behind you. You look back. He’s on his left side, facing away. Out for the count still.

“Joel!” you whisper, sharper this time. But still nothing.

Another rustle from the trees. You turn back and start to move inward, stepping over twigs methodically with your eyes cutting left to right at gun level, scanning for anything. The silence around you starts to feel less like nothing and more like something waiting.

Slowly, you move around the tree where the sound was coming from.

A deer stands there, chomping on whatever it could find on the forest bed. It looks at you with large, untroubled eyes and the expression of a creature that was just minding its own business and searching for a suitable breakfast.

Your foot snaps a branch below unintentionally and the deer bolts in the other direction. It’s gone in four graceful bounds, it’s white tail disappearing into the dark like it was never there in the first place.

You stay where you are for a minute, leaning forward with your hands on your knees, letting the fear drain out of you through the soles of your boots.

—

May 29, 2024

Joel wakes up like old machinery coming to life and it’s kind of fascinating to watch. It’s slow and in stages. He makes noises that sound like they should belong to a grizzly bear and not a man. The sun has climbed well above the tree line and is now in proper late morning territory. He squints up at it, pressing his knuckles into his eyes to rub the sleepiness out of them.

“Morning,” you say gently while leaning over to pluck a small twig out from his hair.

“Mornin’,” he says back. His voice is thick with sleep and has the texture of gravel. “How was it? Everythin’ alright?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, your gaze drifting back out to the trees. “Thought I heard something or someone moving around over there while I was peeing. Turned out it was just a deer.”

He lets out a long and thorough yawn before scrubbing a hand across his jaw.

“I tried to call you when I heard it but you didn’t hear,” you mention. “You must be a heavy sleeper.”

“I’m not,” he says. “Just deaf in my right ear. Must’ve been sleepin’ on my bad side.”

You give a small noise of acknowledgement. “Born that way, or…?” 

“No,” he shakes his head, looking at you now. “Gunshots.”

Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t need any further elaboration. You nod your head slowly and start to piece it all together. The way he keeps you on his left, the way he angles himself on patrols, always leads with his left side… A small, involuntary smile forms on your mouth before you can stop it. Every new part of him he lets you see just makes you want to see more.

He’s up and moving around the camp, repacking everything with the systematic efficiency of someone who has done this a million times. At one point, he walks over to you with his hand in his backpack and then pulls out an apple and hands it to you.

“Brought some coffee too. Want some?” he asks.

You look at him, your ears immediately perked up like a trained puppy. “You have coffee?” You knew you could smell it on him and it in his kitchen.

“Yeah,” he says with a little self-satisfied smirk. “Not much, but I figured we might need it. You like coffee?”

That alone gives you a boner.

“Coffee is one of my favourite things in the world,” you say. “I can’t remember the last time I had it and I can’t believe you’ve had some this entire time and still managed to be such a grouchy dick.”

He takes out his portable cafetière with a smirk and starts to prepare it like it’s some sort of ritual with a viewing audience. He knows he’s got you now. It’s just another thing to win you over with. 

You down the rest of your water like it’s useless and then hand him your flask. When he gives it back, you hold it in your hands, lift it to your nose and just inhale the bitter, smoky aroma steaming out of it. You go very quiet. You’re trying to fight off the urge to rush into it.

He watches you from the fire, quietly amused at how you savour and cherish it. He can’t help but smile like a fool.

The first sip is an event. Something in the core of your being just softens. Your senses sharpen and ease all at once. It tastes like life in New York before all of this. It tastes like Sunday mornings in Ireland waking up hungover with your friends. It tastes like Leo’s apartment when you’d sit with Bobo and stare out at the city.

You stand up, walk straight over to him and grab the back of his head to pull him into a kiss. It catches him slightly off-guard and is firm enough that he has to find his footing. He’s not awake enough yet for it.

“You have never,” you say, planting more kisses between each word, “been sexier than in this exact moment.”

He stares at you for a long moment, but then the confusion dissolves into a boyish, helpless smile. His cheeks turn a few shades warmer and he looks, just briefly, like a man who can’t remember the last time he’d been on the receiving end of a compliment like that.

—

By late afternoon, Dubois materialises through the windbreak of trees exactly the way you had hoped: deserted and frozen in time. It doesn’t make it any less unsettling however. Silence in the woods is natural. This is anything but.

Main Street is a strip of faded storefronts that tell the story of what happened here. A boutique with the windows smashed in. A diner where the chairs are still pulled out from the tables and dishes abandoned, like everyone simultaneously stood up mid-meal and ran. Rusted cars scattered everywhere and facing in random directions. 

Two decades of weather and opportunists have had their way with the place. Mother Nature has reclaimed the street in the most unapologetic way, leaving nothing but dust laid thick on every surface. You just hope there’s enough left behind to have made this trek worth it.

Thankfully, there was. The two of you made it through most of the list without wasting much time. With everything close by, it doesn’t take nearly as long as you’d dreaded to collect what you can. Antibiotics, bandages, stationery, nails and hardware, lighter fluid, salt, batteries, toiletries, sewing supplies… Not everything Tommy asked for, but there’s no way in hell he’ll be anything less than thrilled with this.

The sky has started to transform by the end of it. Shadows pull long across the streets and orange seeps into the blue overhead. Even the temperature has peaked and now starting its swift descent. It’s time to get the horses and find somewhere to set up camp again before you’re doing it in the dark.

You’re almost at the edge of town where Dusty and Old Beardy wait when something stops you.

A single-story concrete block building, painted maroon but now peeled from itself in long, dry strips. Above the tinted window, you read the sign, The Pleasure Chest, in what was had clearly once been pink neon, but now is just dark, dead glass tubing. Below the sign, in smaller print, it reads Adult Novelties + Lingerie — Must be 18+ to enter. A sun-bleached poster spitefully clings to the door, so faded that the image is barely recognisable, but the word “SALE” is still visible in red and white letters.

A chuckle bubbles up before you can stop it.

“Hey, Joel.” You tilt your head towards it. “Look.”

He follows your eyeline and you watch the change in his expression. That focused surveillance morphs in real time into something that can only be described as confusion and deep mortification.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

You’re already veering towards the entrance. “Come on.”

“We don’t have time for this, Joey,” he says, already irritated. “We gotta leave and find somewhere to camp before nightfall.”

“Just a few minutes,” you reply with an unhideable smirk that you can’t control. “It’s a bit of fun after a long day. What’s the worst that could happen?”

He exhales through his nose and his face flattens into a look that communicates several things at once, and none of them enthusiasm. With the heavy resignation of a man who knows he has already lost, he follows after you.

Your boots crunch over broken glass and gravel as you approach the heavy metal door which has miraculously been left wedged open. The hinges announce your arrival with a loud, arthritic groan. A small bell above the door offers the most pathetic little jingle you’ve ever heard.

Once you’re inside, you just stop and wait, listening out for any movement or disturbance. All you find is the smell of stale dust, old latex and a trace of vanilla from an out of date air freshener that has somehow lingered and survived. No spores, so no need for a mask.

Joel comes in behind you. You don’t need to look at him to know what his face looks like right now. His discomfort is a third presence in the room. It radiates off of him without meaning to. There’s no doubt that he would find a room full of infected less daunting and confronting than this.

The tinted windows soften the remaining daylight to a dim, amber-tinged murk. Shelves run the lengths of both walls, still stocked with a surprising density. Places like this clearly were not the top of anyone’s priority list when looting began. Glass cabinets hold their contents undisturbed and there’s a large pegboard behind the checkout counter displaying a curation of items positioned for quick, discreet transaction.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel murmurs. He’s stationed himself by the entrance with the precise posture of someone who has already seen enough.

You’re moving deeper into the store with escalating amusement at the variety of different products.

The lingerie rack is a carnival of colour that has somehow held onto its vibrancy. Just past it, the shelves of vibrators range from simple and straightforward to theatrical and downright hilarious. 

What grabs your attention most is the wall of DVDs. You skim the titles and start reading them out for Joel’s consideration as he starts to walk further in to the store to join you. 

“Wet and Wild Wyoming… Rocky Mountain Riders…” 

His expression goes through several interesting stages of disgust and incredulousness.

“Everything’s Bigger in Texas…” You hold it up to him and pop your eyebrow suggestively, watching him trying to conceal the blush forming on his cheeks and scratching the back of his head like he wants the ground to swallow him up.

“I take it you weren’t into this sort of stuff back in the day?” you say.

“Definitely not,” he replies, now staring at a mannequin in the corner wearing a leather ensemble and a ball gag. “I was always more of a magazine kinda guy.”

Something about that is incredibly hot for some reason. It’s old school.

Then you see another DVD title you can’t help but read out. “Get a Load of This Guy!”

That’s the one that breaks the two of you. He bursts out in a hearty chuckle where his eyes disappear and his hands are on his knees. It’s chesty and unrestrained. A laugh you’ve never heard from him before. You’re both swiping tears out of your eyes and holding on to each other trying to catch your breath after a minute. You haven’t laughed this hard in over twenty years.

It takes a while, but eventually you’ve regained composure and have fought off the last of the giddiness. You slot the DVDs back into their places in alphabetical order, as if it even matters.

You start to move again and push through a curtain at the back into another room. Joel follows along. Partially out of instinct and partially because he doesn’t want to be left alone with the mannequin standing in the corner.

As you step into the next room, you’re immediately greeted by something that makes your jaw drop to the floor.

A wall of dildos in every imaginable size and colour. At the base, freestanding with a presence an inanimate object shouldn’t have, is a comically large purple one. It has the dimensions of a traffic cone. Waist height. Probably taller. And a girth that makes you question how it would even be humanly possible.

You walk right over and pick it up with both arms, holding it like it’s a rescued animal. It’s way heavier than it has any right or need to be.

“The fucking size of this bad boy!” you say, mostly to yourself. “I think I’d have better chances of surviving against a bloater.”

Joel’s eyes go wide at the sight of it. He turns away, his hands planted on his hips and mutters something to himself like he needs a moment to process it. When he turns back, he’s shaking his head and chuckling like a man who has decided you’re completely beyond him and he can’t believe he’s stuck with you.

He approaches and nudges his shoulder into yours. “I thought you would’ve liked ‘em kinda big.”

You snort as you ease the beast of a thing back onto the floor. “Definitely not.”

“Well, you sure seemed fine with mine.”

You turn and give him the theatrical eye roll that that comment deserves. “What was it I said about cockiness?”

The smirk on his face only widens as he pulls you into him, both hands framing your face now as he kisses you with a thoroughness that makes you forget where you are. Your hands find the lapels of his jacket and then work their way up to his collar and then shoulders. He flicks your face to the side with his nose and starts on your jaw, all the way down your neck, and suddenly your brain vacates entirely. All you know that exists is the press of his lips, the graze of his facial hair and his arms keeping you upright.

When he draws back to look at you, you’re not fully assembled anymore. Your eyes have gone soft and heavy and your neck has gone splotchy and red from the rush of it. He studies you closely in a way that almost makes you feel exposed and self-conscious, like he’s mesmerising every detail because he wants to.

“I’m gonna make this work,” he says then, his voice barely audible. “I mean that.”

You hold his gaze without saying anything, just licking your lips and breathing out through your nose. You know what it took for him to say those words out loud. It feels like more than words because there’s a commitment behind them. He’s choosing to promise rather than retreat again.

You reach up and kiss him again. Once, then twice. Tender and with no urgency. It’s just your way of saying I hope so without having to actually say it.

You drift past him eventually, leaving him where he’s stood to give the shop one last sweep before something else snags your attention — rows of bottles of lube. Every kind and flavour you can think of, and even ones you’d never heard of before.

Joel’s attention stays stuck on the library of dildos for another minute. When he turns back to look for you, you’ve already shrugged your backpack off your shoulders and are cramming lube into whatever space you have left.

He watches with complete puzzlement.

“How much of that stuff do you think we’re gonna be usin’?” Joel asks, his brows pinched.

You glance back at him over your shoulder and offer a loose shrug. “Better to have plenty. Saves us having to come back anytime soon. This town gives me the creeps.”

He lets out a breath that turns into a crooked smile and drags a hand along the back of his neck. The kind of future planning that it hints at isn’t lost on him, even if you don’t say it outright.

“Alright,” he mutters. “I think we’ve seen enough. We really need to get movin’.”

You’re already making your way back to the front of the store with your backpack hauled over your shoulder. It’s heavier now and thudding lightly against your spine with every step.

Joel gets there ahead of you, yanking the door open and stepping clear to let you pass.

“Always the gentleman,” you murmur as you walk by, catching the softness in his features before it fades.

The doorframe barely clears your shoulder when a gunshot cracks through the air, slamming into the plaster beside your head, spitting chunks and stinging your cheek. Joel’s hand is on you just as fast, dragging you down low and hauling you to the rusted shell of a car parked out front.

Another bullet tears through the shop window. Glass bursts inward, scattering across the floor in a glittering spray.

“Stay down,” Joel shouts, already reaching for his rifle. “They’re on the roof. Down the street.”

You press yourself against the car, ears ringing and pulse hammering so loud that it drowns out everything else around you. When you look over, Joel’s already positioning and waiting. Then, he rises and fires.

The shot lands clean. A head snaps back somewhere out of your sight.

The silence that follows is anything but calm. Your breath is dragging out in rough pulls and your eyes squeeze shut as it all hits you. You were an inch from death. 

“Wait here, don’t move,” Joel says. “I’m gonna make sure it’s clear.”

He’s already moving off when you push yourself up after him, still trying to centre your senses. “Joel, wait—”

An arm hooks tight around your throat from behind before you get another word out. The grip pulls you back, crushing your windpipe. The metal of a gun jams into your temple.

Joel spins back around, rifle already up and eyes blown wide.

“Drop it or I’ll blow his fucking head off!” an unknown man snarls against your ear.

Joel doesn’t move or blink. He just stares.

“Joel—” you manage, your voice strangled on its way out.

“Shut the fuck up!” The gun presses harder and so does the chokehold. Your breath starts to give out.

Joel’s gaze holds yours. There’s a calculation happening there, but then he looks past you and over the attacker’s shoulder. Something takes his attention.

“Okay,” Joel says. “I’m droppin’ it.” 

He lowers his rifle to the ground and raises his hands slowly.

There’s a scrape of movement on metal behind you. The man twitches and turns at the sound.

A stalker, perched on top of the car, preparing to pounce.

It lunges at him before he has a chance to react, knocking him off of you. You’re on the ground and crawling away as it angrily pummels him with its arms, clawing at his face with that high, inhuman screech.

Instinctively, you snatch his gun from where he dropped it and bolt, legs moving before your head has even processed what happened. You just sprint for Joel.

Joel has already picked his rifle back up and takes a few steps forward and delivers one shot. The stalker’s head bursts and it’s body collapses in a heap beside the attcker.

The man barely gets a knee under himself before Joel’s boot brutally slams into his stomach, hard enough to fold him in half and send him crashing back down to the concrete. The air leaves him in a broken gasp and the dull crack could be a broken rib.

You approach, gun trained cautiously on him. He’s in all black with a hood and face-cover now torn away from where the stalker got at him. Long, mousey blonde hair clings damply to his head and his large nose juts out from his face which has now been raked with deep, angry scratches.

“You motherfuckers killed my friend!” he spits through brown teeth, clutching his sternum.

“Quiet,” Joel orders. “Who are you?”

“I’m not telling you shit!”

Joel doesn’t flinch a bit. “Tell me or you’ll be joinin’ him.”

Then you notice something dark and red spreading through the sleeve at his arm and is now pooling in the gravel below. “Joel…”

He sees it too and gives you a short nod to go and take a look.

You crouch next to him, keeping the gun steady as you grab his sleeve and shove it up. The fabric is stuck there for a second, wet with blood.

There it is. A fresh, already swelling bite high on his forearm and seeping. But it’s what you notice just below the bite mark that is more concerning. Branded and burned into his skin, a single letter. D.

You glance back at Joel. He looks back at you.

“What’s it mean?” Joel asks.

“Dicksuckers! Like the two of you!” The man lets out a ragged laugh and then hurls spit in Joel’s direction.

Joel loses his patience. “Hold him down.”

You look at Joel and then back at the man, but then follow the order. Once you’ve pressed him into the ground, Joel steps over and drives his boot straight into the bite wound, pinning the arm in place with his weight. The man howls in pain, his body trying to thrash around.

“Talk.”

He still refuses.

Joel shifts then and brings his heel down on the man’s hand several times, snapping and crunching his fingers as he goes.

The bloodcurdling screams rip out of him and cut straight into you. You’ve seen worse and have done some pretty awful things yourself to survive, but something about it gets to you.

“Okay! Okay! Fuck! I’ll talk!” he chokes.

Joel stops, but he keeps his boot on the man’s now mangled hand.

“It’s… It’s the mark of The Disciples.”

“Who are they? What do they want?” Joel presses.

The man’s breath stutters over itself. “I… I can’t say. He’ll kill us. All of us.”

Joel leans in, his voice dark and threatening. “There ain’t a damn thing he can do worse than what I’ll do to you. Who’s he?”

The man shakes his head with his lips clamped tight like he can hold it in if he just seals them hard enough. Joel adds pressure and grinds his boot back on his arm and then onto his broken fingers.

Another scream rips out of him

“David!” he shouts. “It’s David!”

You meet Joel’s eyes, exchanging words through the stare alone. Surely he doesn’t mean…

“David who?” you ask now.

The man looks up at you then, his mouth curving into something that is supposed to resemble a smile. “Oh… you know exactly who I’m talking about. I heard you know him very well. Our leader. Our saviour. Our shepherd. And we are his sheep.”

“What are you talking about? David’s dead!” you reply, your voices raised now.

He starts to laugh even more maniacally now, shaking his head in a frantic, disturbing way. “No… no, he’s not dead. He can’t die. He’s still with us… He’s here to save us. He—” He pulls in a breath and grins through gritted teeth. “He has never been more alive.”

It doesn’t make any sense. It’s simply not possible. You saw how Ellie left him in Todd’s Steakhouse before it burned to the ground. His face was minced into something unrecognisable, but it was him. There’s no version of events where he walked away that day and lived to tell the tale.

Joel doesn’t want to entertain it. “Where is he? Where can we find him?”

Before he can answer, a sound silences the three of you and sends a chilling tingle down your spine. 

Unmistakable, angry clicks. 

You look up and see shapes moving in your direction from the far end of the street in distorted, sickening motions. There’s at least ten of them. More than you and Joel could handle alone. They’ve been drawn out and unearthed by the commotion, emerging from whatever holes and shadowy hiding places they’ve been laying dormant in, and now they want blood.

“Come on, let’s go,” Joel says, grabbing your arm with a renewed urgency.

You pull back. “Wait, we can’t just leave him! He might be able to tell us m—”

“Joey, we gotta move. Now!” 

Joel’s grip tightens around your arm and he starts to drag you away with him.

The man desperately tries to scramble and get himself standing, but Joel turns back quick enough to fire one more shot. The bullet blows through the man’s knee, tearing it apart and dropping him to the ground again.

The sound he makes causes you to flinch. He clutches at what’s left of his leg as the clicking gets closer and hungrier.

Joel pulls you along and you follow because there’s no other choice.

You don’t turn back to watch them fall onto him and start feasting. Not only because you can’t bring yourself to do it, but because you hear every grizzly detail as his guzzling screams fade into the distance behind you.

—

It’s well into the night by the time you find an old farmhouse sitting alone on the roadside long forgotten. You both check it room by room before settling in one of the bedrooms upstairs. The place is cold with dampness creeping through the foundation. Every inch of it has been softened by years of rot, but it’s four walls with a roof, so it’ll do for tonight.

The two of you move quietly through the dark together, dragging a cabinet and positioning it across the bedroom door and wedging it in place. It’s enough to allow you to let your guards down while you sleep. The mattress gets hauled off the bedframe and dumped onto the floor and you roll out your sleeping bags side by side and climb in.

You lie facing away from him and he notices the distance instantly. He felt a change in you since the ambush. He lies there for a while, watching the back of your head, like he’s trying to read what’s going on in there. Eventually, he gives in and breaks the silence.

“You okay?” he asks quietly in the dark.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “I’m just… tired.”

He thinks about what to say next before speaking. “We did what we had to do.”

“I know,” you say. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

His mouth goes a little dry when he takes a quiet but deep inhale. The events of the day have rattled you more than he expected them to. 

“I just wanted to keep you safe.”

His words should comfort you, and to an extent they do, but you’ve now seen what that looks like when it plays out, and it’s as unsettling as it is comforting. Maybe you just never believed that someone would ever want to do something like that for you.

Carnage and brutality have become the norm in 2024, but Jackson has made you remember that they didn’t used to be. Not to this extent, at least. Places like Jackson keep the old world alive and not just in people’s memories. It gives them real tangible purpose and a chance to reclaim what we all lost. 

Maybe you’ll just have to learn to accept it, because you know you would do the same for him if given the opportunity.

“I know. I just can’t stop thinking about what he said,” you say into the dark. “About David.”

“David’s gone,” Joel answers softly, his breath flicking against your skin. “You saw what Ellie did to him. That guy was just a nut.”

The mattress sighs underneath you as you turn onto your back, your eyes tracing shapes on the ceiling now. “But how can we know for sure?”

“Because we do.” His voice is quiet but final, enough to stop before the spiral takes a hold of you. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you or Ellie. Get some rest.”

You exhale the thought and let the tension fall away, or try to at least. You turn onto your side again and curl up more, facing the wall on the other side of the room.

He reaches for you across the mattress, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you back into him. His breath warms the back of your neck and his lips press gentle, absent-minded kisses behind your ear. 

The room remains as cold and as damp as it was when you found it, but it doesn’t reach you the same way now that you’re in his arms.

AN: I really loved writing this one and it was one of the chapters that took the longest to finish. This one sets up how the next act will play out from chapter 30 onward, so I hope you're as excited as I am! 🤩

I hope you're ready for buckets of Joely cuteness... 🫠

Your eyes move to the bookcase, onto the faded yellow book between a copy of Gray’s Anatomy and a Texas guidebook. You walk over and pick up Lonesome Dove. The last read page is still marked at 776. 78 pages until the end, you and Joel haven’t picked it up in months. It’s become something of an inside joke between you and him, the book that’s never finished. Your finger traces down the cover, across the creased line, and the slight rip in it. Joel’s lived so many chapters, this book and you, just being a small part of his story. But this book has seen all of yours and Joel’s story… from the first time you cracked the spine, reading to the man you barely knew. To nights of shared domesticity, your voice telling him the tale of cowboys in the west while he recovered, as you fell for each other. Then, the night everything changed, when Joel pulled you into bed with him, and this old book fell to the floor as you learned what his lips felt like against yours. You don’t place the book back on the shelf, you leave it out, on the table next to the chair you used to read to Joel in. One day, you’ll finish it, together.

Joel and Jefferson are left stretched across the bed when you make your way downstairs. You step into the dining room, smiling at the sight of the beautiful chaos on your dining table. In only hours, all these disparate elements will come together in the yard, under the cherry tree and the arch Joel built with his own hands. You lean over a box of jars and smell the wildflowers Joel brought you. 

Soon. 

The kitchen is just light enough, thanks to the large windows. In a few hours, Maria will be here, ready to turn your front yard into Jackson’s hottest wedding venue. You fill the percolator with coffee and set it on the stove. This simple task that you’ve done so many times now grounds you, reminding you that even on your wedding day, some things remain delightfully normal.

A slab of butter goes into the pan heating on the stove, and you pad over to the fridge, taking out the steak you charmed Seth into giving you. When the steak sizzles in the pan, you think of the countless, quiet mornings like this, making Joel breakfast and providing for the man that you love. You’re going to have thousands more of these mornings, thousands upon thousands more opportunities to make Joel smile, to nourish him, to show your love through everyday acts like making a meal. 

Such mundanity as making breakfast used to feel almost revolutionary. To be able to give and love so openly, to get to build a life together, to fry a steak and some eggs on your wedding morning. There’s an almost defiance against the darkness that still lurks beyond the walls. 

A soft meow announces Jefferson’s arrival, and he stretches languidly in the doorway before coming over to investigate the source of the enticing smell. He purrs loudly, head tilted up, green eyes fixed on the stove.

“Morning, handsome,” you greet, bending to scratch behind his ears. “No steak for cats, sorry.”

Jefferson’s not the only one awake, you hear Joel’s footsteps on the stairs and turn. He appears, hair rumpled, eyes squinting, wearing his blue robe. He stands in the kitchen doorway and looks at you, as if you’re something he never thought he’d have. 

“Mornin’ baby,” he greets, voice still husked with sleep.

“Morning,” you reply, smiling as he crosses to you. 

His arms wrap around your waist from behind, his chest warm against your back. He dips his head, nose nuzzling the crook of your neck, and he breathes you in. You lean and melt, savoring the heat of him.

“Steak?” he asks when he peers over your shoulder into the pan.

“Special occasion.”

“Mm,” he hums directly into your ear before he kisses it. 

The food doesn’t take long, and when you place Joel’s plate in front of him, you kiss his cheek and sit across from him. Joel breaks the yolk of his egg and cuts a piece of steak, dipping it in the runny, yellow puddle. When he takes the first bite, he closes his eyes in appreciation, a long groan escaping. 

Jefferson rubs his body against Joel’s leg, catching his attention. “Hey, guy,” Joel murmurs, cutting a tiny piece of steak and dropping it to the ground for the cat. 

You eat slowly, savoring this moment and the food on your plate, the last quiet breakfast before you become husband and wife. Joel reaches across the table and takes your hand, thumb tracing the pink stone of your engagement ring. Soon, Joel will wear a gold ring you’ll trace during something as mundane and luxurious as breakfast with the man you love. 

—-

All it takes is one word uttered from you after you put the dishes in the sink.

“Bath?” 

Joel can only nod and follow you up the steps, unable to keep his eyes off the sway of your hips, the line of your legs, and the glow of your skin. Small details of the miracle of you in his life that he never takes for granted. 

The early morning light streaming in through the bathroom window is just enough to see. You fill the tub, checking the temperature with your fingers before you shrug your robe off. Joel can’t help it, his breath catches at the sight of you. No matter how many times he sees you like this, all naked and perfect, it still leaves him speechless. 

He hangs his robe above yours on the hook before he steps into the warm water. A grimace and a slight hmph escape him, no matter how hard he tries to fight it, when he settles into the water. You grab a glass jar filled with dried petals and herbs and sprinkle some of it into the water.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“Peppermint for the inflammation, lavender for relaxation, and a little rosemary because it smells nice.”

The water laps against his skin, fresh mint rising with the steam, and he inhales the scent. His leg still aches from yesterday, he’s earned this soreness. It reminds him of his trip outside the walls, the lakeside secret, and the look on your face when he revealed the wildflowers to you. 

You hum when you climb in, sliding down, your chest against his. The bath is too small for two adults, but you make it work, like you always do. Your arms loop around his neck, cheek pressed just below his jaw. He breathes you and the healing herbs in, the sweetness almost undoes him there. 

You kiss him, wet and lazy, giggling when his beard tickles your chin. His hands rest on your back, fingers splayed, thumbs running up your spine. He could stay like this forever, with you melting against him, trading slow kisses. 

You pull back and smile. “How many hours?”

Joel glances at the clock on the vanity shelf, red numbers glowing in the mist. “Little over seven hours.”

You bite your lip and wriggle with excitement. “Seven hours,” you echo, straddling his lap, water gently sloshing around you. Joel’s hands move on instinct to your hips to steady you. 

There’s a bar of your homemade shaving soap on the edge of the tub. You pick it up and lather it in your hands, the smell of yarrow blooming from your hands. The foam is rubbed over his jaw, and you scrape it in little circles gently. Joel closes his eyes, transporting back to so many months ago, when he was just beginning to feel more like himself, when his hands were still too tremorous, and he was too weak to shave himself. He felt so much for you, even then… your beauty, grace, and care lighting an eternal flame only for you. His body was barely mended and still frail, and yet his heart raced for you. The gentle physicality of your attention, how careful you were, how you’d pause to check his face, your fingertips leaving little spots of fire where you touched it. 

Now, he watches you, the same care evident as you work slowly, scraping the razor down his cheek, wiping clean with a towel. You’re so close he can feel your breath against his lips. Now, he gets to take you in slowly and greedily, his eyes roaming your beautiful face as you focus. He wants to memorize the moment and stay in the warm intimacy of it. You’re focused, brows furrowed as you run the razor across his skin, trimming his beard to the perfect length. When you’re done, you lean in, brush your thumb along his jaw, and inspect your work. “God, you’re handsome,” you sigh. It’s so sincere it almost embarrasses him.

He grins bashfully, and you laugh at him. You set the razor aside and rinse your hands in the water, then slip further down his chest, body sliding against him. Joel kisses your forehead, hands moving over your back. 

When the water gets too cool, you stand first and step out of the tub. You turn, extending your hand to help him. Joel takes it, forever grateful for the support as he navigates the tub edge with his stiff leg. He wraps you in your faded purple towel and stays there, holding you in his arms, your bodies slowly rocking back and forth in the steamy bathroom that smells of peppermint. 

You both dress in the bedroom, Joel choosing a flannel and jeans, while you put on a light pink dress that makes you look even softer and more delicate. You’re so gorgeous, Joel has to remind himself to breathe. You look perfect enough to marry right now. 

There’s a loud thunk outside, and both of you cross the room to the window. Below, in the yard, a procession of wagons is arriving. People unloading chairs and tables from them. It’s not even that big of a wedding, and yet it looks as if Maria’s roped in whoever is available to help. 

“Of course, Maria’s already on it,” you say. 

“I better go get Ellie up then.” 

You snort. “Good luck.”

He reluctantly pulls away from you, heading for the door. Joel turns to take one last look at you. You’re still at the window, watching the organized chaos of the wedding preparation. In just a few hours, you’ll be his wife. 

—-

By the late morning, the house is in full wedding chaos mode. Wendy arrives with her arms full of makeup bags and hair brushes, rattling on about how beautiful a bride you’re going to be. You tell her to get set up in your old room and go to find Joel. He’s outside, helping Tommy maneuver the arch into place, and you watch as the two brothers position it perfectly under the cherry tree beaming with pink petals. You let them share a silent nod of approval after they rock it back and forth to make sure it’s secure. 

“Hey,” you say. 

Joel turns, a smile on his face. “Hey, baby.”

“Wendy’s here, and I’m about to get ready.” 

He takes your hand, leading you somewhere more private, to the backyard, and into the dilapidated gardening shed opposite Ellie’s garage. He closes the door behind him, draws you in close, and holds you for a long minute. 

“You ready?”

You nod against his chest. “Very.” 

You can feel the slight nervousness vibrating through his touch, you’re on the same frequency as him. You both want this badly. 

His lips brush against your forehead. “I love you,” he says against your skin. 

You tilt your head up, taking in every handsome inch of his face… the wrinkles, crinkles, sunspots, and scars. “Love you too.” 

You share a kiss, unhurried and sweet, one that says see you at the end of the aisle, and I already miss you. Then, Joel leads you from the shed to the back door, where he gives you one last kiss. “See you soon, Mrs. Miller.” 

You smile the whole way into the house and up the steps to where Wendy’s set up a miniature salon in your old bedroom. Brushes of all sorts and sizes are spread out amongst the desk top, quadrants of powders and creams are spaced next to each other. Small signs of the old world, from the ancient eyeshadow palettes, mixed with the new world, small pots of homemade pigmented lipstick. It feels so luxurious. 

Wendy is kneeling on the floor, sorting through her arsenal of makeup and muttering in a running monologue about which shade of blush will work best with your skin tone. “You need something that won’t get washed out with the sun,” she says, holding up two nearly identical pans of powder. “Also, do you want to do a bold lip? Or, maybe something soft and classic—” 

You cut her off, laughing, “I trust you, Wendy.”

The familiar sound of quick footsteps in the hall catches your attention. There’s a knock at the door. “It’s me,” Ellie calls.

“Come in.”

Ellie’s hair is styled much neater than it usually is, and she’s still in her regular clothes, you know she’ll change into something nicer for the ceremony later. Her eyes travel across the room, taking in the way it’s been turned into a makeshift bridal salon. 

“Joel forgot his jacket,” she explains. “He sent me to get it. Said he’s not allowed to see you.”

“I’ll show you where it is.” You lead Ellie across the hall to the bedroom you share with Joel. The bed is still unmade from this morning, the scent of the peppermint still lingers from your bath. Joel’s jacket is hanging in the closet, and you hand it to her.

For a second, she just stands there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, clearly wanting to say something but not sure how to do it. You make it easy for her. “Your hair looks really nice,” you tell her. 

Ellie shrugs, but she’s pleased. “Dina did it, said I can’t mess it up at all.”

“You’re both going to look amazing,” you say. 

She nods, and then her face gets serious. “I wanted to say, uh—" 

She stalls out, then tries again. “Joel never really said it, but I know it’s a big deal. You and him.” A breath, deepening her voice. “He does this thing where he tries not to show it, but he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him.”

“He makes me happy, too,” you manage, throat tight, tears swelling behind your eyes, ready to tip over. 

Ellie nods again. “I guess what I’m saying is— thanks. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo,” you say, using Joel’s term of endearment for her without even thinking.

The familiar word unlocks something in Ellie, and she steps forward and wraps her arms around you in a tight hug. 

“I’m so glad he found you.”

That simple sentence contains so many layers. You know what she means… glad he found someone to love, glad he found someone who accepts who he is and what he’s done, glad he’s found someone who could save him. Tears begin to edge your eyes at the enormity of what she’s saying, at the almost blessing she’s giving. 

You squeeze her back. “Me too,” you whisper.

She gives you a quick nod, then turns and leaves, Joel’s jacket clutched to her chest.

You stand there for a moment, fighting back the tears that threaten to ruin whatever makeup Wendy is about to apply. When you return to your old bedroom, Wendy looks up from her array of supplies. “Everything okay?” she asks, noting your misty eyes.

“Everything’s perfect,” you assure, settling into the chair she’s positioned in front of the mirror.

Wendy stands behind you, hair brush in one hand, blush brush in the other, lifting like they’re weapons ready for battle. 

“Ready, bride?” she asks.

“Never been more ready.”

—-

Joel pulls at the sleeves of his jacket and adjusts the collar of his white shirt. He checks his pocket, double-checking for the piece of paper with the few sentences he wrote, just in case he forgets his vows. For a second, he’s nervous. Real nervous—the kind of nervous that makes his fingers numb. But he breathes deep, soon he’ll get to see his bride.

He remembers standing in a church decades ago, wearing a suit that didn’t fit, a heavy pit of dread inside his chest. It’s different now. There’s only a sort of rightness, a feeling like the years and every loss have built up to this perfect moment with you. 

He tries to look calm, though he’s sure he’s showing his impatience. He eyes the crowd—what passes for a crowd these days, maybe thirty people, faces he knows, some he even likes. A few he only tolerates for your sake. 

The day is perfect. The sky’s so bright and blue it almost hurts to look at. The soft, steady breeze brings up the sweet scent of fresh grass and spring flowers. He swears he can smell the bright purple flowers from Sarah’s garden across the yard. His eyes drift over to the small garden, just beginning to show signs of life. The purple aster bush is thriving amongst the small green shoots that are emerging like promises of beauty to come. The familiar pang in his chest shows the ache that sets in when he thinks of his daughter. She would have loved you. She would have been right here with him today, probably fussing over his outfit or teaming up with Ellie to tease him about being nervous.

There’s movement on the porch, but it’s only Jefferson claiming his spot on the railing, a small black bow tie that you knitted around his neck. It’s almost as if the cat’s fully aware of his important role in the proceedings, so dignified and yet so ridiculous. 

He glances at Tommy, who sits in the front row with his hands clasped in front of him. His little brother gives him a singular nod, and Joel knows he means it: you’re getting everything you’ve ever wanted, brother. 

There’s a hush over the crowd when Wendy walks out of the house and sends Ellie a tiny nod. Ellie takes her position and picks up her guitar, the same one Joel carved the moth into all those years ago. An awkward cord is played, but then it’s steady. She plays the old wedding march, not perfect, but with enough force and conviction to make Joel’s throat close up a little. 

Joel glances at Maria, who stands behind the arch, officiant for the day. She smiles at him, her eyes already shining. 

The door to the house opens. 

This is it. After everything. The loss. The violence. The near-death moments. The healing. The secret held. The forgiveness. This is the moment when his new life begins. 

He can’t move. You step out in a dress, so simple and bright, white with delicate lace atop it. It’s not elaborate or ornate, it’s so perfectly you that Joel can’t imagine anything more beautiful. There’s a single purple aster blossom in your hair. Around your neck gleams the ruby necklace he gave you for your birthday. In your hands, you hold the wildflowers he picked. 

His vision begins to blur, and Joel feels the tears form in his eyes. He blinks them away and takes a deep breath. You descend the front steps slowly and turn, your eyes meeting his. The small smile across your lips is delicate and confident, the look in your eyes is full of pure love. 

Every guest turns to watch you, faces lighting up with smiles and whispered appreciations, but Joel barely notices them. His focus is entirely, completely on you.

The breeze picks up as you make your way down the makeshift aisle between the chairs, and the air fills with pink petals. Cherry blossoms swirl around you, catching in your hair and on the shoulder of your dress, as if the tree itself is celebrating this moment. It’s so perfect it almost feels staged, but Joel knows better—he’s never had luck like this.

You stop at the front row, hand your bouquet to Dina, who takes it with a wide smile. Then you step forward to stand with Joel. Now he can see every detail of you, the shimmer on your eyelids, the rosiness of your lips, the brightness in your eyes. He wants to pinch himself, to make him realize that this is indeed all real. He’s never felt more alive.

—-

Your handsome Joel stands before you, his hands in yours. Cherry blossom petals dance around you, some landing on Joel’s shoulders and his hair. Maria’s words float through the air in the clear and confident cadence she’s perfected. “This is what we fight for every day. Not just survival, but moments like this.”

It’s almost hard to believe, this wedding isn’t part of a fairy tale or fiction, it’s real. He’s right here, with his lined face and rough-knuckled hands. He’s all you can look at, everything else is just background noise… the guests, the chairs, even the pink petals that fall. 

Maria nods to Joel to recite his vow, and he begins to speak after a quiet throat clear and a sigh of your name. “I promise to protect you. To stand by you. To love you for as long as I’m breathin’.” His thumbs brush against your knuckles as he speaks. “Ya’ saved my life in so many ways ‘n I’ll spend the rest of it tryin’ to be worthy of that.” 

You can’t help the quiet, happy sob that hiccups out of you. Joel’s never been verbose, he’s never needed to be. He lets his silent strength and resolve speak for him, but there’s a depth of his feeling in the gentle cadence of his voice, the slight tremble of his hands, in the way his eyes never leave yours. 

When it’s your turn, the words are easily said, straight from your heart. “I promise to heal you when you’re hurt, to support you when you’re strong, and to love you through all of it. I promise to make each day we’re together worth living, not just surviving.”

Joel’s eyes are filled to the brim with tears, and one falls down his cheek, charting its way down and dripping onto the tan of his jacket. 

Maria holds out her hand, and Benji rushes forward, placing both rings in her palm, a task he was very proud to do since he was told it was his responsibility. Joel’s wedding band is simple and golden, a miracle that it fit when Maria found it in the town safe. You slide it over his finger, and it gleams in the sunlight, a perfect tether to the love you share. He takes your hand in his and slips your engagement ring back onto your finger. 

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Joel’s already reaching for you, hands finding your waist before Maria can even say “you may kiss your bride.”

You fall into his lips, just like the first time he kissed you. It’s soft and slow at first, but then his hands frame your face, and his lips press harder. The crowd erupts, full of raucous joy. You giggle into his mouth, and when he pulls away, the smile on his face takes your breath away. Wide and joyous, reaching his eyes and crinkling the corners, softening every hard line of his weathered face. You’ve seen him smile countless times, but never like this. He looks younger, more unburdened… like Joel without carrying the weight of the apocalypse on his shoulders. 

The next minutes are a blur: hugs and handshakes and all the faces you’ve come to know, some tear-streaked and some wide with smiles. Tommy slaps Joel on the back with so much force that he winces and laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe any of this is real. 

You find your way through the crowd to the porch and into the house, where Joel shuts the door behind him. Now it’s just husband and wife in the sweet silence of their home. He gathers you in his big arms, squeezing you tight. “Are you happy?” he asks. 

“More than I ever imagined,” you answer against the softness of his jacket. 

He leans down and rests his forehead against yours. “Me too, baby.”

—-

The music’s already pouring out of the speakers borrowed from The Tipsy Bison when you and Joel step back out from the quiet of your home. The neighbors don’t mind the noise. Today, they welcome it, this rare burst of unbridled happiness in a world that tries all it can to snuff out such celebrations.

Not only is the music pouring, but the drinks are already too. A makeshift bar stands near the porch steps, bottles of whiskey, wine, and beer lined in neat rows. Sometimes it pays to be Maria Miller’s in-law.

Ellie’s at the bar, and when she catches sight of Joel, she runs over, two glasses of whiskey in her half-covered by her tuxedo jacket hand, and reaches one out to Joel.

“Cheers, you two,” she grins.

Joel takes it, and with a tilt of his chin, raises it to her. “Thanks, kiddo,” he says. She knocks her glass against his, and they both take a slow sip. He hands you the glass and keeps his eyes on you, watching as your lips form around the glass. You tip your head back and take a sip, cough just a little, then put your hand to your chest. “Jesus, that’s strong.”

You gather Jefferson in your arms and kiss the top of his head, and Joel pets the chin of the cat he loves. The glass of whiskey is nursed in his hand, gold ring sometimes clinking against the tumbler. It’s a good whiskey, and it hits harder when sipped under the glare of new sunlight, new happiness. He’s not the youngest man at the party, but he’s the happiest, he’s certain of that.

You two don’t even get a chance to leave the porch yet, guests approach, offering congratulations that Joel accepts with nods and small smiles. His face isn’t used to the strain of happiness, it’s almost painful in the unfamiliarity. Dr. V shakes his hand firmly. Steven congratulates you and tells you to enjoy your honeymoon. Wendy hugs you both, her enthusiasm nearly knocking the two of you off balance.

The whole front yard has been transformed. Tables are scattered across the lawn, topped with candles and jars filled with flowers. A painted sheet hangs from the garage, it declares “MR & MRS MILLER” with flowers trailing along the edges. Ellie’s work.

People keep pressing in, offering handshakes, hugs, loud congratulations. Joel barely gets through a conversation before a new one starts. He lets you talk, lets you entertain, and be the glowing center of the universe. It’s hard to look away from you. His arm has set up permanent residence around your waist as you let people shower you with congratulations and compliments.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” he murmurs to you between well-wishers, his lips close to your ear.

“Perfect,” you whisper back.

The sun has begun its slow descent, and Tommy stands on a chair, clinking a knife against his bottle until the crowd quiets. "Alright, folks,” he announces. “It’s time for these two to have their first dance as husband and wife.”

Joel knew this was bound to happen, and yet he’s still nervous. He sure as hell doesn’t like a lot of eyes on him, but today isn’t about what he’s comfortable with. It’s about you and the beautiful thing you’ve built together.

He sets his glass down on a nearby table and holds out his hand to you. “Dance with me, Mrs. Miller?”

Your smile nearly buckles his knees as you take his hand, letting him lead you to the makeshift dance floor in the driveway. It’s not a polished wood floor, it’s not under a chandelier, it’s a crunchy gravel driveway lit by candles and some overhead string lights, but it might as well be the fanciest ballroom.

Joel nods to Jesse, who hits play on the song. He tugs you in close, his hand at the small of your back, palm splayed, thumb finding the seam of fabric where your dress zips. The deep, dulcet tone of Johnny Cash’s voice begins to drift out over the speakers, and Joel thinks it’s the most perfect song for this moment.

The first time ever I saw your face I thought the sun rose in your eyes And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave To the dark and the endless skies

He remembers that first time so clearly, even if he was in the midst of his convalescence. You, backlit by the sun shining in through the windows and the pink petals of the cherry tree. Your silhouette was all he could make sense of at first, eyes still adjusting to consciousness. Then, as his vision cleared, he awakened to your beautiful face, focused as you knitted beside the bed he lay in. He couldn’t stop staring at you, trying to assure himself that he was indeed still alive, that you weren’t some sort of divine being keeping watch over his broken body. He hadn’t known then that he was looking at his future, at his salvation.

“Do you like the song?” he asks.

You look up at him, every inch of your face bright, eyes glistening, smile blooming even wider than he knew you had in you. “More than anything.”

All around, the crowd watches, but Joel pays no mind to them. He doesn’t care that he’s not a good dancer, that his steps might falter a bit without his cane. You make it easy. You make everything easy.

Joel presses his lips against your forehead, whispering the lyrics against your skin. “And the first, every I lay with you. I felt your heart so close to mine. And I know our joy, would fill the earth. And last till the end of time.”

The crowd claps when the song ends, but Joel doesn’t let go. He kisses your lips, and you smile when you pull away, tiny tears tracking down your cheek.

For once, people aren’t looking at Joel and seeing all his losses, all his grief. They’re seeing what he has now, who he’s become… all thanks to you, his wife.

—-

The food is spread out on a long table, and it’s hard to believe it’s all for you. You said you wanted Italian food, and Seth and the kitchen crew surely listened. There are stacks of pizza, garlic knots swimming in butter, and trays of spaghetti.

There’s a table set apart for you and Joel, right next to the cherry tree. Someone’s even placed a fancy 3-tiered candleabra atop it. Your plates overflow with pizza and spaghetti. A simple meal, one that could almost be described as not fancy enough for a wedding, but for you and Joel, in the middle of an apocalypse, it’s perfect. You slide onto the bench beside Joel, and he keeps his hand on your knee at any chance he gets.

“How you feeling, Mrs. Miller?”

“Like I’m dreaming,” you admit.

“Not a dream. But I know what you mean.”

The music fades out, and Tommy stands in the middle of the yard. “I just wanted to say a couple things about my brother,” he starts. “Someone I’ve known my whole life, and in this world, I feel pretty damn lucky to say.” He swallows the lump in his throat, and his dark brown, almost familiar eyes find yours. “As y’all know, I—we, almost lost him just a year ago, but by some miracle he was saved… and now I feel as if he’s never been more alive. He’s a stubborn son of a bitch,” Tommy continues, earning a ripple of laughter from the crowd. “And I say that as a compliment. I’ve never seen him happier than he is now. So, let’s raise a glass for Joel and his beautiful bride. May they have this happiness for the rest of their time left on this earth.”

Glasses are raised, and the crowd roars in agreement. You see Joel swallow hard, the gold band on his finger glinting in the light as he raises his own glass and nods at Tommy. It’s perfect.

Then, to your surprise, Dr. V, your steadfast mentor, rises. He takes the same spot Tommy stood, and adjusts his glasses.

“In our world, we’ve learned to value all forms of healing. Sometimes that’s mending a wound, setting a bone. Sometimes, it’s bringing people together and giving them a reason to hope. You and Joel remind us that even after everything, life can be beautiful again. So on behalf of every broken thing you’ve fixed, and every patient who’s walked out of the clinic with a little more hope, thank you. We wish you both a long, long life together.”

You choke up at his words. Joel wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulls you in closer, and kisses the crown of your head.

You never thought you’d get to love and be loved.

You never thought you’d get to be celebrated.

You never thought you’d get a wedding.

How lucky you are.

—-

Everything around Joel is glowing. Candles flicker across every surface, string lights tethered from one tree to the next radiate, and his bride, held in his arms, shines the brightest. A classic oldie with a soft jazzy pattern sings how she’s in the mood for love as Joel, and you sway across the gravel.

He’s now part of one of those couples who move together on the dance floor, it’s something Joel never really even noticed, until he had you. It’s something he swore he’d never want, all the normalcy of couples and weddings and dancing, yet in this moment, he wants nothing else. He wants every night to feel like this, to have all these happy memories, no matter how tiny or huge, to end the same way, with your head against his chest.

There’s nothing left for him to prove. Nothing left but simple facts of his life: his legs and back always ache, his heart is full, and his wife is smiling up at him in the golden light of the evening. For the first time in so long, he lets the happiness settle inside. Lets his lips press to your ear, lets the wedding guests and music make him feel like he’s in one of those Technicolor movies you love, lets his hand flow from your waist to your back and run in small circles.

Two songs later, you and Joel gather behind a tall table, the too-big-for-30-guests wedding cake stands tall and chocolatey, as requested by Ellie. Atop the top tier sit the wooden figures Joel carved, a man and woman. Simple shapes, but handmade with each cut carved with love.

Maria hands him a silver-plated knife, probably scavenged from some abandoned mansion, kept polished and cared for because Jackson can celebrate. Your hand wraps around his on the handle, and you collectively cut into the cake. The crowd cheers, some whistle and woo. Cutting a cake is such a simple thing, and yet a cake means celebration, even more so now.

He slices the first piece. You balance it on the spatula then plop it on the plate, and for a second, he tenses, half-expecting you to start a food fight, but you just lift the fork and feed him a bite.

It’s good. Damn good.

You dab the corner of his mouth with your finger, licking the icing off and humming in appreciation. He returns the favor, pressing a forkful to your lips and watching you savor it.

Then, you lean in and kiss him, chocolate on your tongue, and there’s even more cheers from the crowd.

The music plays on, Solána and Jesse man the stereo, playing everything from The Cure to Roberta Flack to The Velvet Underground. Everybody flows to and from the dance floor as the sun begins to set behind the mountains.

Joel’s arms lock tighter around you, and you burrow even closer to his chest. You hum along to the song, softly singing “fade into you, strange you never knew.” The sound of it, pressed up against him, makes a sense of accomplishment unfurl inside him. Joel Miller finally got the girl.

His eyes meet Ellie’s across the dance floor as she and Dina slow dance. Her chin lifts, her cocky grin meeting his when they trade their victories across the other dancers. They both got their girls.

—-

You and Joel drift from tables to groups to the dance floor, making your way through the clusters of friends and neighbors that have come to celebrate you both. People stop you to talk, to hug, to laugh, or to ask you what it feels like to be a Miller now. Joel’s hand stays planted on the small of your back, he’s never farther than arm’s reach. When you leave one group, he’ll lean in and whisper how good you look or how much he loves you.

Dr. V finds you two by the drinks table, holding a glass of water. He looks at you over his spectacles, nods at Joel, then back to you. “I expect you to enjoy your week off. Don’t even think about the clinic.” You protest that you’ll miss it, but he waves a hand. “You’ve more than earned it. The town will still be here.” He shakes Joel’s hand, claps him on the shoulder, and says, “Take good care of her.”

Joel just nods, but you can see the pride in his face.

When the sun is completely gone and the stars blanket the sky, a couple of fire pits are hauled out and lit. People play cards at the tables, dance in the driveway, cheers and drink around the fires, and make memories, all because you and Joel fell in love.

The air gets that Wyoming night chill, and even though you don’t mention it, Joel feels you shiver and immediately excuses himself. He comes back with your favorite blue flannel of his, and he helps you into it. You don’t button it, you just tie it around your waist, grinning when you roll up the oversized sleeves on you. Joel grins too, eyes flicking up and down with a possessive look.

When “Heart of Gold” begins playing, Joel doesn’t wait for you to ask him to dance. He takes your hand and leads you to a patch of driveway, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your hand against his chest. He starts to sway, softly singing along with the lyrics, all rough and low, an almost growl.

You look up at him, and the firelight makes his eyes almost golden. You’re right there, suspended in a perfect moment with your handsome husband, dancing outside your beautiful home after the end of the world.

It’s well past everyone’s bedtime, and the party begins to fade as the fires die down to coals and the candle wax begins to pool on surfaces. You and Joel stay outside the whole wedding. He keeps his arm around your shoulders as you say goodbye to your guests, and you lean against him, never wanting to forget how tonight feels.

You’ll never have a night like tonight again, but you’ll have the rest of your life being loved by Joel Miller.

—-

After the last toast, the last dance, the last flicker of candles, the wedding is over. Joel stands in the doorway of his house, surveying the celebration still laid out across his yard: the arch still draped in flowers, glasses scattered across surfaces, stray flower petals strewn across the lawn. His eyes don’t linger on the mess outside for long. It’s late, and his body is aching in all the old, familiar places.

He closes the door behind him, and you stand in the foyer slipping your heels off with an oof of relief. There’s a silence after all the hours of music and laughter, and he welcomes it. He shrugs off his trusty, old tan jacket, it’s been through hell and back with him, it’s only right that it gets to be part of a day like today. He hangs it on the hook, then moves to the couch, plopping down on the cushions with a grunt. He bends over, sighs, and starts untying his boots.

You pad over, barefoot, your white dress trailing over the hardwood. You pull his flannel off, and then you’re dropping down atop him, back meeting his chest, the white of your dress spilling across his lap.

Joel wraps his arms around you, breathing you and the night in… all sage, vanilla, woodsmoke, and something sweet. Your head tips back, lips finding his, and you kiss him, lingering, with zero rush, like you know that you have the rest of your life to do this.

His hands slide up the front of your dress, palming at the lace stretched across your breasts. You moan, and the sound you make punches right through him, tightening something low in his belly. You rock atop him, hips rolling against the press of him.

“Still in your dress,” he mutters against your mouth.

“Mm.” You writhe again. “You object?”

He doesn’t answer, just buries his face into your neck instead, mouth dragging slowly across the slope of it, teeth grazing against your skin. You shudder, arching up into his hands, head falling back against his shoulder.

Outside, the wind moves through the cherry tree. The whole town is dark and sleeping, and none of it touches him here. Finally, he can have you all to himself.

“Mrs. Miller,” he whispers against your ear. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He loves the way you move when you know you’re about to get fucked by him. How your entire body orients towards him, eyes growing hungry and dark. You rise from the couch, offer your hand, and shoot him a smile that tells him you’ve been waiting for this moment.

Joel grabs a few extra candles from the dining room table and follows you up the stairs. He thinks about grabbing you, slinging you over his shoulder just to hear you giggle, but instead, he follows. He likes watching the sway of your hips as you take each step.

The bedroom is dark, but the bright moonlight shining through the window polishes the room in a silver glow. Joel lights a few candles, and the room lights, the flames gilding the room in aureate flickers.

You walk to him, and each step forward makes him go dry in the mouth. His bride shines. You’re so beautiful, he can hardly stand it. His hands plant at your hips, your hands wrapping around his neck. There’s a hum between you when he lowers his head and kisses you, tasting the perfect night on your lips. He wonders how he ever lived without you, how you’ve made him a new man, and yet embraced every scar he holds. It makes him dizzy and even needier for you. He can’t get enough. He kisses you slowly, hands moving from your waist to the small of your back.

Tonight, he wants to remember every second. He means to take it slow, savor every sweet moment and inch of you. But, you’re insistent, tongue sweeping into his mouth, hands fisting the front of his shirt. He chuckles into the kiss, and then the laughter dies when you nip his bottom lip, tugging just enough to make him groan.

He nuzzles along your jaw, trails kisses down your neck, and lets his tongue feel the flutter of your pulse. He never thought he could hold and touch something so precious, not in all his life. His mouth moves lower, lips pressing to the curve of your collarbone, the swell of your chest above the lace. You swallow a gasp, and Joel smiles against your skin.

His hands map down the body he treasures, the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips, and he settles onto the floor with a grunt. He tries to fight, his joints protest, but he’s earned every ache today. He wants to worship you like this, and when he looks up at you, you’re haloed by the candles and moonlight. He’s mystified, almost dumbstruck by your beauty. You look down at him, hand sliding into his hair, fingers curling around his tendrils. He’s on his knees before you, a man at the altar, and he worships you, his wife. He’s sure he’s in heaven because you’re surely an angel.

He runs his hands up your ankles, your calves, your knees. He gathers the white fabric of your dress as he travels higher and higher up your thighs until it’s bunched up at your hips. That’s when he first spots the light blue little scrap of nothing and he freezes.

“Jesus,” he breathes.

Joel’s brain goes fuzzy for a second, only able to process the way it hugs your skin, the damp patch of wet already crowning your cotton-covered cunt. He leans in, hands bracing your thighs, and presses his face to the damp fabric, and breathes. You smell so fucking good, so heady and warm, inviting and ready for him. He lets his nose press, then pushes his tongue against the damp fabric, tasting the heat and desire. You shiver and he holds you, kneads the flesh of your thighs, and then licks again, up and down the cleft of you, tonguing at the seam of the thong.

He can feel the high keen you let out when he pulls the thin blue scrap aside, and his tongue laps at your clit. He sucks and licks, savoring you until you begin to tremble.

“Joel. Please. I just… I want you, I need to feel you.”

He gives you one last long, slow lick, just to hear you whimper, then rises. It’s not graceful. His knees crack, and the ache shoots up his leg, but he ignores it. Instead, his hands slide up your body until he can cup your face in both palms and kiss you, imparting your taste on your lips.

Your hands run along his chest. “I want to feel you,” you say, eyes and voice needy. He helps you with the buttons of his shirt, your fingers stumbling over the last two, his hands covering yours to steady them. The shirt falls, and you’re already moving to his jeans, the buckle, the button, and then the zip. He watches your face the whole time, the concentration across it, the want and the need. He steps out of his jeans, kicks them aside.

He reaches for you, turning you, finger trailing from your neck down the line of your spine. He finds the tiny zipper tab and draws it down slowly. It’s a small rasp that echoes through the room as the dress loosens. The beautiful lace falls down your body, landing on the floor, and you step forward out of the white circle. Joel grunts a deep sound of approval when he takes you all in. His bride, in the silver and gold of the bedroom he shares with you.

He sits at the edge of the mattress, and you stand between his legs, and all he can do is stare at you with awe. You reach back and remove your bra, and he arches forward, pressing his nose against the valley of your breasts, kissing your soft skin there as he breathes the scent of you in.

Joel hooks his thumbs into the sides of your little, blue thong, drawing it down and off. He leans back, hands bracing behind him on the mattress, just so he can look. He has to close his eyes for just a second, just to make sure this is all real. When he opens them, you’re watching him, lips parted, eyes roaming his face. Everything he’s gone through, the losses, the lies, the revelations, everything has culminated in this perfect moment.

You’re a masterpiece, and when you settle atop him, thighs pressing against his hips, he can’t imagine anyone luckier in this world. You’ve brought him back to life, made him believe in miracles and redemption.

“My beautiful wife,” he growls.

“My handsome husband,” you echo with a grin.

He flips you with a twist and a growl, landing you gently on the mattress. You’re spread across the gray of the sheets, limbs restless and waiting for him. He covers your body with his, settling between your thighs, your warmth meeting his. He kisses you all over, down to your chest. He latches onto your nipple, sucks, bites, soothes with a kiss.

He slides his hand between your thighs, groaning at how soaked you are for him. He collects it, wraps his hand around his cock, and drags the head of it through your slick. He can’t help the grit of his jaw, the fluttering of his eyelids. You’re so ready for him.

“Joel,” you moan.

He pushes in, slow, so fucking slow. Your body pulls him in, inch by inch, until his hips meet yours. He holds, forearms braced on either side of your head, forehead dropped to yours, and just breathes in the sweetness of you.

“Baby,” he groans, and starts to slink in and out. Long and deep. Hips rolling, drawing and pressing, savoring and clenching. Your legs lift and wrap around him, heels pressing into his back.

For so long, he shunned tender things, flinched away from being known. And then, you came into his life and changed it forever.

Joel drops his chest to yours, burying his face in your neck and breathes and moves. “Mrs. Miller,” he says into your neck. He moves deeper, harder, fucking you in long, sweet strokes, your cunt squeezing him. His spine fills with the pressure, thighs tightening, hips stuttering. He reaches between your bodies, thumb against your clit, circling it and you answer it with a desperate, sharp moan of his name.

You’re close. He can feel it, the grip of you, the way your hips lift to meet him. You’re whimpering his name over and over, tears filling your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure you’re giving each other. 

“I know,” he grits. “I know, baby. I got you, baby.”

He keeps the pressure, keeps the rhythm, keeps his eyes on yours even as his vision starts to blur. He’s full of pleasure, an enormous and inevitable feeling of bliss beginning to crest. 

You lose yourself first. Back arching, thighs clamping, pussy pulsing around his cock. He loses himself with you, driving in deep before he holds, whole body locking and he spills into you with a long groan that presses directly against your lips—

“Mrs. Miller.”

He stays buried inside you, shared aftershocks quaking between you as you breathe each other in. He begins to rock the smallest movement of his hips, slowly working his cum deeper into you. You’re a mess of wet between your legs, and he just wants to let himself drown in the love and desperation you hold for him for a little bit longer.

Joel never thought he’d get something like this, never thought he’d get to live past the world ending, let alone have a home, a wife, a life like this. He thinks of all the years lost, all the times he turned away from things that felt good because he was scared to lose them. If he lost you now, it’d kill him, but he can’t imagine living another day without you. Not ever again. —-

“Mrs. Miller.”

The growl of your new name pulls you from sleep. You’re caged in Joel’s arms, your back to his warm chest. You blink in the early morning light and roll to face him. His hair is a mess, his cheek is pillow-creased, eyes barely open but already crinkling at the corners when he sees your face.

“Good morning, Mr. Miller,” you brush the words against his mouth.

The smile that breaks across his face is the one you love most. Wide, the deep lines of it carving all the way up to his eyes. He looks like a man who slept well and woke up to exactly what he wanted.

He hums against your mouth when you kiss him. But he doesn’t let it last long.

He pulls back, smile planted firmly. “We should start getting ready,” he suggests, a pleased teasing in his voice.

You blink. “Ready for what?”

“Honeymoon.”

You stare at him. “Huh?”

He doesn’t answer, he just moves, rolls out of bed with only a small grunt, and crosses the room to the closet, totally unabashedly naked, besides his gold wedding band.

He pulls out a large duffel bag and a backpack.