Let's put a pin in that!

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There was nothing Din Djarin wouldn’t do for you, even if he never said it aloud. He’d never known a feeling like this before. Maker, what he would do to read your mind, to know if you thought about him as much as he thought about you. 

You’d been travelling with him on the Razor Crest for a while now, and the two of you had a good routine going. You would take care of Grogu while Din was away from the ship or busy working on it. Regardless of what it was, you became a caretaker of sorts. 

Din often found himself staring at you more than he’d like to admit, his gaze lingering longer on you every time. It was awfully domestic, but Din couldn’t help the way he felt when he watched you hold the child against your hip while you did even the most mundane daily tasks. Your new-found life was not too bad if you were being honest. In exchange for taking care of the cutest little green creature, you got a new home and constant protection from a Mandalorian. 

You tried to push the growing feelings inside of you down, but you couldn’t deny that over time in a confined, small space with just you and Din, you started to find yourself getting attached. It felt familiar to you, like this was where your home was. This is where you were meant to be.

Although nothing was ever explicitly said, between stolen glances at each other and hands brushing against the other’s for a moment too long, you’d both come to recognize the truth neither of you seemed willing to voice.

Tonight, you and Din were at the cantina after a particularly gruelling bounty he’d completed just a day before. The place was so loud that the glasses rattled on the tables, but Din didn’t miss a word that you were saying to a pilot who had approached you, drink in hand. 

“Your boyfriend always this quiet?” the pilot asked with a laugh, glancing toward the Mandalorian seated across from you. “Or did I interrupt something?”

You nearly choked on your drink. “He isn’t my boyfriend,” you replied, shifting awkwardly in your seat. 

“No?” The pilot raised a brow, an easy smile tugging at his lips. “Then maybe my timing’s better than I thought.”

Across the table, Din’s hand stilled around his glass.

You didn’t see it beneath the helmet, but the pilot’s words had caught his attention far more effectively than the music thundering through the cantina ever could.

In your ideal world, Din would have said something. Anything. A small part of you hoped he would, but he simply sat there silently, helmet tilted slightly in your direction, knocking you back into reality. 

For a brief second, you foolishly wondered if all those moments between you and him in the ship meant nothing. 

Quickly, you turned your attention back to the pilot. “Maybe,” you said with a breathy laugh.

Before the pilot had a chance to start talking again, Din stood abruptly. 

“I should check on the kid.” 

You blinked and stared up at him in surprise. 

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

And with that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you stranded with the annoyingly charming pilot by your side. The pilot was cute, but that didn’t stop the feeling of your heart sinking in silence. 

The pilot leaned a little closer, undeterred. “So,” he said lightly, “you gonna let me buy you that drink, or am I competing with the mysterious armored guy all night?”

The pilot was still talking, but his words were starting to blur at the edges. You nodded when it felt appropriate, smiled when it seemed right, but your attention kept drifting back to the space Din had left behind. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but by the time you headed back to the Razor Crest, you couldn’t ignore the way that your chest felt strangely heavy on the walk back. 

When you stepped back into the ship, it immediately felt stuffy. Before you had another chance to overthink, you heard babbling at your feet and saw two little green hands reaching up for you. Happily, you took Grogu into your arms, momentarily distracting yourself from how you felt.

You smiled warmly at the child who cooed and snuggled against you as you got him ready for bed. Grogu looked at you with those big, round eyes as if he could tell your mind was elsewhere.

You sighed. “It’s nothing.”

He stared at you quietly, not convinced. His ears tilted slightly and he made a small noise, like he was trying to understand you. Your heart melted at the sight.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmured, brushing your thumb gently over his ear. “I’m fine, really.”

That’s when you felt a shift in the atmosphere. The space behind you felt infinitely less empty than it did a minute ago, and you didn’t need to turn around to know Din was there. 

He was the first to break the silence. “You’re back,” Din said, voice low and gravelly.

You turned around, facing him but avoiding his gaze through his visor. “You left me at the cantina,” you replied as you attempted to hide the tremble in your voice. 

“I stepped out,” Din corrected.

The tension only grew.

“Right,” you said. Grogu made a soft sound, as if he was unsettled by the newfound awkwardness between you and Din. “It’s fine,” you added. “You don’t need to explain it.”

There was another moment of silence, then he spoke again.

“I wasn’t leaving you." 

Silence stretched once more, and you could feel your breath getting caught in your throat. Without saying a word, you pushed past him to let the child sleep.  

Din turned his head slightly as you passed, and you could feel his gaze on you through his helmet. You kept walking, trying to stop yourself from saying what was on the tip of your tongue. You could hear him follow behind you, and without thinking, you turned to face him.

Impulsively, you spoke up. “It felt like you were leaving me. I don't understand what I did to upset you.”

The silence between you was unsettling as you darted your focus to the wall, the floor, to anything but his visor. You mentally cursed yourself for even saying that, worried that you sounded desperate. 

“No,” he finally said. “That’s…not what I was doing.” 

He sighed, shoulders falling slightly as he leaned against the metal walls of the ship.

“I’m not–“ you sighed again in frustration, angry at yourself for letting it get to this point. You made a dismissive gesture with your hand before you started to ramble, “I’m not trying to make this a thing.” 

Din shifted slightly, like he might answer, but you didn’t notice because you were already talking again.

“It’s not like you act like nothing's here,” you added quickly. “Because you don’t. You say my name in that way, and you stand too close, and you don’t always stop looking at me when you should, and I don’t know what that is but it’s not nothing–“ You stopped mid-breath, realizing what you had just said. 

“I don’t know why I said that…” You admitted quietly.

This time, when Din moved, he moved closer to you. Your hands flexed at your sides awkwardly as the weight of what you had just said laid heavy upon you. Taking you by surprise, he gently pulled you in close. It was quiet enough for you to hear your own heart beating rapidly in your chest. 

“The pilot,” he finally said after what felt like forever. Your eyes met his visor, and you looked up at him with confusion. “…That’s why I left.”

“Oh,” you replied. “The pilot?”

“I thought…” He stopped, as if he hated what he was about to admit. “I thought maybe you wanted that.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Him?”

“Someone who could give you more than this.” You could hear vulnerability in his voice now. “Someone who doesn’t disappear for days. Someone who can give you more than a room on a gunship.” 

You shook your head immediately. “I don’t want that,” you said as your voice cracked. You laughed softly through the tears threatening to spill. “Maker, I don’t want some pilot. I don’t want someone else, I...want you.”

The words hung between you and for the first time that night, Din had nothing to say. He stared at you for a moment through his helmet and his hands remained steady in yours, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. 

And then, to your complete confusion, he did let go.

You blinked. “Din?”

He took two steps back, then another.  

“Din?” you repeated, unable to hide the growing anxiety in your voice. 

“Wait,” he replied. “Just trust me.”

Before you could ask what he was doing, the lights inside the Crest suddenly flickered off. You stared out into the darkness.

The familiar hiss of his helmet coming off filled the ship. You knew that sound, and before you could speak up again, his hands found your face in the darkness. Your breath hitched as his thumbs brushed your cheeks.

“Cyar’ika…” he said softly, his voice no longer distorted by the modulator. He stepped forward, closing the space between you, his voice low and smooth. "You have me."

Then without another word, he kissed you. It was so tender, so gentle, as if through everything, he still couldn’t quite believe you were real beneath his hands. For once, Din didn’t wish to read your mind.

The answer he was looking for was written on your lips.

Two months after settling in Jackson, he was still working on changing the way she was seeing him, but he didn't hold a grudge. He probably would have reacted the same way if he'd been in her shoes, considering what Joel and Tommy had  to do to survive, until his brother couldn’t deal with it anymore, left for Jackson and found a new way of living. 

A part of Joel started feeling guilty about it after Tommy told him he still had nightmares from that time. He admitted it during a heated argument when Joel and Ellie just came to Jackson. He really couldn't blame Maria, especially when those years wouldn’t let Tommy sleep peacefully at night.

At the same time, Joel was convinced he had done what he had to, and that it had helped them to survive for all those years.

“Is this a new guitar?” Tommy asked when he noticed the instrument, picked it up and brushed the strings above the engraved moth. “Yeah. I told Ellie I’d teach her how to play. I wanted her to have her own and I customized it.” Joel paused and scratched his beard with his thumb, then added “she asked me to sing somethin’. I've never been so intimidated my whole life.” “How can this small kid scare the shit out of us is a mystery to me,” Tommy smiled. He had liked Ellie immediately. She was a real whirlwind with a damn mouth on her, and at first he was amused to see her push Joel around. Then he noticed the way his brother was looking at her. It reminded him of the other version of Joel, the one from more than twenty years ago, which he thought he’d never see again. “What did she think of it?” “She said it didn’t suck.” “Best compliment ever from a 15 year old, in my opinion,” Tommy smiled. “It’s good that Ellie’s in your life, she’s good for you. Changed you.” “I reckon she did…” Tommy noticed a veil of sadness over his brother’s face, Sarah probably on his mind. He didn’t want Joel to feel sad. The man had been miserable for twenty years, carrying his grief on his shoulders the whole time, turning into a dark version of himself. The weight seemed lighter since Joel and Ellie joined Jackson for good two months ago, and Tommy wished for his brother to keep healing. 

“How's her arm?” he asked, wanting to change the subject. “It’s ok. We went to the clinic this morning. It still hurts a little, but she’s tough.” “She is,” Tommy agreed. Then he cleared his throat and said, “listen, there’s a party on Saturday night at the Tipsy Bison, with music, stuff like that. Wanna come?” “I heard of it, I’m not sure. I’ll think about it.” “It could help you meet people, y’know?” Joel threw him a glare before answering, “People? ‘m not interested.” “Come on, Joel, I’m not talking about dating, just… talking,” Tommy added, but was soon interrupted by Joel. “I said I’m not interested. I wanna take care of Ellie and keep Jackson safe. So I do my stuff, go on patrols, with people by the way.” “Sure. Ok,” he nodded and patted Joel’s back, before leaving.

Tommy closed the door behind him and walked home down Jackson's main street. He didn't bring the subject to upset Joel, he knew they handled things differently. He was glad to have found his brother again, maybe not fully but a huge part of him, the one to whom he was so attached when he was little, to whom he wrote letters from a camp, missing him terribly.

Tommy couldn’t imagine what Joel had gone through. He wasn’t the one whose daughter died in his arms, and he wasn’t the one that lost the love of his life the same night. He had no idea how he’d have reacted if it had happened to him. Tommy knew that you were still in Joel's mind. He kept going for so long thanks to the idea that you were alive, in the Boston QZ, until he checked the arrival records. Tommy was there that day, next to Joel as he turned all the pages, his face distorted by pain. Soon it morphed into anger and Tommy had to make him leave the office, fearing that Joel would hit a soldier as an outlet when he couldn’t find your name in it.

And now… Now Tommy didn't know if Joel was still holding on to the idea that you were alive somewhere, and he didn't dare talk to him about you. He wasn't afraid of being told to fuck off, he was used to it, but he didn't want to reopen the wound that Ellie had started to cicatrize. When Joel and Tess grew closer, Tommy thought his brother would soften, but it only turned him into a guard dog, obsessed with the idea of ​​protecting her, of succeeding where he had failed before. But once again, fate decided otherwise. He wanted to see his brother happy, really happy, and thought that meeting someone in the safety of Jackson would help, but he also knew how stubborn Joel was. He still hadn't gotten rid of his watch, or at least put it in a box at home. No, it was still on his damn wrist, where he could see it, feel it, all damn day, because he was convinced he had to suffer his whole life as a punishment.

Joel was working on a wood carving when he heard a loud knock on his front door. He put his glasses down on the workbench and wiped his hands on his jeans as he went downstairs. When he opened the door, he gave his brother a smile but it vanished as soon as he noticed the look on his face. “Joel, hey… can I talk to you?” Tommy asked, avoiding his brother’s gaze. “Is Ellie ok?” Joel questioned urgently, worry loud in his eyes and voice. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, Ellie’s fine.” “What is it, then?” "Can I?" Tommy nodded at the inside of the house and Joel stepped aside to let him in. His brother went to the living room, sat down on the sofa and pressed his hands against each other out of nervousness. 

"You huh… you should sit down, maybe,” Tommy said, looking straight at Joel for the first time since he opened the door to him. Joel was about to tell him to stop with that bullshit, to tell him right there, what was going on, but Tommy's look silenced him. The one of someone who didn't know how to say what he had to say. 

Like an augury tingling in his chest, your image appeared in Joel’s mind, but he brushed it aside. No. 

He couldn't hammer another nail into his heart, into that part of him that never lost hope despite all the spikes planted in it, years after years. He couldn't possibly think that Tommy was gonna tell him he'd heard from you, letting hope nestle into its tiny place, like a flame that had never gone out despite the darkness surrounding it in Joel's heart. 

Just to end up being heartbroken once again.

Even if Tommy's expression made it seem like he'd seen a ghost.

Time stopped, and Joel felt as if everything was moving in slow motion. He was afraid of what his brother was going to say, afraid that his stupid, endless hope would shatter into a hundred pieces, for the thousandth time, millionth time, like a glass after it fell to the ground. So Joel sat down on the couch, unable to look at Tommy anymore. 

“What is it?” he murmured finally, gaze fixed on the floor. His hands started to shake and he clenched his fists to stop their trembling, waiting for Tommy to speak. Joel thought he would wait all night if necessary, not rushing him, not forcing him to say what he needed to say, until he'd be able to tell him.  Because hope was already settling in, cozying itself in his heart’s deepest corner, and he was afraid that it’d vanish as soon as his brother talked.

Tommy cleared his throat then said something, his voice so low that Joel wasn't sure if he heard him correctly. A million thoughts swirling in his mind. 

Did he imagine it, or did he really hear your name?

Once again, he pushed the thought away, banished the hope he woke up with every morning, throughout all his years of wandering. Or maybe… Maybe a patrol found your body and brought it back to Jackson, brought it back to Tommy, like it would happen sometimes. The idea made him sick. 

Or maybe you joined Jackson on your own? 

His thoughts were racing, blood pulsating in his ears, and his heart no longer knew which rhythm to beat. Joel placed his hand on his chest, trying to calm it down.

"She’s here, Joel. She’s in Jackson,” Tommy said carefully, his concerned eyes fixed on his brother.

His words sent a shiver through Joel’s body and he was barely able to articulate a weak “what?” “She’s at the clinic right now, they're checking her,” Tommy added. “What… How… How is it possible?”

“There are new refugees all the time, Joel. They hear about Jackson, and they come,” he said softly. “You know it, we improve this place every day to offer them a decent home.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right,” he answered, eyebrows furrowed, unable to really process what was happening. “Is she hurt?” He noticed the way Tommy's eyes flicked away for half a second, before he responded. 

"She’s alright. Weak and hungry, but she’s okay." "Don't fucking lie to me," Joel growled, his glare darker than ever. It reminded Tommy of the Joel he never wanted to see again. The one that had kept them alive, for sure, but who was barely human. Just a cold and angry man. Ruthless. "Shit. You're such a damn hound. She’s… she’s not in good shape. She was probably living outside for a long time. She’s dehydrated, weak, got some bruises-” He stopped talking when Joel stood up hastily, towering over Tommy before heading to the front door.

“NO! No, Joel. Calm down, stay right here and listen to me for fucks sake!" he said firmly, making Joel stop at the door and take a deep breath. "She's at the clinic, they're taking care of her, ok? Calm down." Joel felt his legs give way beneath him, and came back to the sofa to sit down, head in his hands. “Ok… ok. Did she see you? Did you talk?” “Yeah. I was there when they brought her and a man. I thought she was going to pass out when she saw me, you know… kind of like you right now, damn it!” Tommy got up to pour two glasses of whiskey and gave one to Joel, who downed it in one go. 

“Easy, Joel… I can't imagine the thoughts in your head right now.”

But his brother wasn't listening. Couldn't listen. “Did she ask about me?” “Of course. She knows you’re here, and it was quite a shock.” Tommy looked at his brother again, hesitating, then added in a low voice, “she asked about Sarah. I… I didn’t wanna tell her. Not then, and it’s not my place,” he said before his voice broke and tears started to blur his eyes. “But she understood. She looked at me, and she just knew. Her face… my God, her face, Joel, her pain… I barely had time to catch her before she fell to the ground.” “That’s enough,” Joel spat, his lips pressed in a thin line. It was all too much, and he couldn’t bear the idea that you were alone at the clinic. “Joel…” “I said enough! I gotta see her, I can’t leave her alone there. She must feel lost, she's probably afraid,” he added, his voice so cold and sharp that at first it stopped Tommy. But he couldn’t let Joel go there, not now, not when he was overwhelmed by his emotions. “No, Joel! You can't just show up like that, she's not in the right condition. Not physically, not mentally. So you’re gonna wait until tomorrow and then you'll ask the doctors if you can see her. And if they tell you you can't for whatever reason, you leave. Promise me, Joel. Otherwise, I swear I'll post two guards there and tell them to shoot you in the knee if they see your goddamn face. You can't show up like that, she needs to rest so if she sleeps for three fucking days or more, you wait! Now, you promise me!” Tommy’s words left Joel speechless for a few seconds, but soon he realized his brother was right, he had to do what was best for you. 

“I promise,” he sighed, but met Tommy’s stare. “I said I promise, Jesus Christ. I’ll see her in the morning if they allow me. God, I can't believe she's here.”

“I know… I know, Joel…” Tommy said, squeezing his shoulder, looking at Joel whose gaze was lost in another place or another time.

Once his brother left, Joel sat down at the dining room table and looked at his watch. He was terrified to face the past and learn what happened to you, and couldn't fully realize that you were here, in Jackson. That you were so close.

He did not sleep that night.

“She was almost in a state of shock when they brought her last night. We haven't been able to give her a full exam yet. She asked if you were really here in Jackson, and of course we confirmed it. The nurse said she mentioned another name, Sarah, and cried."

Joel was trying to cope with the information and with his heart suddenly racing way too fast when he heard his daughter's name from a doctor who didn't know her or what she meant neither to him nor to you.

"She woke up several times during the night, and asked for you. We told her you'd come today. We had to give her some tranquilizers because she needed to sleep but was too agitated.”

"Is she hurt?" Joel repeated the question he had asked his brother the day before, trying to put aside his emotions after hearing that you had inquired about him, that you needed him. Meanwhile anxiety was whispering to him in its sly voice that once you knew what kind of man he had become, you would no longer want anything to do with him.

"From what we could see, physically she has some bruises, some fresh and some not. We stitched her lip up and bandaged her wrist. It looks like just a sprain, but today we'll make sure it's not fractured, with other exams she has to undergo."

 He paused for a moment, looking at Joel carefully, then added, "mentally… It's hard to say until we know more about what happened to her. She's been living in the wild for a while, that's for sure. She was starved and dehydrated, very weak, so we put her on an IV drip. She's going to need time and support. You can go see her but don't wake her up, let the meds work. Tommy told me that you had known each other before the outbreak and that you hadn’t seen each other since?” “Yeah, that's right." "Okay, so it’s a shock for you as well. If you need help with it, come see us, okay?" Joel agreed, even if he'd probably deal with it in his own way. 

"There was a man with her, dehydrated and starving as well. I'm gonna check on him right now. Wait for her to wake up and then go easy.” "Of course," Joel replied, then walked down the corridor, his gaze fixed on the third door on the right. The room where the doctor said you were. He couldn't believe you were so close, more than twenty years after being apart, after he lost you. He didn't know how he would react, he was afraid that the smallest scratch on your body would shatter the sanity he had left since the night before.

Joel paused when he reached the half-open door, his trembling fingers frozen in midair before he grasped the handle and pushed it open. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, forcing himself to move slowly, gradually taking in the room and the sunbeams on the foot of your bed. His gaze followed the curve of the blanket from there, your feet and your legs, your arms along your body, the IV, as he was taking long and deep breaths, trying to calm his heartbeat. 

But when his eyes set on your head, he had to fight back the sobs that threatened to burst out of his throat at the sight of your gaunt face, your hollow features and your stitched lip. Your brows were furrowed and twitching in your sleep. He wondered what you had been through, what your life had been all these years and his throat tightened painfully. 

Flashes of you in Austin, happy and smiling, appeared in his mind.

He remembered when you used to go to the lake, his hand on your thigh while he was driving there.

He remembered you in his arms, in bed. The way he could feel your heartbeat fasten when he laid his hand on your chest, the way you used to bite your lip before kissing him. The way you looked at him. 

His memory went blurry as your soft expression faded in his mind, turning into a determined one, a will for survival plastered on it, then morphed into a scared one.

The visions made him clench his fists. He couldn't bear the thought of not having been there for you, there to protect you, as he should have been.

Scared to wake you up, Joel resisted the urge to take your hand that wasn’t wounded in his, and only  sat in the armchair beside your bed, watching your face and your worried features, your chest rising and falling. His eyes mentally photographed every scratch, every wound. 

He thought about the last time he had seen you at the airport. The smile you gave him when he told you it was just for a few days, that you'd be back soon, trying to cheer you up because he knew how disappointed you were to not be there for his birthday. The “I love you” you mouthed to him, before heading to your flight. He immediately started missing you. 

Joel pushed back the thought of what had happened after, instead he focused on your face, and his gaze softened, as he was slowly realizing you were truly here, bruised for sure but alive. He had never lost hope and for the first time in many years he felt grateful and relieved.

And then you said his name in your sleep. A soft “Joel” escaped your lips, and without a second thought he murmured “I'm here” back and took your hand in his. Your features softened instantly, and he stayed still, amazed, holding your hand in his, his warmth gradually enveloping you, your heartbeat resonating from your wrist to the tips of his fingers. Joel was watching you, not tearing his eyes off, until he drifted off without realizing it because he hadn't been able to get a second of sleep the night before, anxiously waiting for the morning to finally visit you. His free hand slid off the bed and hung by the side of the armchair.

You woke up to the sound of birds, confused, trying to remember why you were on a bed, a real bed, in what seemed to be a hospital bedroom. And why you were overtaken by a feeling so familiar and comforting and had been lost for such a long time, that you were unable to put a finger on it. 

Until you felt him, his presence, his hand on yours. 

Joel.

That feeling was stronger than everything else, a certainty filling your entire being, without laying your eyes on him. It was the warmest sensation you had felt in two decades, before your brain went blank, heart beating so fast that you were afraid it could explode. You stared at the ceiling, needing some time before turning your head to check if Joel was really there or if you imagined it like so many times before.

You heard him straighten up and felt his eyes on you, as if they were a magnet you couldn’t resist. You turned your head to his side, and your heart felt like it stopped when your eyes met. A weak “fuck” escaped your lips, your hand leaving his to clutch at your shirt, just above your heart. Quickly staring back at the ceiling again, everything became blurry and you were afraid your body or your soul would dive into the mattress, scared that you were going to pass out. “Christ, sweetheart,” he said as he got up, his voice, his drawl, unmistakable, even decades later. Joel. Joel was beside you and you were overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions that you were struggling to deal with.

You raised your hand, urging him to wait a second, catching your breath and processing what was happening.

Joel stopped mid-stride, slowly lowering his hands, desperately helpless as he watched you try to manage your emotions alone. 

For a moment, he forgot the decades that kept you apart, acting on instinct, thinking that if you needed comfort you’d naturally turn to him. 

As he instinctively, immediately, went into protective mode with you. 

Thinking you’d throw yourself in his arms, seek comfort in his embrace to let go of all your fears and cries and the years that passed apart from him.

But you didn’t.

Letting aside the anxiety already trying to drown him, Joel relied on his rational side as best as he could, acknowledging that you might have to handle things differently, and need time to process your emotions. 

He turned to the bedside table and poured some water in a glass for you but stopped when he heard your quiet “Joel?”, your eyes filled with tears fixed on him. The sight of the drip needle in your bluish hand broke his heart, then threatened to fill it with anger against the whole world, but he managed to stop his dark thoughts, realizing it wasn’t what you needed.

“Joel, are you really… is it real?” you sobbed, your shaking hands finally raised towards him, pleading for his touch. He sat hastily on the bed, and you finally wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

“It's real, I'm here,” he said, and you let your tears flow as he roamed your back softly, cuddling you, whispering “I got you.”

And you broke down. 

Your tears quickly turned into sobs, the ones you  couldn’t hold back when it was too much, as loud as the ones you had let out on your first night in the QZ. But this crying in the clinic’s room was different. Full of joy at finding his arms again, and of pain at everything that had been lost.

Twenty years later, Joel and you were finally reunited. 

Still crying, you let go of his shoulders and curled up against him, your fists pressed against his chest, indifferent to the drip that was pulling on your vein, as if you wanted to melt into him, into everything he was and that you had desperately missed all these years.

He was rocking you slowly, gently, his large hand resting on the back of your head, lulling you with soft and comforting words.

“You’re gonna be ok now”

“You’re safe”

“We’re gonna help you get better”

“No one will ever hurt you again”

“I got you”

I got you.

He repeated those three words several times, finally finding what he'd been chasing for so many years. What kept him going, making him more stubborn and persistent day after day, never losing hope as time went on. Now he could feel your body letting go, the tension slowly escaping second by second, and it was the best sensation he had felt for so long. His reward of not letting you go. Despite everything that had happened, all the losses and heartbreaks, this moment he’d dreamed of so many times before finally came.

As you felt Joel’s reassuring touch, you slipped your arms under his and wrapped them around his waist, snuggling close to him, as close as you could, letting him embrace you, surround you with his warmth. 

And you felt safe, hearing his low voice again, nestled against him. Safer than you'd been in those two decades, your shoulders relaxing, the tension in your body gradually dissipating.

Both of you lost track of time, your nose pressed against his plaid shirt, tears rolling down your face continuously, until they slowed down then stopped, once you had no more tears to cry.

“I’m sorry about your shirt, Joel,” you sniffled.

“I don’t care about my shirt, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his voice so soft you were afraid to start crying again, his hand still cradling the back of your neck, keeping you against his chest.

“I’m afraid if I pull away, you’ll disappear,” you murmured.

“I won’t, I promise. I’m right here.” 

You tightened your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his bicep. You weren’t sure what to say to him after all this time, words seemed meaningless in that moment. 

You looked outside, through the window. Everything was so quiet, but not the kind that used to make you wonder if something dangerous was hiding behind a tree, when you were outside. If someone or something was waiting to kill you. 

This time, it seemed to be just a real, peaceful life.

Until you suddenly thought of Tommy. You had arrived here the day before when the doors of Jackson opened. The shock it had been to see him. 

And it struck you, Sarah's face appeared in your mind, her radiant smile gradually blurred until it vanished as if it were made of smoke, and you gasped.

The effect of the medication probably made you forget what you had learnt the day before, the pain on his face when you had said his niece's name. Made you forget that she was gone. Tommy didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. 

So many times, you tried to imagine her face over the years. How she would look, at 16 years old, 20, 30. You didn't even know when she died. When you whispered "when? How?" Tommy shook his head, unable to answer.

You pulled away from Joel, your hands clasped tightly on his forearms.

“Tommy told me about Sarah. Well, not really, but…” you said, your voice breaking up. “ I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry. I wish I could…”

His face changed, its indecipherable expression left you confused. A mix of harshness, repressed sorrow, and guilt. Then his features softened.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Joel said, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “What’s important is that you’re here. Safe, okay?”

“But-”

“Please,” he begged. “I finally found you. We’ll talk about everything later, okay?”

“Okay,” you replied. 

“I found you,” he said, then smiled, his dimples popping on his cheeks. “Well, you found me.” You tried to smile, too, but you couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah, making your heart bleed.

He probably felt it and took you in his arms again. The time would come when you could talk about what had happened to both of you, but right now he couldn’t deal with it, talk to you about Sarah, and probably disappoint you. He couldn’t handle saying her name for now, couldn’t see you cry over the loss. 

A knock at the door interrupted you and the doctor came in, asking how you were going, nodding when you said you were ok.

“Your friend’s good, too, I checked on him this morning. A few bruises, and he’s suffering from dehydration, but nothing serious. Now we’re going to run some tests, okay?”

Your “friend.”

You hadn't thought about Eric once since you’d woken up, and you brushed aside the questions that would inevitably arise. But not now.

You looked at Joel, not ready to leave him. You were afraid to lose him again, to lose his reassuring presence, the way he was able to make you feel like everything was gonna be fine now. He exchanged a glance with the doctor, then agreed with him, “they need to check on you, okay? Take care of you. I’ll come back in the afternoon,” he said, nodding to you as a reassurance. He stood up and kissed your forehead.

“I’m so happy and relieved to have you back. That you’re here, in Jackson, safe”, he murmured. “Let the doctors get you back in shape,” he added, standing up, and smiled at you.

You nodded and smiled back, keeping your eyes on him until he left the room, doing your best to swallow the tears that were threatening to come again.

When you woke up in the afternoon after they had run their tests leaving you exhausted, Joel had kept his word and was in your room, sitting in the armchair turned towards your bed. He straightened up when you woke up, murmuring a soft “hey.”

“Hey,” you returned back, trying to straighten up as well, but the pain in your body made you wince.

“Woah woah, it’s ok, don’t push it. You must be tired and sore.”

“Yeah,” you answered weakly. You felt dizzy. You had so many questions to ask, but you wanted to respect Joel’s wish for a more appropriate time, so you talked about something more neutral, Jackson. You didn’t see a lot of it, but you were already amazed. The place had a clinic, it was highly protected. It felt surreal. 

“So.. this is really a community? A whole town?”

“Yeah. Being run by Maria- Tommy’s wife, and him. They’re doing a great job.”

“It’s… it’s really amazing. We heard about it, but to be honest, I didn't really think it was possible. And I certainly didn’t expect something that big!”

“Yeah, a lot of refugees hear about it and join us. We’re working hard to make the place better, day after day. Where did you hear about it?”

“At the QZ,” you answered, and saw him frown.

“Which QZ?”

“Boston. I stayed there for several years. Got sent there a few days after… it happened, and… what?” you asked, when you saw his eyes widening. 

“Boston?! I don’t understand,” Joel replied, eyebrows furrowed. “I went to the Boston QZ… I checked the arrival records, your name wasn’t there.”

It left you confused. Joel was there, at the QZ? Why didn’t you see him? Why didn’t you find each other?

“When were you there? I don’t understand either… All those years and I didn’t see you? I don’t understand,” you repeated, tears threatening to run down your cheeks again at the thought that you could have met sooner.

“I thought I could find you there, so Tommy and I left Austin right after the Outbreak day, but it took us so many years to reach it... And you weren’t there.”

“They checked me in… Put my name on the list, I don’t- Oh my god!”

“What?”

“I… I registered under your name… I said my name was Miller, I…” You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. You’ve been so stupid to put a different name.

“You gave them my last name?” he said, his eyes so soft that you melted. He leaned towards you and wiped the tears from your face softly with his thumbs. 

“Yeah, I… you were my family. So was Sarah and Tommy, and… I don’t know, it just felt so natural and I wanted to keep that connection. I didn’t know if you were alive, what happened to you… It felt like the right thing to do, but it was so stupid.”

“Hey,” he said, leaving the armchair to sit on the bed, and took your hand in his. “It wasn’t stupid. And I guess you already left the QZ when I got there, so it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But you could have known I was there!”

“No, stop torturing yourself,” he said softly, his big brown eyes fixed in yours. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t have known where to find you, right? And I would have been even more worried to know you were outside.”

“Yeah, but you would have known I was alive, or at least that I was at some point and joined the QZ…”

“Sweetheart, quit it,” he cooed, and the nickname made you sob. His worried yet soft eyes were as comforting as they were before. Calming you down. Joel was here, facing you. Maybe you made a mistake, but being by his side was all that mattered now.

“I can’t believe I found you,” you breathed, seizing his hands in yours. You dreamed about it so many times, and finally he was here, with you.

“You did,” he smiled, and hugged you. You cuddled against him, letting him rock you. He was your happy place, your comfort, twenty years ago, and the fact that he was still now, making you feel safe again, in this world, was overwhelming.

“Ok, I’m gonna let you rest now. I’ll come back tomorrow morning, ok?” Uncertainty seized him when he noticed the way you were looking at him, as if you weren’t ready to let him go, as if you wanted to tell him something.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Don’t leave me,” you breathed. “Please, stay with me.”

Joel masterlist

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You had been staring up towards the canopy of twisting vines and tangled branches for far too long, barely illuminated by the sheen of the casting moonlight draping the forest floor in gentle hues of blue. The sleeping bag felt too thin and yet too tight, clinging to each limb like a second skin.

You’re not even sure if he’s awake or not.

“Joel?”

“Hm?”

“If I asked you to kiss me, would you?”

There’s silence for a beat too long, his own confusion stringing through the air like a dubious cloud.

“What?” He gruffs, his voice low and serrated at the edges. Far away. And not just from the consequences of his sleeping bag being nearly five feet away from yours.

“If I asked you to kiss me, would you kiss me?” You repeat, not giving your tongue a moment to tangle and unravel with apprehension. It’s just a question, a curiosity that’s embraced you like a coiled hug from barbed wire.

Your head tilts slightly to the side with the smallest movement in your peripherals, watching as Joel’s hands clench and unclench by his sides where they’re poked out of his own navy blue sleeping bag. He’s not looking at you, keeping his gaze firmly planted above, like he’s scolding the trees for obscuring the view to a clear sky shrouded in blurring stars- like that’d give him some reprieve.

He hesitates, “You want me to kiss you?”

Your heart thuds once in a frantic pace in your eardrums, heat rising rapidly through your veins before you forcibly chill them, not wishing to lose your voracity already. Telling yourself it’s innocent; a place born from curiosity and not direct interest, or a contrast of vulnerability.

“I want to know if you would kiss me,” you rephrase slightly, weariness traced through your tone at his immediate stiff response.

You swear you can hear the grind of his jaw as he attempts to map a way to answer.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” he eventually says slowly. If it weren’t for the gruffness of his Southern drawl singing through the chilled zephyr like the swimming current of a river, you might not have heard him. 

“The truth,” you reply easily.

“Stop fuckin’ arou-”

“Joel. Stop avoiding the question. Would you kiss me?” You huff, determined despite his callousness. He freezes again. His head still doesn’t turn towards you.

For a few leaden, strenuous moments, the only sounds you can hear is that of your own breath casting in small plumes of cold air by your cracked lips and the gentle chitter of wildlife within the forest, the air blowing in gentle streams through brackets of green in the undergrowth.

“If you asked?”

“Yeah,” you concur, gaze blinking back towards him, head straining just to spy a glimpse of his twitching cheekbone as his molars clench.

“No.”

You frown deeply. And despite yourself- despite knowing having travelled with Joel for months now, knowing he’s a cantankerous, malcontent, grumpy old man- something pinches in your chest. 

You know he’s an irascible man. And you mean that in the politest sense of the meaning. Because as he loves to remind you so continuously, he could drop you off in the middle of the woods at any time and not look back to make sure you haven’t stumbled over your own feet yet.

You don’t wish to call what you feel now hurt, but it burns the same. Stings like a prick of a splinter in your side.

“Why not?”

“Because,” he starts, his bottom lip pursing, his broad shoulders set in a terse line where he's laying on his back. He scoffs, peevish. “Just ‘cause. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

You can’t help the way your eyes roll in a sardonic manner.

“That sounds like deflection,” you mumble back in a quip.

“It sounds like you’re being a pain in my ass,” he retorts sharply.

“Why can’t you just say why you wouldn’t kiss me?” You insist, shuffling yourself up suddenly onto your side, slotting your elbow beneath yourself to prop up and stare across the shrivel of dirt and sticks between you.

“Because I don’t care enough to amuse this conversation,” he hisses back emphatically. He doesn’t look at you once, instead throwing himself onto his shoulder, the broad expanse of his back facing you. “Now shut up and go to sleep.”

It’s firm. Final.

You stare at the stretch of his dark flannel in the dim lighting for a strangled beat, weighing your options, wondering if you should push this question that’s been curled over the edge of your tongue like dripping molasses for months now, or if you should acquiesce. If you should forget the unsaid words tied between stolen glances murmuring promises to your consciousness you told yourself you shouldn’t listen to. The panicked flash within the depths of his glare when a root tangles over your ankle or a close-call becomes too stark of a depiction to dread. The flutter of your stomach each time he’d do something as simple as making two coffees in the morning instead of one. The trip of your heart in those few, serene moments where he has begun to teach you guitar, the calloused firmness of his fingertips suddenly gentle and reverent as they guide yours over plucking strings.

But maybe you made it all up in your head just to survive this trip with him. Just to tolerate him. God knows you’d need some ridiculous fantasy such as attraction to deal with Joel Miller.

Because even if you did push, and you did insist, there’s no promise he’d capitulate any of his emotions. Because Joel always insists on being both the welded, serrated knife and the one wielding it.

So you surrender, laying back down and snagging your sleeping bag up to your chin, stubbornly turning away from him like that’d change anything.

You eventually fall into a restless sleep. Joel doesn’t rest at all that night.

You stir to the habitual smell of burning coffee beans wafting through the gradually warming morning. Winter was settling down over the surface, turning the frayed edges of leaves frigid, but to your relief- some of fall still hung throughout the air, the light oscillating whisk of sunlight peering through the windows of the branches overhead.

It settles over your shoulders like a blanket, the waft of the coffee stirring in the boiling pot with a bubbling background noise, the crickets insistent chirping from the night prior replaced with the scuttle of squirrels over the dried bark of trees and the distant crack of twigs from a deer.

Then, mingled within it, is the low strum of strings.

Gentle, slow, and tranquil. Like the first wash of a sun-bleached tide against the heel of your foot when you’re standing on the shoreline.

Rousing, you pull yourself up to a sitting position on your hands, your eyes trailing over to where Joel is set on the edge of the truck’s tray. A light blue Chevvy you had both managed to secure about a month prior. You guess you’ll have to abandon it in a few short days, the gas stations surrounding becoming further and few apart.

In his lap, curled in his arms, is a guitar. You had found it buried in the backseat inside the Chevvy, still locked away in its casing. Miraculously surviving in a condition well enough to use. Since then, Joel had grudgingly given you two lessons after you had practically gawked and pleaded when you heard him playing softly in the room opposite when you had been stashed away in an abandoned safehouse.

His fingers work over the strings now. Ruthless hands reduced down to a benign touch as he plucks a fingerpad against the tuned steel. The rhythm is familiar, something you’ve heard before, in a distant life. One forgotten and faded away into ash. Hank Williams, if you had to guess. Joel had once said how much he used to enjoy him when he was younger. The thought is so Southern it nearly hurts.

Strenuously slowly, you curl your legs beneath you and shift yourself out of the sleeping bag, maneuvering up to your feet. Joel’s facing to the side of you, not yet noticing you waking, his eyebrows slightly pinched with a more intent focus on the unveiling song, his one deaf ear only allowing him to lay that much attention on one prominent sound at a time.

Carefully, you pad up towards him. You keep your footsteps light, not wishing to startle or snip off the short-tempered man. And you’re not sure what his thoughts are of you currently after the previous night's debacle.

He doesn’t notice you until you’re nearly standing beside him. His hands pause, his forearms flexing with a stiffness, dark eyes drawing up towards you sharply. He blinks once, like he’s examining you and your sleep-mussed features. You swear you see his gaze soften, even for just a passing flutter of a moment.

Then he nods to the space on the open metal tray beside him.

“C’mere,” he gruffs.

You perch up next to him without a second question, relieved that he’s not instantaneously brash or impudent this morning. He clears his throat hoarsely, his hands sliding to the neck of the guitar with a soft screech of protest from the steel as he lifts the base from his lap and passes it towards you wordlessly.

You take it, settling the bulky object into your lap like how it was in his just beats ago. Curling your arms over and under, one at the base, the other at the neck.

“Show me a G chord,” Joel instructs, tipping his chin down towards your hands intently.

You inhale shortly, drawing your own attention down towards your hands, mind flicking through invisible folders of information for the correct direction of your fingers. Then, you tilt your digits, and press them down against the steel, and use your other hand to strum downwards once.

It rings out in something adjacent to a cord. Shaky and awkward, slightly stiff- but progress none the less. And Joel doesn’t immediately call you out on any mistakes.

He nods once, murmuring, “Better than last time.”

He directs you on a second chord, then a third, your gaze settled locked steadfastly on your task, determined to get each one right. He rewards you with rare, but solemn praises;

“Starting to get it,” he'll say.

“Getting there,” he’ll mutter.

It’s not exactly gentle or awe-inspiring, but it’s far more encouragement than you’re accustomed to with him.

“Now an E major,” he says eventually. You pause, fingers stilling on the guitar’s strings. They thrum a short beat over the wood as if that’ll bring the answer to the forefront of your mind.

“You forget,” Joel states. You exhale sharply, disappointed, but nod once. Joel doesn’t reprimand you for it like you expect- instead just saddles himself slightly closer, his thick thigh pressing against yours. Then, his hands reach across to yours.

Large palms encompassing yours, rough fingers meeting more frangible skin. Violence melded down into something simple, benevolent. That indulgence of softness spoken- sung- with the curve of his fingers over yours, directing them into the correct placement. He’s precise, careful. His eyes set on the meticulous act.

But your gaze draws up to his face instead. His face that’s suddenly so close to yours, his skin that’s suddenly touching yours; brushing and grazing. You can hear the vague thud of your heartbeat skip a calamitous beat in your eardrums. The calloused pads of his fingertips prod over your knuckles. His head tilts, his cheek nearly colliding with yours. From this distance, you can properly make out each pluck of silver in his stubbled beard, the streaks of the same grey shrouded through the dark curls atop his head, still tangled with sleep, or a restless night.

He pulls his hands away with an affirmative nod to himself, then his gaze flicks up to you.

You both pause as your eyes meet. Stares connecting in some unsaid tangle of frayed rope that’s been tying itself in bewildering loops for months now.

You look away. Instead focusing back on the placement he angled your fingers in. But you can feel it; his eyes never tear away from your face. They remain there, steady and present, searching for something you’re too perturbed to name.

You strum downwards. The notes ring jagged, shaky, your fingers bent awkwardly.

Your bottom lip purses with a deeper frown in irritation. His eyes track the movement beside you unconsciously.

You huff, and go to retry, hand flexing at the base of the guitar.

“I lied.”

You blink at the sudden sound of his voice, head upturning to face him again. He’s still gazing at you, that same firm clench of his jaw set in place like it always is, his brows still furrowed to crease that line in his forehead you always want to smooth out- but there’s something more. His eyes; they’ve darkened, the usual mahogany of them wavered down into something lower, his pupils wider.

“What?” You breathe.

“Last night. I said I didn’t care. I lied,” he says. It’s stiff, like the words don’t really know how to smoothly tip from his tongue. His eyebrows saddle together even further, and you even more desperately want to press your thumb between them. “I care. Always have.”

Then, with more certainty, or maybe it’s a force of nature, his eyes drop. Down to your lips, tracing the line of them as they instinctively part under his gaze.

Looking at your mouth as he adds lower, “Maybe too much.”

You feel your throat tighten, your breath stumbling through your windpipe with your sudden incredulity. You don’t have a moment to collect your thoughts before his eyes snap back up to yours, piercing and trying to discern.

“Do you still want to ask me?” He questions urgently.

“If..” you start, weary.

“If I’ll kiss you.”

Oh- oh.

You stare bemusedly at him. Wondering if you’ve misheard him. If he’s chiding you. Mocking you for getting the E major chord wrong. You don’t know how to read this situation, all of it feeling so starkly dissimilar to how you’ve known Joel to be for so many months now.

“Would you want to?” You ask back breathlessly. Your eyes search, and his soften. That coffee brown melting away, juxtaposed to the short space of quiet right before dawn breaks- where everything in the world stands still, waiting for anything to be the first to shatter that solitude. 

A moment of warmth weighed in the uncertainty.

“Every part of me has wanted to since I met you,” he murmurs lowly, his attention never breaking away from you. “There isn’t one part of me that doesn’t want every part of you.”

This time, you know your breath ceases entirely. Your pupils rounding, jaw slackening. Because how is it now, after so many months, Joel is suddenly saying all of this to you? That he’s bruised with his words for so long, dug and chided until you felt bitter, just to turn and admit that he's wanted you this entire time. That everything you’ve felt hasn’t been some sick imagination your mind conjured up.

Sure, he bruised, but it was always like those blooming purple and blue marks on your skin you couldn’t help but amuse; poking and nudging at it until it ached like something tender. Maybe you just hadn’t noticed how he had never aimed to cause those bruises in the first place before.

“Yes,” you breathe quickly before your throat can forcefully swallow the words, “I still want to ask you.”

Joel’s face slackens with surprise, then hesitance, then something darker. Firmer, but not unkind. More like certainty.

Like he’s been searching for too long for a base to ground him, and now that’s he’s confessed his exploration for something more than just hopeless reaching, and he’s been gifted kindness, agreement- he realises that each time he’s taught you guitar now, it’s been about more than the pluck of string under your fingertips. It’s been about the song you sing without words, without a tune- like the very hymn of your veins calls out to him instead, winding through him, pulling him forward.

And now, after far too long of biting it back, snapping off the rope- he finally lets it tug him forth. And you don’t stop him, your hand and heart tied just the same around the same rope.

His large hand lifts to frame your face, cupping your cheek. Eyes searching yours for another moment, before darting down to your lips. He leans forward, your breaths mingling in the space between like the slow reverberation of a fleeting chord.

Then he closes the distance, and presses his mouth to yours.

The kiss is slow at first. Tentative, seeking. Searching for more in the unsaid, reassuring you both to the ground, soothed, eyelids slipping closed.

Then your head tilts, and it deepens. His hand tightens slightly against your burning cheek, and his tongue swipes out to trace the seam of your lips like he already has them memorised. You part them, allowing him entry, and it’s like a burst of skittering fireflies in your belly as his tongue meets yours. Melding gently, tasting and experimenting.

He kisses like everything else he does in life. Steady, unyielding. But there’s a softness to it; like he can finally allow himself to relax, let the furrow between his brows slacken. This base he’s found tethering him down, making him groan into your mouth with a hushed relief.

He kisses like he’s worshipping.

You exhale a small moan into his mouth, breathless, senses consumed by him. You kiss him just as fervently. Deep, slow. Neither of you rush it, taking your time to explore each other. His scent smoothing over you in a rush, a bergamot and sandalwood you’ve never noticed so piquantly before. The pour of hot water over coffee beans, the rough press of his hardened palm against your cheek in contrast with his soft lips, slightly chapped from the cold.

Your lips work in tandem, tongues tangling a dance from the chords that aren’t being strung, the guitar hanging limp in your lap. Only when your grip loosens from it and the guitar nearly goes tumbling from your thighs do you both break apart from the kiss, reeling and dazed.

Your eyes still closed, he lulls his head forward and presses his forehead to yours. For a while, all there is the gentle sound of your panting breaths as you both gather your bearings again. If there’s any song you wish you could memorise and play on cue; it’s the sound of his gentle, shallow breaths intertwining with yours, the way it casts over your lips.

His thumb brushes over your cheekbone once. Soft, reverent, your eyes fluttering open, melded against him on the truck bed. The corner of his mouth ticks in just the smallest smile. You know it’s from content.

“Come on. Show me an E major again,” he murmurs, letting his hand reluctantly drop away from your face and nodding back to the guitar in your lap. You grin back, lopsided and pleased, nearly surging back just to steal his lips with yours once again, but instead you settle back, arms tightening around the instrument again.

His thigh pressed to yours, his shoulder brushing yours. His breath tender and tone guiding, hands reaching out to direct yours when needed. The moment now softer than it was, than it ever has been.

That rope pulled taught between you. But it didn’t snap or shred when you got too close. Instead, it entwined. Looped and weaved in harmony to hum a synonymous hymn. And you both settle and sway into it.

With Joel, you realised it was the little things.

Maybe it always has been. The way his gaze would narrow with alarm when a shimmer of a wound appeared on your skin, how his hands would grab for you to shield you with his own body the moment any apprehension stirred in an unknown moment. The way that he would wordlessly offer you a flannel to place over your sleeping bag at night just for extra warmth. The two coffees brewed in the morning even if you were running out. The way he would slow his steps down to a reverent, knowing pace after you rolled your ankle, even after he insisted that you could just walk it off. The way he would always take the first shift at night, and go far into the night until he finally woke you. How his eyes would soften sometimes at the most mundane things; like you being elated over a find of an old, worn chocolate package in a rundown supermarket, or the bliss on your face when you’d get to dip your feet into the cold, comforting embrace of a river.

These guitar lessons. The two coffees made and ready to be poured from the pot ahead of you.

It had always been the little things with Joel. And the culmination of them was far less daunting than you could’ve imagined- it wasn’t rugged and hardened, sharpened like razors at the edges prepared to strike. Instead it was like the first sweep of the comforting breeze when Winter finally broke into Spring, offering nothing but serenity; soft, unhurried, and forgiving.

"Whether you come as a lover or an executioner, I am ready to receive you." - The Carnivorous Lamb, Agustín Gómez-Arcos, tr. William Rodarmor

I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry - Hank Williams

Joel stirred awake at the sound of the front door creaking open.

It only took his brain a moment before an immediate wave of relief washed over him—especially hearing it click shut. That simple sound brought him nothing but relief after the evening you two had just had hours earlier. 

Earlier that day - 6:21 PM

Joel sighed as he sat down on the bench near the front door to begin taking off his boots, watching you hang up your jacket a few feet from him. “I'm sorry, I just... I don’t understand why you’re so upset…”

Yeah, that’s not the right thing to say to someone who had been a swirling storm ever since you'd left Maria’s office. Meaning, the walk home had been completely silent. You gave him the cold shoulder, walked two paces in front of him—steam rolling off you in a fiery fit of anger. 

“So upset?” You echoed, scoffing as you let your foot go—your disbelief for such a diabolical question completely stopping the motion of taking your boots off. “Why wouldn’t I be upset? You stood there and told everyone I wasn’t ready to go back out—”

“Because you aren’t!” He looked up at you from where he sat, voice laced with a painful type of honesty.

You stood there for a moment, silent, shocked by his bluntness. 

Joel sighed as he set his boot down beside his leg before continuing, softening his voice a touch. “Baby, you… You can’t act like you aren’t wakin’ up every mornin’ in pain. That going back out would smart with how bad your knee has been treatin' you..” 

You swallowed the sour words you had cocked and loaded to spit back if he’d said anything else, but this? He was right about this. And god damnit, he knew you knew he was right. 

You hated how you couldn’t lie to yourself. Not when you did wake up every damn morning stiff and aching. You hated it—getting older, but also you couldn’t deny that your knee hadn’t been the same since the accident less than a season ago. No matter how hard you tried to push yourself or ignore it—you couldn’t pretend it was ever going to be like it was. You were forever going to be feeling the ramifications of that day.

But on a more important note—you couldn’t stand to wake up and live another day in this.

You needed to get back to the swing of things. You needed some sense of normalcy; you needed to get back to your routine.

And somehow you thought Joel of all people would understand that. But now? Now you felt that maybe he didn't know you at all. 

God, you hated that.

You shook your head and looked down at the ground, trying to keep yourself from boiling over again. “You don’t get to make those decisions for me.” 

When he didn't answer, you looked up just as he shook his head and slightly rolled his eyes—getting ready to cut in. Big mistake. 

“No, you don't get to roll your eyes. You don't get to do that… God, you don’t get to stand there like you speak for me and—”

“And what? Tell the truth?” He scoffed as he stood, cutting you off again—shedding his jacket from his shoulders, moving past to hang it up on the coat rack. “You were there... You heard them ask me what I thought and I—” 

You turned your body to follow him, your voice starting to rise like the fire in your chest as you interrupted now, “You told them that I’d be a fucking liability, Joel!” 

You rarely ever called him by his name in moments like this—but he wasn't stupid. He knew when you did, it was more serious than he was treating it. And especially now, with the way you were looking at him? He knew you were more than just hurt.

“No, I…I didn’t say that—” He started to try and reason, taking a step toward you, reaching out for your hand or to try and ease you. 

But you stepped back.

You stepped back and kept your hand away, putting it behind you, your voice having a fraction of restraint, “No... no, you don’t get to do... that.” 

“Do what?” He asked, trying not to show how much that singular motion wounded him. 

“You can’t do that." You took a shaky breath and shook your head as you looked down at your half-unlaced boot. “You can't act like you did nothing wrong, Joel.” 

“But I didn’t—I just…” He sighed, feeling like no matter what he said, you weren’t in the place to hear him, you were too upset. “What did you want me to say? What would you have me do? Lie?…”

“I just... I just feel it wasn’t your place to say anything…” 

He furrowed his brow, confused by the things you were saying. “Wasn’t my place?”

You hesitated, but then you went to shake your head only for your body to betray you into a shrug, like you were unsure. Your heart's silent way of telling you deep down it was his place—just like it was yours with him.

“I don't understand." He scoffed—now his anger was starting to simmer at how cold you were being. "Then tell me, what is my place?”

The way he firmly planted himself made you clench your jaw in frustration at his stubbornness. He wasn't going to let this go.

“I’m not doing this… You know what I meant.” You muttered as you knelt to lace your boot. You needed to cool off, and he wasn't going to let you do that here. Not now that things were misinterpreted and tempers were sure to boil over.

Joel looked down at you and shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, “Apparently, I don’t. Apparently, you and I are on two different pages of what is and isn’t our place. So enlighten me, please. What is my place?” 

The more he kept pushing, the more he kept pressing on a button that was going to make you react in a way you hadn't around him yet.

“Joel, stop.” You warned, your hands starting to shake in anger or frustration... but it was only making it worse as you had to retie the lace again.

“No, tell me.” He pressed again, his tone losing that softness it started with. 

Your head was swimming with nothing but anger. Enough that you knew if you fed into this, you’d say things out of that ugly place it always took you to. Things you’d regret. 

“I’m not doing this right now. I can’t…” You muttered as you pulled the laces in a sloppy, half-assed bow out of frustration and rose to your feet, moving past him to grab your jacket you’d just hung up. “I... I can’t do this with you.” 

“Can’t do this? What? You can’t talk things through?” He followed you, his heart now pounding in his ears—his anger taking over faster than he could control. “Look, I know we’re new to this… this…” He scoffed a small cold chuckle before continuing, “...God, whatever this is.” 

You pulled your jacket on and kept your gaze down, biting the side of your cheek to keep yourself silent. 

But silence didn’t bring him comfort. But would it to anyone else? With all the things you were saying? All the things you weren't?  

For Joel, it just fed into his insecurities about not being good enough—not being enough to fight for. It cracked the very fragile part of himself that he had only opened for you. 

He watched you for a moment, watched you struggle to line up the zipper to your jacket. Something in him didn't understand that you weren’t stepping away—you were stepping back.

You needed to pause.

You needed to find your head and pull it out of your ass. 

But he just saw someone leaving—someone hurting him. 

So he did what every insecure man does when they feel small…

He kept fucking talking until he would regret it.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and painfully chuckled. “Right, because I guess the only place you see me being is the one between your—” 

But then he stopped the moment his brain caught up with his ass was about to say.

Something that wouldn’t be easy to take back. 

You finally lined up the zipper and pulled it up in a sharp and quick motion, your eyes finding his—filled with hurt at the words he left lingering on the tip of his tongue. 

“What? Between my legs?...” You paused for a moment and looked at him—really looked at him before finishing off with, “You really think that’s all we are?...” Not able to help the way your voice broke on that last word—your eyes suddenly started to burn as they filled with tears. 

His face fell in that sad puppy sort of way that only he could achieve, especially in moments like these—in moments where he knew he massively fucked up.

“N-No, fuck, I didn’t mean that… I–” He took a step toward you, instinct making him reach out for you.

You felt a heat crawl up your neck, and tears suddenly started to cloud your vision. But before he could see any of that, you brushed past him and headed for the front door. 

“Fuck… I was so stupid." You mumbled, wiping a tear that fell down your cheek.

Your voice broke as you felt yourself start to spiral. "You... You don’t give a shit about me if that’s what you think that is all we are...”

"No, whoa, hey... no." He started to scramble, not knowing what to say, what to do. How to fix this. "Sweetheart, you know that you mean more to me than anythin' in this world."

You didn't need to hear this. You weren't going to believe it, no matter how sad or desperate he sounded.

You needed air. You needed to get out of this damn hallway. You needed a fucking drink.

You reached for the doorknob and twisted it. “I need to go. I... I need to leave.” You said a bit louder, your voice still unsteady. 

“No, No… baby—fuck, you know I didn’t mean that.” Joel quickly followed after you, putting his hand on the door from behind you—in an attempt to keep it shut just as you were about to pull it open. “Baby, I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. Please. Please don’t leave.”

You stayed facing the door, your hand clenched around the handle, voice small and eerily even. “Joel... let me go.” 

Joel stayed there for a second, contemplating his options before he slowly let his hand off the door with a soft, defeated sigh.

His voice softened to a gentle plea as he stayed where he was, standing behind you, “Please don’t go. Please—” 

You could feel the warmth radiating off of him as he stood behind you. You could smell the comforting scent of his citrus and pine soap with each inhale.

The urge every atom in your being was fighting against? Not to take a single step back? It was painful.

Because in any other scenario, you would fold. You would take that step back and lean into him. You’d surrender in the name of your love for him and let all this anger go.

You’d let him wrap you in his arms and hold you close. You’d melt against him, and he'd lean over your shoulder and kiss your neck—in that soft, sweet way he'd begin to apologize.

You’d stop being so damn stubborn and let the man love you in the way you never felt you deserved—even though he insisted every day he’d never stop trying to show you how much you do. 

But this time, it felt different. This wasn’t any other fight you two had come across in the past.

This struck something deep that you didn’t know how to navigate. It was something you hadn't ever felt.

It was something that only came from the world ending and finding yourself with someone. It was unfamiliar territory, and that was terrifying. 

However, the longer you stood there, the more Joel could feel you fighting back every instinct. He could feel the energy pulsing off of you. 

So he did what he always did: he moved in to offer comfort. 

He moved a few inches closer, closing the space even more so that you would be able to feel his breath against your neck as he continued to softly plead, “All I meant… all I was tryin’ to do was protect you by what I said with Maria. I need..." He sighed softly, his hand hovering the side of your hip. "I need you safe…”  

Your eyelids betrayed you as they slowly closed—only for a few seconds—but it was enough that you felt yourself lean back and touch his chest before you snapped forward and shook your head, shaking yourself out of his spell. “Joel, please…” 

You opened the door to leave when his voice came one last time from behind you, completely broken. “You know that I’d never hurt you. You know how much I need you... how much I love you…” 

You held onto the doorknob—your knuckles now turning white as you allowed a few tears to run down your cheeks before you nodded and swallowed the lump sitting high in the back of your throat. 

“Of course I do.”

Then you looked back at him, and there he saw it: the utter heartbreak you’d been hiding under all that anger since leaving Maria’s office. 

“But that makes what you did hurt even worse…” You choked out before turning around and walking out—softly shutting the door behind you. 

Joel stood there and just stared at the door. He didn't move from that spot for an hour before he moved to sit at the bench—where he sat for a few more hours.

Waiting for you.

Waiting to make things right. To be there when you get back. 

If you came back. 

He’d just drifted to sleep when he heard the front door creak open. He didn’t waste a moment before he moved to sit up in bed—his racing.

He turned the nightstand’s lamp on and saw the time on the clock next to it: 

12:11 AM

He realized he'd been asleep for no more than 20 minutes, and that in some way felt like he’d betrayed you. By not being down there when you came home. 

“Baby?” He called from the bed before rushing to his feet and slowly stepping towards the door—slightly hesitating in case he'd dreamt the sound. 

He heard you stumble and crash into what he could only assume was the coat rack before you called out, “Jesus, you’re still awake?” Your voice filled with a small level of disbelief, like you didn't expect him to wait up.

He rushed out of the bedroom and stopped at the top of the stairs to see you at the bottom, already looking up for him.

You looked lighter than before—not so angry or upset. Needless to say, however much relief that brought him, he couldn’t assume and risk a repeat of earlier.

“Well... yeah, I...” He said softly as he stepped down a few steps before sitting on the top stair, keeping his voice gentle. “I wanted to be awake when you got home. You know, in case you wanted to talk or—” 

“Mm, I was angry... and real fuckin' stupid earlier...” You hiccupped as you cut him off, holding tightly onto the railing, keeping yourself steady as it was clear now that you were a bit tipsy. 

“Whoa, hey... no… I said some really—” Joel tried to start, only for you to cut him off again. 

You hiccupped louder, and you waved your hand out in front of you to stop him, “Mm, stop talking and let me get this out, m'kay?”

Joel couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips before he exhaled in mock defeat and nodded towards you, “Okay…” 

You took a deep breath and stumbled up a few steps, slightly tripping on the third one, but caught yourself and looked up at him again. “I... I was angry for several reasons...” You sighed and shrugged as you saw him soften somehow even more as he waited for you to carry on. “I felt angry for feeling overwhelmed at the way I literally can’t do the one thing I’ve been doing since I got to Jackson.” 

You looked away for a moment, trying to find the words—before looking down.

“For… For feeling like a burden to you and Ellie while I've been recovering.” Your voice changed, like there was shame woven into it.

You heard him inhale, like he was going to speak up, so you quickly continued, needing to get it all on the table.

“I felt—no, I feel like I’m losing my sense of routine. I just—I was or am… feeling a lot.” You looked up at him to only see him give you the softest nod—like he was giving you the small nudge to keep going. 

You swallowed and took another step up towards him—this one more solid—opening up more. “But… what I was mostly upset about is… because I tried lying to myself and everyone else today. But you?” You helplessly chuckled as you pinched the bridge of your nose, slightly annoyed that you didn’t understand this before. 

“You held me accountable."

Joel hummed in agreement before he tilted his head slightly, watching you—like he was reading all the unspoken things you were holding back. 

“Tell me more…” He plead.

Your cheeks warmed at the soft patience of his voice before putting your hand back on the rail, thinking of how to put what you wanted to say into words, before looking up at him.

But then you realized who was looking down at you with those soft brown eyes, and suddenly, the need for perfect words and for it all to make sense left. 

"I uhm, I talked to Gail... at the bar tonight, and she said a lot of things that just… fuck—they obnoxiously made sense..." You started to chuckle. 

Joel grinned as he leaned in to listen. 

"She said that I uhm..." You sighed as you shut your eyes tightly, trying to remember Gail's exact words. “That I didn't communicate my feelings and anxieties before going to Maria's… and so, when it didn’t go my way—she said that ‘I put an unfair amount of blame on you’..." 

You slowly opened your eyes and shrugged as you looked down at the step in front of you. Focusing on the small line of finish that had worn off the wood. "I guess… what I need to come to terms with is, I'm a bit rusty and should probably retire from patrol with how bad my knee is..."

Joel simply hummed again, not in agreement or anything—just to let you know he’d been listening. 

But this time, when you looked up at him, the weight of everything that had been said and happened earlier caught in the back of your throat. Your lip quivered before you whispered, “And I’m sorry. I—I’m so sorry for leaving. I know that—” The shakiness in your voice instantly made Joel move to come racing down the stairs toward you. 

“Hey, hey no… c’mere—” He whispered tenderly before collapsing back down on the stairs in front of you, reaching to put his hands on your cheeks. 

“Can I say somethin’ now?” He asked as his thumb brushed a tear away. 

You let out a sad chuckle and nodded, stepping closer to lean into his warm hold. 

His eyes danced across your face as he studied you for a few seconds before softly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You mean more to me than I will ever be able to… say or show you.” His thumb wiped another of your tears away. “But if tonight taught me anything? It showed me a real ugly taste of what my life would be without you.” 

You leaned into his hand and couldn’t help but smile, “That bad, huh?” 

“Mm, horribly miserable darlin’…” Joel murmured as his lips matched your smile and his thumb began gently stroking back and forth over your cheek. “I never want to go up to that cold bed alone, mm?”  

Your cheeks warmed a soft blush, and you closed your eyes as you hummed in agreement, “Can’t say I wanted my evening to be spent nursing a bottle of vodka… getting therapized by Gail of all people…” 

That made Joel chuckle—but the noise only came through his nostrils and through his chest. 

The sound was so small and simple… but it was that familiar vibration that always warmed your soul.

It was the warmth that welcomed you every morning when he kissed you awake. The sound that he couldn’t help but let out when he pulled you close and begged for five more minutes with you—which always made you smile and giggle—as you’d never dare deny yourself of that level of absolute bliss, especially with him.

But tonight, it was the trigger that you needed. It was the spark needed to feel that same wave of relief that washed over Joel after hearing the door click—this was your wave. 

You opened your eyes to find him already soaking you in, in a way only poets could describe. In a way that no matter how deep you looked, you couldn’t find a single ounce of anger or betrayal that was there before. 

Nothing ill harbored towards you. 

Instead, there was nothing but love and respect and compassion and absolute commitment. 

But then again, Joel could never hold anything against you after a fight for long. If there was one weakness that man had, it was his devotion to you. 

He was utterly and helplessly in love with you and could never stay upset for too long—even when you were the one who massively fucked up. 

Instead, he forgave you—every single time.  

He moved on. 

He gave you a second chance more times than you felt you deserved.  

He was the one good and fair thing this world had given you after taking so much away. And you were the same to him. 

You were his second chance at being happy—being truly, stupidly, blindly, and endlessly happy.  

“Well, in that case, how about we finish out the night… the right way…and head upstairs?” He murmured as he pulled down to his lips—adding before his lips touched yours, "Let me make it up to you..."

You leaned into him as you kissed him slowly the first time, lingering on his lips long enough to taste the peppermint from his toothpaste. You then moved your hand off the railing to land on his chest before gripping the soft fabric of his t-shirt and kissing him again, deeper this time. 

He inhaled at what that did to him and moved one of his hands through your hair to cradle the back of your neck—while the other moved down to your waist to pull you up to straddle his lap, muttering, “Mm, c’mere…” 

You blindly stumbled up the few stairs needed to meet him, giggling against his lips before straddling his lap and kissing him deeper. Your free arm easily wrapped around his shoulder—bringing yourself close enough that your chest pressed against his. 

His hand stayed cradled at your neck as his lips moved against yours in a slow and deep passionate fit of kisses. Your hand slowly moved to thread through the soft curls at the back of his neck, softly panting between each pass.

Eventually, you slid your tongue gradually more and more between his lips—a silent plea for more—until his began dancing with yours. 

Joel groaned before his hands moved down to grip your ass, moving your hips to grind against the thin fabric of his pajama pants—sending a clear message he also wanted more. 

You moaned quietly at the growing bulge grinding slowly against the seam of your jeans. You pulled back only for his lips to move to your jawline, then your neck, sucking soft marks into your skin. 

“Joel…” You breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers curled around his hair, holding him right where you wanted him.

There. That was the version of his name he loved to hear roll off your tongue.

He groaned, the rumble coming up from deep in his chest—bouncing off the soft skin he had between his lips as he began making his mark.

His hands stayed on your ass, grinding you back and forth against his lap until you eventually began doing it yourself.

Your breathing became heavier before small whimpers bubbled their way out—making him smirk against your skin. “Mm, I love when you make those sounds.” He muttered before slowly gliding his lips across your skin, back up to yours, before kissing you passionately.

You kissed him back, continuing your rhythm against his growing erection that was now stimulating something for you with each pass it rubbed against your clit. You could feel his hands move up your body and then underneath your shirt to eventually tug your bra down before he cupped your tit—making your breath hitch in between a kiss.

You kissed him harder, a touch sloppier, as you both were too hot and hungry for each other. So when you pulled back, he chased after you—his eyes lidded and grinning wide.

"Where do you think you're going?" He murmured leaning in for you, palming your breast with one hand and gripping your waist with the other.

You moaned again, your breath hot against his lips before you kissed him once more—this time slowly pulling back and leaning your forehead against his.

"Ellie... she's down the hall..." You whispered as you combed your fingers through his curls, your hips slowing down their rhythm.

"Mhm, and she's one of the heaviest sleepers we know..." He grinned as his thumb teased your nipple, making you gasp, and your hips roll once more against him.

"Come on... think about it..." He almost sounded like he was begging.

Your cheeks flushed red at how hot that made you feel. How wet you could feel yourself getting, imagining the thrill of it all—the thought of what could be done on these stairs.

But then you realized two pretty important points:

You were still somewhat drunk. Additionally to that point, you were in no way, shape, or form going to have the coordination to fuck him on these stairs.

You both were not as young as you'd like to believe. Because if you were to put it back in your pants for a second? You'd both agree that the outcome would most likely end in one or the both of you getting hurt, rather than having any fun.

Joel took your silence as a way to further his cause—so he leaned in and kissed your chin, then jawline, humming along with each kiss.

"You could ride me, right here... give me a show with those pretty little tits of yours." He purred before lightly pinching the bud of your nipple.

Your grip tightened on his shoulder—the instant sensation shooting a heat down to your core. You bit your lip to hold in a moan that would be loud enough to stir the house.

"Or I could bend you over... get you on your hands and knees..." Another small pinch and kiss to the soft spot just under your jawline. "Watch that perfect pussy of yours take me so well from behind..."

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you swallowed down another moan. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't help the way your hips began to grind slowly against him—helplessly weak to feel his cock move against your cunt.

His teeth gently grazed your jawline before he groaned, feeling your hips press further onto him—your passive way of teasing him back.

"You and I both know we don't have the back or knees for these damn stairs..." You breathed before a moan slipped out, as he lightly pinched and tugged at your nipple—easily driving you mad with lust.

"Fuck, well if that’s the case… you gotta stop makin' those little noises you know I like, baby..." He teased before tugging lightly again at your nipple. "You're going to make me weak in the knees...” He kissed down your neck to the hem of your shirt before kissing back up. “…then I’ll really be unable to make it up to the bedroom."

Your head was swimming and everything in you screamed to stay where you were. But, when the perfect moment came, for that small pause of when his lips reached up for yours—you put your hand on his chest and gently pushed him away, putting his back against the stairs.

Something similar to a growl escaped from his chest and rumbled against your palm as he looked at you with that devilish smirk. “What are you up to?"

You kept your hand on his chest as you maneuvered up and off his lap to stand in front of him—his hands sliding off your body.

He looked up at you from where he sat—drinking you in—his chest lightly heaving, lips pink and swollen.

You began to undo your belt, keeping eye contact, trying—and failing—not to grin too wide as you whispered, “Giving you some motivation to get upstairs…”

Joel watched as your pants slid down and off your body before you kicked them down the few stairs behind you.

He bit his bottom lip as his eyes locked in on you standing there—wearing his favorite lacy black panties. “Mm darlin’, you could be wearing a fuckin’ parka, and I’d want you on your hands and knees.”

You crossed your arms over your torso to grab the hem of your shirt before you slowly pulled it up over your head—revealing a matching lace black bra, one that left little to the imagination.

You tilted your head to the side and bit your lip as you noticed his hand had moved into his lap. He had starting to stroking himself slowly—needing relief.

"You're favorite, right?" You teased as your thumb slid just barely, underneath the elastic around your hip.

He groaned as he watched—nodding once at you. "You're being a tease, baby..."

You smirked and tossed your hair to one side, another one of his favorite sights before innocently asking, "Am I?"

He groaned, the sound animalistic as he tightened his grip and nodded. "You know what you're doing."

"Do I?" You cooed, knowing you were getting him pent up.

He watched you slowly draw the elastic down your hip bone—exposing that soft skin between your hip and mound. His jaw clenched, and his eyes fluttered shut as he let out a small whimper. “F-Fuck…”

You smirked as you stepped up a stair to stand more so over him than eye level. You put your hands on his knees and leaned forward—your cleavage was on full display—another one of his favorites.

“Tell me how you want me waiting for you…” You purred, slowly moving in—inches from his lips—making his eyes open immediately.

You now fully had his attention. And as you expected, his eyes dipped down to your tits like the man couldn’t help himself.

"Mm, eyes up here, handsome..." You taunted.

His gaze darkened as it snapped up to meet yours, his smirk widening as he moved to lean forward—wanting to catch your lips—only for you to tease him and pull back.

"Tell me..." You whispered as you began sliding your hands slowly up his thighs.

His breath hitched the further your hands crawled. He swallowed before lightly nudging his nose against yours, "Fuck... we should fight more often if it gets you like this..."

"Joel..." You whispered, like a soft warning for him to focus.

"On your back." He nudged your nose again, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his head to the side to kiss you—needing your lips on his. "Legs spread wide, like the good girl you are."

You bit your bottom lip and muttered as you leaned in to meet his lips with yours, "Yes, sir..."

He groaned as your lips collided in a deep and passionate kiss. He waited only moments before he couldn't resist but reach up and cup your cheeks as he continued to kiss you—getting slowly sloppier and heated with each kiss.

You moaned softly, the sound not able to be held back when he kissed you like this.

You felt his tongue begin to dance with yours and for a small moment, you were tempted to say 'Fuck it' and crawl back into his lap.

You could easily pull your panties to one side and pull him out through that buttoned up opening—one that you were no stranger to.

It took everything in you not to give in.

So before you did something you'd both regret in the morning, you ran one of your hands up his abdomen to his chest before gently pushing him back against the stairs again—your lips reluctant to separate as your foreheads stayed together .

"Mm, wait—" He mumbled, out of breath, slightly dazed.

You murmured as you nudged his nose playfully, "Don’t keep me waiting.”

Then you maneuvered past him and began rushing up the stairs, tossing your bra behind you at him.

He snapped out of whatever spell he was in at the feeling of it hitting the back of his head—only to spin around and find you at the top of the stairs with your panties around your ankle—giggling as you kicked them down the stairs at him—swiftly flicking your index finger, beckoning him to join you.