daisy

And the thing is, Joel can’t even be mad. Well he can, but being angry is only going to make the situation worse, considering it was his anger that has caused the quiet in the first place. 

Your shoes are still by the door, which does settle his heart a bit. At least he knows you’re still here, still safe under this roof and not halfway across town sleeping at Tommy and Maria’s just to spite him. 

He grunts as he slides his boots off, placing them next to yours. His stomach growls, but he ignores it in favor of gently padding up the stairs in his socks. The hallway is dark, save for the soft light of a lamp peaking out from under the bedroom door. He pushes it open slowly, trying not to wake you. 

You’re curled up on your side of the bed, facing away from him, knees pulled up to your chest under the blanket. You’re asleep, but not peacefully. There’s a furrow in your brow and one of your hands rests on his pillow like you’re reaching out for him. 

“Oh, baby…” he whispers under his breath. Guilt surges through his veins, but he swallows it down as he begins to unbuckle his jeans. He forces himself to take a quick, cold shower, and then slides into bed next to you, lifting your hand to rest on his chest instead of the sheets. 

Your eyes flutter open. For a moment, your gaze is all love. A small smile lifts at the corner of your mouth and you start to move closer to him. Then you stop, the memories of your early morning argument reentering your mind, and pull your hand back from his skin. 

“How’d it go?” You ask. There’s concern, yes, but not the normal warm tone he usually associates with your voice and coming home. 

“Fine.” His voice is gruff and his drawl is long and slow. “Jesse shot a buck and we hauled it back.” 

You make a low humming noise in response, settling further into your own pillow, away from him. An awkward silence engulfs the room, one that is so unfamiliar between the two of you that it makes Joel’s skin crawl. 

He gives in, reaching for your arm. “C’mere.” He encourages, and you do, though the look on your face is reluctant. You don’t relax fully into him like you usually do and he huffs. “You know ‘m sorry, right?” 

“Are you?” You turn so you’re looking into his eyes, your chin against his chest. “You weren’t sorry when you left this morning.”

Joel closes his eyes tight. He regrets leaving like that, spewing angry words in your direction before slamming the door. He lifts a hand to run it through your hair and you finally curl into him. 

“I was- I am sorry.” He says again, voice even lower this time. “I shouldn’t have- I just- I don’t like leaving you to go on patrol.” 

“I know, Joel, but you can’t-”

“I know.” He interrupts you, “I know. I can’t take that out on you, baby, ‘m sorry.” 

You purse your lips like you’re pondering his words, but then you lean forward to press a kiss to his mouth. “Or you could take me with you on patrol.” 

Joel wants to tell you no. He wants to say that, if it’s up to him, he would never let you leave the safety of Jackson ever again. But he doesn’t want to fight again, and he definitely doesn’t want you to stop pressing kisses to his jaw like you are now. 

“Let’s talk about that tomorrow.” He says, and then he lifts you onto his lap, prepared to spend the rest of the night trying to get you to forget that the two of you had even fought to begin with. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

He has a crush on you. A nurse, his coworker. The prettiest woman he’s ever seen in his life. 

Its horrible. 

And he knows better, that’s the thing! He’s told himself time and time and time again that he would never do that. He’s seen coworkers’ relationships get fucked up and fail miserably. He’s seen cases of unrequited love that end in HR meetings and night shift swaps. All his crush will do cause drama and chaos in a place that is already too full of drama and chaos. 

And yet...

Dennis’ heart starts to pound wildly before he even fully registered that it’s you that is walking up to him. It’s like his body responds to you without him even meaning to, orbiting you like a planet to a sun every time you’re in his vicinity.

“Hi!” You greet happily, setting your tablet down and leaning against the counter as you look at him. Your smile is beautiful, and Dennis wishes he could sear the image of you into the backs of his eyelids. 

“Hi.”

“Your hair looks nice today,” Dennis blinks at your words, his brain stumbling and struggling over every syllable that leaves your mouth. It’s like his entire capacity for thinking vanishes the moment you lay your eyes on him. 

“What?” 

Your laugh is like a sound from heaven, and your hand falls onto his arm as you lean into the motion. His skin burns where yours touches it. “I said your hair looks nice. Why do you look so shocked?”

Well, shit. He feels as a blush flourishes over the skin of his face and neck. He’d bet money even the tips of his ears are bright red. You pull your hand away from his arm to tuck some hair behind your ear and he has to swallow back a sound that threatens to escape him at the loss of your touch. 

“I… I uh…” He shakes his head, no coherent thoughts able to form or produce themselves as words. “I washed it…”

You laugh again, even sweeter and more boisterous this time. 

If Dennis wasn’t… himself, he’d been sure you were trying to flirt with him. Instead, he feels like maybe you’re joking and he just doesn’t get it.

“Oh, Dr. Whitaker…” Your laugh turn into a fit of giggles that seem to have a hard time going away. “You’re so cute.”

Oh, you definitely have to be fucking with him again. There’s no way you aren’t laughing at him, that he isn’t the butt of some joke. 

You notice the moment his face falls. Yours does too, your smile slowly fading into a look of concern he’s really only ever seen directed at patients. It makes him feel exposed in a way that he hates, knowing you can read him so well, that he’s so obvious. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He wants to laugh. And cry. His stomach is in knots and he feels like he might puke. You’re making fun of him. Never once in his life has a girl like you given him attention, and there’s absolutely no way that you’re serious. The feeling gets under his skin, urgent and familiar.

“You can give it up now.” Your eyebrows furrow even further together at his words, and especially at the tone of them. “It’s not funny anymore, okay?”

“What are you talking about?” Your eyes dart quickly over different parts of his face, like you might somehow discover the answer there. 

Dennis purses his lips, and lowers his voice and his gaze. “I really wish you’d stop making fun of me.”

Something shifts in your expression, your face a mosaic of all sorts of things he can’t possibly know. It settles on something between hurt and pity. “Dennis, what are you talking about?”

He hardly notices the use of his first name, his tongue digging into the inside of his cheek as his gaze bounces around nervously to make sure no one is close enough to hear the two of you. He’d pull you aside into the stairwell if it wouldn’t be absolutely devastating to his already bruised and battered ego. “You keep saying things like that. But it’s not funny. Not to me.”

“Why do you think I’m joking?” You lean away from him, voice lower than he’s ever heard it. You look… devastated, if he’s being honest with himself. “Do you think I’m making fun of you?”

“Aren’t you?” The words leave his lips faster and more broken than he would ever admit. You don’t respond. Instead, you grab his wrist, and you lead him to the stairwell, away from prying eyes and ears. 

When you finally turn back to him, there’s a pain in your eyes that only makes him feel worse. “Do you really think I’m making fun of you?”

Dennis falters. Of course you’re making fun of him, you have to be. Because if you aren’t…

He can’t let his mind go down that route. He needs to squash this crush he has on you and any indication that you even find him tolerable would make his life a thousand times more difficult. 

You speak up again before he can muster up any kind of answer. “Do you really think I’m that cruel?” 

“You have to be.” The words aren’t purposeful, but he says them all the same. You blink, emotions swirling in your irises, and he stutters out another, “B-Because otherwise that… that means you mean it.” 

“I do mean it.” Somehow, your words hit even harder than his, and the entire world stills, everything gone but you and him. You reach out for his hand and Dennis feels like he might keel over. “I really mean it, I’m sorry if you thought I was making fun of you.” 

Dennis squeezes his eyes shut, his palm probably sweaty where it presses against your own. His stomach is in knots, his jaw clenches so hard he knows it’ll ache in the morning, but his heart feels lighter. Somehow, something about your admission makes him feel better despite it making the situation astronomically worse. 

“I’m sorry…” Is what he manages to choke out. “I shouldn’t have- I know you aren’t mean, I just…” His voice trails off when he meets your gaze again. He wonders what he looks like: bloodshot, puffy eyes, bright red nose, messy hair. And you, beautiful, perfect you, softly tilt your head, eyes still shining despite everything as you blink slowly. It makes his throat dry and he can’t find any more words.

You seem to realize he isn’t going to finish, and purse your lips. Your fingers twiddle mindlessly together, hands clasped in front of you. “I mean it.” You finally say again, confidently reaching a hand up to push a piece of his hair back into place. “Your hair does look nice. And you are cute.” 

Dennis thinks he might die. Like actually, truly might have a heart attack and die. “Th-Thanks.” 

You brighten, and if he hadn’t just been personally subjected to the previous upset in your expression, he would have never known you’d been upset at all. 

“I have some patients to check on.” Your hands gesture toward the stairwell door behind you, and Dennis gives you a dumbfounded nod. You turn to leave, but pause, steel your shoulders, and turn back to face him again. 

“Dr. Whitaker?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you want to go out for dinner after your shift?” 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

Followed closely by the lovely smile that’s on your face when he opens the door and steps inside. 

“Hi, Bren.” You say softly, folding up a tiny onesie with stethoscopes on it. His heart swells at the sight, though the smile he gives you is chiding. 

“You aren’t supposed to be on the floor.” 

You don’t look even an ounce guilty at his words. You just slide the onesie into the drawer, grab another one to fold and shrug at him. “The rocking chair hasn’t arrived yet.” 

With a sigh, he slides down next to you, grabbing another onesie to fold along side you. They’re so small, he can hardly believe any baby of his will ever fit into them. You start humming again, the two of you filling the drawers of the dresser with soft baby clothes. 

He huffs as he stands up, then stops to admire your work. You raise your hands toward him. 

“Can you help me up?” 

He takes your hands in his and helps lift you from the ground, your swollen belly forcing you off-balance. But he’s there to steady you every time. 

You get a kiss on the lips as you stand beside him, and he slides his palm over your belly. He 

“How soon until we can have another one?” He asks.

You scoff, “Bren, I haven’t even given birth to the first one yet.” 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

Followed closely by the lovely smile that’s on your face when he opens the door and steps inside. 

“Hi, Bren.” You say softly, folding up a tiny onesie with stethoscopes on it. His heart swells at the sight, though the smile he gives you is chiding. 

“You aren’t supposed to be on the floor.” 

You don’t look even an ounce guilty at his words. You just slide the onesie into the drawer, grab another one to fold and shrug at him. “The rocking chair hasn’t arrived yet.” 

With a sigh, he slides down next to you, grabbing another onesie to fold along side you. They’re so small, he can hardly believe any baby of his will ever fit into them. You start humming again, the two of you filling the drawers of the dresser with soft baby clothes. 

He huffs as he stands up, then stops to admire your work. You raise your hands toward him. 

“Can you help me up?” 

He takes your hands in his and helps lift you from the ground, your swollen belly forcing you off-balance. But he’s there to steady you every time. 

You get a kiss on the lips as you stand beside him, and he slides his palm over your belly. He 

“How soon until we can have another one?” He asks.

You scoff, “Bren, I haven’t even given birth to the first one yet.” 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

Followed closely by the lovely smile that’s on your face when he opens the door and steps inside. 

“Hi, Bren.” You say softly, folding up a tiny onesie with stethoscopes on it. His heart swells at the sight, though the smile he gives you is chiding. 

“You aren’t supposed to be on the floor.” 

You don’t look even an ounce guilty at his words. You just slide the onesie into the drawer, grab another one to fold and shrug at him. “The rocking chair hasn’t arrived yet.” 

With a sigh, he slides down next to you, grabbing another onesie to fold along side you. They’re so small, he can hardly believe any baby of his will ever fit into them. You start humming again, the two of you filling the drawers of the dresser with soft baby clothes. 

He huffs as he stands up, then stops to admire your work. You raise your hands toward him. 

“Can you help me up?” 

He takes your hands in his and helps lift you from the ground, your swollen belly forcing you off-balance. But he’s there to steady you every time. 

You get a kiss on the lips as you stand beside him, and he slides his palm over your belly. He 

“How soon until we can have another one?” He asks.

You scoff, “Bren, I haven’t even given birth to the first one yet.” 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

You want to believe that seeing him this often now is a coincidence. You don’t want to allow yourself to think, even for a moment, that he might ever come down to the ER just to get a glimpse of you. But you can’t deny that his visits to the emergency floor have become far more frequent. 

And it isn’t just you. You’d overheard Dr. Whitaker talking with some interns about him, about how they should try to avoid consulting with him as much as they could but that he’d been on the floor more often than usual. You’d also finally discovered his name, overhearing it in Dr. Whitaker’s timid tone. 

“Park the Shark.” 

You’d giggled when you heard it. You do think he resembles a shark, but in a hot sort of way that makes you feel warm all over. Also the thought of him biting you-

Anyway, you don’t think you could be more obvious than you are. You’ve been caught on more than one occasion staring at him during your shift while he worked. Sure, he might be holding an amputated leg, but you’d still sit there watching him with hearts in your eyes until Lupe snapped in your face. He could be stern-faced with his jaw clenched, scolding an intern about ORs and CTs and a bunch of other acronyms you’d always be right on the edge of but probably never really grasp, and you’d so be focused on the sound of his voice that you’d miss a patient’s angry complaint about wait times.

Everyone sees it. And no one seems to be afraid to warn you that your feelings for Dr. Park are a bad idea. 

“You’re staring again.” Lupe’s tone is bored but suspicious, her gaze pointedly side-eyeing you from where she sits at her desk. Her voice shakes you out of your thoughts, and you feel your cheeks warm at the accusation. 

“I’m not.” You deny, ignoring her gaze while you pick up some papers and tidy up your desk. 

“You are.” She turns her head in your direction, and once you meet her disappointed eyes, you wish you hadn’t. “I promise you, I’m only trying to help.”

“I just don’t understand why everyone has a problem with him.” Your words trail off as more people approach the window to check in. Lupe looks like she wants to say something, but she never gets a chance. 

You run into Dr. Park again while carrying a patient’s paperwork to the back for Dana. She’s not at the desk, so you stand there for a few moments while you wait for anyone to take the paperwork so you can return to your own desk. You’re tapping your nails against the counter when he comes around the corner. 

“The OR will be ready in 10 minutes. Go.” You feel your spine straighten automatically as his voice reaches your ears. Your eyes meet his as he approaches the nurse’s station. He doesn’t say anything, of course he doesn’t, but he does give you a long once-over before his gaze returns to the chart in his hands. Your skin feels tingly, like all your nerve endings are standing at attention, and you feel like you might explode if he doesn’t look at you again. 

“Hey.” He stops at your voice, turning to give you a look over his shoulder. Your heart squeezes, your throat clenches, and your brain goes still, having no idea what to do next. All you manage to do is stutter out a little, “It- It’s good to see you again.” 

He gets a look in his eye, though you aren’t sure how to interpret it. A glint of amusement? A shimmer of confusion? You aren’t sure, but knowing his eyes are on you at all warms your stomach. 

He opens his mouth, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s finally going to speak to you again, that you’ll hear that deep voice that has echoed through every corner of your mind since the coffee shop. Only, the sound of his voice never comes. 

Instead, Dana steps up to the counter and clears her throat, making you jump out of your skin. Your heart pounds, the embarrassment of being caught making you feel warm. 

“What’s up, kid?” Her gum smacks as she reaches for the paperwork you set on the counter. You fumble, stumbling for an answer, having completely forgotten why you’d even come back here once you’d seen Dr. Park. You can’t help but find your gaze tracing back to him, only to find that he’s gone again. Dana shakes her head at you, a knowing look in her eyes. She leans toward you and lowers her voice to a whisper, “Kid, you have to stop. This doesn’t end well for you, and all of us here really like you and we want you to stay working here, okay?”

Her words tug at your heart. You purse your lips, giving her a tight nod and a quiet ‘okay.’ before returning to your desk, throwing yourself into work so you don’t spiral. 

Because you really don’t think you can get over him. His eyes, his jaw, the shape of his shoulders, every single part of him captures your attention and refuses to let go. You know you’ll probably stay awake all night wondering what he might’ve said to you if Dana hadn’t interrupted. He lingers in your mind even when you’re thinking of other things, your eyes constantly drifting across the ER floor, seeking out his figure. 

You spend the rest of your shift at your desk, and not once do your eyes glance back. You hate the way Lupe pats you on the arm encouragingly as she leaves for the evening. 

You do stay up for hours thinking about him that night, no matter how hard you try to stop. You toss and turn in your bed, wondering how it might feel if he were laying next to you, or what he’d be like if he were above you. You think about the way he’d looked over you today, about the glint in his eyes that suggested he felt something, even if you didn’t know what. 

By the time you fall asleep, it’s the early hours of the morning. You’re angry at yourself when you wake up, your eyes burning from lack of sleep. You debate giving yourself another 15 minutes, but instead you decide to stop for coffee on the way to work. 

And that’s when you get an idea. 

Lupe seems suspicious when you walk in with two coffees in hand. “Extra tired today?” She asks as you place one down at your desk. 

You give her a shrug, “Something like that.” And duck back into the emergency department, heading for the nurse’s station. You pen “Dr. Park” on the side of the coffee cup, leaving it on the counter where he will hopefully find it. 

When you return to your desk coffee-less, Lupe gives you a knowing, disappointed glance. You take a seat, ignoring it, and call a patient to check in. 

Dana corners you in the parking lot at the end of the day. Truthfully, you’d been lingering, hoping Dr. Park might walk with you out to your car and say something about the coffee. But instead, Dana’s arm wraps around your shoulders, and she gently leads you away from the doors, further into the parking lot. 

“Hon, I’m really trying to be nice here…” She squeezes your shoulder, “I know you might think you like Dr. Park, but you gotta stop. It’s too much, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable.”

Ouch. You curl in on yourself a bit, your arms crossing in front of you. “I didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable, I just…” You don’t know how to finish your sentence. Like him? Have a crush on him? You spend hours a day thinking about him, it feels deeper than that. But it’s also not. You have only had one real conversation with him. You feel your throat tighten and you shake your head, unable to finish your sentence.

“I know, sweetie, I do.” The two of you walk in silence after that, your eyes burning as you approach your car. Maybe she’s right, you think to yourself, surely he would’ve expressed some kind of interest in you if there had been feelings there? You’d been trying to speak to him for weeks, after all, and hadn’t managed anything more than a few syllables. 

Dana sighs as the two of you stop by your car, then she steps in front of you so she can look into your eyes, her hands on your shoulders. “You gonna be okay?”

You give her a nod, thoughts running a million miles an hour. “Yeah… I think so. Thanks, Dana.”

It’s another sleepless night that night, though not for the same reasons. Instead of thinking about being with Dr. Park, you’re thinking about what it would be like to close him out forever. You think about letting go of this little crush you have, the fantasies of him in your mind, and part of you feels empty. But then, you think about leaving him the coffee, about how Dana suggested that you might be making him uncomfortable, and you’d never want that. You consider quitting your job. You don’t know how much you can control your thoughts if the man walks in your line of vision multiple times a week. But then you remember how Dana said that they want you to stay, plus you do not want to end up back in the job market. 

You still haven’t made up your mind on what to do by the time your alarm clock goes off. You coast through your shower, getting dressed, and completely forget to eat or grab a coffee on your way to the hospital. You sit in your car for a few minutes before going inside, resigning yourself to a terrible, caffeine-less day, before forcing yourself to go in. 

The sight of the iced coffee on your desk feels like a gift from heaven. 

“Lupe,” You say as you sit at your desk, taking a drink. It’s your exact order. “Thank you so much for getting me a coffee, I actually forgot to get one today.”

The other woman raises an eyebrow at you, “I didn’t get that for you. It was here when I got here.” 

“You didn’t?” You question, pulling the cup away to look at the sticker. “Then who-”

That’s when your eyes catch on the name on the cup. “Brendon.” 

Your gaze raises, finding him through the sea of people in the ER like a beacon. He’s already looking at you, and when your eyes meet his, he gives you a little, one-sided smirk and a gentle nod. 

You can barely contain your giddiness as you raise the straw to your lips again and call up your first patient to check in. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

And the thing is, Joel can’t even be mad. Well he can, but being angry is only going to make the situation worse, considering it was his anger that has caused the quiet in the first place. 

Your shoes are still by the door, which does settle his heart a bit. At least he knows you’re still here, still safe under this roof and not halfway across town sleeping at Tommy and Maria’s just to spite him. 

He grunts as he slides his boots off, placing them next to yours. His stomach growls, but he ignores it in favor of gently padding up the stairs in his socks. The hallway is dark, save for the soft light of a lamp peaking out from under the bedroom door. He pushes it open slowly, trying not to wake you. 

You’re curled up on your side of the bed, facing away from him, knees pulled up to your chest under the blanket. You’re asleep, but not peacefully. There’s a furrow in your brow and one of your hands rests on his pillow like you’re reaching out for him. 

“Oh, baby…” he whispers under his breath. Guilt surges through his veins, but he swallows it down as he begins to unbuckle his jeans. He forces himself to take a quick, cold shower, and then slides into bed next to you, lifting your hand to rest on his chest instead of the sheets. 

Your eyes flutter open. For a moment, your gaze is all love. A small smile lifts at the corner of your mouth and you start to move closer to him. Then you stop, the memories of your early morning argument reentering your mind, and pull your hand back from his skin. 

“How’d it go?” You ask. There’s concern, yes, but not the normal warm tone he usually associates with your voice and coming home. 

“Fine.” His voice is gruff and his drawl is long and slow. “Jesse shot a buck and we hauled it back.” 

You make a low humming noise in response, settling further into your own pillow, away from him. An awkward silence engulfs the room, one that is so unfamiliar between the two of you that it makes Joel’s skin crawl. 

He gives in, reaching for your arm. “C’mere.” He encourages, and you do, though the look on your face is reluctant. You don’t relax fully into him like you usually do and he huffs. “You know ‘m sorry, right?” 

“Are you?” You turn so you’re looking into his eyes, your chin against his chest. “You weren’t sorry when you left this morning.”

Joel closes his eyes tight. He regrets leaving like that, spewing angry words in your direction before slamming the door. He lifts a hand to run it through your hair and you finally curl into him. 

“I was- I am sorry.” He says again, voice even lower this time. “I shouldn’t have- I just- I don’t like leaving you to go on patrol.” 

“I know, Joel, but you can’t-”

“I know.” He interrupts you, “I know. I can’t take that out on you, baby, ‘m sorry.” 

You purse your lips like you’re pondering his words, but then you lean forward to press a kiss to his mouth. “Or you could take me with you on patrol.” 

Joel wants to tell you no. He wants to say that, if it’s up to him, he would never let you leave the safety of Jackson ever again. But he doesn’t want to fight again, and he definitely doesn’t want you to stop pressing kisses to his jaw like you are now. 

“Let’s talk about that tomorrow.” He says, and then he lifts you onto his lap, prepared to spend the rest of the night trying to get you to forget that the two of you had even fought to begin with. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

And the thing is, Joel can’t even be mad. Well he can, but being angry is only going to make the situation worse, considering it was his anger that has caused the quiet in the first place. 

Your shoes are still by the door, which does settle his heart a bit. At least he knows you’re still here, still safe under this roof and not halfway across town sleeping at Tommy and Maria’s just to spite him. 

He grunts as he slides his boots off, placing them next to yours. His stomach growls, but he ignores it in favor of gently padding up the stairs in his socks. The hallway is dark, save for the soft light of a lamp peaking out from under the bedroom door. He pushes it open slowly, trying not to wake you. 

You’re curled up on your side of the bed, facing away from him, knees pulled up to your chest under the blanket. You’re asleep, but not peacefully. There’s a furrow in your brow and one of your hands rests on his pillow like you’re reaching out for him. 

“Oh, baby…” he whispers under his breath. Guilt surges through his veins, but he swallows it down as he begins to unbuckle his jeans. He forces himself to take a quick, cold shower, and then slides into bed next to you, lifting your hand to rest on his chest instead of the sheets. 

Your eyes flutter open. For a moment, your gaze is all love. A small smile lifts at the corner of your mouth and you start to move closer to him. Then you stop, the memories of your early morning argument reentering your mind, and pull your hand back from his skin. 

“How’d it go?” You ask. There’s concern, yes, but not the normal warm tone he usually associates with your voice and coming home. 

“Fine.” His voice is gruff and his drawl is long and slow. “Jesse shot a buck and we hauled it back.” 

You make a low humming noise in response, settling further into your own pillow, away from him. An awkward silence engulfs the room, one that is so unfamiliar between the two of you that it makes Joel’s skin crawl. 

He gives in, reaching for your arm. “C’mere.” He encourages, and you do, though the look on your face is reluctant. You don’t relax fully into him like you usually do and he huffs. “You know ‘m sorry, right?” 

“Are you?” You turn so you’re looking into his eyes, your chin against his chest. “You weren’t sorry when you left this morning.”

Joel closes his eyes tight. He regrets leaving like that, spewing angry words in your direction before slamming the door. He lifts a hand to run it through your hair and you finally curl into him. 

“I was- I am sorry.” He says again, voice even lower this time. “I shouldn’t have- I just- I don’t like leaving you to go on patrol.” 

“I know, Joel, but you can’t-”

“I know.” He interrupts you, “I know. I can’t take that out on you, baby, ‘m sorry.” 

You purse your lips like you’re pondering his words, but then you lean forward to press a kiss to his mouth. “Or you could take me with you on patrol.” 

Joel wants to tell you no. He wants to say that, if it’s up to him, he would never let you leave the safety of Jackson ever again. But he doesn’t want to fight again, and he definitely doesn’t want you to stop pressing kisses to his jaw like you are now. 

“Let’s talk about that tomorrow.” He says, and then he lifts you onto his lap, prepared to spend the rest of the night trying to get you to forget that the two of you had even fought to begin with. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°