The streets of Jackson were slick and empty at this hour, puddles catching the glow of scattered porch lights. Joel’s boots slapped against the wet earth as he made his way home, heart thudding a little harder the closer he got. He told himself he was just hungry and wanted a hot shower.

All bullshit.

He wanted you.

The house was quiet when he pushed the door open, the faint scent of something cooked hours ago still hanging in the air. He shrugged off his jacket, water dripping onto the floor, and noticed the plate waiting for him on the counter, neatly wrapped in tin foil. A small, quiet thing that made his chest ache.

He moved toward it, and that’s when he heard it.

A melody, soft and low, threaded through the hush of the house. The notes were careful, like fingers brushing against old keys, and after a beat, your voice followed. Fragile, at first. Uncertain. Then steady. Beautiful in a way that made the hair on his arms stand up.

Joel froze.

He hadn’t known you could sing. Hadn’t known you could play. You’d never let that part of yourself slip through the cracks you showed him.

The song wasn’t anything he recognized — something old, or something you’d made up yourself. It didn’t matter. It was yours, and it reached him in a place nothing else ever did.

He followed the sound, stopping in the doorway to the living room. There you were, sitting at the old upright piano someone in town had managed to scavenge and restore. Lamplight pooled around you, catching in your hair, your face soft and unguarded in a way he rarely saw.

And fuck, if it didn’t knock the air clean out of his lungs.

Joel leaned against the doorframe, watching your fingers move over the keys, how your mouth shaped the words like you were afraid they might break if you weren’t careful. A lump rose in his throat, sudden and sharp.

He realized in that moment, as stupid and hopeless as it was in a world like this, he was falling for you. Had already fallen, probably. But this? Seeing you like this, hearing you like this? It was the kind of thing a man didn’t come back from.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t dare break the spell. Just stood there, soaking it in, and let himself ache for you in a way he hadn’t let himself ache for anything in years.

Your voice was soft, like the brush of wind through tall grass, or the last notes of a lullaby someone half-remembered. There was a quiet strength in it, steady and unflinching in a way that caught Joel right in the chest, just like you.

The melody wrapped around the room, filling the empty corners with something warm and aching. Joel knew a lot of old songs, but this one didn’t belong to any of them. It was yours. He could hear it in the way you sang it, like it came from someplace deep, from old hurts and stubborn hope.

And damn if it didn’t settle under his ribs, a weight and a warmth all at once.

When you finally looked up, startled to find him standing there, Joel saw the flicker of embarrassment cross your face, like you’d been caught with something you weren’t ready to share. But before you could say a word, he crossed the room in a few strides.

His hand came up, rough fingers cupping your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye. His voice was low, softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Been waitin’ on you to let me see you like this.”

There wasn’t anything teasing in his tone, no smirk or sharp edge. Just something honest, and maybe a little wrecked, like the sight of you had undone a knot inside him he didn’t know he’d been carrying.

“I… I haven’t played in a long time,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers lingered on the piano keys, the final notes of your song still hanging faintly in the air like a memory. You risked a glance up at Joel, and for once, you let him see it—the raw, unguarded thing behind your eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you added, softer now, like it might make the truth easier to say. “Was… waiting for you to come back from patrol.”

Joel’s features softened, the hard line of his jaw easing as he took a careful step closer. His hand rubbed at the back of his neck, a habit you’d come to recognize when he wasn’t sure what to do with all the feeling inside him.

“I didn’t mean to startle you—” he started, but you shook your head before he could finish.

“No,” you said quickly, the word catching a little in your throat. “It’s okay. I… I wanted to play for you. I just didn’t know how.”

The room held still for a beat, the soft ticking of the clock the only sound between you. Then Joel’s mouth twitched into the barest ghost of a smile, and without a word, he turned toward the old guitar leaning against the wall.

He picked it up gently and lowered himself onto the bench beside you, the wood creaking quietly beneath his weight. His shoulder brushed yours, and when you looked over at him, there was something in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. 

“Well,” he murmured, fingers absently testing the strings. A low, familiar chord hummed through the room as he strummed, and you felt it settle in your bones. Joel nodded toward the keys in front of you.

“Play somethin’. I’ll follow.”

Your heart raced, but you nodded, hands finding their place on the worn ivory keys. You played, slower this time, letting the melody stretch and breathe, and Joel fell in beside you with ease, his guitar filling the spaces your piano left open.

Your voice found its way back, softer, but steadier than before. It was just the two of you, filling up the quiet, saying all the things neither of you knew how to say in words.

When the song faded, neither of you moved to break the moment. Joel’s hand brushed against yours on the keys, a touch so light you almost wondered if you imagined it.

“Shoulda told me you could do this,” he said quietly.

You smiled and leaned your shoulder against his. “Guess I didn’t know how.”

“You always sing when you can’t sleep?” he murmured, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.

You huffed a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Not usually. Only… when it hurts or my mind is out of control.”

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice rough. “I know that one.”

He set the guitar aside and turned to face you. His hand found your knee, thumb tracing a thoughtless circle there.

“You got a way’a makin’ it hurt less,” he admitted, gaze dropping to where his thumb moved against your skin. “Didn’t… didn’t expect it. Didn’t think there was much left in me for somethin’ like this.”

Your throat tightened. You weren’t good at this. Neither of you were. But something about the way he looked just then, like he’d finally let himself stop running, made you brave enough to reach for his hand, to lace your fingers through his.

“I was scared you’d hear,” you whispered. “And now I’m scared of how bad I wanted you to.”

Joel huffed out a quiet, shaky laugh. He squeezed your hand, brought it up between you, and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I ain’t good at sayin’ things,” he confessed, his voice low and rough, like every word cost him. “But you oughta know… you’re it for me.”