#auteurdelabre

It was the silver threads in your hair that caught Joel's eye first. Buried amongst your other shades of color it stuck out like a beacon. It was the kind of silver that sparkled in the light, that gave it an ethereal quality. Tinsel in garland. Sparkles in sunlight.

You were walking past him to enter one of the shops. He doesn't remember which. All he recalls is that Ellie was talking to him and suddenly the world got fuzzy and dim.

He stared at those shining locks as you walked in, disappearing into a shop and out of view. Until Ellie tugged at his elbow and told him to keep walking.

Joel was an eligible bachelor in Jackson. This wasn't arrogance, it was fact. Decent looking, rugged, sensitive with his adopted teen daughter. He was the best patrolman, the best shot and he knew that he was the object of more than a few crushes.

Those mostly came from younger women. Bubbly things in their twenties that batted their lashes and pretended to need his help with electronics or pipes in their homes. Women that wanted him to save them, to parent them, to fuck them hard while they called him Daddy. Things he didn't like doing and so he didn't.

He saw you again a week or so later at the Tipsy Bison. Hair tossed in a low bun, tendrils falling into your cheeks as you smiled and served the people of Jackson City.

You didn't look like Tess, but you had that same no-nonsense attitude she'd had. You loved to laugh, but you didn't suffer fools. He watched you talk to people as they came to order and you never said anything harsh unless they provoked it out of you.

You're dating one of the patrolman Joel doesn't know. Leroy something. Younger than you, slavishly devoted whenever Joel catches the two of you at the Bison.

Leroy watches you with that puppy eyed expression of absolute adoration as you serve. He smiles at everything you say, laughs at every joke you make. Joel watches it all from the other end of the bar, nursing a tumbler of whiskey and trying not to scowl.

He has no reason to stare daggers at the handsome younger man. Is not like you and Joel even know one another.

You're popular in Jackson. People are attracted not just to your looks, but your humor. Wry, witty. You're blunt in a way that suggests honesty, not cruelty.

And you're gorgeous to look at. Lines that deepen around your eyes when you smile, A body soft in the right spots, a face that knows life. There's comfort in that, a recognition that few can share. He likes the look of it.

He's drawn to it. He realizes that he wants you in a way that he hasn't wanted a woman in a very long time.

The first time he spoke to you was in passing with Tommy. He introduced him as "My brother who loves whiskey so you'll see him plenty."

"How'd you get the Bison job?" Joel asked when Tommy excused himself to talk to someone walking by. "Pretty plum gig."

"Well, I can't shoot for shit, can't cook, can't garden if my life depended on it, can't ride a horse," you listed with a shrug. "But before all this, I was a bartender at some shitty dive bar, so..."

You pushed a lock of those threaded silver strands behind your ear almost shyly. Joel silently wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

"I was a carpenter," Joel told you, hoping you found that impressive. "Tommy and I were gonna go into business for ourselves before the outbreak."

"Ambitious," you'd replied sincerely. Joel was convinced your eyes scanned him as you said it, but maybe that's was wishful thinking. "Nice to meet you, Joel."

You parted with a smile and Joel carried that interaction with him the entire week. High on the sensation of your hand shaking his as you parted, the way you smelled of coffee and soap.

The two of you don't talk often, not because there's anything wrong, more that the two of you find it easier to exist in the quiet.

When the two of you do exchange conversation Joel finds himself preoccupied with how he comes off. Does admitting that he likes country music make him seem like a redneck? Do you actually enjoy funny stories about Ellie or are you just laughing out of politeness?

It makes him keep it brief when the two of you interact, not trusting himself to sound, well, cool. With the young ladies here in Jackson they laugh over everything he says even if it's not funny. They flit around him at the Bison touching his shoulder and smiling coquettishly.

But you? You laugh if it's funny and if not, you give a tight, polite smile and avert your eyes, letting your hair fall in front of your face, a shield of silver glistening between darker locks.

He sees them today as he pushes his way into the crowded Bison. The weather is cooling, driving most indoors for drinks and cards.

He spots you dropping off a few bottles of beer, smiling and nodding before heading back behind the bar to serve the two figures seated.

Joel takes a breath and snags the last open stool. You notice him approach and give him a smile. "The usual?"

"Yes ma'am."

You return with his whiskey, sliding it across the bar top. His fingers graze yours as he takes it and he holds in a shiver.

"Thank you."

Your name is called, a group catching your attention from the other end of the bar. You leave Joel, unaware that just those few seconds have left a lasting impression that he'll think about all week.

Joel finds himself fascinated with watching you working. Idly he imagines what it would be like to have you in his home.

Do you sleep on the left or right side of the bed? What's your favorite song? Do you play an instrument? Do you like to read? Do you enjoy physical touch?

He watches you, the din of the bar disappearing. All he can focus on, all he can see is you.

"Hi, Joely."

A husky voice is at his ear, accompanied by the unmistakable sight of Tiffany, resident Jackson flirt dressed in her tightest jeans and skimpiest shirt, leaning towards him against the bar.

Despite the cooling temperature the beautiful redhead decided that hip hugging denim and a baby pink tank top was the outfit of choice.

"Hello Tiffany."

Joel holds in a cringe as the girl steps closer to him, hip against his side, fingers curled over his one shoulder. She gazes at him dreamily.

"I haven't seen you in here for a while."

"Been doin' extra patrols," Joel mutters, eyes flicking from his drink to you helping another patron and back. "Ever since-"

"-Megan broke her ankle, yeah." Tiffany nods before her voice goes cooing. "That's so kind of you. You're such a good man."

Joel feels his cheeks burn when you come back to his side of the bar just in time to hear that. Your brows flick briefly when you see how close Tiffany presses against him.

"Tiffany you look great," you say with a once-over of her clothes. "I love those jeans."

Not a trace of venomous insecurity, just a genuine appreciation for the beautiful young woman.

"Thank you so much," Tiffany beams, smiling toothily your way before her attention drifts back to Joel. "What do you think of them, Joely?"

Joel watches you poorly conceal a smirk at the nickname and wants the ground to swallow him up when he sees that. You think he's a pervert, a lecherous creep that entertains the attention of twenty-something girls.

Tiffany stands there waiting for his response which he grudgingly gives barely audible over the rim of his drink.

"They're nice."

Her fingernails drag along the waist of the jeans, teasing him. "You wanna see what's underneath em? S'real nice too."

Joel catches you smother a laugh in your shoulder as you turn to serve more of the customers. He frowns, turning to Tiffany with a frosty glare.

"Sorry kid, I'm not interested."

"Since when?"

"Since always."

Tiffany leans forward his way, breasts pressed up against his arm as she smirks. "Not always, Joely."

Joely. How undignified.

He brought it on himself though. A year ago he was too drunk and too lonely one night to fight off her advances, he'd allowed her to sit on his lap, kissing him enthusiastically as her friends watched across the crowded bar.

Thankfully that's as far as it went before the fog cleared. He'd politely excused himself, gone home and puked his guts out. Partly from the alcohol, partly because she was younger than Sarah would have been and that revolted him worse than anything.

Ever since then, Tiffany's always trying to cozy up to him when they're at the Bison at the same time.

Like now, when all he wants to do is start a conversation with you. He catches the smirking faces of a group of people Tiffany's age watching the interaction, an audience, and he scowls.

"Tiffany, go on back to your friends over there. Plenty 'a young men for you."

"I don't want those boys," she whispers seductively, eyes on his mouth. "I want a man."

"I suggest you keep lookin'."

Tiffany gives him a long, hard look. It contorts her pretty face into something vicious before she flashes a tight smile.

She flips her hair over her shoulder, brushing her shoulder against his harshly on the way to her friends.

He allows it with a small shake of his head. He's thinking about leaving before more humiliation can befall him when your voice is there.

"Another?"

Joel glances up to your beautiful face motioning to his tumbler. He blinks, voice scratchy as he nods. "Yeah. Whiskey."

"I know," you say with a knowing look before mischievous glint flashes. "I'll be right back, Joely."

///

The next week Joel sees you in the dining hall reading, lips moving silently as you nurse a cup of coffee. He watches you covertly as he gathers his own meal, moving slowly, wishing you'd turn your eyes his way.

Look at me. Notice me.

He's practically begging for your attention and it makes his cheeks burn. He carries his breakfast tray past your table, his heart hitching when you raise your head.

"Hi Joely," you tease with a grin that crinkles your eyes. "Care to join me?"

His pulse is ticking wildly as he nods, forcing himself not to look too elated at the question. He settles across from you and is like you sense his nerves because you carry the conversation. A lifting of his proverbial weight.

You like to talk about things not a lot of people do. Like how the world was before outbreak day ("Remember traveling? Like, on a plane?"). How much you hate not having the Internet ("I was really enjoying online shopping before all this infected bullshit"). And how just before the outbreak you'd been thinking about having a kid.

"Thank Christ for small miracles that never happened," you say as you stir more milk into your coffee. "Can you imagine raising a kid in this?"

"I have a daughter."

He says it tensely, the words spat out in a rush. Louder than he anticipated because around you he can't control the volume of his speech.

Your brows rise. "Here?"

"Yeah. Name's Ellie."

Your mouth begins curving into a gentle smile. "Oh, I've seen her around, actually. Funny kid."

"Yeah. She is."

He wishes he wasn't so fucking awkward. He wishes he could elaborate more on that, but instead his toast sticks in his throat.

"She your only kid?"

Joel feels like he buffers, eyes blinking rapidly. He's never been asked that. Never had someone be so bold as to inquire that.

But you did.

Anyone else he would change the subject. But your eyes tell him you've seen loss too. The kind that lives in the silver threads in your hair, the lines at the corner of your mouth. So he tells you.

"No. I had a daughter named Sarah. Lost her on outbreak day."

He assumed you'd nod, no nonsense that you were. But he feels his hand jerk in surprise when your fingers rest gently along his knuckles curled beside his coffee.

Here will come the platitudes, he thinks. The pitiful looks and I'm so sorry for your loss.

But you don't say anything. You simply squeeze his knuckles, thumb stroking a bit before pulling off and going back to your coffee.

He's stunned, not only by your actions but by the fact that Joel feels safe in that silent exchange. He didn't have to navigate empty words, that small gesture spoke volumes.

"Did you...lose anyone?" Joel ventures, feeling is a fair ask. You raise a hand, tilting it back and forth.

"Technically I guess? My husband, Theo. He was a good guy. I mean, I thought he was and I think he really was at the start. But he was a workaholic... And then he started chasing skirts. Girls younger than me and I was the last to know." At this you duck your head a little, embarrassed. "I guess I just took the wedding vows a little more seriously than he did."

The sight of your falter makes Joel wants to reassure you that you have nothing to be embarrassed about. That any asshole who would step out on a woman like you is clearly fucked in the head.

"I was actually leaving him the day everything happened," you continue. "Bags were packed in the back of the car and I was driving off into the sunset."

Joel doesn't offer you empty words either. Words like "he was a fucking idiot to let you go".. Words that he thinks, like: "I could treat you better" and "I wouldn't take you for granted."

You don't say anything more for the next little bit. But it's not a strained silence, is a comforting one. One that Joel can exhale in, can drink his own coffee and just exist.

Eventually his patrol is going to start so he bids you a good morning and leaves with his heart a little lighter, the beginning of a smile in his expression.

///

Ellie wants to go to the movie night in town the following week and Joel doesn't have anything else pressing so he joins her.

"Supposed to be a good one," she tells him as they walk, her slightly nasal voice still endearing to him. "Sleeping in Seattle."

He smirks. "Sleepless."

"Yeah whatever."

She ditches him almost immediately, waving at Dina and joining her at the far side of the darkened room. This leaves Joel standing in the bustling aisle like an idiot, glancing around for Tommy until he feels a hand at his elbow.

He glances down to see you seated next to him in one of the long pews they refurbished from the church. You smile up at him, lowering your hand back to your lap.

You nod just slightly, a brief cock of your head towards the empty spot next to you that says this seat is free.

He takes it gratefully, feeling strangely tense when his shoulders brush yours. You smell good. Your hair looks soft. So do your lips.

"Got ditched, huh?"

"Looks like it." Joel watches Ellie laughing uproariously at something her friend group has said and he feels his heart lighten at the sight.

He glances back to find you watching him with a curious little smile you tuck away when you notice.

The lights go down and Joel's heart suddenly picks up its pace. This setting suddenly feels intimate, despite being surrounded by people.

"I used to watch this all the time," you whisper to him between bites of dry popcorn. Your breath is warm on the side of his face and he swallows.

If he tilted his head right then his lips would brush yours. The thought has arousal pooling low in his belly.

"Sarah loved it too," he murmurs.

"Kid had good taste," you acknowledge, tossing back another handful.

He wants to make some sort of move but his body feels locked. You aren't like those silly girls who throw their hair back and giggle when they talk to him. You're a woman; confident and self assured.

But then he glances over the same time you do, watching the softness of your eyes and how they dart to his mouth for a fraction of a second before you're facing the screen again.

And for some reason that action makes his heart pound. It pounds so loudly that he doesn't notice the voice behind him until your smile fades and your eyes go behind him.

"Mind if I join you?"

Joel feels his jaw clench as he turns to the voice. Tiffany in another low cut shirt and tight jeans. She holds a bag of popcorn and a wide smile.

Joel glances around the darkened space, seeing plenty of open seats for her to take. His neck goes pink with embarrassment and irritation and he's about to point out the free spaces.

"Of course," you answer for him, smiling her way. "I'll shuffle down."

You're so fucking nice. And for once he wishes you weren't. Wishes you'd roll your eyes and tell her to fuck off. But instead you slide down to give room and Joel follows, allowing Tiffany to squeeze in beside him, her body pressed against his.

"Want some?" She asks, holding the popcorn Joel's way. He shakes his head, not even looking her way. He faces forward, ignoring her when she tries to get his attention.

He sits between you both feeling sweat gather at his hairline. He can't make a move on you now. If you turned him down with Tiffany watching the humiliation would be compounded.

He also can't tell Tiffany to take a hike without looking like an asshole in front of you. Rock and a hard place.

"Leroy coming?" Tiffany asks you in a whisper, bending over Joel slightly to make herself heard.

"Don't think so."

Joel's face goes stony. Leroy. He can usually forget about that dope, but hearing you speak about him makes his molars clench.

So he sits there, eyes on the screen. And incrementally he shuffles his way towards you on the bench seat. Your thighs eventually touch and when they do he's sure your lips part, as if you're trying to take a steadying breath.

He wants to touch you. A real, lingering touch. Wants to run his palm down your leg. He still remembers the feeling of your hand on his. Sometimes he replays it on the nights he's lonely. In his dreams he holds you and your hand dips between your bodies...

Fuck. The thought of you and your hand... He's getting turned on. He feels himself stiffening and he readjusts.

Baseball. Baseball. A clicker. Anything to stop this erection that's slowly swelling between his legs.

He panics, taking the popcorn bag from Tiffany and holding it over his crotch. It's a pathetic ruse, the action making you glance over just in time to see Tiffany's hand move to his thigh. Her fingers tighten around his knee, an obvious claim.

And he can't move. He can't shoot her away without moving the popcorn bag that covers his slowly ebbing erection. So he sits there, cringing until her hand slowly begins to slide up his inner thigh.

He's about to hiss something at Tiffany when he feels you stand beside him. You crouch when a sliver of light from the projector touches your cheek before you duck out of the way.

"Headache," you tell him by way of goodbye as you slide by he and Tiffany, giving you both a wave.

He watches you go, a stone in his stomach. Did you see Tiffany's hand on his thigh? If so did you see the way he was angling away from her? That he was pressed against you?

His cock lies flaccid in his jeans now and he rips Tiffany's hand from him. Popcorn goes flying as he stands, cheeks painted red, eyes burning. His voice is an angry hush, furious at her for spoiling this time with you.

"Outside. Now."

Her pretty eyes widen and she follows him like a whipped puppy. He sees Ellie glance his way, her face glowing from the movie still playing. Tom Hanks is saying something about apples.

He shakes his head at her, a 'its fine, just relax' expression. She nods, going back to the screen.

Joel stops outside the building, carding his hands through his hair in a fit of frustration. In the old days his hands would be fists finding purchase against cheeks, noses, guts. But now? His hands exist to carve, to hold a gun for patrol only... To touch soft skin and silver threaded hair.

Tiffany is waiting though, eyes wide. He tries to keep the anger from his voice.

"I don't know how many times I gotta say it, but you ain't my type, Tiffany."

"That night we kissed-"

"I was drunk. You were there."

The harshness of his words causes her to flinch back from him and he feels regretful. That was a cruel way to put it.

You're a very sweet girl, Tiffany," he says with a kindness he does not currently feel. "But you're not for me."

"Why not?"

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling. "Because I don't feel that way about you. I hope you understand that." 

Tiffany's eyes grow glossy. She motions vaguely to the town. "You like her? The lady from the Bison?"

Joel doesn't answer. He doesn't want her knowing his feelings before you do. Tiffany stares balefully up at him, arms crossed, chin jutted. 

"But... she's old." 

Joel gives a small scoff. "Old?"

"She has grey in her hair." 

"So do I." 

"Yeah but...  With you..." 

Tiffany can't seem to understand or explain it. The double standard that when it comes to silver hair men are sexy and women are just old. 

"It doesn't matter," Joel says shaking his head, hand raising to waist level and slicing gently through the air. "Nothin' is ever gonna happen with us again. Got it?" 

She's angry, she's hurt and she's embarrassed. Each of these emotions plays out clearly in her face. Acceptance comes peeking out in an exhale following a nod before they part. 

"Bye, Joely." 

///

Maria requests Joel's presence to go over some building plans with Tommy the following week. The office is busy with Maria's group so the Bison is decided upon, quiet as it is during the day. 

Plus, on Tuesdays Seth works. Which means no humiliation to be had for Joel. He can't look you in the face after that fucking movie. He's convinced that you saw Tiffany groping him and he needs a bit of time to work up the nerve to talk to you again. 

Except when he pushes through the swinging doors that Tuesday you're there behind the bar, wiping down glasses and yawning. Joel feels his steps falter a moment. Since when do you work Tuesdays? 

You're dressed simply in a white T-shirt and jeans, an apron around your waist, but the sight is enough to have Joel willing his arousal to ebb.  

"Hey stranger. Tommy'll be here soon," you toss over your shoulder when you notice him. "He said for you to wait. Whiskey?"

Joel's nods as you pour the drink. "Yeah. Thank you, kindly." 

You slide the glass his way, corking the bottle and continuing to wipe down the counter, humming to yourself. He watches the motion, the way your wrist twists. 

"You always work Tuesdays?"

"Nah, Seth is under the weather. Said I'd fill in for him." 

Joel watches you a moment, bringing the drink to his lower lip and just letting it rest there. You move with confidence, hair tied back from your face, fingers working quickly to rub at a spot on one of the glasses. He stares at your neck leading into the length of your spine and he  has the strangest desire to see it in full, naked in his tub. 

Not for the obvious, but because he can't stop the thought of your hair piled on top of your head, your back to him, and him pouring a steady stream of warm down down your back. He imagines it trickling down your spine, how it would shine in the flickering light. 

He imagines you looking over your shoulder at him with one of those warm smiles you give every so often. His own eyes are now unfocused, glazed and fixed on you. 

You must feel him staring because your eyes suddenly jump to his face. "You need anything else?"

Joel comes back to the present, blinking away the soft arousal beginning everywhere. 

"Nope." 

You nod slowly before you go back to organizing the bottles on the shelf behind the bar. 

Joel wishes he was like Tommy: charming and at ease around everyone. His brother never got tongue tied around a beautiful woman. If anything he was smoother. Meanwhile Joel's neck tinged pink every time a pretty lady looked his way. 

It's no different now. Tommy is sweet and open and everyone loves him. Joel is an enigma that few really know. He's not despised by any means, he's a valuable part of the settlement. But he's not exactly Mr. Social. 

But right now he wishes he was. He wants to keep talking to you about anything and everything.  But no topics will enter his brain, no subjects he can think of so he lands on the first that rattles to the front of his mind. 

"Surprised the boyfriend isn't here," Joel murmurs, trying to seem nonchalant as he sips his drink. 

"Huh?" You turn his way, squinting. "Who?"

He began cringing the second it left his lips and your confused response has him burning. 

"Leroy I think his name is?" Joel pretends to be unsure, as if he hasn't filed every piece of information regarding you away in his brain. 

"Leroy sure isn't my boyfriend," you scoff, not unkindly. More like the idea amuses you.  

"He know that?"

"Leroy can believe what he wants to believe," you shrug with a half smirk. "I told him I just wanted to fuck and he's the only one around who's willing." 

Joel doesn't say what he's thinking. That he's willing. That he's pretty sure a bunch of the regulars here who linger at the bar would love a chance to take you to bed.

"But he didn't seem to get that," you continue. "S'why I had to end the arrangement."

Arrangement. Just sex. Images assault him: you arched on his sofa with his cock thrusting to the hilt, you on your knees, his hand curled around your cheek, your silver tinged hair pooled under your head on his pillow as you take him deep in his bed groaning out his name. 

And Joel thinks you're telling him this for a reason. You're putting it out there, teasing him. Casting a line to see what bites. 

Joel's pulse spikes at the thought and he can't stop picturing you in his home. In his bed. In his clothes as you drink coffee at his table. Your silver threaded hair over his lap as you read on his couch with him. He can't control his mouth. 

"You lookin' for a new arrangement?" 

Your attention snaps to his face and his gaze is slightly averted, big hands laced around his tiny shot glass, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his flannel. 

"With you?"

He swallows, nodding. "Yeah." 

Joel watches something flicker behind your eyes as he finally meets your gaze.  His blood roars in his ears and he thinks he might pass out from the anticipation when you finally reply. 

You shake your head. "No, but thanks." 

Joel feels a sickening thud in his stomach. The painful sting of rejection. It makes him flinch, the tips of his ears turning a violent pink when the door to the Bison cracks open and he hears the familiar voice of Tommy. 

"I got those- Oh, hey, Joel," Tommy interrupts himself as he spots his brother. "What're you doin' here?"

Joel can barely glance Tommy's way, his voice is caught in his throat from humiliation and he can feel your eyes on him. 

"Maria said you wanted to talk about one of the east builds," he manages to choke out.

"Oh, that's right," Tommy says, sliding the fabric bag he's got towards you. 

You take it silently, moving to the back of the bar to give the brothers space.  Joel watches you go, feeling both dejected and furious in equal measure. 

///

After that, Joel doesn't visit the Bison all that often and if he does, it's only on Tuesdays. He still burns with humiliation when he thinks of your casual dismissal. 

No, but thanks. 

You didn't seem disgusted by him the times before. Didn't you let him rest his thigh against yours in the movie? Didn't you lean extra close to whisper about how much you liked the movie? 

No, but thanks. 

Jesus. It hits his pride, his ego, his self worth all in one. It's not like he's the youngest or the most handsome guy in town. But shit, he isn't hideous. 

Is he? 

///

"No, you're not hideous," Maria tells him with a roll of her eyes later that month, rubbing her pregnant belly. "Maybe you're just not her type." 

Of course that's the reason. 

It's fair. He's old and grumpy at times. Monosyllabic when he's tired. He's not exactly a catch. 

But it's hard because when he does see you in town, in passing, you act like everything is the same. You still wave to him, a smile ready. You ask him about Ellie. You remark that his barstool has been consciously empty the past few weeks. 

So what game are you playing at? And is it a game? You didn't seem the type, but he's been wrong before.

You must just see him as a friend. And if that's all he can have of you he'll have to be satisfied with that.  But it doesn't stop the longing he has for you. Doesn't stop the fire in his belly some nights. 

And when he goes to the Bison one night to grab a drink and sees a bunch of folks dancing to some guy playing guitar, it doesn't stop the ardent desire to sweep you into a dance when he spots you. 

You're at the perimeter of the space, hair down, color on your lips. You're dressed up a bit, the shirt tighter, a few embroidered peonies on the neckline. 

"Tommy thought a music night would help morale," you tell him over the music. You sway a bit, hips tipping in a sultry movement that makes his mouth run dry. 

"I miss the days when I could really dress up," you tell him with a small pout that deepens the lines at your mouth. "I had this slinky black number that never failed." 

At this you giggle, a girlish, light sound that makes Joel smile at the sound. He thinks of your slinky black number. Wonders if it was low cut in the front or the back, both equally enticing.

"How about you?" You ask him, bottle at your lips. "Did you have a never-fail outfit you used on the chicks?" 

"Nah," he grins around the word. "Flannel guy through and through." 

"Dimple did all the work for you I bet," you offer, eyes scanning his form briefly. "Shoulders too. Bars closed, lemme grab you a beer." 

The quick, breezy way you say it makes the meaning come belatedly. You're already crossing the floor to say hello to your friends when Joel realizes your compliment. 

Friends don't make comments like that. 

A hand touches him gingerly and he flinches out of his reverie to see Tiffany smiling up at him. 

"Is it still okay to say hi?" Tiffany asks him, looking so woebegone that Joel feels guilty for being so harsh with her before. He softens incrementally, a gentle lift of his lips. The same expression he uses when Ellie, in a rare moment of repentance, apologieses to him. 

"Of course." 

"I thought about what you said," she says over the music, face drawing close so he can hear her. He tilts slightly, his bad ear making it hard to hear her. 

"I'm sorry... About before," she says with her face reddening. "I knew you didn't want me but I just... I think it's just because you're so nice to Ellie. And your so good at patrols and you were always so kind to me... You just seem safe." 

"I appreciate that." He shifts, his eyes on her. "But I owe you an apology too. I never should've kissed you that night, Tiffany. I'd had too much to drink but that ain't your fault or your problem. I'm sorry about that." 

Tiffany nods, softening. That apology was long overdue. The two of them share a small, tender smile and when Tiffany stands on tiptoes and presses a kiss to Joel's cheek, its chaste. A sweet goodbye and thank you. 

"Here's your beer."

Joel glances over to see you giving him a stoic look, beer bottle extended his way. He steps back from Tiffany like she's on fire. You smile her way when she greets you, but it doesn't touch your eyes. 

He takes the proffered bottle from you, fingers grazing before you snatch them back. 

"Thank you." 

He holds the sweating amber glass, feeling sick. 

Tiffany is still standing there, glancing between the two of you and notices the small hitch in her face. A mischievous, knowing look. Joel pinks. 

"I'll see you two later," Tiffany says, casting a small wink Joel's way as she sashays off in the direction of her friend group. 

You stand awkwardly, holding your own half-emptied beer bottle. You're jaw is ticking and Joel is desperate for you to know that this is not the kind of man he is. 

"That wasn't what it looked like," Joel says in a rush. He knows his cheeks are scarlet now. He's thankful there's no one close enough to hear the two of you. 

"Not my business." 

You say it sharply, like it is your business and you hate that it is. And for a moment Joel is irked. You're the one that turned him down. 

No, but thanks. 

He takes a deep breath. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Go for it." 

"You're not seeing Leroy."

"Is that the question?" You smirk his way, some of the chill melting.  

"Have you got another... Arrangement?" 

You shake your head slowly. "Nope." 

Joel nods, taking a long sip of his beer, delaying the question he needs to ask. The one that's been rattling around in his head for the better part of three weeks. He steps closer to you, his voice a quiet rasp. 

"Why'd you turn me down?" He sees your eyes find his, pupils widening. "We have good conversations, seems like you enjoy my company. Am I just not your type?" 

He cringes as the last self-conscious comment leaves his mouth. He's a grown fucking man and he's standing there like some lovesick idiot. 

Time stretches as your pupils grow wider. 

"Of course you're my type," you murmur, and for the first time since he met you, you seem a bit uncertain. Not as confident. "I mean, look at you. You're sex on legs, Joel. Got a personality to match." 

Pride restored. The knot in his chest loosened. But your compliment doesn't answer the question. He steps closer, feeling the warmth of your body seep into his. 

"Then why turn me down?" 

You swallow but don't look away from him. Your pupils continue to expand, overtaking your iris. 

"Didn't just want to sleep with you," you finally  tell him simply. "You're the kinda guy I'd want something real with."

Joel blinks. 

"You think I don't imagine what it'd be like to have you do depraved things to me?" You tease. "Think I don't sit around in my empty place and wish you were there with me?" 

Joel melts. He feels his body go gooey and his pulse rabbits. You feel the same. But then...

"I'm not looking for an arrangement from someone like you," you finish. "I genuinely enjoy talking to you. I like how you treat your daughter and how you speak to me. I respect how you put others first. I've asked around and that's the kind of guy you are. Have always been. You're a man in every way."  

You asked around about him? Joel feels the fluttery brush of butterfly wings in his stomach, grazing his heart. The praise is making his ears hot and he smiles crookedly. 

"But you obviously want something casual and you seem to have a penchant for pretty young things and that's perfectly fine," you say gently. "It's just not what I'm lookin' for in a partner. Been there done that." 

His face drops.  "That's not-"

"It's fine, really," you insist and he thinks you look a little sad when you say it. "I'm good to be friends. It's always good to have those. It's probably better that way."

Joel is starting to panic when he is sees the resolve in your face, his words getting lost as the guitarist starts up again and the crowd cheers. 

Next up, a little tune from Willie Nelson!

"Wait," Joel croaks. "That's not...."

But you don't hear him, you're just giving his wrist a squeeze as you go. You mouth something like "Have a good night."and then you're gone, silver threads twinkling in the light. 

///

Joel tries not to be despondent the following morning. But it's hard because he keeps turning the conversation over in his mind me as he lays in bed. 

"I'm good to be friends. It's always good to have those. It's probably better that way." 

Fuck. He missed his chance. Why didn't he just collect himself that first day and make a move? An overture? Something? 

He wants to blame Tiffany but she can't be held responsible. She's barely twenty-three. She was chasing comfort and safety. 

Probably better that way. 

Probably better that way. 

It's not better that way. 

It's not. 

The door to his bedroom creaks open behind him and he rolls slightly to glance over his shoulder, seeing Ellie peek her eyes around the door. 

"Hey. Someones at the door for you. I'm going to see Kat." 

He doesn't have time to ask who's at the door before she's scurried away, sneakers slapping the wood floor. He hears the faint sound of murmured voices and then the front door is closed again. 

He groans, pulling himself to a stand, slipping on sweatpants. He wanted to spend more time feeling sorry for himself in bed and this unannounced visitor has him feeling growly. 

He thumps heavily down the creaking steps, a scowl firmly on his face. That is until he views the figure standing inside the door. You're crouched slightly, squinting at a nearby painting in curiosity. It's a  landscape that one of his neighbors gave him when he and Ellie moved in. 

You glance his way when you hear his footsteps. Your smile is tentative as you straighten. 

"Hey." 

He knows that he's staring. He feels underdressed in sweatpants and a ratty white t-shirt, but your eyes are mapping his body in a way that suggests you don't mind at all.

And you? You look sexy as fuck. Black shirt hugging your curves, hair tousled. Joel jolts, realizing he's just staring at you. 

"C'mon in. I'll start the coffee." 

"Brought some." You dig into the tote you carry and produce a dented green thermos. "Got honey?" 

He nods, waiting for you to follow him into the kitchen. Sunbeams warm the space, spilling over your face as you take the seat across from him, glancing at the mugs he brings over.  

You watch him pour the coffee and he notices you look concerned as your eyes move from his hand to his face. "Did I wake you?'

Joel shakes his head. "No no. Just bein' lazy." 

"Mhm." You nod, eyes dropping to your mug. "I was too until I got a visitor." 

"Oh?"

He tilts back in the chair, raising the mug to rest on his plump lower lip. He regards you curiously when you give a sort of half smile. 

"Yeah, Tiffany dropped by."

Joel's eyes widen, dark pools of shocked brown. "She did."

You nod, smirk widening as you glance up from your coffee. "Yeah. She came  knocking at dawn, barged right into my place claiming I needed to know something about you and her."

Joel shifts in his chair, clearing his throat. For the first time since the two of you locked eyes he's wondering how he looks. Hair wild from his pillow, eyes small and sleepy. 

And he feels irritation burn like acid in his chest. Didn't he and Tiffany talk? Didn't he make it perfectly fucking clear to her that-

"She wanted me to know, in no uncertain terms, that you like me and you have for a while."

Joel's body goes still as a statue. You keep going, looking both amused and a little anxious. 

"That she was sweet on you, chasing after you because of a drunken kiss and that you keep turning her down because she's too young. Not your type." You cock your head. "That true about you and her?"

Joel swallows, fingers tightening around the mug handle as he lowers it to the table. 

"Yep." The p pops when he says it, red crawling up the back of his neck. 

Your head remains slightly tilted, eyes glittering. "And the first part?"

"Yes."

You give a puckish smile at the sight, clearly delighted by the speed of his response. You nod. 

"Okay." 

He holds his breath and watches as you slowly rise to a stand, your coffee forgotten. He follows the swing of your hips as you come around the table. He shifts his body, legs widening as he stares up. 

He can see your eyes darkening and without waiting you step between the vee of his parted legs. 

You reach forward timidly, fingers going to the temple of his hair. He holds his breath as your fingers gently rake the curls there.

"I wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked," you murmur breathlessly. He holds in a whine when you lightly tug. 

He slides his hands to the backs of your thighs, staring up at you. From this angle the sun lights up your hair, those silver threads twinkling down at him. He thinks you look unearthly. A goddess. 

"I want more than an arrangement," you tell him plainly. "I want a partner. I want loyalty. I want great sex and laughter. If you can't give me those things tell me now. Because I'm dangerously close to falling for you, Joel Miller." 

He jerks so quickly to a stand that you step back only to be pulled forward, his long fingers curling through your belt loops and tugging you close. You hiccup a gasp, palms sliding up his front. 

"I can give you all that and more," he promises huskily, eyes on your pretty, glossy lips.  

You give him one of your devastating smiles. The one that crinkles your eyes and makes your mouth curve wide, cheeks swollen. 

Joel feels everything fall into place the second he cranes his neck forward, head tilting and lips connecting with yours. You were waiting for it, a small sigh escaping you as your mouth moves against his. 

And it's just as good as he thought it would be. Just as sweet and tender and intense. He's hard, throbbing in his jeans, so quickly turned on that he's almost embarrassed. But you don't seem upset, you're grinding against him.

He rests his forehead against yours as you part, the two of you breathless and giddy. 

"For what it's worth, I already fell a long time ago, darlin'." 

You give a small laugh before your mouth finds his again. And he groans when you gently start to lick into his mouth, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. 

Joel feels affection surge through him, making his fingertips tingle as he continues to kiss you, arms around your waist, his tongue tasting your mouth. He let's out a small groan as you tangle your fingers in his hair. 

The sound does something to you because you give a soft inhale.  "Bedroom," you whisper between kisses. 

What began as tender turns feverish as the two of you make your way to Joel's room. You stop every few steps for Joel to pin you to the wall, kissing you breathless before you continue on up the stairs. 

His bedroom is at the the end of the hallway, your dual footsteps rapid. He holds your hip with one hand, the other at the back of your neck as he walks you backwards into his bedroom. 

"Nice room," you quip as he kicks the door closed behind you both. 

"Nicer bed," he tells you. 

Before long his t-shirt has been tugged over his head and his fingers are impatiently scrabbling at your shirt buttons. 

With a smile against his mouth you undo them with one hand, the other curled around his neck as the two of you continue to kiss. He's got you against the bedroom wall, thigh wedged between your legs as you move against one another. 

"Joel," you murmur, eyes closed as your lips part. "I've lived a life, I'm not easy, I'm stubborn-" 

"You're all I want," he responds, his hands sliding to cup your cheeks. "Don't change a thing." 

"Even my hair?" You tease, giggling up at him. "Tiffany says I'd look less old with it colored. I think she was trying to be nice, giving me advice." 

No. These threads of grey, these evidence of life, he can't imagine you without them. Just like he can't imagine you without that twinkle in your eyes. The confidence in which you approach the world. The way you're just you in every way. 

"Don't you change a damn hair on your head," he husks, fingers coming to slide up your neck and into your locks. "Not for me."

And now his fingers move through your hair, finally touching these glittering strands, and they're just as soft as he thought they'd be. 

He presses gently into your scalp, rubbing. He watches your eyes flutter back at the massage his cock aches at the sight. His mouth finds the side of your neck, nibbling, kissing, licking there. 

"Take me to bed," you whimper. "Please." 

Jeans are unbuttoned, underclothes shed until the two of you are naked, panting at each other with kiss-swollen lips and mussed hair. 

Joel can't stop taking in your body, memorized by the shape of you. You're so soft, so fucking real, so perfect. He can't wait to touch you everywhere, to lay you back on his bed and devour between your delicious looking thighs. 

But you must take his silent observation for studious appraisal because your body turns tense, straightening. You cross your arms over your chest, absurdly formal considering you're entirely nude. 

"What you see is what you get," you tell him, chin tilted high, defiance in your warbling tone.  "I'm not twenty anymore." 

Joel's wide grin is smothered when he presses a gentle kiss to your lips and scoops you into his muscled arms, carrying you to his bed.