#grumpy joel

Leela. That was her name. Tommy and Maria had told him her family had been here before them, before all of this, that she’d grown up in Jackson, that the big white house across from his had always been hers. He instantly believed it—her place didn’t look like the others. It was well-kept in a way that wasn’t just for show. The wood was aged, but it was polished, the porch steps stayed sturdy, and the windows were wiped clean even in the dead of winter. A home, not just a shelter.

Though it wasn’t warm.

Not with that sound in the night. Not when he never saw anyone else go inside, ever.

No one knew who the kid’s father was, and Leela never said. She wouldn’t even let people help her—not Maria, not the older women in town who had tried, not even the ones who had kids of their own and knew what to do. And now, at the end of another long day, that fucking baby was crying again.

Joel had tried to let it be. Had forced himself to breathe, stay in his house, shut the curtains, turn over in bed and pull the blanket over his head like some stubborn old bastard trying to pretend it wasn’t his problem.

But it was.

Because he could hear it. And it sounded fucking miserable, and he’d had enough.

When the cries began to get worse in the night, that was his last straw. With a frustrated sigh, he yanked on his jacket, shoved his arms through the sleeves, and stepped out into the cold, the door crashing shut behind him. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he crossed the road, hands tightening into fists, shoulders squared. The wind blew at him, biting into his skin, augmenting his edge, and when he reached her porch, he had half a mind to just bang on the damn door until she answered.

But—he hesitated.

There was still a kid in there. The devilkin, probably. A baby, nevertheless, and its struggling mother.

He exhaled through his nose, loosened his fingers, and reached for the old metal knocker instead. Three firm, unchanging raps.

A pause. A paddle of footsteps down the staircase inside, light and hesitant. A sniffle. A sigh.

The curtains fluttered from nearby—just a fraction, just enough for him to catch the glint of an eye in the darkness, shedding a blade of light onto the frozen lawn. And then the door creaked open.

The poor mother looked like hell.

Her eyes—pretty, brown, red-rimmed, heavy-lidded—held the kind of exhaustion that settled deep, beyond sleep, beyond fixing. Her cheeks were hollowed, her lips chapped to brown, her long hair falling loose from whatever attempt she’d made to pull it back.

And the baby—the cries hadn’t stopped. If anything, they were worse now. Closer, desperate. The sound reached him in waves, piercing, thin, rattling against the walls of the house and clawing at something deep in his chest. A familiarity.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she murmured. Her voice was raw, barely holding together. “I just…”

She trailed off as if the words had run out, or she didn’t have the strength to find them. Then the baby shrieked, and she flinched. A full-body recoil, like the sound had physically struck her. She turned away, pushing her wrist to her nose, shoulders curling inward, folding into herself as though she could disappear into the space she took up.

And Joel—well, he had been ready to lay into her. To tell her to do something, to figure it out, to stop letting that kid cry itself raw night after night. But looking at her now, standing there with her arms wrapped tight around herself, shaking from something that wasn’t just the cold…

He couldn’t do it.

Instead, against every instinct, every frustration, he surprised himself by saying—

“Let me try.”

X

Joel didn’t exactly wait for an answer.

Didn’t stop to think if he had the right or question if she would let him in, because the noise was still there, splitting the air, working its way under his skin like a thorn that wouldn’t come out. His jaw tightened once more, and the next thing he knew, he was pushing past her and her doorstep.

He wasn’t trying to be cruel. Well, he had been, just not anymore.

It was beyond audacity or desperation. A need to stop that noise. That noise had been giving him sleepless nights for a week now, and with it came the memories he’d spent years burying. He couldn't afford to let them resurface by the likes of this strange, terrible mother.

Leela's house smelled faintly of old wood, old cotton, dust, and a softness underneath—like sun-warmed linen, the lingering scent of a person who lived there and never once left. It was dark, too, save for the single glow spilling from a room upstairs. His boots were lumbering against the worn floorboards, his breaths crowding in his chest as he took the stairs two at a time. Nearly six doors on the second floor as far as he could see, but only one was open.

He stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was the cradle, right in the centre of the empty room, definitely placed there on purpose, a meagre little crib mobile fashioned into wooden horses, dangling mid-air.

Old. The hinges were barely holding together. The wood had whittled away from time, its edges dulled, a possible relic that had been used for generations. The mattress inside was thin, its fabric stained with age, but the flowery sheets were neatly tucked and arranged properly. Everything was in its place.

This wasn’t neglect.

This was someone trying—failing.

And then the baby. The newborn, should he say. No older than a month, wriggling in its white nappy, legs kicking in frantic little bursts, tiny fists curled so tight they trembled. Tears slicked its cheeks, its face blotchy and red against the tanned skin, its mouth stretched wide in a scream so raw, so piercing, that it stole the breath straight from the lungs. It didn’t take a dumbass like him to know it was starving, wasting away with exhaustion.

But goddamn, if that wasn’t one beautiful fucking baby.

Biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen, glassy, glinting, wet and searching. A head full of thick, dark hair, clammy and curling at the ends like downy little question marks. But it wasn’t chubby the way babies should be. Not soft enough. Too small, skin drawn tight, movements restless but weak. Malnourished.

His jaw clenched. He barely registered the sharp footsteps rushing up behind him until the mother's voice cut through the noise.

“Hey, ‘scuse me, I didn’t let—”

He cut off her protest with an abrupt, “Boy or girl?”

She stopped short, her lips parting. She swallowed down whatever she’d been about to say.

“Girl,” she breathed.

Joel’s gaze flicked back to the baby. He noticed the slight bloating around her belly, the way she arched and curled, restless, like she couldn’t find a position that didn’t hurt. That explained the shrieking. Colic, for sure.

“You fed her anything?”

There was a thoughtful pause, and then, quietly—

“I—I’ve been having trouble with…” She gestured vaguely to her chest, gaze dropping, almost ashamed. “I tried some water... um... I don't know.”

Jesus Christ. Joel dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard through his nose. Too late at night or too early in the morning—he didn’t know which, and at this point, it didn’t matter. His head ached. His body ached. And this baby girl—this poor, starving little thing—had been too hapless to be born to this fucking clueless, stubborn, dreadful mother.

“Need to call Maria,” he said under his breath.

Her eyes went wide. “I don’t need anybody’s help. I'm fine.”

He let out a sharp, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “You don't. Your girl sure does. And try saying that when this crib empties in the next week.”

She flinched, shoulders jerking.

He barely registered his words drawing blood. He was already moving, already slipping into old instinct, the one he assumed had died a long time ago.

Stepping closer, Joel reached into the cradle, hands slipping beneath the baby’s small, rigid spine. Carefully, he eased her onto her stomach, a shush falling from his lips, settling her against his forearm, palm spanning nearly the length of her body. Christ, she was so fucking small. Too small. Probably premature. A frail, small thing, light as air, fists still curled, breaths coming out in tiny, shuddering gasps between screeching cries.

Leela stood stiff beside him, her breath as uneven as her baby’s, arms wrapped around herself as though she wasn’t sure if she should step forward or pull away.

Joel didn’t look at her. His focus stayed on the newborn. On how her delicate limbs jerked, how her cries wavered like she couldn’t decide if she had the energy to keep going.

He started rubbing gentle, calming circles against her back, one that had been taught to him by a kind nurse in the maternity ward decades ago, and as the calloused warmth of his palm pressed softly but firmly over her fragile bones, he remembered. The old, terrible sentiment stirred in him—buried deep, and it twisted like a knife. He didn’t think about it. Didn’t let himself. He simply kept stroking, kept murmuring, low, quiet, syllables he wasn’t even aware of.

“Thatta, girl. There you go.”

“'Sokay, ssh. Ssh.”

“I got you.”

The wails started to waver, breaking apart in the middle, turning into stuttering hiccups, then snivels, a laughable baby burp that even had him breaking into a small smile. Then—

Silence. Oh, sweet, splendid silence.

Joel exhaled, keeping his touch measured as she shuddered against him, her tiny fingers twitching against the sleeve of his jacket.

“See? Just needed a little push,” he mumbled.

Leela was staring. Not at him, exactly, but at his hands, at the way he held the baby. Like she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Observing him, learning.

When he glanced down, she was blinking up at him, half-lidded, her breath slowing, her little body going limp with exhaustion. She made a wet, little noise, almost a soft coo.

“She got a name?”

When the silence lingered, he lifted his head, caught Leela’s hollow stare, and cocked a brow when she didn’t answer. Then, she silently shook her head.

Joel’s hands closed around an imaginary gun as he frowned. “You didn’t name your kid?”

And just like that, it clicked into place. The way she stood there, arms locked tight around herself, or how she hadn’t called the baby anything, not a nickname, no endearments. The way she hadn't moved a step closer to protect her baby from this stranger. The hesitance in her voice as she held herself together, unknowingly accosting a struggle.

“She’s yours, ain’t she? Whole damn town knows.”

Her gaze flickered, a firmness rising. “She is.”

After a beat, she lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing the crisscross of stretch marks across her stomach, just above the line of her pants.

Joel sighed through his nose. His fingers ghosted over the baby’s small back before he finally let go, letting her rest in her mother's arms. It felt wrong—leaving the baby there like that—but he slipped his hand away, albeit unwillingly, and stroked her fine, dark hair once. Twice. Then forced himself to stop. Not mine, he assured himself.

He breathed out, standing upright, rubbing a hand over his face. His patience was hanging by a thread. He had no business being here, no reason to care, but—

“Look,” he muttered, frustration leaching through, “you shouldn't have had a kid if you were just gonna sit around and do fuck all. Jesus, at least get yourself some help.”

Leela cringed, a barely noticeable flicker of movement, but he caught it. She turned her face away, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, and bit at what little was left of her nail, worrying it between her teeth.

The sight of it—it wasn’t what he expected. He had been bracing for an argument, for defensiveness, for anger. But there was nothing there but the empty gnawing of her thumbnail, the restless shifting of her fingers, all of which dropped an uneasy knot into his gullet.

He exhaled sharply. “Maria’s coming in tomorrow,” he said, and as he did, he was setting it in stone. “Whether you like it or not. She'll know what to do with... the baby.”

Which earned him a glance. And for the first time, he really saw Leela.

The flawed mother behind the exhaustion, the red-rimmed eyes, the way she curled in on herself like she was trying to take up as little space as possible—and especially, the fear. That deep, paralysing, unspeakable fear that settled into a person’s bones and made a home there.

Then his eyes flicked downward, back to the baby. The baby girl had her mother’s eyes. Big, dark, brimming with wildness, untamed endurance. But a fragility, caught on the verge of bolting. And in that moment, they both looked the same.

Wet. Trembling. Exhausted. Confused. Helpless.

Leela swallowed thickly, lips parting like she wanted to speak. But when she did, her voice barely made it past her throat. “Take her.”

Joel blinked. For a second, he thought he must’ve misheard.

But she was looking at him, explicit, plain—eyes wide and glistening, breaths erratic like she’d just sprinted a mile. And the way she was standing, trembling, fists curled into the fabric of her sleeves—this woman meant it. She was serious.

“You're right,” she whispered, voice barely there. “I might kill her. Just take her away, please.”

A slow, sinking dread pooled in his stomach. His fingers curled at his sides, restless, itching for a handle to hold onto.

The baby stirred weakly against Leela’s chest, small fingers twitching up to her mother's neck, dark lashes fluttering against puckered skin. She had gone quiet, her body motionless in that way newborns only got when they were too damn exhausted to keep crying.

His hands twitched at his sides. He knew exactly what he should do. He should take the kid off her hands. That was the right thing, wasn’t it? He should lift that baby girl into his arms, swaddle her in a blanket, turn on his heel, and walk out the door. Hand her off to Maria, and let someone who actually knew what they were doing step in. Hell, she’d been talking about trying to set up a proper nursery in town, get the kids what they needed—she’d figure it out.

But Joel didn't move; couldn't bring himself to move.

Because now that he was looking at her, from his conscience, he saw it—saw the fear clinging to her like a second skin. Not the blatant fear of Joel or the fear of what people might say. Fear of herself, as though he own conviction was a luxury.

Leela stood there, arms wrapped tight around her baby, herself, her body drawn inward like she was trying to make herself small as if shrinking could somehow erase the truth. The baby rested against her chest, silent now, as if sensing the displacement around her. Her mother's fingers barely touch her, hesitant, weak, the way someone might hold a delicate, jagged piece of glass they weren’t sure they could be trusted with.

Joel’s stomach turned.

“I—I'm not—I can’t do this.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper, frayed at the edges, raw like an old wound that had never properly healed.

A sharp and molten sense turned in his gut, rising fast—panic, maybe. Or that bone-deep realisation of what would happen.

“You ain’t givin’ her up.” His voice came out gruff, unwavering.

Leela let out a breathy, broken laugh, shaking her head. “Do you think I have a choice here?”

“Yeah.” His eyes stayed on hers, unrelenting. “I do.”

She sniffled, shaking her head again, but her fingers twitched against the baby’s blanket, gripping the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

Joel had seen this before, known people like this. People who stood at the edge of something dark, looking down, unable to turn back. He’d been one of them once. It made that ugly, cruel knot crest back in his chest, and made him angry in a way that didn’t make sense, didn’t sit right.

Because this mother—this stupid, foolish, ignorant girl—had no business being like that. She didn't even know what kind of luck she'd struck with that baby girl. He would've killed to be where she was, even if it was for a moment. To hold a second chance, brand new, all his.

“You're a fucking coward if you're thinking about giving your daughter up.” The words left him, spired as arrows, before he could stop them. “You got plenty of choices, but you're too goddamn pigheaded to make the right one.”

She flinched, as if he’d struck her with all his might, like he’d confirmed every awful thing she’d ever thought about herself.

Joel’s jaw locked. It was too late to take it back; the blood had been drawn.

He should’ve stopped. He should’ve taken a breath, let the words settle and left it at that. But there was something about this strange mother, the way she stood there like she was waiting to be knocked down, made his patience snap clean in half.

“Pull yourself together,” he bit out.

And with that, he turned and walked out the door.

The flurries of winter outside were colder than before, or maybe it only seemed that way. Snow scraped beneath his boots as he stepped onto the road, his breath coming sharp, ragged pants in the quiet of the night. His knuckles ached from the tight fists he hadn't been able to loosen, his pulse still hammering.

Stupid mother. That poor child. There was truly no rest for the wicked.

He was halfway across the street when that resentment shifted.

His anger thinned, the heat of it fading just enough for everything else to creep in—her threadbare voice, her hands fluttering, the way her arms had tightened around that kid like she was afraid of herself more than anything else.

He slowed, stopping in his tracks. The big, white house loomed behind him, dark except for that single upstairs window.

Joel looked up at the home.

The cries had started again. Thin, reedy wails carried through the cold, through the walls.

He stood there, staring at the lights flickering against the frost-covered glass. This time, jaw tight, he turned away.

X

That being said, Joel hadn’t slept well.

Not that he ever did, but last night was worse than usual.

Every time he closed his eyes, it was the baby’s cries again. He saw Leela’s face, dark, hollow, eyes too big for her sunken frame. He heard her voice, raw and trembling, telling him to take the kid—as if it was the only way, or maybe she didn’t trust herself to keep her alive, already grieving her daughter.

Even now, as he tugged on his gloves and prepared for patrol, he kept glimpsing the way she had watched him with her baby. He remembered the way she desperately looked at him, waiting for him to take the baby from her, because letting go was the only mercy she had left to offer.

Maria was there now. She had let herself in, just like that, hadn’t knocked or hesitated. And Leela had not met her at the door or even bothered to lock it after Joel had walked out last night.

He adjusted the rifle on his back and breathed out the concern.

Not his problem. He shouldn't be bothered with it. He’d done his part, in fact, more than his part. He had brought help in and gotten someone else to deal with it—someone better suited for this kind of thing. Maria would figure it out. She always did, which was why the town counted on her to run it.

Still, as he swung himself onto his horse and rode out for patrol, that damn house stayed in the back of his mind. How it stood there, silent, old, watchful, while something inside was coming apart at the seams. He related to that insentient home more than most people, or the way Leela had stood in that dim, empty nursery, shoulders curled inward, appearing more like a ghost than a person.

He shook it off and went through the motions. Focus on the day ahead.

Patrol was long, tedious, and more of the same—checking the perimeter, clearing out old trouble spots down his trail, making sure everything was as it should be, and scouring supplies. A welcome distraction. When he stopped by Ellie’s as usual, she narrowed her eyes at him from behind her sketchbook, muttering about how he looked like shit.

“Didn’t sleep,” was all he said.

And she didn’t bother to press. Ellie was another long, welcome, more pesky distraction.

By the time evening rolled around, he’d fallen back into his routine. Routine. That was what mattered. He groomed his horse, rubbing his gloved hands along its mane just to keep them busy. He cleaned his rifle, ensuring the gears weren't easy to jam, and stopped on the way home to pick up some new gear at the store. He grabbed a whiskey—alone—just to take the edge off, slowing down for a bit. Soon enough, he was lugging a whole bottle home.

He finished the evening like always, grabbing a boxed dinner from the mess hall, not bothering to make small talk. No one asked anything of him, and he didn’t offer anything in return. A night like any other. It was an expression he repeated to himself, to anchor himself to reality besides the weight of his breaking boots or the floor beneath.

Then he saw her. Maria was still at that house, waiting by the porch swing, face tense. She spotted him almost instantly and strode straight toward him.

Joel nodded at her in greeting, shifting the box under his arm. “You good?”

Maria didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Sure. Got a second?”

He tipped his chin toward Leela’s door. “All set over there?”

“Far from it.” Her voice was edgy, a sure point of contention. “I need your help.”

Joel scoffed. “What’s the punchline?”

But Maria didn’t laugh, or even crack a smirk. Instead, she followed him inside his house.

Joel’s 'home' was nothing special—functional, practical. Just a space to exist in. A couch pushed against one wall, which he used more than the bed upstairs, a table he used out of necessity, and a kitchen stocked with the bare minimum. Not much to look at, or even stay for long. It wasn't home, but it was enough. Certainly nothing like Leela’s home, where history bled through the worn floorboards, through the walls, a place that had been lived in.

Joel didn’t let himself think about that house too much. He dropped the box of food onto the table, turning to Maria with his arms crossed.

“Well?”

Maria sighed, staring out the window toward the street, and into his neighbour’s house. The porch light flickered weakly, and the house itself looked darker than it had last night. Like it had collapsed in on itself a little more.

“She’s not okay, Joel.”

Joel huffed, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, pretending not to hear the implication behind those words. “Figured.”

“No,” Maria said, sharper now. “I mean it.”

She turned back to him, her eyes shadowed with a charge heavier than concern. She looked tired—unravelled—in a way that wasn’t merely about the town or the thousand responsibilities on her shoulders. It was personal.

Joel exhaled a breath, already feeling the walls closing in on this conversation.

Maria rubbed a hand over her face. “She’s more disturbed than the last time I saw her a month ago. I don’t think she’s had a proper meal in days. She’s having trouble breastfeeding, let alone keeping herself together enough to care for that baby.” She shook her head. “Look, I can’t be there all the time. I’ve got the whole town to run, a hundred things to look after. Tommy’s drowning in work. We're stretched thin as it is.” Her eyes met his, trusting and pointed. “You’re my last resort.”

Joel frowned, jaw ticking. “And do what, exactly? Pretend like I've done this dance before?”

“Just be there,” Maria said so positively, like it wasn’t the worst fucking idea in the world. “Make sure she doesn’t slip up with the baby. Help where you can. Just a few days—until Tommy and I can step in.”

Joel dragged a hand down his beard, letting go of an infuriated sigh. “Jesus, you gotta be shitting me. That girl’s a damn mess.”

“...she’s trying her best.” Maria sighed a long one.

He snorted. “Yeah. Hell of a job she’s doin’.”

“Joel, this is serious.”

“What? S’pose I’m wrong now? You want me to play babysitter to that screw-up mom.”

“She just needs a little support—”

He cut in with a grumble. “She needs somebody who knows what they’re doin’. And that’s not my problem.”

Maria’s face tightened. “You think people just wake up knowin’ how to survive this?”

Joel looked away, jaw tight.

“She’s scared, and exhausted, and alone, Joel,” Maria explained, a little more gently this time. “New baby, no family, no help. You remember what that was like?”

Joel’s expression hardened instead of softening. “Don’t do that.”

Everything in him wanted to refuse. He’d done his goddamn part here, hadn't he? He didn’t owe that woman anything. She had a nice home, a pretty face, and all that space. She had her newborn. And if she didn’t know how to handle it, that was on her. That was the hand she was dealt. He wasn’t looking to take on another burden. Christ, wasn’t he supposed to be done with this kind of thing? Wasn’t he past the point of taking in lost causes?

But Maria didn’t appear to be giving him a choice. Her voice softened, dropped several octaves, and edged with meaning. “I don’t think she knew whoever got her pregnant, Joel. I know she didn’t. And she sure as hell didn’t choose it.”

Joel stiffened, every muscle aching. Maria’s expression didn’t change, but there was implicit significance there, solemn enough that it didn’t need to be stated outright. Still, it landed in his gut like a pebble.

She let the silence stretch, let him fill in the gaps. And he did.

“I hope you understand what I'm getting at,” she continued. “I don’t think she looks at that baby and sees her child. I think she sees the worst thing that ever happened to her.”

Joel clenched his jaw, staring at the floor, pretending like he didn’t hear them. He didn't ask how she knew, didn’t even ask what she’d seen in that house today that had led her to that conclusion.

Because he already knew. He’d seen it, too.

The way Leela couldn’t bring herself to name the baby. The way she looked at the child was like she was something fragile, unfamiliar, and that didn’t belong to her. The way she had looked at him—not with resentment at his venomous words.

It was a quiet resignation, as if she were handing over the baby because she genuinely believed it was the only way to save her.

A fist of darkness coiled around his stomach. Joel knew what it was like to lose a child. He knew what it did to a person, how it tore through you, how it hollowed them out from the inside. But whatever this was, this was worse than grief. He prayed he would never have to deal with this.

This was a woman standing on the edge of the deep and the dark, staring down into it, wondering how much further she could fall before there was no coming back. And there was a baby—a fucking baby—at her feet. Yet, she was ready to take that fall.

Joel exhaled a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

But the truth was, he’d already stepped in and gotten himself involved. Whether out of desperation or some obstinate, buried need to fix things that were beyond saving, he wasn’t certain, and now, if he walked away, he’d never be able to live with the consequences.

Suddenly, the room felt smaller, the walls a little tighter. A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, reluctantly, he sighed. “This is a big fuckin’ mistake, Maria. I’m the last damn person who should be around somebody like her.”

She cocked a brow. “Somebody like her?”

“Just... y'know. Somebody hurtin’.”

That took some of the fight out of Maria immediately. “You don’t have to fix her, Joel.”

He laughed once under his breath. “Good. ‘Cause I sure as hell can’t.”

“I’m just askin’ you not to leave her alone with it.”

Silence settled over them. He stared at her a second, then shook his head in defeat. What the hell else was he supposed to say? Call her a stuck-up piece of shit and kick her out? Yeah, right, like Maria would not go apeshit on his ass.

“So, you’ll do it?” Maria chirped.

He shot her a look. “Don’t sound so happy about it.”

Relief flashed across her face before she smoothed it over. She nodded, hearing only what she needed to hear. “You’ll figure it out. And I’ll check in when I can. If either of you need me, I’m around.”

Joel grunted in acknowledgment.

Her hand rested briefly on the knob. “Thank you, Joel.”

He waved her off like he didn’t want to hear it. He didn't know what the hell he’d just agreed to, but something in his gut told him it was going to end real bad.

X

Dewy dawn washed over his neighbour's house, alabaster and frigid, as Joel made his way up the steps. It must’ve been the perfect oversized home once, costing north of at least five mil, back when the world was still whole—white clapboard, cavernous porch with a swingset, somewhere that had been waiting too long for someone to come back home. A place built to last. And maybe, before seasons and silence collapsed, it had.

But time had sunk its teeth in. The paint had started peeling in the corners, the wood of the steps groaned under his boots, and though the windows were clean, there was something hollow about the way they sat in their frames as if no one had looked out of them in a long time. It didn’t have the disrepair of a broken-down house, but rather the hush of a place that had lost its vitality...

...and the front door was open again.

Joel clenched his jaw.

Maria had been right—that girl really didn’t have a single clue.

He pushed the door wider and stepped inside, cautious, not wanting to seem intrusive but unable to stop himself from taking in the room. It wasn’t what he expected.

Her home wasn’t cluttered or in disarray, but there was something about it that felt… off. A life suspended mid-thought. A place inhabited by a mind too consumed to fuss over the details of living.

Against one wall, three blackboards leaned slightly askew, their surfaces dense with math—long, elegant trails of equations and symbols that curled and darted in sharp, decisive strokes, a handwriting that came from obsession, not care. At their base lay a scatter of chalk nubs and crumpled paper, some balled tight, others torn through in places, as if discarded mid-frustration into a wastebasket that stood nearby, perpetually missing its mark.

Precise shelves lined the walls—solved Rubik’s cubes, notebooks snapped shut with elastic bands, rows of empty pens jammed upright in a clay mug. Everything had a place, yet none of it did—more like artefacts left behind after long stretches of deep work. On the table, a coffee mug sat with dried stains at the bottom, an imprint of hands that had used it over and over, mindlessly, then set it aside without a thought.

Joel glared through it all, taking it in.

A fucking scientist. That was the last thing he’d ever have guessed about her. Dr Leela last-name-something, the resident nerd mom.

He didn’t know what he wished to see when he ascended the stairs, only that everything about the house still put him on edge. It wasn’t just the oddity of it—the blackboards filled with numbers, the pages of equations scattered like fallen leaves—it was the fact that none of it felt lived in. Clinical. Like the house had been built to serve a purpose, but never for a person.

He reached the top step just as he heard the baby girl’s soft fussing from down the hall. The sound made him hesitate. It wasn’t the sharp, desperate cries from the sleepless night before; this was more peaceful, almost a coo, the kind of sound that made that knot in his chest tighten before he could push it down.

Carefully, he strode forward, peering into the nursery.

Leela stood by the cradle, one hand rubbing slow, absentminded circles over the baby’s tiny stomach. It was almost an imitation of what he’d done the night before, but the difference was clear—where his movements had been practised, knowing, hers were unsure, a mimicry, like she was following a set of instructions she didn’t quite understand.

She looked different in the daylight. Dressed neatly in a long, thin nightgown that fell to her ankles, her black hair was left loose, unbrushed, hanging past her hips in uneven waves, obviously never having seen the business end of a pair of scissors. The exhaustion was still there—was part of her, woven into how she held herself—but her face was smoother, her shoulders less rigid, as if she had settled into the shape of a mother.

The floorboard groaned beneath his boot. Leela darted a glance. She even tried for a small smile, a ghostly little quirk of her lips.

“Hello, Joel.”

He didn’t respond. Something about how she looked at him, or maybe how she looked past, disturbed him. He didn’t like feeling that way—not in someone else’s home, not when he was meant to be in control of the situation. Instead of answering, he stepped toward the cradle, glancing down at the baby.

The baby girl let out a high-pitched whine, stretching, her fingers curling and uncurling before she kicked her little legs. Then, as if noticing him, recognising him through her childish daze, her mouth widened into a gummy, toothless grin, her round face alight, untouched by the world’s cruelty.

Joel couldn’t help himself. His lips twitched, just slightly, before he shook his head to ward off the daze.

“Managed to—?” He gestured vaguely toward her chest before pulling his hand back, curling it into an embarrassed fist against the cradle.

Leela caught on. Her fingers fidgeted at the pearly buttons of her nightgown. A small, involuntary movement.

“Oh… Maria told me to hold her close to stimulate… secretion, you know.” She hesitated, shifting her weight. “I fed her one of the bottles she gave me, too.”

Joel nodded. “And?”

Leela looked down at the baby. “She stopped crying.”

He frowned. “That’s it?”

Leela’s fingers tightened against her arms. “I… don’t know how to hold her without making her cry.”

The words made a darkness flicker through him; he didn’t have the energy to name it. It wasn’t quite anger, but it was close. Frustration. Exasperation. A sharp-edged bitterness he couldn’t swallow down fast enough.

Joel scoffed. “You can’t hold your own baby?”

Leela hung her head, her heart breaking in her eyes before she managed to mask it.

Joel sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “It’s not all math. Just instinct,” he muttered.

He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he reached into the cradle, slipping a hand beneath the baby’s head, cradling her against his arm, gingerly, gently. He eased her up, letting her body idle against his forearm, her head resting in the crook of his elbow.

The second she was in his arms, warm, beaming, the fault line inside him splintered.

She was tiny. So fucking tiny. Tinier than Sarah had been.

Joel swallowed, feeling the light weight of her against his chest. He hadn’t held something this fragile in years—hadn’t let himself. But muscle memory took over before he could stop it, before he could remind himself that this wasn’t the same. It was already clawing its way back to him. He rubbed a slow palm over her back, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. She was everything akin to bedtime and warmth, her tiny fingers twitching against his shirt.

For a second—a half a second—he let himself sink into it.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispered.

The scent of her, the faded remnants of old cotton, and the delicate press of her body against his. A ghost of something long lost. A time when his arms had been full like this, when his days had been nothing but cradling Sarah against him, balancing a baby bag on his shoulder, and pushing a stroller down the sidewalk, loaded with groceries, with the Texas sun blistering overhead.

A different life. A different world, one he had no business remembering.

Joel forced himself to blink out of it. He cleared his throat, shifting, shoving the feeling down before it could take hold.

“And that’s it,” he said gruffly. “Ain’t that hard.”

Leela was watching him, waiting for him to call her an idiot again, definitely expecting no less from him. She observed the way he held the baby, the way she settled so easily against him. Studying him, the way he imagined she studied numbers and equations, looking for a formula, an answer.

He breathed out. “Here,” he muttered, adjusting the baby carefully toward her. “You try.”

Leela didn’t reach for her baby at once; her hands hovered, hesitant, fingers twitching like she wasn’t sure how to move them. Joel could see it—the tension coiling in her shoulders, the stiffness in her posture. Her breathing shallowed, her chest barely rising, as if even that movement might disturb the delicate balance between her and the tiny life in front of her.

But finally, she forced herself to move.

Her hands cupped beneath the baby’s body as if she were handling something breakable, foreign. It was inflexible, too careful—unnatural in a way that the baby could sense. And sure enough, the second Leela pulled her close, her arms locked tight, all too unconfident, and the child stirred. A tiny whimper followed by a sharp, warning cry.

Leela stiffened, her grip faltering. The sound made her flinch, her breath catching, as though she’d been struck, and she barely lasted five seconds before her resolve cracked.

She was already veering forward, pushing the baby back toward Joel, who carried her without hesitation. “No, I can't.”

The crying stopped almost instantly.

Joel settled the baby against his chest, bouncing her gently in an informed movement. He didn’t have to think about it—his body just did what it knew, routine kicking in where hers faltered. The baby let out a soft, sighing coo, her tiny body relaxing, as if she knew she was back in capable hands.

Leela, however, looked shaken. Her hands curled into fists, pressing against her stomach like she needed to hold herself together.

Then, she winced.

Joel’s attention snapped, his gaze dropping to the way she clutched at her lower back, her body tilting forward ever so slightly like the pain had taken her by surprise.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “You wanna sit down for a bit?”

She nodded, barely. A tiny dip of her chin.

Joel glanced around. There wasn’t much in the nursery. Just the crib, a long wooden bureau, and a mattress on the floor pushed against the far wall. No chair, nothing to lower herself onto easily.

With a quiet sigh, he adjusted his hold on the baby and stepped closer, offering an arm. “C’mon.”

Leela wavered at the suggestion. Not out of pride—he could tell—but maybe out of uncertainty, likely because she wasn’t used to being helped. But when she tried to move on her own, another sharp grimace crossed her face, and that was enough to let him guide her.

Joel remained prudent, supporting her weight without making a big deal out of it. The baby stayed nestled in the crook of his other arm, still resting peacefully, unaffected by the movement. It wasn’t easy—manoeuvring both of them at once—but it became instinctual.

He helped her lower onto the mattress, feeling the way her muscles tensed beneath his touch before finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion. Leela eased back against the wall and settled into the thin cushion. A long, quiet sigh left her lips, her posture unwinding slightly like she’d been holding herself taut for hours—maybe longer. But even then, she still didn’t entirely relax.

Joel watched as she lifted a hand to her face, brushing back loose strands of hair, her fingers pressing briefly into her temples.

“I'm sorry, Joel.”

His brows ticked down. “For what?”

She inhaled deeply. “It’s only been three... four weeks since I delivered. I’ve just been feeling out of it ever since.”

There was no shame in her tone, no self-pity. Anyone could have sensed it, the quiet fatigue. It was her statement of fact.

Joel pressed his lips together.

Four weeks. Jesus. That explained a lot. The weariness, the stiffness in her movements, the way her body still seemed like it hadn’t recovered from what it had been through. Hell, no wonder she looked like a ghost of herself. The human body wasn’t meant to bounce back that fast—not without help. And from what he’d seen so far, she wasn’t the type to ask for it. No midwife, no warm meals, no one watching over her in those first brutal days. Just her and the baby and that awful, aching silence.

“She came too soon,” Joel murmured, mostly to himself.

Leela turned slightly, her gaze drifting toward him without fully meeting his eyes. “Eight months and seven days,” she said quietly. “That’s not normal, is it? That’s why she’s so small.”

Joel opened his mouth, but nothing came. What could he say to that? To her?

Leela waited a beat—just long enough to hope for something more—then slowly drew her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around them, rested her chin on top, and looked past him.

She rubbed a tired hand into her eyes. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

There it was. No frustrations or helplessness. It was her calm, relinquished reality.

Joel glanced down at the sleeping baby, still curled against his chest, her little breaths unwavering and even. One tiny hand had fisted itself into his shirt, gripping instinctively—like she knew, on some level, that she had to hold on to something, someone, to stay safe. His grip on her tightened scarcely.

Leela’s words lodged in his chest like a thick splint. I don’t know how to hold her without making her cry. And now this—I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. He’d heard those words before, from sleep-deprived parents who hit the wall. Hell, he’d stood in that same darkness, said those same things to Tommy when the world felt like it was slipping past him. But the way Leela said it—flat, detached, mechanical—like she’d already stopped trying to fix it, the part of her that cared was fading out, and that left a big imprint.

Joel breathed out, shifting his arms so the baby settled more comfortably against him, and she felt so heavy all of a sudden.

Too much quiet, too many things unsaid pressing at the edges of his mind. He didn’t want to sit in it—didn’t want to acknowledge what it stirred in him. So, he broke the silence the only way he knew how.

“You could start by giving her a name,” he said, glancing at Leela. “Not that 'baby girl' is a terrible name.”

Leela blinked, then looked down at her daughter, studying her as if she were just now realising that, yes, she still had to name the kid.

After a thoughtful moment, she lifted her gaze back to him. “Do you want to pick one for her?”

Joel snorted. “Me?”

She nodded, entirely serious.

He shook his head immediately. “I think I'm gonna stick with 'baby girl.'”

Leela let out a small breath of laughter, barely there, but it softened that apathy in her face. She bit her lip, thinking of a name, then murmured, “I always liked the name Maya.”

“Maya?” He tested the name on his lips. “I like that. Maya. It’s pretty. Rhymes, too. Leela, Maya.”

Leela’s lips twitched at that, and she shifted forward, moving closer without thinking, drawn in by an unspoken sentiment. She leaned down, her head dipping toward the baby still bowed against Joel’s chest.

For the first time since he stepped into this house, Joel noticed it.

That fondness—subtle, but unmistakable. A faint, aching kind of love that didn’t ask for words. It lived in the way her fingers moved over the baby’s forehead, gentle, mindful, tracing the soft landscape of tiny wrinkles and delicate features. It showed in the subtle curve of her body, how she curled—almost unconsciously—toward her daughter. Even in her exhaustion, some part of her was always reaching, always drawn to protect.

“Maya, Maya, Maya,” she whispered, breathing the name into her daughter's ear, speaking it into existence.

Joel watched her for a long moment, an unfamiliar phantom kick into his ribs. It was too much, too close to something he didn’t want to touch, and something that felt like the past reaching for him with cold fingers.

He should leave, he knew he should. He should’ve gotten up, handed the baby back, given some half-hearted promise to Maria that he’d check in later tomorrow, and then walked out that door.

But he didn’t, and instead, he settled in a little more, stretching his legs out, arms still loosely cradling the baby girl. Maya.

He finally broke the silence with, “So, you’re some kind of scientist?”

Leela glanced up at him, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m more towards math. Theoretician, perhaps.”

Joel couldn't help the roll of his eyes. Math. In a world like this?

People didn’t survive with numbers. They survived with bullets and knives, knowing when to run and when to pull the trigger. You either killed or died. You either protected or raided. You didn’t see too many folks walking around trying to save themselves with goddamned math equations—unless they were Fireflies with delusions of rebuilding the world. That was the kind of thinking that got you shot.

His gaze flickered back to the crib. What the hell kind of life was she leading before all this?

He leaned back against the wall. “And just how long have you been here alone?”

“A long time.” She didn’t elaborate and glanced down at the baby, adjusting the folds of the swaddle with careful fingers. Then, softer, almost like an afterthought—“Not anymore.”

Joel didn’t know what to make of that. His gaze flicked toward the stacks of books on the baby’s bureau, thick with dust on the edges but well-thumbed through.

He hummed. “And you do… math?” He made it sound ridiculous because it really fucking was.

She only nodded, unbothered. “Analytic geometry and lots of mechanics. My parents used to work at NASA. I took up their research once I was old enough to understand. They loved to teach me all about it. The Riemann Hypothesis.”

Joel blinked. NASA? Ellie would lose her little mind if she were here.

He studied her again, reassessing. She didn’t look like someone who used to be involved in something that big. Not now, anyway. Dressed in an old nightgown, her hair hanging in dark, tangled waves, bruised-looking eyes that made her seem older than she was.

He hesitated before asking, “And just how old are you?”

“I’m turning thirty soon.” She didn’t sound glad about it. Well, no one ever did.

That number sat wrong with him, irked him. Twenty-nine. Maybe it was the contrast—how, for all her intelligence and clinical detachment, she looked so damn young beneath the weight of everything she was carrying. Or maybe because twenty-nine didn’t seem old enough to have gone through the kind of hell that made a mother flinch at her own baby.

Joel wanted to press further. Wanted to ask why she was alone, how the hell she had made it this long without the baby’s father, how a girl who could run equations for NASA ended up here—malnourished, exhausted, hunched over on a mattress like she was carrying the whole world on her back.

That was until Maya decided to stir.

A small, sleepy movement. Tiny fingers wriggled their way free from the swaddle, barely curled, stretching toward the air. The whimpering started softly, then built, that newborn cry that was both heartbreaking, needy and urgent all at once.

Leela straightened instinctively, her hands jolting toward her daughter. But this time, when she lifted Maya from Joel’s arms, she didn’t hesitate. She held her with a little more certainty, a little more care, cradling her close to her chest as if she were nestling something precious rather than foreign.

Joel let out a slow breath. Good. Progress.

Then, before he could so much as glance back up, Leela started unbuttoning her nightgown, the lapel falling open.

His eyes snapped away so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. “Christ.”

“Oh, god—! I’m so sorry, Maria said to try—”

“’Sall good,” he muttered, fixing his gaze firmly on the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at her. “Just, uh—go for it.”

“I’ll cover up. Sorry.”

Joel nodded stiffly, still keeping his head turned. But in the silence that followed, his body didn’t quite relax.

He listened to her, to everything. The rustle of fabric, the faint, uncertain exhale as she adjusted her hold, the wet, rhythmic sound of the baby nursing, the occasional tiny sigh. A noise so small it barely existed, but it filled the quiet all the same.

Joel let out a breath, sinking into himself, gaze flickering absently around the room. He took in the details he hadn’t paid much attention to before.

The sturdy, old crib. The mess of books stacked against the walls, as if she had been trying to build some kind of fortress out of paper and ink. The curtains were drawn too tight, like she didn’t want the outside world bleeding in. And the emptiness—the distinct lack of anything that made this place a nursery. No toys. No clutter. No warmth.

He knew that kind of space, and what it meant when a room felt temporary, even when someone had been in it for years.

“I’m decent now,” Leela offered.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. A blanket was draped over one of her shoulders, concealing both her and the baby beneath it. His eyes traced over her face, the way she was staring down at Maya—not with the ease of a mother who had done this a hundred times, but with the focus of someone trying to get it right. Like she was handling some delicate equation she couldn’t afford to miscalculate.

The baby suckled noisily, and Joel saw the way Leela’s fingers curled against the fabric, white-knuckled.

“Do you have many children, Joel?” she asked suddenly.

He stilled. The question—simple, almost offhanded—landed like a hammer.

His fingers curled into his knee, knuckles going white. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked, but hearing it from her—a strange woman he barely knew, cradling a baby no more than a handful of weeks old—cut deeper than it should have.

Did he have many children? No.

But he had one. Had. That word sat on his tongue, sour, heavy, pressing against the backs of his teeth. He could say it, let it out, let it breathe. But if he did, it would only linger unwelcome in the air between them.

He grunted out, “Not your concern.”

Leela nodded once. She refused to pry and dropped her gaze back to Maya, adjusting the blanket with slow, careful fingers.

“I understand,” she murmured.

Joel wasn’t sure why, but he believed her. Maybe it was the way she said it—flat, simple, unbothered. Not some empty reassurance, not some half-hearted attempt at sympathy.

Silence patched their looks, lingering, yet not uncomfortable.

Joel exhaled and turned his gaze toward the window, where pale morning light seeped in through the fraying edges of the curtain. The town was stirring—people rising, stepping into their routines, moving through the simple rhythm of another day. Normal. Predictable. And here—sitting in a quiet, half-empty house with a woman he barely knew and a baby who’d already been asked to survive more than most adults—wasn’t easy. This wasn’t anything close to normal.

Then, her quiet voice broke past it all.

“Did your baby ever feel like a stranger?”

He turned to look at her, watching as she nursed the baby beneath the blanket. Her head was slightly bowed, her fingers absentmindedly rubbing rhythmic circles against the tiny foot poking free. It was such a small, natural gesture—one he’d seen a thousand times from mothers who loved their children without thought or hesitation. And yet, coming from her, it felt… disconnected. As if she were mimicking something she wasn’t sure she believed in.

The question slipped beneath his ribs and ploughed, gently, insistently, against an old bruise.

“Never.” The answer came without a doubt.

Sarah had never been a stranger. From the second she was in his arms, slick and tiny and furious at the world, she was his. He hadn’t known what the hell he was doing, but love—that complete astonishment had been instant, bone-deep. A gut punch. A freefall. A terrifying, irreversible thing. It had been impossible not to love his daughter.

That was how it should feel. But Leela—she looked like she was still waiting to wake up from a dream. Or maybe even a nightmare.

Leela exhaled softly. “I wish I felt that way,” she muttered.

It wasn’t pity toward her—not quite. Leela didn’t strike him as someone who wanted sympathy. No, it was an implicit understanding. The recognition of a loss that ran deeper than words, taken from her before she ever had the chance to claim it.

Joel knew that kind of grief. He’d carried his own version of it, and while this pain wasn’t his, it brushed up against something familiar and hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

Leela had slipped back into that blank, distant sadness, like she was stuck in it, unable to claw her way out. Now, Joel wasn’t the kind of man who offered words where they wouldn’t make a difference, but Maria had asked him to help, and he’d told her he would. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing, never had been. Words were never easy for him; feelings even less so. But he knew how to read people, how to see what they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

So, he did what he could.

“She looks like you,” Joel mused aloud.

Leela hesitated, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “You really think so?”

He smirked, nodding toward Maya. “Look at that. The eyes, the nose, the hair. That’s all a mama’s girl.”

She glanced down at the baby in her arms, her fingers stilling against Maya’s tiny foot. For a second, that disregard in her expression wavered—like she was trying to see what he saw, trying to find herself in this child. “Mama’s girl,” she murmured, testing the words on her tongue as if they didn’t quite belong to her yet.

Joel felt a smile in his chest, just a little one.

Still, his eyes drifted over the room, taking in the stark walls, the empty corners. The mood in here was cold—not from the weather, but from the lack of anything. There was no sign of her in this space. No warmth, no comfort, no life. It felt transient, like Maya hadn’t put down roots just yet.

Or maybe she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to stay in this particular room.

He tipped his chin toward the crib. “Though, she’s gonna be real disappointed when she sees the state her mama’s kept her room in.”

Leela’s brows knit together as she looked around. “I tried my best. Is it that bad?”

Joel huffed, shaking his head. “It could use a little more work.” He gestured toward the crib. “Fix another one of those.” Then to the bare space near the window. “Somewhere to sit. Some shelves there.” His gaze travelled to the walls. “Fresh coat of paint. Some new lights. Some toys, clothes, blankets.”

Leela studied him carefully, her lips pressing together. “I don’t want to impose.”

He shrugged, leaning back on his palms. “You won't. I like to keep busy.”

Leela gave him a look—one of those assessing, sceptical looks he was starting to recognise from her. The one that suggested she wasn’t sure if she could trust him yet.

“Are you sure?”

Joel let out a short, dry chuckle. “I was a contractor before the world went to shit, sweetheart. This is a cushy job.” Then he cocked a brow. “And I’m fifty-six, not dead.”

Leela bit her lip to hide a teasing smile. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Joel levelled her with a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “You want me to take that crib back down?”

That did it. She laughed—a real, certain sound that cracked through the quietness of the room, sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

The motion jostled Maya, making her let out a startled cry of protest.

Leela immediately sobered, her expression softening as she adjusted the nursing baby under her blanket, tucking her closer. She began to coo under her breath, “Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. Mama’s here.”

Joel caught it. That shift again. That slight change in her voice when she said Mama. Like she wasn’t quite sure of it yet, but at least she meant it.

He didn’t say anything, only sat back and watched, and let her find her way.

X

Seventeen days.

That was how long he’d been here. How long he'd been wedging himself into a life that wasn’t his, in a house that wasn’t his, with a mother and child that weren’t his to take care of.

And yet, every night, when the baby cried, he found himself plodding up the stairs like it was instinct. He’d lean in the doorway, watching as Leela sleepily nursed Maya, her heavy arms curled around the tiny, wriggling body. Some nights, she fed her from the bottle, but as the days passed, that sippy cup gathered dust.

It was gradual. Subtle. She was feeding her baby more.

And Joel—well, he was still fucking here. He didn’t think much about the why of it because he figured if he did, it would only lead to questions he wasn’t ready to answer. All he knew was that it felt natural, falling into this quiet rhythm with them. Like it had always been this way.

The couch downstairs became his bed. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it didn’t matter much. As long as he didn't throw his back out. It was easier than going back to an empty house. Leela, for her part, never asked him to stay, but she never told him to leave, either. Maybe that was her way of saying she wanted him around. Or maybe she just needed him to be.

“You don’t have to—” she had started one night, catching him setting up his makeshift bed.

“I know,” he cut off before she could finish.

He kept his hands busy, too. That helped a lot.

The crib came first. A slow project, one he didn’t rush, because what else did he have to do? He sanded the edges and smoothed them down so there’d be no risk of splinters. He reinforced the frame, extended the width, and even managed to track down some pink paint to liven it up.

It was a stupid thing, but it made him feel like he was doing something. Like he was helping in a way that made sense.

Leela had caught him painting one afternoon, crouched over the crib with careful, measured strokes.

“Pink?” she’d said, standing in the doorway, one brow raised.

Joel had glanced up, brush still in hand. “What? You don’t like it?”

Leela had hummed, considering. Then, softer, “I think Maya will like it.”

It was the way she said it—like she was finally thinking about that, about what her daughter would like—made him grin to himself. He continued the long stroke of paint down the crib.

Then there was Leela. It had been easier, at first, to pretend he was only here for the kid. That his concern for her was secondary. But after the first week, it became clear—that wasn’t true.

She was unraveling.

Joel noticed it even when she thought he hadn’t. The unbearable insomnia. The way she startled awake, legs thrashing in a single jerk, pushing against some imperceptible force near her, like she was being wrenched from nightmares. The way her eyes stayed shadowed, dark-rimmed and tired, and how she never seemed to eat a full meal.

Just because he tried not to bother, didn’t mean he didn’t notice. She had once fallen asleep at the kitchen table, arms folded beneath her head. Joel had set a bowl of soup down in front of her, the sound making her jolt awake, eyes wide, gasping and panicked.

She blinked at him, disoriented, pushing her unruly hair out of her face. “I—I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Alright,” he said, pushing the bowl closer. “Eat.”

Leela wavered, nose scrunching. “I’m not—”

Joel shot her a look. “Eat.”

She sighed, but she picked up the spoon.

He didn’t bother to push or pry any further. He stopped himself there. Because what the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t Tommy or Maria. He wasn’t the kind of person people confided in. It was better off this way.

So he willfully ignored it. Turned the other way when she wiped her eyes too hard. Pretended not to notice when her shoulders trembled just slightly—barely enough to catch, unless you were looking for it. But Joel always saw more than he let on.

And he heard it, too. The way her sobs came muffled through the thin walls at night—quiet at first, like she was trying to bury them in her pillow, then deeper, harsher, like something inside her was breaking open slowly.

Every part of him—every part that still gave a damn—wanted to move, to cross that invisible line, to knock, to say something.

Instead, he stepped outside. Leaned against the doorframe. Let the cold night air scrape against his skin. Stared at nothing.

Leela cried harder.

And then—one night—the floodgates broke. Her sob, raw, sharp, now pronounced, tore itself loose on the way out. It wasn’t merely grief anymore; this was wreckage.

Joel stood at the bottom of the stairs, jaw clenched, fists knotted at his sides. He stared up at the dark landing, every muscle in his body pulled taut, and if he just took one more step—

Never mind. He turned away. Walked out onto the porch and sat down on the cold wooden steps, elbows resting on his knees, breath fogging in the night. Let the chill dig into him like punishment. Good. He stayed there, still as stone, while the sounds from inside climbed and fell. That wasn’t his problem.

One unlucky day, the second he stepped into the stables, Ellie gave him a knowing, annoying look. “Jesus, what's worse than shit? Because that's what you look like.”

Joel huffed, adjusting his grip on the saddle he was carrying. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes, stepping closer and giving him a once-over. “Seriously, you look like hell. Where the fuck have you been?”

Joel grunted, busying himself with the straps, not looking at her. “Been around.”

Ellie scoffed. “What the hell does that mean? You've been busy playing house with the lady at the big cabin?”

His jaw flexed, and fingers tightened on the cords. And Ellie caught it. Her smirk sharpened.

“Oh my God. That’s exactly what you’ve been doing, huh?”

Joel shot her a look. “No.”

“Yes,” Ellie drawled, crossing her arms. “Dude. I knew something was up. You’ve been MIA. I thought maybe you finally croaked in your sleep, but nope—turns out, you’re off fixing pipes and babysitting.”

“I ain’t babysitting,” Joel muttered, too quick.

Ellie smirked harder and sang out, “Riiiight.”

Joel let out a long, slow exhale through his nose, shaking his head. “She needed help. That’s all.”

Ellie clicked her tongue, rocking back on her heels. “Hmm. Right. Just help. No attachment, no paternal instincts kicking in. Oh, definitely not. Not Joel Hardass Miller. He’s just the neighbourhood handyman now.”

He cut her a sharp look. “Ellie.”

She grinned, enjoying this way too much. “What? Just saying. It’s kind of adorable. Old man Joel, all domesticated. It's nice.”

Joel muttered something under his breath and turned away, ignoring her. Oh, but she was far from done.

“So, uh…” she cleared her throat. “How’s the baby?”

He hesitated. He hadn’t realised how much he’d started watching that kid; listening to her. He could differentiate Maya’s cries now—hungry, fussy, lonely. He knew the way she liked to be held, the way she calmed when he rubbed her tiny back, and he also knew, without a doubt, that he would hear her tonight, whether he was there or not.

“She’s, uh, good,” he said finally, and kept his voice level, unaffected. “Stronger. Sleeps better.”

Ellie studied him. “Bet she likes you.”

Joel shrugged, trying to play it off. “Babies like warm bodies, Ellie. Ain’t that deep.”

Ellie snorted. “Sure. And you're a warm bundle of joy.” And then, just when he thought she was about to let it go—“You’re gonna miss her after, huh?”

Joel's hands dropped to his sides. Ellie wasn’t teasing anymore. Her voice had gone softer, an understanding creeping in.

And he didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t about to start thinking about that. About leaving, or hearing those little cries and knowing he wasn’t supposed to be the one answering them anymore.

Joel slowly adjusted the saddle and grunted. “You gonna stand there all day, or you gonna help me get this horse ready?”

Ellie sighed, shaking her head, but didn’t push. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Dad.”

“Hey, knock it off.”

But she was already cackling her goddamned head off. “This is rich. Daddy Joel.”

Still, Joel stayed in that big house. Just a few more days. The more he stayed, the harder it became to keep his distance.

It had started small—fixing things around the house, making little adjustments to help Leela care for the baby, and bringing her food. He fashioned a sling for her out of an old scarf and showed her how to wear it. At first, she’d been rigid, reluctant. But Maya—baby girl took to it immediately, burrowing into her mother’s chest, small fingers grasping at the fabric.

Joel wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but that moment had stuck with him. Because for the first time, he saw Leela hold her, beyond simply carrying her.

And then there was Maya herself. The little ray of sunshine was growing, filling out. No longer that fragile, underfed thing he’d first seen in the cradle. Her limbs weren’t so thin anymore, her eyes brighter, more alert. She’d started watching things with intent—fixating on his hands when he worked, tracking his movement around the room, watching the light filter through the window, making little fists and clumsily bringing them to her mouth.

She smiled more, too. At him, all the time. And it did something to him that it shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have felt that warm pull in his chest every time her tiny mouth curled into something resembling a grin, flashing her gums. He shouldn’t have liked the way her whole body wriggled when she was excited. He shouldn’t have let himself get used to the small weight of her when Leela, in her exhaustion, wordlessly passed her to him, and he found himself rocking her without thinking.

But it had happened, slowly and without permission. And now, when he held her, it felt natural.

Maya knew him. Trusted him.

That realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

And then, on what must’ve been the third week, Tommy and Maria showed up at the door. Joel knew it the second he opened it—that this was an extraction.

Tommy stood there with that damn smirk, the same one he used to wear when Joel got him out of trouble—except this time, it wasn't his brother who had been looking for a way out.

“You're officially relieved of duty, big brother.”

Joel grunted, letting his brother pull him into a quick hug. He clapped him on the back, but his grip was just a little too firm. A little too final. “Didn’t know I was on duty.”

Maria stepped in next, squeezing his shoulder, her eyes warm with something Joel didn’t want to name. “Thanks a lot, Joel.”

He didn’t say you’re welcome. Didn’t say anything at all. Just gave a small nod, because that was easier than acknowledging the importance of what he’d done. No need to attach importance to what he was walking away from.

He felt Leela before he saw her.

She stood behind them by the front door, her arms loose at her sides, watching but not interfering. She was dressed in a warm sweater and pants this time, although he liked seeing her in that long nightdress of hers, the one with the pearl buttons.

She didn’t say anything, and neither did he. There was no point in saying goodbye.

Instead, he gave her a nod—brief, almost impersonal—and then he turned, stepping off the porch, his boots heavier than they should’ve been.

Maria’s clear voice carried behind him as she spoke to Leela like she was approaching a wounded deer. “You feeling okay, baby? Come on, let’s talk.”

Joel kept on walking, crossed the street, and after seventeen long days, he realised—he didn’t want to go home. Because home meant silence. Home meant absence.

Home meant walking into a place where there was no tiny, fussy cry in the middle of the night. No bleary-eyed woman fumbling with a bottle, no soft, small weight curled against his chest when exhaustion finally won out.

For seventeen days, he had fallen into something. A tempo. A system. A purpose. A role. And now, as he stepped through his own front door, into the empty space that used to feel routine, Joel realised he’d done the reckless thing he never should’ve allowed.

He’d let himself care.

X

[I really like this one, so much! I love how sweet it turned out, how JOEL of him it is, and how Leela is just that sweet, confused mother. I think I'm going to really love building on this one! ]

You aren’t afraid of him per se, but he does make you nervous. He’s got a stare that makes heat simmer low in your belly and an angry brow that makes you want to kiss the tension away. You’ve caught him staring at you a few times and it’s always made your cheeks heat, shying away from his gaze and devastatingly handsome face. 

You’re brushing Shimmer’s coat before you saddle her up. Joel hasn’t arrived at the stables yet, so you spend a few minutes petting Shimmer and softly talking to her while you wait. 

It’s almost like you can feel him before you see him. A chill runs down your spine as you hear heavy boots on the ground, and you turn to see the tall, stoic man in the flesh. You don’t know whether or not to say something to him. How he responds can set the mood for the rest of your morning. 

Ever the optimist, though, you decide to take a crack at it.

“Morning, Joel.” You try to keep your tone light and casual, throwing in a small smile. 

He eyes you up and down for a second, but it isn’t in disgust—intrigue, rather. His gaze locks on yours before he steps into the stables, opening the latch door to Callus’s stall. 

“Mornin’,” he finally answers. His voice is gruff and raw, probably being the first words he’s spoken today. 

You want to say more, but you leave it at that. You may have heard about how he is from everyone else’s point of view, but you want to decipher him for yourself. You just don’t want to push his buttons, especially at six thirty in the morning. 

You huff and pet Shimmer one last time. “You ready, gorgeous girl?” You coo at her, giggling when she licks your hand. You mount yourself onto Shimmer’s back, grabbing the reins before clicking your tongue twice to get her to turn out of the stables. You glance back at Joel, catching him staring at you once again. 

“I’ll, uh, meet you at the gate,” you say. He just gives you a small nod, and you face forward once more before guiding Shimmer to the gates where a couple of others wait. You greet everyone a cheerful good morning before Joel’s beside you, and it’s not long before everyone is sent on their way. 

The sun has risen brilliantly and the chilly January air wraps around you as you trail behind Joel on his right side. Your eyes roam down his broad body, licking your lips as your gaze settles on the gun holster that’s clad to his thigh. 

Suddenly your mind envisions Joel above you, staring at you with such carnal desire that it makes your whole core positively ache. You imagine he’s the super dominant type—possessive, territorial, and greedy in the best way possible. You can see him easily picking you up, slamming you against a wall while he fucks you senseless. He’s probably also the type of man that eats pussy for his own pleasure, not allowing himself to get off until he’s made you cum at least twice. 

Well, fuck. 

A whine almost slips past your lips and you’re back to reality, and your eyes shoot up to Joel’s as you find him staring at you completely unamused. You know your cheeks are burning, and you nearly wince when he has to repeat himself because you were too busy daydreaming about how good he’d take care of you—

Jesus Christ, you need a cold shower. 

“Christ, Sunshine, are you even payin’ any mind to me?” He’s irritated and it makes you want to get swallowed up by a hole in the ground. 

“Sorry, uh, what did you say?” 

He sighs as if he’s completely inconvenienced, grumbling something under his breath and—wait, did he just call you ‘Sunshine’? 

“Said the log book ain’t too far from here. Let’s scope out the area to make sure it’s clear before we sign it n’ head back,” he says. You nod and follow his lead, surely trying not to piss him off any further. 

Joel ties Callus’s reins to a nearby tree, and you’re about to dismount Shimmer when Joel raises his hands up to you. You furrow your brows in confusion, wondering what the hell he’s doing before he rolls his eyes with a huff. 

“Ain’t got all damn day, Sunshine. C’mon.”

You loop your feet out of the stirrups, Joel’s hands catching your waist as you slide down Shimmer’s side. You land right in front of him, so close that you can feel his breath on you. So close that you can easily inhale his scent, and he’s all earthy, manly musk with a hint of coffee. He smells absolutely divine. 

You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to your lips and back up to your face. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage and you literally have to remind yourself to breathe. He’s just so fucking close and it’s so goddamn dizzying. 

You should say something. You’re about to, but you swear you see the corner of his mouth turn up into a smug smirk before he turns his body away from yours to walk toward the small shack that has the log book in it. You’re taking this time—the distance away from him—to catch your breath and keep a watchful eye on the area, making sure it’s in the clear. 

Joel reemerges a few minutes later, and the sun catches on his gun in his thigh holster. The handle gleams and your eyes are drawn to it once more. You’re staring at his thighs now, wondering how it would be if you rutted yourself over them. 

Your eyes snap up to Joel’s once again, and he’s looking at you with a quirked brow. 

“Signed the book. We all good here?” He gestures his hand to the vicinity, and you nod. 

“All good.” 

Shit. Your voice is breathless. You really can’t be any more obvious.

You mount yourself back onto Shimmer, waiting for Joel to lead ahead of you to start heading back home. 

“So,” Joel starts, and his voice startles you. He slows Callus down so Shimmer can catch up to him and you both ride side-by-side. “Where are you from?” He asks, and you have to hold back a snort. Small talk is not something you expected him to resort to. 

“QZ or pre-outbreak?” You counter back, looking at him as he faces ahead. You admire his side profile like this and he’s all strong jaw, beautifully chiseled nose, and plush lips. The leaves on the trees contrast beautifully against his golden skin, spewing glimpses of yellow and bright green. 

“Pre, I guess.” 

“California. You?” 

He raises an eyebrow at that. “Texas. So you’re a city girl?” 

This time you can’t help but huff a laugh and roll your eyes. 

“No, Texas, not all of California is glitz and glamour,” you’re full-on giggling now, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in what you assume to be his half-assed attempt at smiling. 

“What do you miss most about it?” 

You don’t even need to think about it. Without missing a beat, you look at him with a soft smile before murmuring, “The ocean.” 

He doesn’t say anything after that. You both head back into the gates of Jackson in peace, dismounting the horses and going about your days after reporting back to Maria. 

Over the next couple of weeks, you’re getting paired with Joel every time you’re on morning patrol. You keep fantasizing about him and having him in the dirtiest way possible, and the tension is growing rapidly. 

Joel’s jaw is taut when you bat your lashes up at him, and your cheery demeanor has his walls slowly crumbling down just for you. 

It’s too much, though. The tension is palpable, nearly making you suffocate in the want and desire you have for this man—someone you have absolutely no business pining after. 

You have to ask Tommy to take you off of patrol duty for a few days and have someone else fill in while you volunteer to take care of the horses in the stables or tend to the greenhouse. 

You don’t see Joel for nearly a week, and you come to the realization that it kind of drives you crazy. 

The next time you see him is at dinner in the mess hall. Joel stands in all his glory, sporting a green flannel that hugs his biceps perfectly and pants that hang on his hips like a glove. He’s also got that damn holster strapped around his thigh again, probably because he had just gotten back from patrol not too long ago. 

When his eyes meet yours from across the room, you know you’re doomed. 

And when he shoots you a barely there smile, but one you recognize nonetheless, you’re absolutely done for. 

You swallow harshly and go back to paying attention to the conversation happening with your table, trying to ignore the holes he’s burning into your head. A dark, desirable warmth stirs deep in you and you have to force yourself to pay attention to what’s going on around you. The whiskey you drank definitely isn’t helping you, either. 

You barely talk all dinner though, too nervous with the older Miller brother’s lingering gaze on you for most of the night. 

You clean up after you’ve eaten and give Maria a grateful smile and hug, thanking her for a wonderful dinner. She eyes you conspicuously, knowing that you love being a part of community events since tonight is movie night. She finds it odd when you tell her you’re turning in early tonight, but she lets it go without question. 

You walk out of the mess hall, shivering immediately as the cold air hits your body. You weren’t very well dressed for the cold weather, and while it was nice in the mess hall, you’re regretting not layering up this when it’s so cold outside. 

You hear heavy footsteps behind you, walking fast to try and catch up to you. Once again, you can already tell who it is before you even turn around. 

“Leavin’ so early, Sunshine?” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine, but it can easily be passed off as being too cold. 

“Um, yeah, gonna turn in for the night.” You muster up a tight-lipped smile, not meeting his eyes before turning back around. 

Joel puts a hand on your shoulder and electricity zings through your entire body. “Reckon I can walk you home, since I’m already out here.” 

Fuck. 

“Sure,” you say, tensing under his touch. You can’t see it, but he furrows his brows at you and cautiously falls in step with you as you walk back home. 

“Jesus, Sunshine, you’re freezin’.” He takes off his thick coat and wraps it around your shoulders, and you’re nearly a fucking puddle on the floor. The coat smells like him and it takes everything in you to not bury your nose in the fabric and inhale. His scent is intoxicating. 

Everything about him is intoxicating. 

It’s not long before you both reach your doorstep after a few minutes of walking in silence. You fumble with the key to open your front door, nerves heightening once again. 

Jesus Christ, you need to get a hold of yourself. 

Once you get the door open, you stand there for a beat before looking up at him. He’s all alluring brown eyes and subtle sexy smirk that makes you gooey in the knees. 

You contemplate it for a moment, but before you can overthink your decision, you bite the bullet and ask against your better judgement. “Do you want to come in?” 

He hesitates, assessing you. He nods after a few seconds and follows you inside, and you feel your pulse start to race quicker. It’s irritating how much of an effect he has on you, and he doesn’t even know it. 

“Nice place you got,” he says, running a hand through his hair before taking a seat on your couch. He spreads his thighs wide, taking up so much fucking room, and all it makes you want to do is be all over him. 

There’s just no fucking way he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. 

“Thank you.” You don’t really know what to say to him at this point. Conversation flowed so easily on patrol, but now you’re in this confined space with him and want nothing more than his lips on yours, consuming your entire being. 

“Can I, uh, get you anything?” 

Be more awkward, yeah? You chastise yourself for being unable to behave normally around him. 

“Just your company,” he says, patting the spot next to him on the couch. You swallow thickly and make your way over, plopping yourself down on the couch, leaving enough distance between the two of you. 

He chuckles lowly under his breath, but you still hear it against the stark quietness of your quaint home. 

“So how come I haven’t seen you on patrol lately?” His deep voice is like plunging into a warm, dark abyss. It’s full of the unknown but so comforting at the same time, and it makes your head swim. 

You shrug your shoulders, gaze moving to your hands that fidget in your lap. “Just wanted to focus on helping out elsewhere.”

“Bullshit. I think you’re lying.” He says it with such confidence, cocking his head to the side as he studies you. You didn’t think he’d call you out so easily.

Your brows shoot up. “I am not—!” 

Even you could hear the blatant defensiveness in your tone. You look at him with a fiery gaze, brows furrowed downward at his all-too-true accusations.  

“You are. Why haven’t you been on patrol?” His voice is huskier now, knowingly eyeing you like he can see right through you. 

“Dammit, Joel,” you huff, tipping your head back against the couch. “What do you want me to say?” 

“The truth.” 

The truth. As if it were that simple. 

Yeah Joel, truth is that me, little miss innocent Sunshine, has been fantasizing about you fucking my brains out every time I see you, you think. 

Joel moves closer and his face is mere inches away from yours, brown eyes intense as they watch you in such a way that sends a shiver down your spine. Your gaze shifts elsewhere because the tension is too much, and you’re left feeling like a shell of a woman under his scrutiny.

And that’s when you realize he already knows. You don’t need to tell him shit, because somehow, some way, he knows your dirty little secret and the ways you fantasize about him. 

“Trust me, Sunshine. Last thing you want is to get tangled up with a guy like me.”

Your eyes snap up to his.

”And that’s where you’re wrong, Joel. I want you.” 

“‘S a dangerous game you’re playin’, baby.” 

Baby. 

“I’m not playing games, Joel,” you say. There’s a finality in your voice that really let him know you weren’t fucking around. “You seriously wanna know why I asked Tommy to be taken off of patrol?” 

He gives you a slow, singular nod. The muscle in his jaw ticks as something fiery blazes behind his darkened eyes. 

“Every single time I’m around you, I feel like I can’t fucking breathe. Your presence is all-consuming, and every time I look at you, all I can picture is the ways I want you to have me. It’s not normal, Joel. That—that is why I asked to be taken off of patrol.” 

His expression doesn’t waver, but the muscle in his jaw ticks impossibly faster. He’s as still as a statue, and it’s so fucking quiet that you can hear a pin drop. 

There’s also another reason why you didn’t want to tell him: rejection. 

You can see him fighting a battle in his head, and this is already humiliating enough as it is. You don’t think you can handle the I don’t want you words that’ll eventually spill out of his mouth, so you stand up and take a deep breath, walking toward the door. You tug it open and his brows furrow as you stare at him expectantly. 

“I just—please, just leave.” 

His lips flatten into a straight line before he stands up and takes a few strides to get to where you’re at. He’s gazing down at you with an unfamiliar look in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to say something before he snaps it shut seconds later. His face hardens into that infamous grumpy stare, all harsh lines and tight jaw. 

He walks out without saying another word. 

You close your front door and slump against it, heaving out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. Your eyes snap up to the ceiling, and regret begins to sink her nasty claws into your skin.

Fuck. 

-

A couple of weeks pass after that whole incident in your house with Joel. You’re awoken by a loud knock on your door, and you grumble the whole way down before opening it. Tommy stands in the frame with a pleading look, and you furrow your brows as you try to fully wake up. 

“Tommy…?”

“Hey sweetheart. I need a big favor,” he says. He shifts back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking like he wants to dash away at any given second. 

“What is it?” 

“Christy called out from her patrol shift today and you’re pretty much the only one who knows the routes well enough to cover.” 

You scrub your face with your hands, and peek an eye out from behind your fingers. 

“Only because it’s you, Tommy,” you huff a laugh, and he flashes you his bright smile. 

“You’re a lifesaver. Maria and I are really grateful.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” you say, but then you pause. “Who’s my partner for this shift?” 

Tommy’s eyes avert to the wood on your porch, and you immediately knew. You didn’t know how much Tommy knew about this thing, whatever the hell it was, between you and Joel. 

You’re not really sure it’s a thing anymore, though, considering you kicked him out after telling him how you really feel. You have no idea what’s going to happen on patrol today, and you really don’t want to find out, but Tommy and Maria took you in when you were at your lowest. 

You literally owe them your life. 

“Will you still cover?” His voice is soft. The corner of your lips twitch up into an almost smile, and you reach out to pat his arm. 

“For you and Maria.” 

And that’s how you found yourself in the stables at the crack of dawn, making sure the saddle on Shimmer was secure. 

Heavy footsteps enter the stables, and you already know who it is. You hear another pair of footsteps not too far behind, and you don’t turn around until you hear Tommy call your name. 

“Hey, I’m glad I caught you while you’re still here. Are you still good to come over to ours later and help Maria with the cupcakes?” 

You hoist yourself up onto Shimmer and give Tommy a smile. 

“‘Course.”

”You goin’ with anyone to do the dance?” Tommy asks, and Joel looks between you both. The Valentine’s dance is coming up tonight, and you told Maria you’d help with whatever she needed. You just didn’t plan on going. 

“Nah,” you wave him off playfully. “I don’t have anyone to go with.” 

“Oh c’mon, you oughta meet a handsome fella—or lady, I don’t discriminate—at the dance.” 

Your eyes flicker to Joel for a split second only to find him already staring at you, before you look back to Tommy. You roll your lips into your mouth before shrugging with a small smile. 

“Maybe.” 

“Well just think about it,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. You give him a nod and your eyes drift to Joel one last time before moving Shimmer out of the stables and toward the gate. 

You greet everyone at the gate before Joel makes his way beside you, and you’re all sent on your way. You silently follow Joel, an unspoken rule between you both that he’s obviously in charge. He doesn’t attempt conversation, and you know better than to poke the bear, but the tension is still palpable. 

You make it to your assigned area before hopping off of Shimmer, shotgun tightly gripped in your hand. 

“I’ll go scope around back,” you say, treading off before he can even reply. 

You’re lost in thought as you look around, until you hear a branch break behind you. You swing around so fast that you almost hit Joel with your shotgun. 

“Jesus, Sunshine, it’s just me,” he says, frowning. 

“Don’t fucking sneak up on me like that, dammit! I could’ve shot you!” 

“But you didn’t. You’re cute when you’re mad.” Amusement wraps around his words and he smirks at you, and you roll your eyes.  

“So you don’t hate me, huh?” You ask, and you know it’s probably stupid to even take the conversation in that direction, but what else have you got to lose? 

He’s quiet for a moment, looking beyond the trees as he sighs.

“No, Sunshine, I don’t hate you.” 

You meet his gaze as you look up at him, his tall frame turning toward you as he walks closer, forcing you to step backwards until your back hits a wooden wall. He rests one hand beside your head and stares down at you. 

You know he can easily see the effect he has on you, with the way your breathing picks up and the furrow between your brow. You can’t even meet his gaze, because you know if you do, you’re absolutely done for. 

“Why’d you kick me out of your place the other day?” 

You take a moment to try and collect yourself as best as you possibly can, but you know it’s no use. 

“I didn’t want to get rejected. It’s already humiliating enough to admit that you drive me fucking crazy.” 

“How so?” He leans down, nosing at your jaw before placing a kiss below your ear. You gasp, closing your eyes to relish the feeling of his lips on you. 

You need them everywhere. 

“Just—you—fuck,” you sigh. You can’t even get a coherent thought out with his proximity and intoxicating scent and warmth wrapping around you, welcoming you into something much more desirable. 

His lips are at your ear. 

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he whispers, and you bite back a moan as he presses his lips against your neck. “Does this look like rejection to you?”

“Joel—”

“Fuck, darlin’—drive you crazy? You have absolutely no idea what you do to me. Not a fuckin’ clue.” 

“What do I do to you, Joel?” Your voice is meek as you stare up at him, trying to find your bearings. 

He stares at you for what seems like a century, before leaning down so close that his nose brushes against yours. He hesitates, and you figure it's because he doesn’t want to push you if you don’t want to do this. 

You’ve already made it abundantly clear, so you meet him the rest of the way and envelope your lips with his. 

The feeling is cosmic—better than anything you’d ever expected. It’s the kind of kiss that sends tingles down your spine and makes your toes curl in delight. 

You moan in desperation, tugging him closer to you by the sherpa lapel of his jacket, tangling your other free hand in his soft curls at the base of his skull. 

He groans into your mouth, wrapping his arms around you, and you get lost in the art of kissing each other. 

You don’t know how long you’re there pawing at each other like a couple of desperate, touch-deprived fools, but eventually you pull away because your lungs are fucking burning for air. 

You pant against his lips, tightening your hold on his lapel. 

“I wish you woulda let me say my piece instead of kicking me out,” Joel confesses. You lean your head back onto the building and sigh, looking up through the treeline. 

“I’m sorry, Joel. I was just scared.” 

“Ain’t a thing to be scared of, baby. As much as I’d love to continue this, I reckon it’s best we get goin’. They’re gonna wonder where we’re at.” 

Your eyes flutter closed as you nod, pushing yourself off the building. You scope the area with him one more time and to your luck, no activity to report. Joel signs the log book and you both head back to Jackson in a comfortable silence, a total one-eighty from earlier. 

You leave each other at the stables with not another word spoken, but a longing gaze that says everything you’re both feeling. 

You head to Tommy and Maria’s house to help Maria with the cupcakes as promised, and you head home that night with the older Miller brother on your mind yet again. 

By the time everyone is heading over to the dance, you’re all cozy in your oversized t-shirt and a book in your hand. You’ve just showered, and knowing you have off tomorrow from any and all work has you feeling extra relaxed. 

A knock on your front door startles you though, and you dog-ear the page you’re reading and set the book on your bedside, but you hear heavy boots walking up the steps already. You scramble and grab your pistol from your nightstand, standing on your knees on your mattress as you hear the footsteps getting closer to your bedroom door. 

“Sunshine?” Joel’s voice calls, and you sigh in relief as you switch the safety back on and toss your pistol onto your nightstand. 

He’s in your doorway, leaning against the frame as he takes the image of you in. The t-shirt you’re wearing only falls to the middle of your thighs, and you’re not wearing anything but panties underneath. 

The sight of him staring at you in such a hungry way has you gasping softly, and the feeling of arousal already sticks to your underwear. 

You take this opportunity to stare at him, too. Your eyes roam slowly down his frame, and yet again you’re fantasizing about all of the things you want to do with him. 

Your eyes halt halfway down his thigh—and you couldn’t help yourself. 

You kept staring at the holster, perfectly wrapped around his thick thigh. The leather was a parcel of fine craftsmanship, made to fit him like a glove. 

The gun in the holster was the cherry on top as it sat flush against his body, and you just couldn’t stop fucking staring. 

Joel was waiting for you to pounce—challenging you, mocking you. He quirks his eyebrow up at you as he crosses his arms over his chest, making his biceps pop. 

You swallow thickly as you force your gaze to meet his eyes, which have so clearly darkened. 

“Sweet girl,” Joel groans, “Keep starin’ at me and my thigh holster like that and I might just have to choke you out with it.” 

Oh, fuck. You clench around nothing at the thought. 

You nearly whimper as he crosses the room to get to your bed, towering over you once again. His large palm cups your cheek and you can’t help but look up at him like you’re mesmerized. 

Maybe you really are. 

He runs his thumb over your bottom lip before tugging it down, and that dangerous smirk is back on his lips. 

“Tell me,” he says. 

You’re so entranced by this man that it takes your brain a few seconds to catch up and process what he just said. 

“What?” 

“Tell me what you fantasize about.” 

Your eyes dart to the pink comforter on your bed. 

Joel tsks and shakes his head, hand moving to your jaw so you have to look up at him. 

“Tell me, baby. I want to give it to you.” 

He lets go of your jaw and sits down next to you on the bed, tugging you onto him so you’re straddling his thigh. 

You look down at his denim-clad leg, biting your lip before Joel ruts you forward. 

“Stare at my thighs so goddamn much you might as well ride it, hm?” He strokes the back of your head, and your eyebrows furrow at the delicious friction. 

You nod. “This was one of the things,” you say. 

“I know, baby. Use me. Wanna see you get off by pleasin’ yourself on me.” 

You sharply inhale. He moves his hands down to your thighs, pushing the t-shirt up to your hips before dipping one hand between your legs. He clicks his tongue against his teeth and hums as he rubs your aching pussy through the fabric of your underwear. 

“Fuckin’ soaked already, Sunshine. Can’t believe I really do this to you.” 

“Why’s it so hard to believe?” You ask, testing the waters by rutting your hips forward once. You softly moan at the feeling, and Joel moves his hands to settle on your hips. 

“‘Cus, I’m the mean grumpy ol’ bastard of the town and you’re the sweet, innocent happy woman that gets on well with everyone.” 

You laugh at that, moving your hands to his shoulders to give them a squeeze. You quirk a playful brow at him before rutting your hips once more. 

“Who said I was innocent?” 

You tilt your head, and his eyes get impossibly darker. Joel hums, considering you for a second. 

“I like it rough, baby, so you gotta tell me if anythin’ I do is too much.”

You clench around nothing once again, feeling your arousal seep down your thighs. The thought of him being rough with you sends you over the fucking moon. 

“Will do, cowboy.” 

The corner of his mouth tilts into an almost smile, and he leans in to kiss you with the same hunger from earlier. It’s easy to follow his lead, as your hands find his curls once more and you start to rut your hips. 

Your feet barely touch the ground like this, but ever the gentleman Joel is, he helps you by moving your hips back and forth with his hands at your hips. You’re panting his name and his face is buried in the crook of your neck, kissing and nipping the skin there. 

“That’s it, there you go,” he coos. “Wish you can see how pretty you look gettin’ off on me. Fuckin’ stunner you are.” 

You inhale sharply and squeeze your eyes shut, tossing your head back between your shoulders. Joel dips his head down and captures a clothed nipple into his mouth, and you let out a loud whine. 

It’s almost too much, with the delicious pressure on your aching clit, hands roaming over your hot skin and the expertise of his mouth. 

You feel the white-hot sensation shoot through you, and you bow your back as your orgasm blindsides you and forcefully crashes through you. 

“Joel!” You gasp his name as he brings his hand down between your legs, cupping your sex and rubbing you through the thin fabric before he tosses you onto the bed. 

You’re staring at your ceiling trying to catch your breath, but Joel doesn’t give you two seconds to think before he’s on top of you. His lips clash with yours, all teeth and tongue and desperation, before he’s tugging off your underwear and shirt to fling them across your bedroom behind him. 

You sit up on your elbows as you stare at him, watching him as he slowly unbuttons his flannel, tossing it on the floor with your clothes. 

His tanned skin glows in the sunset through your windows, and the shadows carve out the muscles in his biceps perfectly. He looks ethereal like this, towering over you with a hungry, insatiable stare. 

He unstraps his thigh holster from himself, sliding the gun across the floor and tossing the holster onto the bed next to you. 

He hovers over you once again, smirking down at you as he looks at the pretty, glistening mess between your legs. 

He wraps his arms around your thighs and he drags you toward the edge of the bed, flipping you over before harshly smacking your ass. 

You suck in a breath at the sting and he’s hungrily watching the way you clench around nothing. 

“Oh you like that, huh pretty girl?” He asks, tone nothing short of dark and teasing. 

You don’t even hesitate.

 “Fuck, yes, Joel.”

His calloused hands massage your ass, giving it another smack before you hear shuffling behind you. You turn your head to see that he’s kneeling behind you, and he looks right into your eyes as he spits on your pussy. You moan at the sight, and he grabs your thighs before burying his face in your cunt. 

“Oh fuck,” you cry, relishing in the feeling of his tongue working your slick, aching core so expertly. 

Each flick of his tongue has purpose, so fluidly blending together that it feels like a fucking composer conducting an orchestra. 

Your body is a violin, a piano, a flute. 

A symphony waiting to reach crescendo.

 His tongue glides and prods and his mouth eats you like you’re the last meal he’ll ever have, and you’re grabbing onto your pretty pink comforter for dear life as you gasp and moan his name louder and louder with each pass, each flick. 

Your eyes roll into the back of your skull as his tongue sinks into your warmth, fucking you for a brief few seconds before traveling upward toward your asshole. 

He stays there, licking and kissing your tight little hole, going to a place nobody ever has before. 

You reach back and thread your fingers through his hair, forcing his face into your flesh as he greedily licks you up. He moves his tongue back down to your pussy, drinking your arousal like you’re the finest nectar on Earth. 

Hell, to him, maybe you are. 

That devastating bliss curls around you and your insides once more, and when Joel wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, you’re absolutely done for. 

You scream his name like a prayer on Sunday, tears forming in your waterline as this orgasm rips through you more forcefully than the last. You’re quivering by the time he stands up straight again. 

“I could eat that sweet little pussy for the rest of my God-given life,” he says, and you look back at him with a weak half smile. 

You’re already so fucked out, but you know he isn’t done with you yet. Your eyes move down to the bulge in his jeans, and the outline of him makes your mouth water. 

“Let me suck your dick,” you say, and Joel chuckles before leaning down to give you a wet, you-flavored kiss. 

“Another time, baby. Wanna fuck you first.” 

It’s like your body answers to his call each and every time, so willing and ready for him. 

“Wanna see stars, Joel.” 

“And stars you’ll see, sweet girl.” 

He leans down to kiss your hair before ridding himself of his jeans and boxers, erection springing free. 

He groans at the newfound freedom, and you can see his pre-cum beaded at his tip. 

You can’t help yourself—you reach over and swipe your thumb over it, popping your finger into your mouth with a satisfied hum as the salty flavor of him dances on your tongue. 

“Why do I have a feelin’ you enjoy giving head?” 

You quirk a brow at him. “You wanna find out?” 

He laughs. It’s a sweet, rare sound. It’s one you want to capture in a jar to keep and cherish forever. 

“Later, baby. I wanna make you feel good tonight.” 

You’re about to say you already have—twice, in fact, but he’s moving behind you before you can get the words out. He rubs your ass one more time before spreading you open. 

You can tell he admires the view with the appreciative hum that evades his throat. 

“You sure you wanna do this? You can still back out, y’know.” 

You look back at him, batting your lashes twice. He gets the message. 

His mouth quirks up and he swipes his head through your folds, catching onto your clit. You whine at the feeling, and Joel smacks your ass once more for good measure. 

He settles himself at your entrance and pushes into you slowly, letting you take him inch by inch until he’s reached the hilt. 

His hips are flush against your ass, and he’s so fucking large and heavy inside you that it lights your body aflame with pure pleasure. 

“Joel,” you cry, and Joel strokes your back while he allows you time to get used to the sting, the delicious stretch. 

The feeling is indescribable, being so full like this, let alone with the man you’ve been fantasizing about for weeks now. 

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey. She’s takin’ this cock so well,” he praises. 

You moan at his words, finally squeezing the words out of your throat. “Move, please.” 

So he does. 

He starts off slow at first, testing the waters, before completely pistoning into you. He knocks the breath out of you, and it’s almost too much, but you fucking love it. 

You haven’t felt this type of bliss in your life, well, ever, and Joel is giving it to you on the first go of him fucking you. 

He slows his hips down before he grabs the thigh holder and dangles it in your vision, and you look back at him with what had to be the most pathetic pleaful look. 

“You still want this?” He asks, and you nod. 

“Words, baby. Need to hear you say it.” 

“God, fuck! Yes! Yesyesyesyesyes,” you cry. “Please, Joel. Need you to—fuck—need you to choke me out. Need it rougher. Need you,” 

“Fuck, baby, you’re a goddamn dream,” he grits. “Tap my thigh twice n’ hard if you need me to stop.” 

“Okay,” you murmur. 

He wraps the leather strap around your throat, buckling it securely before giving it a soft tug. 

“This feel okay?” 

You nod, and he gives you a warning look. 

Words. 

“Yes, Joel. ‘S perfect.” 

He pulls at the strap, and it squeezes the sides of your throat as he resumes fucking you. 

He’s pounding into you relentlessly and a deep, guttural groan leaves his chest and the sound scrapes low in your belly. It makes your pussy flutter around his cock, squeezing him so tight that his hips stutter. 

“Fuckin’ squeezin’ me, baby. She loves this cock, don’t she?” 

You whine and nod, clawing at the comforter as he pulls the strap tighter. Your breathing becomes more shallow and your vision starts to go black around the edges. 

You’re starting to see the stars Joel promised you. 

Joel hears that your little noises he loves oh-so-much have ceased, so he lets up on the strap. You gulp in a big breath of air, looking back at him to give him a wicked smile. 

He almost cums at the sight. 

“Reckon you like it rough, too.” 

You hum in agreement, reaching between your legs to cup his balls. He nearly chokes on a moan at the feeling of you beginning to massage him, and he slaps your ass before pounding into you once again. 

He pulls on the strap again, but this time he leans down so his lips are at your ear. 

“Takin’ this cock like you were made for it, honey.” 

He kisses your neck and moves his lips down between your shoulder blades, nipping at your skin before slinking a hand between your thighs, finding your clit in one perfect move. 

You want to scream and cry his name, but it’s nearly impossible with the restriction on your throat. Your vision blurs black at the edges again and before you know it, your third orgasm of the night is tearing you apart from the inside out. A silent scream evades you. 

You’ve reached the crescendo. 

You’re convulsing around him, and you think he’s saying something like there you go, good girl, but the blood is pounding so hard in your ears that you can barely even register his voice. You barely even feel him take off the holster from around your neck, too. 

Everything blurs together in bliss and dazzling stars and by the time you come to, Joel is grunting words you can finally hear. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Where do you want me?” 

You do your best to push yourself away from him and clamber onto your knees, right in front of him. 

You give him a satiated smile, all hooded eyes and a fucked out appearance that has him losing it. 

He tosses his head back as he pumps himself a few more times before his cum paints itself across your chest and lower half of your face. 

You’re truly a sight to behold—the look on Joel’s face when his gaze meets yours again says it all. 

He leans down and cups your face, kissing your forehead. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says. 

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, sitting down on your bed again before Joel is back with a wet washcloth in his hand. He coaxes you to lay back against your pillows as he wipes you down gently. 

The stark contrast of the softness he’s exuding now versus when he fucked your brains out is quite an amusing thing, but appreciated nonetheless. 

He tosses the washcloth in your hamper after he’s finished, slipping his boxers back on before climbing into bed with you. 

He tilts your chin up so you meet his gaze, and his thumb traces over the side of your face. 

“You okay?” He asks, voice gentle and full of worry. 

“More than okay,” you reassure him. Your limbs feel like goo and you can barely keep your eyes open, but you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You curl into him and he kisses your forehead once again, wrapping an arm around you to keep you close. 

“Listen, Sunshine. I ain’t really a flowers type ‘a guy,” he starts, and you look up at him again.

Your heart sinks a little and you’re sure Joel can see your face deflate, so he quickly follows up on his previous words. 

“But baby, for you, I’d pick out any one you wanted.” 

And you know that’s his way of saying he’s all in. You let his words marinate for a minute before kissing his chest, right above the steady beat of his heart. 

“Even the white roses from Maria’s garden?” You tease him, knowing those flowers are her prized possession. 

He laughs again, and without a beat, leans his face down to yours with such an incandescently happy smile that his usual frown seems something so foreign to you. 

“Even those.” 

a/n (pt 2): huge thanks to @ozarkthedog for encouraging me and letting me ramble about this fic.

also, i can’t help but make joel a sappy motherfucker too. he’s a sappy kinky motherfucker.

sorry for any mistakes. this wasn’t revised that well.

hope y’all enjoyed tho.

He stood by the stove, shoulders broad beneath a red flannel shirt that looked older than me, his hair a little messy from sleep. He moved slowly, calm like always, flipping the eggs with that focus of his, like breakfast was some serious mission. When he finally sat across from me, his hand wrapped around his mug, I couldn’t stop watching him. The way his fingers curled around the handle, the soft creak of the chair beneath his weight, the quiet hum that filled the air between us.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” he said, his voice low and rough, like gravel dragged across warm earth. He didn’t look up right away, but I could feel his eyes on me anyway. He had this way of making silence feel heavy, like he was waiting for me to say something important.

I picked at the edge of my toast, pretending not to notice. “Just thinking,” I said.

“’Bout what?”

That was the moment I’d been waiting for, though I wasn’t sure I wanted it anymore. My throat felt dry, and my stomach turned over, even though I hadn’t eaten much. The thought of telling him felt big, like once I said it out loud, things would shift between us somehow.

“Tomorrow,” I said quietly. “I’m going on my first patrol.”

Joel’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He froze for a second, then slowly set it down on the plate. His eyes lifted, sharp and unreadable, locking on mine. “You serious?”

I nodded, trying to sound confident. “Yeah. Maria said I’m ready. Guess it’s about time, right?”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest, the chair creaking softly beneath him. The silence stretched again, long and heavy, until he finally spoke. “Didn’t think they’d be sendin’ you out so soon.”

I tried to smile, to play it off. “You think I can’t handle it?”

His lips pressed into a line, and he exhaled through his nose, the sound deep and quiet. “Ain’t about handlin’ it,” he said finally. “It’s about survivin’ it. There’s a difference.”

For a moment, he looked older than usual. Not tired, just… haunted. Like the ghosts he never talked about had slipped back into the room. His gaze softened as he looked at me, and I felt my chest tighten, warmth and fear mixing somewhere inside me.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You taught me enough.”

That made him huff out a small, half-hearted laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t go puttin’ that on me,” he said, eyes flicking down to his plate. “Last thing I need’s someone blamin’ me when they get themselves in trouble.”

“Oh, ok, Joel. Fuck you,” I said sharply as I pushed my chair back. The sound of wood scraping against the floor cut through the silence like a blade.

His head lifted, eyes narrowing in surprise, but I didn’t stay long enough to hear whatever excuse he might have had. I turned, my pulse thudding in my ears, and walked straight out of the house.

The morning hit me hard. Cold air, bright light, the sound of voices drifting through Jackson as people started their day. It should have felt peaceful, but it didn’t. Every step I took down the dirt path away from Joel’s place made my chest feel tighter. My hands were shoved deep into my jacket pockets, my jaw clenched.

He always did that. Pretended not to care. Hid behind that tough, gruff voice like it was armor. And maybe that was what I liked about him, that rough kind of strength, but right now it just pissed me off.

I reached my house and slammed the door behind me. The sound echoed through the empty space. I leaned against the door for a moment, breathing hard, trying to swallow the heat building in my throat. I hated that he could make me feel this way, like I was fifteen again, like his words could still get under my skin.

I threw my jacket onto the couch and sat down heavily beside it. The quiet settled around me, broken only by the faint sounds of Jackson outside. My eyes landed on the knife he’d given me a few months ago, lying on the table. The same knife he’d sharpened himself before pressing it into my hand, saying it might save my life one day.

Even when he acted cold, he did things like that. Small things that said everything he never would.

I picked it up, turned it over in my hands, and whispered to the empty room, “You’re such an asshole, Joel.”

My voice cracked just slightly, and I hated the sound of it. I pressed the knife flat against my palm, felt the cool metal against my skin, and exhaled slowly. Beneath all the anger, there was something else sitting heavy in my chest. Something like worry. Something like longing.

Maybe he was just scared for me. Maybe that was his way of caring.

The morning of the patrol came quietly, like the world was holding its breath. I woke before dawn, the sky still heavy with mist, the town wrapped in that soft silence that always came before the gates opened. My hands shook a little as I laced my boots, but I told myself it was just the cold.

I hadn’t heard a word from Joel. Not a knock. Not a note. Nothing. And I told myself I didn’t care. Maybe I even believed it for a while.

By the time I met up with Dina, the sun was creeping up over the trees, lighting the frost on the rooftops. She grinned at me, teasing as always, her breath fogging in the air. “You ready for this, rookie?” she said, elbowing me lightly.

I nodded, forcing a smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The gates creaked open, that long groan of metal and wood that always made my stomach twist. Then we rode out into the world.

The first few hours were calm, almost peaceful. Snow dusted the ground, soft under our boots. The wind was cold but clean. We talked about nothing, stupid jokes, food we missed, songs from before everything went to hell. It almost felt like things were normal.

But the quiet didn’t last. It never does.

We were crossing a narrow street, half-collapsed buildings on both sides, when the first shot hit the wall beside Dina. The sound cracked the air in two, and we dove for cover. My heart slammed in my chest, the world shrinking to noise and panic.

Two men came out from behind a truck, faces covered, guns raised. I barely had time to think before I fired. The recoil slammed through my arm, the echo ringing in my ears. One of them went down, the other rushed forward, screaming something I couldn’t even make out. Dina shot him before he reached us.

Then it was quiet again. Just the sound of our breathing and the wind pushing through broken windows.

Dina was hurt. A deep cut across her arm, blood soaking her sleeve. I’d taken a hit too a knife, somewhere near my ribs when I tried to help her up. The pain burned hot, but I pushed it down. We needed to move.

By the time we made it back to Jackson, the world was spinning a little. The gates opened, people shouting, rushing to help her. They pulled Dina toward the infirmary, voices overlapping, hands everywhere.

Someone tried to grab me too, but I shook them off. “I’m fine,” I said, though the words came out rough. “Just a scratch.”

I wasn’t fine. My shirt was sticking to me, blood dried and cracked against the fabric. My legs felt like they could give out any second. But I didn’t stop. I didn’t go to the hospital.

I just wanted to go home.

The walk back was slow. Every step hurt, but I kept moving. The town felt different now quieter, heavier. I reached my door, pushed it open, and let it close behind me. The moment it clicked shut, my body finally gave in.

I pressed a hand to my side, felt the warm stickiness there, and stumbled toward the sink. The mirror above it caught my reflection pale, bloodied, eyes tired. I grabbed a rag, wet it, and started cleaning the wound as best as I could.

The first knock came hard and fast, rattling the whole door. I froze, breath catching in my chest, then heard his voice outside.

“It’s Joel. Open up.”

He sounded different. There was something in his tone that wasn’t anger, not really. It was raw, rushed, almost desperate. My stomach twisted at the sound of it. I pressed my hand harder against my side, feeling the warm blood seeping through the rag, my fingertips trembling.

For a second, I just stood there, staring at the door, torn between wanting him to leave and wanting him inside. My body made the decision for me. I took a slow, shaky breath, crossed the room, and pulled the door open.

Joel was standing there in the dim light, his chest rising and falling fast like he’d been running. His hair was messy, his jaw tight, and his eyes landed on me the instant the door cracked open. They went straight to the dark stain on my shirt, then back to my face.

“What?” I said quietly.

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed, and his voice dropped to a rough whisper. “Jesus Christ. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, trying to turn away.

He pushed the door wider with one hand and stepped inside, closing it behind him. The sound of it echoed in the small room. He looked at me like he didn’t believe a word I said, his brows drawn together, his chest still heaving.

“The hell you are,” he said. “Why didn’t you go to the infirmary?”

“I didn’t need to,” I said quickly. “Dina was worse. I can handle it.”

He took a step closer, the floorboards creaking under his boots. His voice softened, but the edge didn’t fade completely. “You think bleedin’ all over your goddamn house counts as handlin’ it?”

I swallowed hard, staring at the sink instead of him. “I said I’m fine.”

He stood there for a long second before letting out a deep sigh. The sound carried frustration, worry, maybe both. “You’re too damn stubborn for your own good.”

“Guess I learned that from you,” I said quietly, my reflection catching his eyes in the mirror.

Joel didn’t say anything at first. His gaze stayed locked on mine, something heavy behind it, something that made my chest tighten. Then he stepped forward and gently took the rag from my hand. His fingers brushed mine, warm and rough, and I felt my whole body tense.

“Sit down,” he said softly. “Let me see.”

The fight went out of me. I sat on the edge of the table while he knelt in front of me. His hands were steady as he pressed the clean cloth to my side. The sting made me hiss and grab the edge of the table, but he didn’t flinch.

“Hold still,” he murmured. “Ain’t too deep, but it’s a mess. Gotta clean it right.”

His voice was low and careful now. The smell of his soap and the faint scent of coffee clung to him, familiar and grounding. The room was quiet except for the sound of water dripping and his rough breathing. Every touch of his hand sent heat crawling up my skin.

“Should’ve never let them send you out there,” he said, his tone soft but heavy.

“It wasn’t your call,” I said.

He stopped what he was doing, eyes lifting to meet mine. “Doesn’t mean I can’t blame myself.”

The words sank deep. My chest ached. I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to, that I was fine, but the way he looked at me made it hard to speak. There was fear in his eyes, the kind he tried to hide from everyone else.

He sighed, sitting back on his heels, hands falling to his knees. “You scared the hell outta me,” he said quietly.

I tried to smile, but my voice came out small. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

That made him look up fast. His voice came rough and low. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

It wasn’t anger in his tone. It was something heavier, something that burned quietly in his chest. His eyes locked on mine, searching like he needed to be sure I was really there.

I swallowed hard, feeling my heart thump painfully against my ribs. “Then why do you act like you don’t care?”

His jaw tightened, and he looked down for a moment, exhaling slow. Then he met my eyes again, voice quiet but steady. “Because if I start showing it, I won’t know how to stop.”

The silence that followed was thick, pressing into the room. My hands, still smeared with dried blood, shook slightly. I wasn’t sure if it was from pain or from him being so close, so raw.

“You’re terrible at hiding it,” I said quietly.

A short, breathy laugh left him. He reached out, hesitated, and then placed his hand gently on my shoulder. His touch was warm and careful, as if I might disappear if he pressed too hard.

“You scared me,” he said, softer now, almost a whisper. “Thought I might lose you.”

I looked up at him, noticing the lines around his eyes and the tension in his jaw. All of it spoke of worry and something he wouldn’t name.

“I’m still here,” I said.

His hand moved slowly from my shoulder to my jaw. His palm was rough, calloused from years of work, but his touch was careful, steady.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “You are.”

The quiet in the room shifted. It wasn’t heavy anymore. It was warm, pulsing with something neither of us had admitted yet. I felt the heat from his skin, the weight of his presence, the way his fingers lingered just a moment too long.

Then he blinked, pulled his hand back, and stepped away. He ran a hand through his hair and muttered to himself, “This isn’t right.”

“Why not?” I asked softly.

His eyes found mine again. “Because I’m supposed to protect you. Not… whatever this is.”

The words hit hard, but his voice had lost some of its edge. I stepped closer. “You can’t protect me from how I feel.”

He held my gaze for a long moment, unreadable. The silence stretched, filled with everything we weren’t saying.

Finally, he let out a slow, rough sigh. “You don’t make things easy,” he said.

“Never planned to,” I whispered back.

He almost smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he reached out again, brushing a fingertip lightly across my cheek before pulling back.

“Get some rest,” he said quietly. “You need it.”

I felt disappointed, a dull ache blooming in my chest. For a moment, I thought he was finally going to say it, that he loved me, or at least something close to it. But instead, he was leaving. My face couldn’t hide what I felt; I could feel the sadness pulling at my features, tightening my throat, making it hard to look at him.

Joel noticed. His hand froze on the doorframe. The quiet between us grew heavier, filled with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.

I tried to speak, but my voice came out smaller than I expected. “That’s it?”

He turned around slowly, his expression uncertain, as if he was torn between staying and walking out before he said something he couldn’t take back. “You need to heal,” he said softly. “You’ve been through enough today.”

I shook my head. “You don’t get it.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “Then tell me what I’m missin’.”

My hands clenched at my sides. “You keep showing up like I mean something to you, but every time you start to say it, you stop. You always stop.” My voice cracked halfway through, and I hated how fragile it sounded.

He stood still for a long moment, staring at me. Then he sighed quietly and took a few steps closer, his boots barely making a sound against the floor. “You think it’s easy for me?” he asked, voice low and uneven. “You think I don’t… want to say it?”

I looked at him, eyes stinging. “Then why don’t you?”

Joel’s eyes softened, his shoulders dropping. “Because I don’t wanna mess this up. I’ve lost too many people already, and the thought of losin’ you too scares the hell outta me.”

That broke something inside me. The honesty in his voice, the quiet fear that slipped through it made my chest tighten until I could barely breathe. I took a slow step toward him, close enough to see the faint tremor in his hands.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said quietly.

Joel’s eyes flicked to mine, unsure, hopeful, terrified all at once. He reached up, hesitating, and then let his hand rest gently against my cheek. His thumb brushed along my skin, and for a second, neither of us moved. The silence wasn’t empty anymore. It was full.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said finally, his voice soft, almost trembling.

I shook my head. “That’s not your choice to make.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, but his hand stayed on my face. His thumb lingered, tracing the edge of my jaw like he needed proof I was real. He took a slow breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

A small, tired smile tugged at my lips. “I’ve been told.”

His hand stayed on my cheek, warm and steady, and for a moment we just looked at each other. The weight of everything, the fear, the worry, the longing, hung between us, thick and unspoken. Then Joel leaned in, impossibly slow.

His lips met mine gently at first, cautious, testing. The touch was soft, deliberate, like he did not want to scare me or push too far. My chest tightened, and without thinking, I pressed back, returning the kiss with the same careful tenderness.

His hands moved, one slipping from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair. The other rested lightly on my side, steadying himself against me. Every movement was slow, almost hesitant, but full of meaning.

My breath hitched, heart pounding in my chest. The warmth of him pressed against me, making the ache from earlier fade for a moment, leaving only this, only him, only now. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him as close as I dared, letting the world shrink to just us.

His lips moved against mine again, slower this time, softer, as if he were memorizing every second. There was no rush, no wild urgency, only this careful, intimate moment, quiet and full of all the things we had not said.

When we finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against mine. His eyes searched mine, soft, anxious, and afraid of what came next, but there was a relief in them too, like a weight had lifted.

“You’re a damn fool,” he muttered, voice low and rough, a little breathless.

“And you love it,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He did not answer with words. Instead, he kissed me again, slower and softer, making sure this time that we both stayed in the moment, that neither of us would let go.

The way he narrows his eyes at you when he knows you’ve got something smart to say about his age. It used to bother him at first, the stark contrast of things you could relate to. Now that he's grown used to it you won’t waste an opportunity to poke the bear.

“What’s on your mind darlin’?” He’s sitting at your kitchen table reading the newspaper. Perhaps the only person you know who still religiously buys one.

“Oh nothing.” It’s said innocently enough as you wait for him to look up at you. His eyes peek over as he lets out a huff of breath to say get on with it. “I was just wondering what it was like to vote for Roosevelt.”

He flips the paper over in his hand as he looks suspiciously at you. “Roosevelt?” He opens and closes it again as you try to keep your face as neutral as possible. “Roosevelt!? I never…I wasn’t even-“

You can’t help your laughter as you steady yourself on the kitchen chair next to him.

“Oh, you just think you’re a regular fuckin’ comedian don’t ya?” He sets the paper down again and the brown in his eyes have practically disappeared with the way he’s looking at you.

Knowing when to quit was never really your strong suit….and Joel didn’t like quitters anyway.

You slide up behind him and smooth your hands down his shoulders. For such a stubborn brooding man, he really was easy to lure in. He immediately relaxes into your touch as you kiss the side of his face, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo and aftershave.

“I’m not trying to make fun honey.” He hums as your fingers graze his forearms and revel in the goosebumps left on your wake. “It’s just that you can show me things I never got to experience. Like black and white movies.”

You’re down the hall before he can will his knees and his back to move out the chair. A litany of curses flowing from him as his heavy footsteps echo down the hall to your shared bedroom.

Joel knows it’s all an act.

If it really bothered him when you were being a “pain in his ass.” You’d stop and he’d never hear another word of it. He loves it, you keep him young and you laugh at his jokes. You make him smile until his cheeks hurt and he doesn't think he could love anyone more than he loves you (bratty behavior and all).

Maria had helped you to your feet, and it took everything in you to not fall over and pass out again. It was spring, but it was still early enough in the morning for there to be a slight chill in the air. It didn't take long for you to start shivering as Maria dismissed the crowd that had gathered around the commotion you caused. You wrapped your arms around yourself, attempting to keep yourself warm against the biting cold in the air. 

To your surprise you felt a warm jacket being draped over your shoulders, you flinched slightly at the sudden contact, before relaxing as the smell of wood, tobacco, and pine wafted over you. You were shocked to meet Joel's firm gaze, before pulling the jacket closer to your body. Only for the warmth, no other reason. 

"Thank you." You murmured over your shoulder, hoping that covered both the coat favor and saving your life. 

"Don't mention it." Joel replied, his expression hard as stone as you began to follow Maria back towards the building that seemed to be Jackson’s working hospital. 

You were too tired, and too slow to put up any sort of fight at the moment. The younger man that you think was named Tommy began walking next to Maria, wrapping his arm over her shoulder as he shot a cautious glance back at you. Maria murmured something in his ear, what you couldn't hear, but the man seemed to relax afterwards. 

You were led right back into the room you woke up in, with Maria, Tommy, and Joel all following you along with a nurse. The young woman motioned for you to return to your spot in the bed. You hesitated only for a moment before complying. Then you slid the jacket off of your shoulders and placed it into Joel's callused hands, taking note of how they looked like the hands of a working man. He only gave you a curt nod, before stepping back and continuing to let Maria take the lead. You had no idea why these men were so obedient towards her, but you weren't about to complain. 

Maria stepped forward and sat on the bedside as the nurse began inserting the IV back into your vein, making your jaw clench as the stinging pain returned. 

"Thank you, Adeline. Will you give us a moment? You too." Maria asked, before ordering the men with a more firm tone; earning a shocked look from Tommy and an annoyed one from Joel. Her gaze must've said something along the lines of out, because they all begrudgingly left, quietly shutting the door behind them.

Maria finally met your gaze again, and she reminded you so much of— You didn't want to think about it. You didn't want to think about the loss that rocked your entire world. 

"Do men scare you?" Maria suddenly asked, her bluntness taking you by surprise for a moment. 

"Everyone scares me." You admitted, though men weren't exactly your favorite either. More often than not your biggest enemies you had faced had been men. But, you weren't exactly keen on being near anyone. Too much risk. Too much loss. You couldn't take it anymore. 

Maria nodded, her facial expression remaining neutral as she leaned back on the bed, running her hand over her swollen belly. By the looks of it, you determined she would be due very soon. It brought back memories of an old friend of yours. When she had been alive, anyway.

"You probably won't believe me, but I can relate." Maria finally said after a few beats, seeming to tighten her grip slightly on the fabric of her shirt. 

"I believe you." I said simply, not wanting to give her the wrong idea about you. There was still a small scrap of humanity within you, something that longed to be friends with this woman. 

"Then believe me when I say, you are not a prisoner here. But I cannot in good consciousness let you leave in this malnourished condition. My husband told me that you had gotten two sentences out before passing out in front of him. That was only a day ago. You are in no condition to go anywhere. So, can I ask you a favor?" Maria asked, her gaze piercing into your own with a fierceness that only a mother could have. You figured that Tommy was the husband she spoke of, given how protective he seemed to be over her on the walk back to the hospital.

You only nodded, not wanting to speak as your throat was very quickly beginning to hurt from the screams you had let out earlier. Maria leaned forward, before saying, "Can you please just rest and eat enough to think straight? Then you can do whatever you like. You can go, or you can stay. But you gotta let us help, just for now." 

You sucked in a deep breath and prayed that you weren't making a mistake, before nodding and earning a hum of approval from Maria. 

"When you're up for it, I'll give you a tour." Maria told you before leaving the room. 

You had no idea why, but you found yourself missing her company as soon as she left. 

The nurses were kind to you, and an older one named Esther even started teasing you about your escape attempt. The food was reminiscent of hospital food before the world had ended, but it was the best thing you'd had in weeks, so it tasted like heaven. You were relieved that you were able to fall asleep relatively easily that night, but found yourself annoyed at the fact that the man Joel kept crossing your mind. You hated that his coat objectively smelled good, and that somehow his gruff southern accent was the thing you were thinking about before falling asleep. 

In the morning, you had shockingly felt slightly normal. You received another delicious, but small meal, in an attempt to prevent you from getting re-feeding syndrome. Shortly after Maria stopped by, along with a stranger. An older woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, blue eyes, and a kind smile. Maria greeted you with your name, to which you nodded in reply as the two women stepped into your room. 

"I brought a friend, is that okay?" Maria asked, seeming to notice how you stiffened slightly at the sight of a new person. You nodded, setting down a magazine they had given you when you had complained of boredom. 

"This is Gail. She's a psychotherapist, she's just here to ask you a couple of questions." Maria explained, making you roll your eyes at the not-so-subtle approach of making sure you weren't crazy. 

"You're here to make sure I'm not a psycho. Or sociopath." You replied blandly, arching a brow at the duo as you folded your arms over your chest. 

"Pretty much. So you gonna let me ask you questions or are we gonna stand here chit-chattin' all day?" Gail asked, immediately earning your respect as Maria shot her a warning look. Gail threw her hands up in pretend surrender, before glancing back at you for an answer.

"Ask away." You stated simply, motioning for Gail to have a seat as Maria saw herself out, closing the door behind her. There was an awkward silence for a couple beats, like Gail was expecting you to start blabbering about yourself. You had been plenty talkative before the world went to shit, but now? You were quiet as a mouse. She took a moment to put on a pair of what you assumed were reading glasses, something you desperately needed, on.

"Where are you from?" Gail asked, confusing you immediately. What did that have to do with your mental health?

"What does that have to do with anything?" You questioned, irritation sparking for a moment as Gail crossed her legs in her chair that she had settled in. 

"Good to know how far someone has gone." Gail said simply, shrugging her shoulders. 

"Cheyenne. I was in Laramie at university when the world ended." You stated, explaining your situation in an attempt to cover any further questions. Gail nodded, taking a note in her small notepad she had pulled out of a cardigan pocket. 

"What were you going to school for?" Gail inquired. Again, what did this have to do with your sanity? If you even had any left.

"Painting with an art history minor." You answered flatly, finding it difficult to take any actual interest in the current conversation you were having.

"Do you keep up with it at all? Painting? Drawing? Anything like that?" Gail pressed, glancing down to scribble something else in the little notepad. 

"Sorta. Kinda hard when you're starving and running from those things." You bit back, growing tired of the boring back and forth of small talk. Gail nodded and hummed in agreement, before asking, "And how did you end up in that situation in Hoback? You don't need to go into details, just whatever you feel comfortable sharing."

You chewed your lip for a moment as painful memories came flooding back for a brief moment, before settling on the bare amount of information that Gail needed from you. 

"My mother and brother died on outbreak day, that was my immediate family. I managed to find another one after a while. Before a lot of bad shit happened, and they died too. Then I was alone. I couldn't find anything in the winter, and those things just kept coming... I didn't even know there were different kinds until recently. I don't even know how I'm still alive." You explained, your voice shaking as you blinked back tears. 

There was another pregnant pause, with Gail seeming to think her words over before saying anything.

"You've been through a lot. But, I'm gonna tell you something, and you're not gonna like it. Every single person who lives here has been through a lot. But we were all lucky enough to find this place, and call it home.” Gail told you, halting whatever notes she had been taking in the moments prior. 

"How many people live here?" You suddenly found yourself asking, curious to know the extent of the community that briefly saw your escape attempt. 

"About 300, give or take. You're the first refugee since Joel and Ellie came to live here a couple months ago." Gail explained, dropping a new name of someone you did not know. You briefly wondered if that could've been a possible wife, but you hadn't seen a ring finger on Joel's hand. So a kid was most likely who Gail was talking about, which didn't shock you. He seemed like the kind of man that was a protector.

You only nodded in response to the answer given, suddenly finding the floor very interesting as you waited for another question. 

"Do you still wish to leave?" Gail asked, keeping her facial neutral and impossible for you to read.

You thought about the outside world for a moment, and how much you had hated being alone and fending for yourself. Your happiest years had been in the tiny farmhouse in the middle of the Bridger-Teton National Forest with the most beautiful person you had ever met. You missed her every day, and found it difficult to carry on without her. But what else was there to do?

So you shook your head, trying to ignore the pit of anxiety in your belly at the mere thought of leaving the safety of your room. 

"Good. We need someone like you around here." Gail replied, before standing up and leaving abruptly. 

What the hell did she mean by that? 

A few minutes dragged on before Maria returned with a wheelchair, parking it near your bed before motioning for you to hop in.

"Where are we going? And I can walk." You asked, flinging blankets to the side as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. 

"I told you I'd give you a tour. And while I don't doubt that you can walk, I'm not sure you'll make it the whole way without passing out." Maria explained, gently patting the seat like she was trying to convince you it was safe. In reality it wasn't the safety you were concerned about, it was everyone's perception of you. You didn't want to seem like some helpless, crazy lady that Joel had found in the woods. 

But you were curious to see what this place had to offer. So, you reluctantly sat down in the wheelchair, and let Maria push you out of the hospital. As you took in your surroundings, Maria began explaining what each building was. You were shocked to find that Jackson had many running facilities and services. There was a bar & restaurant, school, laundromat, small stores, and a mess hall for serving meals and playing movies. Your heart ached for a film, you hadn't watched one in years. You suddenly realized just thinking about it brought a smile to your face. 

"Do you have a favorite movie?" Maria asked, nudging your shoulder slightly as she continued to wheel you past a bustling community that barely seemed to notice you. 

"Aliens." You blurted out. It came out when you were a toddler, but it was the first horror movie you saw and you immediately fell in love with the genre.

"Ah. That would have to be during one of the adults only movie nights I'm afraid." Maria replied, though you didn't think that movie was any scarier than the things that lurked beyond the walls of Jackson. The comment made you wonder if some of the children you saw were born in this haven. 

Maria pushed you past the gate you had tried to get through the day before. To your surprise you saw Joel, being followed by a girl who couldn't have been older than sixteen who seemed very adamant about something. 

"Is that Ellie?" You asked, nodding towards the duo as the girl followed Joel's footsteps into what looked like a large stable. You felt yourself briefly fantasizing about riding a horse out of here before snapping back into reality to hear Maria's reply.

"Yep. He's got his hands full, that's for sure." Maria joked, earning an amused huff from you as she started to turn you around. From what you saw, you could believe it. 

"Is she his...?" You let the question falter, suddenly realizing how rude it came across to question what stranger's relationships were.

"His daughter. Not by blood, but they went through a lot together." Maria replied, and you briefly found yourself wanting to know their story. 

"Is that all?" You asked suddenly, turning to look at Maria over your shoulder. 

"Mostly. Gotta figure out where you wanna stay." Maria answered, earning another confused look from you. 

"Did Gail tell you I don't want to leave?" You questioned, fidgeting with your cuticles as you observed a park full of children laughing. You hadn't heard anything like that in a long time. 

"Yes. And I'm here to tell you that you won't be able to stay for free. Everyone does their part, everyone helps out. Gail also told me you were going to school for art, is that right?" Maria admitted, bringing the conversation back to something you did not want to think about.

"Yes. What does that have to do with anything? Y'all need an artist or something?" You asked as you were wheeled into a picture-perfect neighborhood. It was the whole package, white picket fences, wrap around porches, small gardens beginning to bloom. 

"Not necessarily, just an artistic eye here and there. Can you fight? Shoot? Hunt? Anything like that?" Maria bombarded you with questions you could say yes to. 

"Yes, yes, and yes. Can fish too, ride horses, rope cattle, even break a horse if you need me to. How do you think I survived 20 years on my own?" You bit back, growing irritated with the waves of questions with little to no answers in return. You had suddenly been pushed in front of a run down pale green house. The paint was peeling, the shingles were rotted and needed to be replaced, and there was a gaping hole in front of the door on the porch. Other than that it was more or less intact, with some broken windows here and there. 

But behind the ramshackle exterior, you saw the house of your dreams.  

"Then I think you'll be up for this challenge. Can I be honest with you?" Maria asked, to which you nodded immediately. When you glanced back up at her you could read that whatever she was about to say was serious. 

"We're working on building more houses right now, in case we find more people like you. But none of them are ready... This is the closest thing I can offer for a habitable place to stay. Unless you want to stay with someone." Maria offered, making your chest tighten at the opportunity being presented to you. Your head immediately shook, you did not want to stay with anyone else. You could easily make this place work, and you were already imagining getting down to business and repairing everything in front of you. 

"As long as you're okay with me workin' on it." You affirmed, standing and getting lightheaded only for a moment before beginning to walk towards the house.

"Dr. V said she wanted to keep you for observation for one more day. That should give us enough time to get the worst of the work out of the way." Maria explained as you made your way up the groaning porch stairs. 

You reached forward and yanked the door open, making a point to sidestep the hole and hopping into the entryway of the home. A large staircase lay straight ahead, with a dusty looking dining room to your right and a living room to your left. You rushed into the living room as you spied the most beautiful thing you'd ever laid your eyes on: a dusty Sony CD player. It sat on a shelf full of CD cases, as you began scanning them you felt tears well up in your eyes at the music taste of whoever lived here before. You were seeing albums you hadn't listened to since before the outbreak. Your heart soared as you took in albums like Heaven or Las Vegas, Treasure, Rumours, Tusk, Purple Rain, Ten, Riot Act, and so many more. 

"Ah. Looks like they forgot to take that out. Guess that means it's yours." Maria commented, smiling down at you as you wiped the tears from your eyes. That reminded you of what little belongings you had when you were found by Joel and Tommy.

"What happened to my stuff?" You asked, stepping forward and chewing on your lip as you prayed that somehow your sketchbook was saved.

"Well... your weapons were taken into the armory like all of them. No one is allowed to be armed unless they're on patrol. Your clothes weren't really clothes anymore so they were thrown out. All other belongings you had are being kept at the hospital." Maria explained, relieving you temporarily as you turned to take a peak in the next room. A small hallway took you into a kitchen, before leading you back into the dining room in one big circle. 

"I'd be happy to live in this house, Maria. Thank you." You murmured after another moment of taking in the space. 

Before she could reply, the sound of running footsteps made you jump as the girl named Ellie hopped into the front entryway of your newly claimed home. Her brows furrowed at you as she shot a questioning look at Maria.

"Who the fuck is that?" Ellie asked, stunning you with her language as she pointed at you with an unsure finger.

"Language. Ellie, this is..." Maria paused for you to introduce yourself, most likely trying to get you to come out of your shell a bit.

You told the girl your name. She nodded, before replying with, "Cool. I'm Ellie. Are you guys really giving her this shitty house?" Her attention seemed to lock onto Maria as soon as she was done introducing herself. Part of you was touched that she seemed to care about where you stayed, and the other part was offended on behalf of the house.

Maria's mouth opened to reply, before you cut her off with, "It ain't that bad. It just needs a little love." 

Ellie's face contorted with confusion as she was about to reply, but it was her turn to get cut off because Maria began pushing the girl out of the house. "Joel is out on patrol and is probably wanting you to get home. So go on." Maria ordered as Ellie groaned in protest, before turning and stomping towards the white house across the street. It suddenly hit you that if that was where the girl lived, that was also where Joel lived. Great.

It's not like he had been unkind to you. Quite the opposite. He had saved your life, he had taken you here when he could've left you for dead. He had draped his coat around your freezing body the day before. He had respected your privacy and left when Maria had asked him to. Bare minimum, but you still found yourself dreading running into him. You didn't understand why you grew hot when he was near or why your mouth would go dry. But you hated it. It made you feel weak, vulnerable. You never wanted to feel that way ever again. Not after all you've been through. 

Maria calling your name pulled you out of your brief disassociation before you followed her back to your wheelchair. As you were being pushed back to the hospital, you gave your future home one more longing glance before turning back and enjoying the spring breeze against your face.

"After you get settled, we'll talk about getting you on patrols. I'll be sure to swing by lost and found and gather your items that we set aside." Maria explained on the way back.

The only thing you could think about was that house. You desperately craved your own space, somewhere to retreat when you got overwhelmed. Even if that meant living across the street from Joel and Ellie. 

The rest of the day was painfully boring, full of nurses checking on you and feeding you small snacks, until Maria stopped by as the day began to fade into dusk. Staying true to her word, she returned with your beloved sketchbook, bag of colored pencils, and your empty silver flask. Apparently those had been the only things worth saving, besides your weapons of course. 

"You said people here are only allowed to be armed while on patrol... When I go, could I get my bow and arrows back? I work better when I have several weapons at my disposal." You stated as you began making sure all of your precious colored pencils were still intact. They were some of your favorite mark-making tools, but they were so difficult to find given the state of the world. Especially in the bright colors that you cherished so deeply.  

Maria seemed to ponder your request for a moment, before shrugging simply and replying, "I don't see why not. Maybe you'll teach some people a thing or too. Don't have too many archers around here." 

The last thing you wanted to do was teach people something, but you kept your mouth shut as Maria said her goodbye, and left you alone once more. Much to your annoyance, thoughts of Joel and Ellie persisted until you fell into a fitful sleep. 

Joel had gone on patrol like normal. It had been a quiet one much to his relief. Nothing was different, his day carried on like usual. Until it was dinnertime at the mess hall, and Ellie revealed that she had met you. 

"Met that lady you and Tommy found. She seems nice." Ellie said, before taking a large bite of the soup that was being served for the night. Joel rolled his eyes, annoyed at Ellie's odd fascination with you. 

"Does she?" Joel asked flatly, attempting to put on an unbothered mask and praying Ellie wouldn't see through it. 

"She said something about that house just 'needing a little bit of love'. I think she deserves one of the new houses." Ellie said as-a-matter-of-factly. Joel hated he found that endearing, that you were willing to repair the house across the street. That explained why the carpentry crew had been by when Joel was on his way home, reinstalling some windows and repairing the hole in front of the door. 

"They ain't ready yet. I'm surprised she chose to stay." Joel commented, which had been true. Given your determination to escape the day before, he figured you were just another one of those loner types. That seemed to catch Ellie's attention as her brow furrowed and her head tilted in curiosity. 

"Why wouldn't she?" Ellie questioned through a mouthful, irking Joel as he began to finish up his own meal. 

"Some people have spent too long out there. It's the only thing they know, and it can be difficult to adjust to this life. You should know that." Joel explained gently, seeming to silence Ellie's persistent curiosity for the time being. 

"Maybe we should pay her a visit, welcome her to the neighborhood. It would've been nice if people had done that for us." Ellie suggested after a moment, nearly making Joel choke on a mouthful at the thought of stopping by your place just to welcome you. 

"You're just bein' nosey." Joel commented, calling out Ellie's not so subtle interest in you. Ellie scoffed, placing a hand over her chest and gawking like she had been accused of lying. 

"Come on, you wanna get to know her too. I can tell." Ellie retorted, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she nudged Joel's arm playfully. What was it with Ellie always trying to get Joel to socialize more? Joel had everything he could ever want in a world like this, his brother, and Ellie. And a nephew on the way, which he often forgot about when he had his hands full trying to keep Ellie out of trouble. 

"We'll see." Joel finally answered shortly, choosing to ignore Ellie's teasing, and seeming to satisfy her for the time being. 

"That's not a no." Ellie chimed, before finally letting the topic rest for the night. 

Joel slept better that night, why he had no idea, but he wasn't taking it for granted as he awoke feeling refreshed and ready to tackle whatever the day threw at him. He made his usual cup of black coffee, grateful for the people he had traded with about a month ago. Birdsong filled the air as Joel opened the front door to sit on the rocking chair on his front porch. He'd have to get Ellie up for school soon, but for just a moment he wanted to appreciate the crisp spring morning. One of the trees in his yard was beginning to bloom with pink petals, which danced on the breeze as he savored his first sip of the day. Lately he tried to focus on the little things, rather than dwelling on the carnage he had caused in Salt Lake City all those months ago. 

Joel was able to enjoy a few more moments of peace, before he spotted you and Maria walking towards your newly claimed home down the street. Luckily, neither of you had noticed his presence, so he was able to hurry back into the safety of his home to observe you from a safe distance. He peeked out one of the windows in the living room, surprised at how much better you looked. 

Your cheeks were still hollow, and you still looked exhausted, but there was a determination in your eyes that Joel hadn't seen before. Like you were ready to face this new life being offered to you. You wore fresh clothes, with a backpack swung over your shoulder as Maria led you to your front porch. For the first time, Joel saw you smile. 

He wanted nothing more than to see that smile as much as possible. 

"Look who's being nosey now!" Ellie's teasing voice scared Joel so bad he nearly spilled his cup of coffee. He whirled around and found that Ellie was standing at the base of the stairs, with her arms crossed and a smug smirk plastered on her face. 

"Jesus! How long have you been standing there?" Joel asked, holding his hand over his suddenly racing heart as he tried his best to not look guilty. 

"Long enough. I say we go say hi on the way to breakfast!" Ellie insisted, skipping over to the window and peering out across the street as you and Maria entered the house. 

"No. Gotta get you to school on time. Go get dressed." Joel shut the idea down immediately, not wanting to bother you on the first day of you being on your own. Ellie groaned and rolled her eyes, giving Joel the usual shit before reluctantly returning to her room to change out of her pajamas. While Ellie packed her small backpack with the small amount of school supplies she had, Joel gathered his own items for another patrol today. Joel often picked up extra shifts to keep himself busy while Ellie was at school, and to keep him from thinking about his past. 

Ellie had gotten dressed and ready to go surprisingly quickly, most likely wanting to snoop on you as soon as possible. Joel prayed you wouldn't notice them walking to the mess hall, and that somehow he'd be able to convince Ellie to just mind her business. It was a lesson she'd need to learn sooner than later, and he figured now was a good time to teach her. 

As Joel began walking out of the door with Ellie, they caught a glimpse of Maria leaving the house and closing the door behind her. As she began walking down the steps, music started blaring from inside your home. Loudly. Though a part of Joel didn't mind, because it was a good song.

"Hey, how does she get music?" Ellie asked, scoffing at Maria as they began walking side by side towards the mess hall. 

"There was an old CD player left behind, and it was in her house when she claimed it. Finders keepers." Maria explained, walking in a way that reminded Joel of Sarah's mother when she had been pregnant for a brief moment. He ignored the familiar tug of grief in his heart and kept quiet as Ellie pestered Maria with more questions. 

"What music is she even playing?" Ellie asked, and before Maria could answer, Joel did, "'I'm Coming Home to Stay', by Fleetwood Mac." 

"Never heard that one before." Ellie replied, making Joel die a little on the inside. Maybe he had failed as a father if Ellie didn't even know one of Fleetwood Mac's first songs from their first album... but in a way the song confirmed one thing:

You were indeed home to stay. 

@wiseyouthinfluencer @feministfanboi @creator-indy @burritobandita  @edelelordi  @madam-mag

Jesus, you sound ridiculous but gods honest truth, that’s what it’s like when you’re around Joel Miller. “You sound jealous.” He says without looking at you, his attention back to his book.

“I am not jealous-“ the words sounding bitter, “-I’m annoyed! They do all that shit in front of me and you eat it all up, it fuckin sucks. You don’t get how it feels.”

You didn’t know what you and Joel were. You weren’t public but even behind closed doors, neither of you put a title or meaning to whatever this was. “Ah don’t worry about it, sweetheart, I don’t notice so why should it bother you.” It was then, the way he dismissed your worries and feelings, focused too much on his damn book to even look at you, you realised, he just didn’t care.. You stand still above him just watching him, knots in your stomach tightening, yet, he doesnt look up, or notice that now you’re picking up your shit, youre getting yourself dressed and leaving.

Maybe he would be better off with a younger woman, someone who’s in their own head to notice what a dick Joel can be sometimes. You had enough. You got yourself home, put your comfy pjs on and climbed into bed.

Surprisingly, you fell straight to sleep, been a while since it’s been that easy. That was until there was a knock at your door. You knew who it was, so you took your sweet ass time, putting socks on as the floor was freezing, the knocks become louder, more panicked. You slowly walked down the stairs, again, taking your sweet ass time. As you approached the door, seeing the big dark figure through the thick netted curtains, you smirk and ask, “who is it.” Knowing you’ll hear a grunt or a “fuck sake.”

“For fuck sake, it’s me, open the door.”

“Who’s me? Don’t know anyone named that, sorry.” You continue to smirk, hearing his patience wearing thin. “Fuckin hell, it’s Joel, will you open the damn door please.” Still knocking but not as frantic, not as loud.

Even though he can’t see you, you playfully tap your chin, “hmm Joel, Joel? Sounds familiar, I’ve got an ex called Joel.” The knocking stops.

Then there were three little taps on the window next to the door, “Will you- will you please open the door, darlin.” You hear a small thud, he rests his head against the window, looking at you, the cloud of his breath, fogging up the glass. Your smile falters. “Where did you go, I looked up and you were gone”.

“Jesus, Joel I left over an hour ago. Took you long enough.”

“No, I heard the door and when I looked out the window you were walking away. Didn’t wanna shout you, I didn’t know what was wrong.”

You stare at him like, are you fuckin for real?

“Are you fuckin for real? I told you what was bothering me and you brushed me off. I was talking and you weren’t listening, so I fucking left. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, will you open the damn door so we can talk face to face,.. please.”

“No, no way, dude! You just wanna get close so you can do your voodoo shit on me, talking with your draaawl and soothing words, no way buster, not falling for it this time.” You stand straight and cross your arms over your chest and he just laughs. You let him get it out of his system, “ya know, this laughing isn’t helping your case.” It looks like he wipes away a literal tear, “oh sweetheart, you’re the funniest fuckin person I know,” he shakes his head and whispers “voodoo shit”.

It’s the truth isn’t it. He gets near you and his voice, so deep and goddamn sexy just lures you in, the lingering scent of him of cedar, whiskey and his words, oh Christ, his words of adoration and admiration that glue themselves into your soul, you’re always gonna go back. Always. He’s seethed himself into you. And as much as you hate to admit it, you don’t wanna be without him. Fuck. So you open the door, ready for wharever comes.

He steps in and goes for a hug, you stop him. “Why you here, Joel. I don’t wanna be with you anymore-“ the words felt so harsh, his face drops, “-I’m sick of always talking and you never listening, I fuckin hate it when those girls do all that shit around me, and you think it’s a big joke, which means I’m not paranoid, you let it happen. Maybe you should be with a younger one, ya know. One that’s not nearing to menopause and can still pop out lots of babies for you-” You drop your shoulders, “-you say you don’t want that stuff, but I think you do. You’re just, riding this out with me being a dick so I’ll end it with you, well, you got what you wanted.”

He grabs your shoulders and makes you face him, “you don’t know a goddamn thing about what I want, those young women, bah, not worth my damn time. All they do is fuckin talk, about shit. And all that touchy feely bullshit, I don’t like that crap, I don’t wan’em touchin me and besides, they couldn’t handle me like you can.” He goes to pull you in but pauses, like he’s asking for permission. You slightly nod. “they’re just little girls, and you, Christ, are all woman and that’s what I want.” He rests his hand on your lower back and kisses your crown. “All serious though, darlin. I only want you. You’re the light of my life, the pain in my ass but you’re all mine. And there’s no way I’m letting you go. Ya stuck with me til one of us drops dead, sweetheart.”

You pull away from him, cold from his absence and place your hand on his chest, tilting your head sideways, “oh, Joel, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. And it was from you.” You’re half joking and half serious. It WAS the most romantic thing that’s ever been said to you. And Joel Miller said it. He rolls his eyes and pulls you back in and squeezes you tight, practically crushing you. “So, are we back together then, darlin” he grabs your ass, growling into neck, “cause I was thinking, we didn’t have the break up sex so, that’s happening, and if we’re back together-“, he picks you up and props you over his shoulder,

“-make up sex, darlin.” After a night of frantic love making, doing every position Joel could think of, the next night, you find yourself in The Tipsy Bison.

You’re sitting at booth with Tommy, Eugene, Maria and Mr misery guts, talking about bullshit theories about the infected. “Ellie said, it was stalking her rather than just attacking-“ Tommy goes on. “-well we’ll go to the warehouse and have a look around, more people if things go south” Maria suggests, taking a sip of her drink. Joel stands from the booth, “going the bar, anyone want anything?” A lot of ‘nos’ but you need a whiskey, you lean forward and grab his arm, “I’ll have what you’re having, cowboy.” Giving his veiny arm a little squeeze. He leans forward, ghosting your ear, “Anything for you, baby.” You watch him walk away, goddamn that peach of his. Wanna leave teeth marks on that thing.

You go back to talking to the group, and after a few minutes, it’s like your spidey senses go off. You look to the bar and you see three girls talking to Joel. One of the little bitches touching his arm. What the hell is she wearing, You think to yourself. You watch as he points to you, shit, have I gotta wave? Or smile or what, dude? After everything last night, you didn’t have the energy in you so you turn back to talk about those fuckin theories.

You don’t know what he said to them, but you see them shuffle off, tails between their legs, all flustered, and Joel, walking back with two amber drinks. He sits his ass down, sliding you the drink, “you ok? Did you let them down gently?” You say it with a smirk. “Yeah they won’t be botherin me again, thank Christ. Voices like nails on a chalkboard.” You let out a soft laugh and Joel wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in to kiss your temple. The night goes on, and you keep side eying those young women, they’re sitting at their table giving glares to you every so often, you can’t help but lean up and kiss Joel on the cheek, resting back down against his shoulder, smirking at them.

Old woman: 1 Young Bitches: 0

Joel at the bar:

“Oh hi, Mr Miller. Can we buy you a drink?”

There were three of them, wearing skirts that were up their asses, tops hung so low and smelling of those awful strawberry drinks.

“Nah thanks girls, I’m good, I’m treating myself and my lady over there.” They follow your finger, landing on your Love, “yeah she’s the best, having like a date night, so getting the good stuff” And like she can hear you talking about her, she turns to face the bar, seeing a brunette holding his arm, she drops her arm off you and starts twiddling at the hem of her shirt. “Oh you’re with her? I heard you like em younger, Mr Miller not ya know old.”

You want this conversation over, “I do, and I’m with her, sweet young ass on her, so-anyway girls gotta head to my woman so, g’night.” They walk off, well shuffle off and you head back over to the booth, swirling the drinks around, you park your ass and wrap your arm around her. Fuck she smells divine.

Throughout the night, you keep noticing her looking over at the table where the young women were at. And one of the times, she leans up and kisses your cheek, knowing full well it was for show. You didn’t mind.

Do what you gotta do to claim me, darlin.