#ughhhhhhhhhhhh

The baby boom in Jackson began about six months after you started to call the settlement home.

It wasn't very surprising. After all, safety had a way of loosening the grip of fear and letting love take root where survival had once ruled the mind. And when love was involved in a world with a lack of contraceptives… well, there were babies.

And oh, did Jackson have babies.

You'd only have to step out of the house to see the streets filled with the new beginnings of life. The air was soon full of coos and soft cries, followed with gentle reassurances passed between mothers and fathers, neighbors leaning in to lend a hand. It brought the town closer than ever before.

Somehow, childless and single, yet old enough to be trusted, you found yourself caring for the little ones while their parents tended to work or if they just needed some rest. At first, it was a baby here and there dropped off at your door for an afternoon. And then as word spread about how good you were with the children, your home began filling with tiny feet and bright eyes. Some parents even joked their children preferred you to them, which made you laugh but left you secretly honored.

Over the years—how fast they go by when watching tiny humans grow—the babies turned to toddlers, who inevitably turned to children. By the time many of them turned three or four, you realized how badly they craved something more. Not because they were unruly, but because their minds were so eager to stretch and wander. They needed a place to learn, to play, to begin imagining larger worlds.

Soon, you were convincing Tommy Miller and his wife Maria to let you use a small building down the road as a school. You painted its walls with sprawling gardens, bees and butterflies and flowers blooming in bright murals on the outside. String lights were strung across beams, and with the help of a young man Jesse and his girlfriend Dina, you raided an elementary school in an abandoned town over the mountain. It had been left and untouched, after all, because who bothered with school supplies when the world ended? Yet you came away with treasures: coloring books and workbooks, crayons by the hundreds, pencils, scissors, paints, paper that hadn't rotted away in the twenty years it had been left. Your little building became a schoolhouse in no time, shelves full of books and crafts and trinkets found along the way. Each item seemed small, but meant everything to you.

And on your birthday, Jesse and Dina had surprised you with an entire chalkboard and a box filled with little white sticks. The moment you laid your eyes on it, you fell into their arms, laughing and weeping all at once.

Today, a warm spring afternoon, you were out in the community garden with the children, all of them crouched among the rows of mulch and sprouting harvest. You'd been teaching them about roots and leaves, how the soil and sun worked together to make things grow, how they love to lean towards the light. You taught them how there was some inexplicable thing about nature that liked to be sung to. Halfway through leading them in a cheerful round of You Are My Sunshine, you noticed Tommy Miller heading your way, a broad grin on his face and someone at his side.

You rose from your kneeling position, dusting the dirt from your palms and smoothing your yellow dress, calling out to the children, "You can pick off one vegetable each—and I do mean one, Joey!"

"Mornin'," Tommy said warmly upon your approach. His smile was so wide his freckle-dusted cheeks were flushed pink, radiating a kindness that always put you at ease.

"Morning, Tommy," you replied, leaning in to greet each other with a kiss on the cheek. You turned back to double check the rows of children—still eighteen heads like giggling blossoms between the thicket of greenery—before turning back to your visitor, a little breathless, "How are you?"

“I’m wonderful, honey, thank you,” he said, hands settling on his hips in his usual easy stance. “Wanted to introduce you to one of our new folks. This here’s my brother, Joel.”

"Hi, Joel," you greeted warmly, offering your hand. He inclined his head, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth as his thick palm closed around yours. He was so warm and gentle, fingers worn with rough calluses and his hand swallowed yours in its grasp. You suddenly caught yourself staring at the silver threading through his dark hair and the broad cut of his shoulders before you let go.

"Joel here's gonna be helpin' with that schoolhouse of yours," Tommy continued once your hands had parted, clapping his hand onto the broad cup of his brother's shoulder, "roof's been in bad shape since the winter. And he's the man to fix it."

"Oh, I'd really appreciate it so much," you replied, eyes brightening, until you hesitated, "I'll still be able to teach, though?" you glanced back at the children as you spoke, counting again, the instinct automatic. Still eighteen.

Joel spoke for the first time then, his voice low and even, pleasantly rough, "Yes, ma'am, shouldn't get in your way too much."

Your eyes flicked to him, startled by the warmth in his tone. “What a shame,” you said softly, catching yourself and smiling, "but I'm glad I'll still be able to teach."

Tommy’s eyes moved between his brother and you, quick and curious.

"Well, we'll let you get back to it," he said, his hand clapping one more time on Joel before giving you one more beaming smile. As his one hand left his brother's shoulder, the other found the small of your back in parting, light and friendly, "You take care now, honey,"

"You too," you returned, a blush reaching your cheeks as your gaze found Joel's once more. His eyes held yours for a fraction longer than polite, so pretty you wondered how many colors you'd have to mix to get the hazel right. And then he nodded his goodbye, and parted with Tommy.

Joel

You see, when Joel was younger—when he had a mortgage to pay and a job to keep and a house to care for—it riddled him with gut-wrenching anxiety. He would ignore it, and could usually keep his head on long enough to get through the day, wishing to hit his head to a pillow and sleep it off, only to be left wide awake at night, begging his eyelids to shut. He would toss and turn, pleading for his brain to shut off, to put away the worry and just let him fucking sleep. It was a specific feeling in his stomach then—he couldn't eat or drink much without it churning painfully in his gut. It got so bad he started taking little while pills to help with the sores in his stomach. That's when the doctor told him he had anxiety.

That's what he was feeling now.

That stomach rolling, wide eyed feeling, staring up at his ceiling.

But this time, it wasn't because he had a baby to feed in a recession or because he had to hold a job he couldn't be sure he had the next day. It wasn't about reminding himself about soccer dues or another part needed for his truck to even get to the job he wasn't sure he'd had.

No, no.

Joel Miller had a fucking crush.

It turned tides in his stomach even as he thought it.

Butterflies, he’d call it, you know, if he was five years old. He fisted his palms into his eyes, willing them to close, to let him fucking sleep. Twenty years into the end of the world and his brain was worried what you’d thought of him today. What that look in your eyes meant as you realized you’d be seeing him a lot more now that the roof to your school was so decayed from winter’s wet blanket the last four months.

The next few days did not make it much easier.

He and Ellie were given the rest of the weekend to settle in, to get their bearings and meet the other folks in town, and if anything the reprieve only made it worse. He kept seeing you—everywhere—in such small, ordinary ways that made it impossible to ignore the flipping in his stomach.

He saw you at the stables, saying hello to the horses and the parents of a young boy, your hand resting on the boy’s shoulder while you listened like nothing else mattered. That next night, he saw you outside the Tipsy Bison with a glass of wine in your hand, your cheeks pink as a man flirted openly with you and you tried to laugh it off as if trying not to hurt his feelings. Joel didn’t feel bold enough to talk to you yet, but every now and then, when he checked back to see if you were still there, you would already be looking at him.

You wore the prettiest things too: a yellow dress one day with little frills at the sleeves, pale pink the next, soft and muddy at the hem as you picked vegetables. Then, Sunday afternoon he saw you on your porch wearing a pretty blue one as you painted, a small bouquet of flowers tucked into your apron pocket.

And the people of Jackson loved you.

Little children brought you treats, the stable boy offering his apple to you, the bartender at the Tipsy Bison not letting you exchange a single thing for your drink. In the market a woman gave you flowers because they matched that blue dress, not allowing your objections to the thoughtful gesture. And when Joel slipped you into conversation that Sunday night at dinner at Tommy and Maria's, his brother was all smiles and pride at what you'd done with that building on the side of town. How the place made it feel like the old days, steadier and alive because of you. And then, almost baffled, Tommy added he couldn’t believe you’d been single, on your own all this time, always tending to the children and never worrying about anyone’s flirtations.

Joel didn't get any sleep that night.

On Monday morning, he was at the kitchen table, sunlight beaming through the window in pale stripes across the worn wood. Ellie sat across from him, kicking her feet with restless irritation as she hunched over her notebook. The only sound in the room was Joel's fork against the porcelain in front of him, and her pen scratching doodles in the lines of the paper.

Joel pushed his eggs around his plate, managing a few bites only because he knew better than to skip eating altogether. His stomach rolled anyway, just like it had been all night.

“Sounds to me like you’re bored,” he said around a bite of egg, swallowing the lump in his throat, forcing his voice to stay easy, normal. “And need a job.”

Ellie snorted, finally glancing up from the notebook, pen held aloft “Where?” she asked, and then pointed the pen at him, threatening. “And don’t tell me farm duty. That sucked so bad I can’t imagine why anyone would ever sign up for that.” She rolled her eyes dramatically, then set the pen aside and reached for a slice of apple, dragging it through the mason jar of peanut butter beside her plate before taking a bite. Mid chew, she added, “And no one will let me train for patrol yet.”

Joel stood and gathered her empty plate with his own, twisting the lid back onto the jar and sliding it out of reach before she could go back for more. She tended to like to stick her entire finger in the jar when she ran out of apple slices.

“Hey!” Ellie protested.

“Get up,” Joel said, jerking his chin toward the door. “You’re comin’ with me.”

“I can’t do manual labor,” she yelled after him, chair scraping loudly as she stood. “I don’t even know how to use a screwdriver!”

“Lucky for you,” he said, throwing on his boots, keeping his back to her so she wouldn’t see the way his jaw was set, “the job I got in mind requires minimal manual labor.”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “That is, unless you count havin’ to pick up and carry around forty-somethin’ pounds every so often.”

You

"Ellie here has been needin' a job," Joel explained on the doorstep of your schoolhouse. His eyes wouldn't meet yours the entire time he'd been saying hello, introducing Ellie as he stared at her. She was cute—red haired, freckle faced. And Joel had a soft smile as he looked at her, even though his arms were folded tightly across his chest. You wondered for a moment if the smile was saying something else between them, an inside joke you didn't know, a little smug and teasing as she elbowed him.

"Uh, hi," Ellie said with a polite grin, a little shy.

You smiled back, bright and sincere, "I'm really so grateful to have you," you said as you greeted the kids filing in around you. The schoolhouse was streaked with winter's melt, the sunflowers and bees now faded, "We're learning about the solar system today, so it'll be great to have an extra pair of hands."

You sounded a little exasperated, but really, there couldn't have been a better day for her arrival—paper mache, planets, glue and scissors and paint all in the hands of eighteen of Jackson's five year olds. Planning it had been exciting, especially when you'd found a book on Space Exploration for Dummies. But now, staring down the barrel of the day ahead, you were immensely grateful for the teenager to help out.

As the last child filed inside, Ellie followed, her face brightened and excited, and you turned to close the door and bid her guardian goodbye. As you reached for the handle, you caught one more glance at Joel as he finally looked up at you.

You wondered if it was winter’s last nip of the morning, or if he’d always been so pink in the cheeks, but you could’ve sworn Joel Miller was blushing.

The day carried on, and eighteen miniature solar systems came to life. There were planets strung on yarn and stars splattered with paint on black paper you'd spent all night painting the days before. Glue was dried between small fingers, markers rolled beneath desks, laughter filling the space. Ellie was absolutely radiant as she darted between tables to help the little ones.

"Did you know the moon smells like gun powder?" she'd asked, grinning as the kids gasped, "gun powder's the stuff they use to make weapons work, like when your parents go on patrol. Same stuff. Cool, right?"

"Did you know the first animals in space were fruit flies? Everyone always says monkeys, but nope—flies! They sent them for radiation exposure."

"Did you know the heat sheilds on shuttles are made of sand? No seriously!!"

By the third fact, you'd decided maybe she should've been teaching the lesson herself.

When the day finally wound down, gluey hands washed clean and paints capped, Ellie stood at the sink, carefully working the brushes under running water. She had gone a little quiet once the kids all left for supper, her voice soft when she finally spoke to you as you cleaned up. “Thanks for letting me… you know… help out.”

You smiled, pouring the cloudy rinse water into the basin beside her. “I think that was the best lesson yet. You were amazing.”

Ellie’s grin widened, freckles dancing across her nose, her eyes bright and alive. You shared a quiet, easy moment there, just smiling at each other.

There was a knock on the open door behind you, and a familiar voice called out.

"Ready to head home?"

You and Ellie both turned. Joel stood in the doorway, filling it with his broad frame, his shirt darkened with sweat at the collar and under his arms, hands dirt-smudged, a strip of white gauze wrapped around his left palm.

Ellie dried her hands quickly and grabbed her backpack, slinging it over one shoulder as she walked towards him. But instead of stopping in front of him, she went around, looking sheepishly up at him from outside, “Uh…Kat actually invited me over. We’re gonna hang out.” she shrugged, “Save me some dinner?”

Joel blinked, “I—okay, uh, yeah.”

Ellie’s eyes found you once more, “Thanks again, Miss!”

You waved her off with a small smile, then wiped your hands on your yellow apron, untied it, and draped it over the back of your chair. When you sat on the edge of the desk, the fatigue caught up with you all at once, settling into your bones as the quiet finally took hold. The room was clean now, desks straightened, floors swept, but the day still clung to you—glue under your fingernails, paint in your hair, the usual. There was an exhaustion in your bones, but the good kind, from a day well spent.

Joel stood awkwardly at the door for a moment, picking at the bandage on his left hand, shifting once before clearing his throat, “She tends to run her own schedule, sorry ‘bout that,”

You laughed softly, “She’s wonderful.”

He looked up at that, his eyes finding yours, and god, they really were so pretty. Every color from the forest under a thick, dark brow. He looked at you like he wasn’t expecting the praise, like the compliment hit somewhere tender.

“Yeah. She is,” he murmured, eyes dropping again, the pink returning to his cheeks.

You tilted your head, smiling gently. “She was incredible today. And the kids loved her. I think she taught half the lesson for me.”

“Well,” Joel scratched the back of his neck, bashful, “she’s always loved space, never stops talkin' about it whenever she can.”

“That’s a good thing here,” you said softly. “I could use someone who talks a lot. I’m usually outnumbered by eighteen little voices.”

You both watched each other for a long moment, and you felt like you were cataloging him. Broad shoulders, dark hair, that thick peppered beard and thick bottom lip. You blushed before trying to look away, but then something caught your eye.

“Joel?” you asked gently, your eyes finally realizing that bandage hadn’t been there this morning, “What happened to your hand?”

He seemed startled that you’d noticed, following your gaze down to the bandage as if it had only just occurred to him. “Oh. It’s nothin’,” he said. “Just… been a while since I done much construction. Roof was worse’n I thought. Should throttle Tommy for leavin' you to a rotted decking for so long."

You pushed yourself up from the desk without thinking, concern warming your expression as you stepped closer. “Still,” you said, “it must’ve hurt.”

He shrugged, trying to play it off, but he flushed pink again, “It’s fine. Really.”

But he didn’t pull away when you reached for his arm. You took his bandaged hand carefully, your fingers gentle as you adjusted the loose wrap, neatening it without comment. He went very still beneath your fingers, watching you the whole time, as if he weren’t used to being tended to, as if the simple act of care was something new and overwhelming.

“I’m glad you’re helping with the schoolhouse,” you said quietly after a minute, your fingers resting on the thick of his arm. “We really needed it. Tommy and Maria, I mean… and me.”

His eyes moved between yours, something shy in his smile. “Happy to,” he said. “Really.”

You couldn't stop looking up at him, studying him, watching him watch you. His beard had been trimmed since yesterday, the dark thick hair still threaded with silver, neater than it was, and the thought surprised you with how fond it made you feel.

Joel's expression was changing as you watched him. Your hand still laid on his arm, just delicate and gentle, not even putting pressure. You hadn’t realized how near you’d drifted until you were almost chest to chest, your breath catching a little at the space between you, at how solid he felt, how steady.

He lowered his arms slowly, careful not to startle you, and then his bandaged hand lifted, hesitant, as if he were asking permission with the motion itself. His fingers pinched a streak of blue paint caught in your hair.

"You really are somethin, miss honey," he murmured as he dragged the color from your hair.

"My name's—not—I—"

But you couldn't make the words form. It was your turn to blush and stammer, as his hand tucked the hair away, and he inhaled. You could feel your breath being stolen from him. His smile was shy but widening, maybe amused as he realized you were suddenly as nervous as him.

"What’re you doin’ tonight?” he asked quietly, hope threaded through the question. His voice was so low, so gravelly but soft. You wanted to close your eyes just to hear it like a hymn.

You hummed, a little delirious at the closeness, at the smell of the mint on his breath. You wondered if he'd gotten some from the garden before coming here.

"Nothing." you answered.

You realized then he hadn’t dropped his hand from your ear. He was still holding your face, thumb warm where it brushed your temple.

He hesitated, and you watched his eyes move around the focals of your face, your eyes, your nose, your lips—oh god—and it made your chest feel too small for your heart, made you suddenly aware of your own mouth, the way you were breathing.

And then, gathering his courage, he said: “Dinner?”

You lifted your hand without thinking, circling his wrist where it hovered, a quiet little anchor, and it was like the touch finally caught up with him. His breath hitched, his shoulders softened. This big, broad man suddenly unsure in the sweetest, most disarming way, offering you something fragile and waiting to see if you’d take it.

“I’d like that,” you said, smiling back, a little breathless yourself. “I can bring coffee, if you—”

His entire expression changed in a glimpse. The cautious set of his brows lifted, the corners of his mouth lifting wider, and his eyes sparkled like embers catching light.

“There’s coffee?” he asked, almost boyishly hopeful.

You couldn’t help the way your smile widened in return, your tongue finally finding its way back to you as you wet your lips and remembered how to speak.

“Every once in a while the bakery gets some,” you said softly. “I teach the owner’s kids, so… I usually get first dibs when it comes in.”

He let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh, and only then seemed to realize his hand was still on your face. He lowered it slowly, careful, and you followed the movement without thinking, your fingers sliding from his wrist down to his hand until you were only holding the tips of each other’s fingers.

“That sounds….” he said, earnest and a little unsteady. “That would be real nice, honey.”

You looked at him for a long moment, both of you smiling in a soft, stunned way that felt too big for words.

“Walk me home?” you asked, quiet and hopeful.

He glanced out at the open door, the evening settling into purples and oranges, then back at you, and his hand slipped further into yours, squeezing it once.

“Lead the way,” he said.

some bonus pics I took for you from the game :)