Tarot Reading (Pick A Card): What Are Their Current Intentions? 💌
Hey, everyone. I am back for another Tarot reading today. I took some time away from this blog and doing readings because I needed to self-care, to reflect and regroup. But, now I'm back! So, let's get into it.
Today, we are going to be looking at your person's current intentions. Meaning what do they want out of this connection, what do they want to give you and what actions do they plan on taking. Remember that energy can always change. I will give it to you honest, per usual, but try not to either get too frustrated by a reading or overly idealize a situation because of a reading you receive, either. My motto for love readings is "don't stress, don't obsess".
Also, on Patreon, I will be doing an extended reading where we will see what will happen the next time you see your person. So, if you're interested in joining me over there, the link to the extended will be at the end of each pile's reading.
I am also not taking reversals because I tried to earlier and the energy just felt very off. I feel like I have just gotten into such a groove of not taking them that I am probably just not meant to for awhile.
Anyway, choose the image or images below that you are most drawn to. The theme for today: birds. Why? Because a little birdie is going to tell me what your person's intentions are. Lol idk. Sometimes, I just choose what's most aesthetically pleasing to me in the moment.
As always, trust your intuition. It will tell you if you have chosen the right pile or if there are messages here for you. 💚
PILE 1
PILE 2
PILE 3
PILE 4
PILE 1
Knight of Cups
(clarified by: Seven of Swords)
Judgement
(clarified by: The Star)
Three of Pentacles
(clarified by: The Tower)
Queen of Pentacles (back of the deck)
Pile 1, I have the feeling that your person has some explaining to do! I think, in the past, they played around on you quite a bit. This could have been a situationship that never went anywhere, an unfulfilling relationship or even some kind of unrequited love situation. Regardless, there was some sort of major ending. A fall out. A bridge burned, even, for some of you. And I actually think it was good for you. Even though it was painful, ending things with this person was very empowering for you. I am getting that phrase "may the bridges I burn light my way". You kind of feel like you're in unbothered mode, moving on, while this person is still very much hurting over this.
So, what are their current intentions? Well, they want you back. I say that because I am hearing the Nsync song I Want You Back. But, I get the feeling from you that this is vaguely amusing or even hilarious and ridiculous. Even though they are planning on making this romantic gesture, I don't know how successful it will be and they don't either. I guess we will see in the extended! But, the thing I am feeling is that they really did something to disrespect you or take you for granted. They may have even lied in some way. At the very least, they hurt you unnecessarily and it's no one's fault but theirs. You know that and, if it's any comfort, they know it, too.
Tbh, I am definitely getting "third party" energy here. And I feel like this went one of two ways. They may have chose someone else over you and this person turned out to, honestly, be a total nightmare. The connection definitely feels karmic and in that very painful way that karmic relationships can be. They may not have realized what they were signing up for with this person til they were in it. Also, maybe this person isn't overly toxic but the situation is just very unstable. One of the reasons why is... you. Which is funny because you kind of have the energy of the "now why am I in it?" meme. You aren't in this relationship and you aren't pursuing this person. But, this karmic knows how much your person loves you, maybe through suspicion or an intuitive sense. They know they can't compare and it's something that makes them very insecure.
I see you as this Queen of Pentacles to your person. Regardless of your gender, you are a very feminine being who has a stabilizing, nurturing effect on them. In fact, this might become a bit of an issue because they could project their mother complex on to you, sometimes. It's easy for you to fall into that but I think you have been working on it. You have been learning to put yourself and your needs first. You could have birth chart placements in Earth: Taurus, Virgo or Capricorn. As caring and sensitive as you are, you are also very sensible. And that level head has allowed you to set very firm boundaries now with this person.
But, I will say that you don't have to necessarily burn a bridge with this person. And if you have, you can rebuild it. You can be firm and strong yet still kind. There is hope for this connection but it's also up to you and your free will. This person used their free will to choose someone else. So, you can use your free will to choose yourself, if you want. It's funny because I am not getting a lot about THEIR intentions because, in the end, your Guides want you to remember that this is up to you. Even though you feel a powerful connection with this person, even though they want you back, you get to choose what path you want.
I also get the feeling that this person is far from ready. They are trying to get ready. And maybe you don't want to wait around for that. But, they are going through some massive changes and that is destined, whether you end up together or not. You were the catalyst for that. But, they are a little too focused on getting you back, as if you are this goal or prize. And to quote the legendary Princess Jasmine, you are not a prize to be won! It may be especially messy because they might still be with this third party. BUT, I don't think they will come forward to you with this romantic offer until it's done. It may end in a very dramatic fashion, though. Actually, I think it most likely will end that way lol.
They still have a lot to learn. They are this Knight of Cups. They want to be emotionally available to you but they are still not quite mature enough yet. They could definitely have Water placements in their chart: Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces. Scorpio, most likely, is coming through strongly. (They could also have Aquarius energy or you could) They are highly secretive in a lot of ways and the biggest thing they need to work on is honest, open communication without fear of vulnerability. They are not there yet but they're working in it. When they finally come forward, it will lead to a revelation of their true feelings toward you. But, it's going to take a lot of effort from them.
What will happen the next time you see this person? Join me on Patreon in the extended reading to find out
EXTENDED READING FOR PILE 1
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PILE 2
The Hierophant
(clarified by: The Empress)
Five of Swords
(clarified by: Knight of Wands)
Five of Wands
(clarified by: The Lovers)
Two of Wands (back of the deck)
Pile 2, your person is feeling this very restless desire to move toward you. This is something that seems to be affecting everything they do. It's like no matter what they do, their attention drifts back to you. But, not really in a daydreamy sort of way. More so in the sense that this person wants to take action toward you and move out of the current place they're in. For some of you, they may actually be thinking about moving to where you are, as this could be long distance. That's how serious they are about you.
That may be pretty shocking to you. I say that because a) this feels like a situation that's in separation and that you haven't spoken to this person in a long time and b) they've never been the serious type before. I see them as this Knight of Wands figure. They could have Aries, Leo or Sagittarius placements in their chart. They are very fiery and more on the masculine side. They were either a major player when you were in their life or they were rather insensitive and self-centered. Somehow, they really hurt you. Maybe treated you like an option, maybe were very reckless with your feelings. They could have even just rejected you or not given you the time of day because they were too busy chasing after other people. This person is very attractive and charismatic and is used to love interests flocking to them. But, in the midst of all that, they failed to appreciate the one who mattered most: you.
I said all of that because I do think this person is constantly thinking back to that period when you were in their life and evaluating their mistakes. I'm hearing, "I was such an asshole". Well, I won't argue there lol. I also think that, at one point, they had a choice between you and someone else. Or something else. Maybe not necessarily a person but a lifestyle or something. Maybe they chose their immaturity and BS over you. Regardless, you walked away from them once it proved to be too much. And I think they are striving very hard to learn from these past mistakes.
There is a lot of fear they harbor over you moving on and finding someone else. Maybe you already have and they know that via word of mouth or social media. Regardless, they want to be better than your other options. Because, let's be real, YOU have plenty of options to choose from and I think this person either forgot that or didn't fully realize that. On some level, they were convinced that they were the prize. Well, I think you've effectively flipped that script on them. Because they are seeing you as The Empress: a very feminine individual who is absolutely gorgeous, from the inside out, and high-value. (You may have Taurus or Libra placements, especially Taurus). They are feeling super-attracted to you and I get the sense that you are deliberating leaning more into your Empress power and they can energetically sense that. And it's making you wildly magnetic to this person, more than ever.
Their intentions are basically to cuff you, to lock you down into a commitment. But, of course, whether or not you say yes to this is up to you. I feel like you actually wanted a real commitment with them at one point and made yourself available and they either rejected you or took you for granted or both. But, now, it's like they are on the same page now that you were then. Does that matter to you now, though? The song Too Little Too Late by Jojo is coming through. Listen to the lyrics. This may either be how you feel or what they fear you're going to tell them. However, I don't think they are willing to give this up without a fight. And they are very intent on showing you how much they want this and how much they will fight for it. How you respond is up to you.
I do think this is a very significant connection and, at one point, you saw this person as "the one". They are definitely a soulmate of some kind. Possibly even that label that rhymes with "schwin schlame", if you ascribe to that. But, just remember that these types of connections do not necessarily have to end up in union. This is more of guidance for you. Trust whatever your heart is telling you, in regards to this situation, and don't be overly attached to an outcome or a preconceived notion of your future with this person.
What will happen the next time you see this person? Join me on Patreon in the extended reading to find out
EXTENDED READING FOR PILE 2
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PILE 3
Six of Cups
(clarified by: Two of Wands)
The Lovers
(clarified by: Queen of Pentacles)
Three of Cups
(clarified by: Ace of Swords)
King of Wands (back of the deck)
Pile 3, the energy here is so interesting. First of all, I wouldn't be surprised if you were also drawn to Pile 1. But, only check it out if you were truly drawn to it. This is another energy, though. A different person from that pile. It's a new person that you either haven't met yet or you have just recently met. If you haven't met them yet, you will very soon and I also feel as if you FEEL them already. Maybe you're having dreams about them or getting signs or confirmations. Either way, this is definitely someone a part of your soul family. You have had past lives with them and they're a soulmate. Like, a high level soulmate. They are this King of Wands figure: a very masculine individual who has healthy confidence, mature strength and is a leader. They likely have placements in Fire: Aries, Leo, Sagittarius.
Keep in mind that readings can be futuristic, on occasion, or tell us how a connection will play out in the near future. So, if you haven't met this person yet, they will feel this way about you soon after. Maybe they already do, to some extent, because they already have their eye on you or just sense you subconsciously. But, if you have recently met them, this is how they are feeling now and what their intentions are now. If neither of this situations apply, this may not be your pile. Because I am getting this new and fresh kind of energy from them. It doesn't feel like anyone from the past.
Anyway, with that in mind, their intentions are pretty simple. Powerful but simple. They just want you to be with them. This is someone who knows what they want. I say that because two songs came through just now: I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys and I Wanna Get To Know You by G Unit. So, yeah, very straightforward! Lol and that will be the refreshing thing about this person. They will be that healthy masculine counterpart who knows how to go after what they want and put in effort consistently. And I get the feeling that most of you are not used to such behavior from the masculines you've been with in the past.
The Queen of Pentacles also came up in Pile 1. And this is you, regardless of if you're male or female. You are a very feminine being who has a very grounded, comforting, and abundant energy. You could have personal placements in Earth: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn. They see you in this way. They see your beauty and your value. However, they aren't just going to think this or say this. They want to SHOW you how much they value you. They want you to feel chosen and appreciated. They intend to show you that you're their top priority.
It's like they have always known you existed and always knew you were out there. Like their heart was holding out for someone like you, throughout all their disappointing romantic experiences, and that belief in love kept them going. For a select number of you, this is someone you knew while growing up or in high school or college who you are reconnecting with. And maybe you didn't see each other in a romantic light then but you can see it now. Kind of like Simba and Nala in The Lion King. Something about lions or Africa could be significant. One or both of you could have Leo energy or be of African descent. I am also getting that this could have been a friend or a sibling in a past life that you're coming together with romantically in this life. Don't let the latter possibility freak you out. Relationships can shift like that on the soul's journey.
Also, this person is a lot of fun. They may see you as a blast, too, and want to be very social with you. I can really see you on their arm at social events. This person is very attractive, very charming and they have lots of admirers, platonically and romantically. And they are going to want to show you off because they see you as an equal match. I also think they know that people will love you and will find you as funny and smart and fascinating as they do. You will meet a lot of new people through this individual.
In my reading in Your Future Romantic Partner, there was a pile about you being with someone in the public eye, in some capacity. If you picked that pile, this is probably that person. They really have that it factor! And, in terms of their relationship with you, they really want to be the best partner they can be for you. This will be a very harmonious and fulfilling union, if you choose it. That doesn't mean it will be perfect or that they're perfect, though. And things going so well may trigger your "flight response" because you're so used to being let down. You're not used to being appreciated this much and treated this well. But, you deserve it! So, don't run from it. If those fears or insecurities rise up, just deal with them and let them go. You don't want to miss out in something great just because it's foreign territory. (Speaking of which, they also may be of a different nationality than you or live in another country and have a different accent than you)
What will happen the next time you see this person? Join me on Patreon in the extended reading to find out
EXTENDED READING FOR PILE 3
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PILE 4
Ten of Wands
(clarified by: Nine of Pentacles)
Nine of Wands
(clarified by: Ace of Swords)
Five of Cups
(clarified by: Judgement)
Eight of Pentacles (back of the deck)
Pile 4, it feels like your person is hanging on by a thread. They are going through a highly stressful time and it feels like much of this stressed is self-induced. They have been putting way too much on their plate and they are reaching a point of burnout. This is someone who is a hard worker, to the point of being a workaholic, and they are learning that they can't just bury themselves in work to avoid their problems. Because, you know, that only makes your problems worse. And I think they have done this in order to avoid thinking about you, even though they have strong feelings for you.
Something happened here that made you guys fall out of touch. Maybe you had a falling out or you just lost touch. I feel like there was some sort of big misunderstanding that caused this or there was a sense that things that were left unsaid. It's really interesting because the energy here is kind of... vague. I think this is maybe someone who never expressed their feelings or romantic interest to you whatsoever. And for a long time, you had no idea that they felt that way toward you. Maybe until you chose this pile lol. Or probably sometime recently. You might have learned it from another Tarot reading or just a sudden epiphany/download. Take it as it resonates. But, when I am doing these readings, I usually get a sense of the "story" involved. Here, it doesn't feel like that because I think you spent a lot of time very unaware of this person's feelings for you and how that was driving their actions and decisions.
So, yeah, this definitely feels like a former friend or co-worker who was a secret admirer. For most of you, they're not in your life anymore. And if they are, you are at a distance and not really communicating. But, either way, they really want that line of communication to open again. And they also have this strong desire to be with you. Or, at least, to confess their feelings to you. It is this burden that is weighing on them very heavily. That is actually a part of their stress. They aren't able to get those feelings off their chest and that's very burdensome. They are looking at you as the Nine of Pentacles, so you may have Earth placements (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) in your chart. (A very Earthy reading today) They are kind of putting you on a pedestal and idealizing you as this really beautiful, really valuable being that they want but can't have.
Something about pursuing you would have been "wrong", in their mind. For many of you, this is someone who is married or in a serious relationship. It also could have been a co-worker or someone at your job who didn't want to cross professional lines with you. But, whatever the case, they really regret not going for it. If they're with someone else, I don't think it's a happy situation. In fact, I think it's very codependent and a public show of happiness instead of something genuine. They definitely could be one of those couples who are always posting pics together on Instagram but are actually disconnected and miserable together in real life. But, it's all a part of this image of a perfectly successful life this person has always strived for. And they are starting to see how hollow that can be.
So, I am not getting a lot about intentions toward you. Like, yes, they want you but they are not ready to do anything any time soon. They have a lot they need to release to do so. I think this person will undergo some massive shifts in the near future, whether that's totally changing careers or leaving their current partner. They are in resistance mode still, though, too afraid of change. I am hearing Let It Happen by Tame Impala. They need to just let go and stop trying to control everything in their life. They have all these preconceived notions about the life that they "should" be leading and that has always hele them back.
They are also thinking frequently about you because they admire how you live your life. While they seem like the codependent type in relationships, you are much more independent. You also don't care much about others' approval in the way that they do. They would love some of that to rub off on them. Even though they want to be with you, a part of them also wants to be you. Like I said, the energy here is very different. I can't even gauge much about how you feel about them because I just don't think this is something at the forefront of your mind. But, maybe it will take you by surprise. Sometimes, great connections can happen out of the blue with the people we least expect.
What will happen the next time you see this person? Join me on Patreon in the extended reading to find out
EXTENDED READING FOR PILE 4
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Omg I have a THEODORE NOTT request for you
Super duper angst hurt comfort
Theo’s dad basically hurts the reader and sends her back to Theo as a warning to stay away from such mudbloods and its just heart wrenching guilt and hurt and tending to her wounds through treat
Song: Half a Man by dean lewis perhaps?
I already have.
✩Theodore Nott x Reader (request)
Summary: The one where Theo has the one person he loves the most hurt by his worst nightmare. Alternatively: He thinks he’d rather die than see you in pain.
A/N: I DID MANAGE TO DO IT BY TODAY!!! I’ll be responding to the next few requests soon. You said comfort but didn’t specify a happy ending 😺
Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, blood.
Theodore Nott never expected to fall in love.
It seemed rather bleak for him, to be honest. He didn’t have the time to think about love when he was too busy wrapped up in navigating the life he had ahead of him.
One couldn't blame him though. With his family as the only example of what love could be, he certainly didn't have a good impression.
Theodore couldn’t recall a single time when he had seen his father treat his mother with kindness or respect.
Let alone love? A truly laughable notion.
Theodore's father had not shown a single ounce of love to his wife, or Theodore. Even on that godforsaken day when Theodore had witnessed his mother die, his father had simply delivered a swift strike to his face and told him to ‘man up.’
So to put it simply, The absence of love in his family cast a shadow over his perception of relationships, making it difficult for him to fathom the idea of falling in love himself.
Then you came.
You came, and god, Theodore doesn't remember how he lived without you. It wasn’t a whirlwind love, a sort of fell fast and hard, rather you entered his life like a slow and steady rain, seeping through the foundations of Theodore's life till you had consumed them completely, crumbling them down against his own will.
It rained, and you became the quiet storm, soft yet unyielding.
Love came like the easiest thing when he met you. It wasn't foreign, or a distant concept; instead, it felt like the most natural and effortless occurrence in Theodore's life. Love with you was as simple and uncomplicated as breathing, a seamless rhythm that he hadn't known was missing until you came along.
You were more than shocked when Theodore admitted he didn’t think he could ever fall in love. The boy, who loved you as though he was born to (he argues he was), who would so tenderly kiss your forehead and hold your hand, not capable of love? The one who would leave his coat for you during the winter months and bring a spare scarf because, he knew you were stubborn, and he was worried you'd get sick, not deserving of love?
You kissed him deeply and made him swear he'd never think of that ever again.
You reminisced on Theodore like some sort of lovesick fool separated by war from their lover, though it was merely only the summer holidays. Whilst Theodore would want nothing more than to come with you, his father demanded his presence back at home. You knew little about Theodore's mother, and even less about his father. Anything leading up to a conversation about them would simply result in Theodore immediately redirecting the conversation, becoming a tad more guarded for the next day or so.
It’s not that he didn’t trust you, because he wholeheartedly did. He would place his beating heart in your hands even if you had a knife in the other, for he trusted you that much.
No, in fact, it was the very opposite. Theodore knew you, and he refused to let you ever get involved in that part of his life. He swore he would never let his father even lay his eyes on you.
He would have loved for his mother to have met you. He doesn't remember her that well, but he's sure, some sort of instinctive feeling within him, that she would have loved you.
You had been back in Hogsmeade a mere 2 days before school had started, to stockpile on some supplies for school.
Students were permitted to start returning to Hogwarts three days before school began, and you would always go back early, valuing having the near-empty castle. It meant you could settle back into a school routine comfortably, and have some time alone before school resumes.
It also gave you time to do stuff for Theodore. You didn't know much about what went on at his house, but assuming from the way he’d come back absolutely exhausted with bags under his eyes, you figured it wasn't good.
It seemed to be the same routine almost every time you'd come back - he comes over to your dorm (luckily for you, all your dormmates essentially lived in their boyfriend's dorms, as they were all friends with one another, so you had it all to yourself 99% of the time). He’d kiss you hello and wordlessly take off his shoes and jacket. You’d lie on your bed and he’d come lie on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He would rest his head on your chest, the sound of your heartbeat soothing him, as he listened to you talk about your holidays till he fell asleep, feeling safe for the first time, unburdened by his worries.
He’d sleep, and you'd trace the furrow of his brow. You ached for the ability to just, alivieate him of everything he carried so close to him. But you knew that healing was a long journey, and you'd be there for him on the way.
You wander around a little bookstore, finding a book for you and Theodore to read. You paid for the copy, turning to leave the shop when you bump into a man.
You quickly offered a polite apology, even though his cold gaze and disdainful demeanour sent a chill down your spine.
Those eyes. They were oh so familiar to the very striking eyes of the boy you so loved. Come to think of it, the hair was the same too. Was this…..
"Watch where you're going, girl," he spat, his voice dripping with disdain
You clenched your jaw, swallowing the anger that threatened to surface. Keeping your composure, you replied evenly, "I apologize if I inconvenienced you, sir."
His eyes then flickered to the books in your hands, a sceptical look crossing his face. "You are a student at Hogwarts? What year?" he sneered.
You took a deep breath before responding, "Final year, sir."
Seeing an opportunity to shift the dynamics, you gestured towards Theodore's family resemblance. "You must be Theodore's father. The resemblance is striking."
His eyes narrowed, and he asked with an air of suspicion, "How do you know Theodore?"
You hesitated for a moment but decided to be honest. "We're dating."
Theodore's father raised an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and derision on his face. "Dating, are you?" he scoffed. "Tell me, girl, who are your parents? Perhaps I've heard of them."
A small smile tugs at your lips as you shake your head, responding. "I doubt you would know them. They're Muggles."
His expression darkened, and a look of pure contempt appeared on his face. "Muggles? Muggles?" He snarls, taking a step closer to you.
Theodore's father's face contorted with disgust, and his voice dripped with venom as he continued, "You, a pathetic Muggle, dare to pollute my son's bloodline? You're nothing but filth, tarnishing the Nott family name with your presence."
You felt a surge of anger and fear. This is what Theodore was trying to keep from you. That his family were prejudiced against your very existence.
Without warning, he roughly grabbed your arm, his grip tightening painfully. The pain shot through you, and you winced.
"Listen closely, Mudblood," he hissed, tightening his hold. "You're nothing more than a passing fancy for my son. If you have any sense, you'll sever ties with him before you bring further shame upon yourself."
Without a second to let you answer, he releases his grip on you, spinning on his heel as he storms out of the store. It takes you a second to recuperate and process what the fuck had just gone on before you turn and quickly dash out of the store, trying to catch a glimpse of his father. Sure enough, you spot him disappearing down a narrow alley.
Before you can stop to think, you chase after him, shouting as you do.
“Hey!” You snap, closing in on the distance.
Theodore was correct in one thing. He knew you well. And he knew that if you ever knew of his father, you’d get involved.
His father’s long black cloak billowed behind him, disappearing down a narrow alleyway that seemed to swallow his wrath. Fueled by a mixture of hurt and anger, you hurried after him, determined to address the injustice he had just unleashed.
Desperation laced your anger-fuelled shouts as you closed the distance. His brisk pace showed no signs of slowing, and as you reached out to grab his arm, the narrowness of the alley made it easy for him to turn around swiftly.
"How dare you touch me, you wretched Mudblood!" he hissed, his eyes ablaze with hatred.
Before you could react, he unleashed a hex.
It hit you with an intensity that sent a shockwave of pain radiating through your body. The force of the curse flung you backwards, and you collided with the cold stone wall, gasping for breath. A searing pain radiates throughout your body, and you cough, looking down. It was akin to some sort of slash, as though he had hit you with an invisible thing, a clean cut on your thigh, and arm. You see a drop of blood drip down onto your skirt and, dazed, bring your hand up to your face. You feel something wet, and when you pull your hand back it has a crimson red glistening on your fingertips, and-
oh.
There was a cut on your face too.
As you steadied yourself, you felt the searing pain intensify, a burning sensation spreading from the point of impact on your arm. Theodore's father approached with a malevolent satisfaction etched across his face. He looms over you, glaring down at you.
"You'd do well to heed my warning, Mudblood," he sneers, his voice low and menacing. "Stay away from my son, or next time, the consequences will be even more severe."
He cast a disdainful glance at your injured form before straightening up, his dark cloak billowing as he walked away without a second thought.
You took a deep breath, shuddering as you braced your palms against the cobblestone floor of the alleyway. You push yourself up, wincing as you try to ignore the throbbing pain in your body as you gingerly get up.
You gather your scattered belongings and look around, seeing nothing but the near-empty village. Summoning every ounce of strength, you began to limp back towards the castle, the weight of humiliation pressing down on your shoulders.
You felt exposed. The idea that Theodore had hidden such a massive thing from you, made you feel all the more humiliated.
You keep your head down and soon enough appear at Hogwarts. It doesn't give you the happiness it usually does, rather you just want to go back to your room and change, and sleep.
It was at this moment that you were rather glad that you decided to come back early, for you can only imagine the looks you'd get if it was packed full of students.
Exhausted, and simply just over it, you make your way up to the dorm. There are only two other students you spotted on the way, but they were far too busy snogging the daylights out of one another to notice you.
It reminded you of…
Theodore.
How would you face Theodore? Did you want to face Theodore?
No, you resolved, you didn’t. You couldn't comprehend keeping such a key detail from someone, let alone the person you loved. Why he did that to you, you’d never understand.
You unlock your dorm room door, dropping your bag at the door, You look up and to your utter confusion, see Theodore sitting on your bed. He looks up at you, the smile on his face very quickly replaced with a deep frown.
He gets up, and-
oh.
Never mind.
You did want to be near him.
You really wanted to be near him.
It was stupid really. You didn’t feel like crying at all, but the second you saw Theodore, that feeling very quickly resolved into the urge to bury your face into your chest, and not stop.
So you did.
Theodore's arms envelop you, and he holds you impossibly tight. He swears every sob that comes from you chips away at his being and he soothes you, rubbing your back as he holds you.
Theodore can count the number of times he's felt pure anger on one hand. Sheer rage. The type that consumes you from the inside out. Once when he was 8, and his mother passed away. He remembers hearing his father disregard the whole thing with such cruel indifference he felt as though a fire was blazing him from the inside out. As with many young wizards his age, he did not know how to control this magic.
He ended up setting fire to the library that day.
The second time, in 1st year, when Alicia Thornsby had made a cruel remark about Theodore’s home life.
“Well, my mother said that Theodore must have a horrible holiday. What, with his father being-” She starts, but she didn’t get to finish.
The teachers couldn’t comprehend under what vindication a child learnt a stinging hex strong enough to permanently mar the skin of the girl, but it was the first and last time anyone dared utter a word against Theodore.
That was the 2nd, and last time Theodore had felt unbridled rage, in his 18 years of life.
That was, until today.
Because, the sight of you, with blood on your cheek, sobbing into his chest, was enough to reignite that dormant flame of anger within Theodore.
“Who?” He manages to utter, voice strained.
You remain quiet, the silence punctuated by the occasional sniffle as you remain hidden in his chest.
He pulls back, lifting your chin. Your eyes are fixated on where the once-dried blood had washed onto his shirt, and he is fixated on you.
“Who?” He emphasises again, his eyes flickering down to the cut on your face. He runs his finger gently along the cut, and when he watches you wince he pauses, a flicker of pain crossing his face. The sight of you wincing, even at his gentle touch, shatters something within Theodore.
You hesitate before you speak, but ultimately, the words slip out of your mouth.
“Your father.”
The weight of those two words, "Your father," hung in the air, and for a moment, Theodore felt as if the very ground beneath him had crumbled.
His eyes widen momentarily, and he can't speak.
No, because there's a horrible feeling of fear, guilt, regret, perhaps a combination of all three, and it's lodged in his throat. It’s almost suffocating him, he can barely breathe, and it's constricting his airways.
The image of you, the person he held dearest, broken and bloodied, collided with the nightmare he had feared for years. He couldn't comprehend the cruelty his own flesh and blood had inflicted upon you, someone he cherished beyond measure. He speaks, and his voice is so heartbreakingly soft, a mere whisper weighed down by the burden of the truth that unfolded before him.
“I'm so, so sorry.” He utters, as though he prompted the hand that came down to hit you.
He believed he did. Because it was only by association, that you had been hurt by his father. That was why you were hurt, right?
His fault. All his fault. All his fault.
He has to take a deep breath and force himself to calm down and think.
Think.
His first priority was you. Always you. He leads you down to your bed and forces you to take a seat on the edge. You watch him as he disappears into the bathroom, reemerging with a damp washcloth in his hand. He kneels down in front of you, hesitating as he slowly lifts the hem of your skirt upwards slightly. He catches a glimpse of the gash on your thigh and that horrible feeling remerges again.
He gently wipes the cloth over the cut, leaning down to press a kiss on your skin. He mutters a few words, and with a small sharp pinch, the skin on your thigh begins to stitch up slightly. Not enough to fully heal, but to ensure it would in the future.
You don’t question how he knows exactly how to heal these wounds.
You know.
He does the same for your arm. Every second he stares at the cut, he feels his resolve shatter further and further, till he can tell whether he wants to cry or ensure the murder of his father with his own hands.
His hands come up to your face, and he lets out a shaky breath. He is ashamed to even look you in the face,
His own reflection of guilt and regret is etched into his features. He keeps his eyes focused on the task at hand, tending to the wounds inflicted upon you by the person who Theodore swore would never even set his gaze on you.
The room is filled with an anguished silence as Theodore continues his ministrations.
As he tends to your injuries, Theodore's mind is a battleground of self-recrimination. The echoes of your sobbing, the memory of your blood on his shirt, haunt him like a relentless ghost. "I'm so, so sorry," he whispers again, the words heavy with remorse as if he could somehow atone for the sins of his family.
With each stitch on your wounds, he feels the seams of his composure unravelling.
When he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, the vulnerability in his eyes is palpable. The shame he feels is evident.
You muster a weak smile, a hand coming up to cup his face. Your thumb brushes against his cheek lovingly as you speak, your voice calm.
“It's not your fault,”
He wants to cry.
It is. It is his fault.
Theodore pulls you into an embrace, holding you tightly against his chest. The warmth of his embrace is both comforting and suffocating, a paradox of love and guilt; a conflict that threatens to tear him apart.
As Theodore lies down with you, the weight of his guilt still hangs in the air. He holds you as if trying to shield you from the world. He utters words of apology, repeating the words like a mantra.
“I love you.”
But amidst the soothing cadence of his voice, there's an undercurrent of resolution. The conflict within Theodore reaches its zenith, and a painful decision emerges. He knows he can't risk his father ever hurting you again. The love he feels for you clashes with the harsh reality of his future.
Theodore's grip tightens for a moment as if trying to hold onto the fleeting moments of solace. Yet, with a heavy heart, the decision he has to make is almost clear.
“It isn't your fault. Don't apologise.” You whisper, curled into his arms.
“It is. It's all my fault. I got you involved in this,” He utters, as though the admission is poison on his tongue.
“I’m not a good person. I have a horrible family, and he’ll want me to do horrible things, and I’ll have to do them.” He admits, voice breaking.
“No, you don’t. I’m here. I love you, Theodore. I won’t ever leave, and I swear you won’t deal with that alone.” You repeat, voice laced with conviction.
“I'm beyond help. Don’t give your heart to me.” He croaks.
You lift your head up from where it was resting, eyes gazing directly into his. You remain silent for a beat, then two, before you speak.
“I already have.” You respond.
Theodore should feel relief at those words, but he doesn't. Rather, he feels sick. Because he can’t, he won't risk you getting hurt again. He kisses you and pulls you back in, laying next to one another as he wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, if only for one last night.
Because there was only one thing Theodore could do to make sure his father would never hurt you again.
He had to leave you.
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the meaning of it all
joel miller x reader
summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help.
word count: 13.6k
warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.
a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.
___
Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.
And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.
You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.
Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.
Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable.
You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.
Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.
You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets. You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.
"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.
"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.
"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."
It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.
"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."
He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --
"Quit harassin' her." Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.
"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"
"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"
"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.
"Joel Miller," he says back.
You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.
It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.
"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."
"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.
"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"
Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"
Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.
You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."
Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.
You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.
Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.
And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.
"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."
You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.
Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."
It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.
"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.
"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.
"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."
It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.
"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.
The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.
"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"
Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.
"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."
You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.
"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."
"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"
"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.
"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.
Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."
You didn't know, actually. "Really?"
Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"
He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.
Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."
Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"
He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."
"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.
He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.
"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."
Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.
"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."
The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.
"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"
"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.
"Good," he says. "Good."
You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.
Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.
Joel says your name and you turn around.
"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."
You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.
Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."
___
Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.
But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.
Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.
But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.
Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.
"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"
You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.
"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"
"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."
This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.
"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.
"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.
"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."
Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"
You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.
"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"
"I--what?"
"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"
You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.
And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.
Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.
"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.
"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"
You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."
Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."
Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.
She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"
"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.
He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.
___
You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.
Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.
"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.
"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."
"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."
"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."
Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.
It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.
It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.
Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."
You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."
He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"
You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.
"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."
That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.
"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.
"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"
That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."
His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"
You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.
It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.
It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.
But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?
"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."
You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"
"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.
"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"
"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.
"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"
He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.
Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.
"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.
"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.
___
You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.
The doors in your house open and close silently.
Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.
Until you have a bad patrol.
It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.
You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.
Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.
A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.
"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.
"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"
"Yeah. Can we go home now?"
Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.
Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.
The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.
You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.
You could only be so lucky.
You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.
But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --
You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.
"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."
The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.
Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.
Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.
Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.
Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.
Something in your chest tightens.
Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.
"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.
"Couldn't sleep."
He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."
Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.
"Sorry," you say softly.
"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"
You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.
He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.
His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.
"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.
"Heard that one before."
He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"
"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."
"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.
"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."
"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.
"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.
"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."
Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?
"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.
His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."
The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.
You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.
"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"
You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.
The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"
"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."
A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.
"Sorry."
Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."
"I don't think I feel any better."
He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.
"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."
"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."
"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."
Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.
You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.
"I might," he says. Neither of you move.
That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.
"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"
"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"
"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.
"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."
He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.
__
Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?
"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.
"Am I?" you say lightly.
She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"
Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.
"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.
"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"
"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."
"Am not," you mutter.
Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.
Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.
Well. It's thank you at the very least.
And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.
And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.
The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.
"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.
Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.
"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."
The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"
Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."
He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.
"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"
"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?
"I...what?"
"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."
"Joel--"
"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"
He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.
"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."
"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."
There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.
So did you. You didn't dream.
"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.
"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."
A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.
You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?
Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."
The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.
"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"
"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."
This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.
"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."
Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."
You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?
But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.
"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.
He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"
"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."
Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?
Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."
He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.
"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."
It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.
"Joel--"
"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"
"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."
The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.
He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"
"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."
You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.
Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.
You'll never stop wanting him now.
His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.
It's very possible that you gasp a little.
He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.
"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."
"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.
Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."
Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.
You're so fucked.
But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.
You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.
"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."
"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.
You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.
"And thank you for--"
He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."
You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.
"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.
He turns. "Countin' on it."
___
You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.
"Fucking amazing," she says.
You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.
As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.
Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.
It goes to shit fairly quickly.
The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.
He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.
You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.
"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"
Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.
"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.
"What happened?"
You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.
"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."
"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."
"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"
"But the rules say --"
"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"
"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"
"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."
You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.
Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.
"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."
Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.
You're going to need a lot of help.
You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.
The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.
What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.
A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.
There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.
Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something.
Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.
"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --
Joel.
A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.
Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.
"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.
"Joel --"
"Sit."
You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?
"How are you here --"
Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.
"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"
The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.
"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"
"No, I don't think so --"
"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."
He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.
"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"
Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.
Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."
You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.
"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."
"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.
"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.
And then he's back crouching in front of you.
Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.
"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.
"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."
"I told him to."
"Can't believe that either. You know better."
"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"
He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."
Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"
His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."
For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.
You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.
"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.
He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.
You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."
"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."
This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.
He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.
"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."
You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.
"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.
He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.
He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.
Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.
"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."
The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.
"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"
Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.
"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.
You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"
"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"
"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.
"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."
We.
"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.
And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.
"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."
He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.
The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.
You sniffle.
Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.
But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.
And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.
You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.
"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."
"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."
"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."
There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.
You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.
"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.
"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."
You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.
"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"
"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."
"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"
"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.
"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.
Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.
It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.
You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.
"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.
"For my sake or yours?"
You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."
He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.
You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.
You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.
"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.
"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."
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