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"I don't like it."
His voice comes from next to your shoulder. Rough and low - your eyes drifting over heavy, muddied boots, then up. Trying not to linger where his strong arms cross over a broad chest, the pull of fabric against skin where the sleeves are rolled up to elbows.
"Don't like what?" You ask, as your plate and mug join the pile of others in the bin to be washed. Finishing up a quick breakfast in the mess hall before your patrol shift begins.
A second lingers, before Joel answers.
"Don't like the thought of you out there without me."
His answer makes your stomach flip, butterflies already sprouting at the unexpected encounter. You hadn't thought you'd see Joel until later - an unexpected change in last night’s schedule. Sending him out from evening until dawn, and leaving you with a new partner for this morning.
"You're the one that swapped shifts." You point out, finally glancing his way. Seeing the pull of his brows, the shift as he leans against one of the heavy wooden support beams, "Anyways, I won't be alone. They have me with William."
The mark between his brows deepens, "Don't know if I like that, either."
Your own eyebrows raise, "What's wrong with William?"
He doesn't answer - the dark pull of his gaze breaking, as his eyes drop.
"Heard rumor there might be someone in the woods," Joel changes the subject, "Dirt kicked over the ashes, footsteps leading off to the east. No sign of anyone, but that don’t mean they ain’t hangin' around.”
He's worried, you think. Your hand reaches out, hovering for just a moment before you're clapping his bicep, instead of his bare forearm.
"Just because there was someone there, doesn't mean they're bad." The touch lingers for a moment, before your hand is dropping - shoving into your jacket pocket, "Besides, it’s daylight now. We'll be fine. Always are."
His look is dark, at your words.
An optimism lingering in you that has long been leached from his system. An uneasiness that lingers in his blood and bones - a shift of his his as he reaches to draw something out of his back pocket. Pressing it into your hand, when you reach for it without thinking.
"Know how to use this?"
It's a knife - his knife - the folded handle fitting his broad hand but feeling more like a dagger in yours.
“Joel, please-” You all but huff, torn between annoyed and touched. Reaching out to hand it back, but he’s shifting sideways to dodge you.
“Humor me, alright?” He’s grumbling - but he's not done - fishing something else from his jacket pocket. Holding it out for you to take as well - heavy and plastic in your other hand.
You flip it over, seeing the small antenna fit above the speaker, the buttons worn bare and smooth beneath. A gleam of red, the light already on and winking.
"Ellie's got the other. I'll get it from her this morning." He explains, "Two-way radio. You need anything or run into anyone, I'll know."
It would be stifling, if it were anyone else.
Insulting, perhaps.
But knowing that Ellie does this for Joel soothes you, teeth biting into your lip to hold back your smile.
And you can’t deny that you did feel a little uneasy, heading out without your partner.
"Fine.” You tell him, with a sigh.
“But just this once."
The ground crunches beneath your feet, a frost and thin snow freezing and blanketing the green pokes of grass overnight.
You’re already ready for spring, even though the world has just creeped into February. Missing the crunch of leaves instead of ice. Yearning for the daffodils and crocuses to pop up, as the earth thaws.
But for now - you’re content to concede that it’s easier to do your job, at least. The only damaged grass around you, the only marks in the dirt, are your own.
Quiet, idle conversation with William passing as you take the usual route - your rucksack a familiar weight against your shoulders. Padded with the faded and patched feather-down of your coat as you weave between trees.
Checking traps for food, finding nothing. Not unusual when the rest of the world seems to be sleeping.
The sun is nearly overhead when you reach the watchtower, the spindly legs that hold the narrow room high in the sky. The rungs leading up are wide, but you still hold your breath as you climb. Only exhaling at the top, when both your feet are firmly on the metal platform - cold air sharp in your lungs with your inhale.
It's pretty up here. A clouded blue sky above, a suggestion of snow. A wistful hope that it will hold off until tomorrow, as your patrol partner unlocks the door - checking the inside before you follow.
Your rucksack lands with a thud just inside the door, which closes behind you. The windows are cracked, spider-webbing from the corners, but still holding firm enough that it shields you from some of the chill outside.
Looking out above some of the trees, giving you a peek of Jackson when you stand in the southern corner.
Here, you can take a minute to breathe. To talk, while keeping watch and warm.
You can’t remember the last time you've been out with William. You didn't run in the same circles - he had a regular rotation of patrol partners. You had Joel, and sometimes Ellie, and you never found a reason to stray.
That thought, the change, had kept you busy on the patrol. Your mind wandered as your feet moved on your own, through well-known paths. Eyes seeing but your thoughts elsewhere.
He had seemed worried, at the mess hall.
Or - on edge, at least. Distracted.
There had been a quick rap on your door, a mumbled excuse about them needing him last night. Letting you know you'd be with someone else for your shift in the morning. A glance over his shoulder, nodding towards the figure that was waiting for him, before he was off.
And although he had made the switch, he sure didn't seem happy about it this morning.
William was friends with Jesse, who was friends with Ellie and Dina - you couldn't think of a reason for the ever-present mark that had deepened between his eyebrows.
You wonder why - because surely, a set of trained and fed partners would be more than a match for anyone drifting through the woods on their own. Even you weren't so nervous, and you didn't have the years and grit of someone like Joel.
And it wasn't like William was unprepared. He'd been doing patrols just as long as you had, maybe even a little longer.
It's here that you're drawn away, your companion’s voice breaking through your thoughts. His foot tapping yours, where you both sit on the old, wooden floor.
“Been a while, huh?”
You nod in agreement, offering the slightest lift of a smile, “Yeah. Been couple months, at least.”
“More than that. Bet it’s been close to a year.”
“Oh.” You blink, thinking back.
Wondering if that’s why his gaze has been on you so often this morning - that he’s nearly forgotten what you look like, “Guess I hadn’t noticed.”
You hadn’t realized it’s been that long. And at the same time, only that long.
Joel had drifted for a while in Jackson - untethered, but never far from the nearest door, the nearest wall. Content to watch from the fringes, to stay unnoticed. To slip out, when he’s had enough.
It still took a few months until he was rotated into the patrol. Until you met him, fully. Needling conversation out of him during morning walks, or when the stars stretched out in the inky night.
Fully expecting him to trade out, when he could. Others often did - preferring a variety of company.
He never did. And neither did you.
Things worked with Joel. And more than trust had bloomed in those lone hours together, something that had planted in your first days of seeing him. Carefully tended, nourished by the slivers of traded secrets and shared looks and moments where you had thought that just maybe…. maybe… you weren’t alone.
"Don't know how you can stand patrolling with him. He’s a scary dude." William mutters, the sound low as you hunker down below the rim of the metal railing.
You frown. Joel's not scary. Not really. Not to you.
A grouch, for sure. All bark and bite, but it's never once been directed at you.
“Joel?” You ask, clarifying.
“Yeah, Miller.” He gives you a sideways look, “You know he's killed people, right? Like, not just infected. People, people.”
The stories and rumors aren't new to you, they cling to him like ghosts. The whispers when he came into town had never stopped - but with time, they had lessened.
He had intimidated you, at first. A low voice and an angry look that would send anyone scurrying, but in the two years since he's been here, it's all faded at the edges. Gone soft.
Looking back, knowing now how he looks after Ellie, looks after you - you’re not sure how you ever saw him that way.
And you think, you hope, that deep down - he does care. That a part of him might feel the same.
It’s there in the way he sought you out this morning. More than a dislike in the change of his schedule - that wouldn’t have loosened the knife he carried.
It was there in your patrols. In the way you felt safe, with him - in how it flowed from outside those wooden walls to inside the town, inside his home.
"We all have." You reply, with a sharp finality.
You didn't really remember the days before. Your life had been filled with spoken memories, but they weren't yours. The days of lawfulness are akin to fairy tales - merely stories, in your mind.
Who were you to judge, when your own hands were stained?
The infected weren’t the only monsters in this world. You’re sure he had his reasons, as did you.
William makes a sound of agreement, before dropping the subject. Content to watch the sparkle of snow, caught in the wind where it drifts down from tall branches.
That silence is broken a little later, with another question.
"You goin' to the dance later?"
Your legs stretch, toes wiggling in the chill of the room. Even enclosed, the cold seeps in through the cracks and thin panes of splintered glass.
"Of course."
Everyone would be.
The dances in Jackson were few and far between. Even more rare in these cold months - people preferring to stay warm, keep out of the snow that gathers in the alleys, the chill that whips down the rows of buildings.
The day before had been spent decorating the church hall. There was an ache in your arms where you had helped Wendy roll out the dough for cookies - watching as the younger folks cut hearts out of recycled paper in the mess hall, to be strung along the walls.
Underneath the stars above and in the glow of the lights, it would be beautiful.
There's a steadying breath next to you.
A moment, before he's asking, "You goin' with anyone?"
The rest comes in a rush, "I mean, do you wanna go with me?"
He turns your way, as you slowly go still. Too surprised to form an answer, trapped in his gaze with your wide eyes and parted lips.
"I-" You begin, and then falter.
William was nice. A little older than you. Showy, when he was with his friends, ready to do anything for a laugh.
Nice, but not Joel. No one was.
And deep down, you know that it's not like Joel thought of you that way. Returned those feelings, despite your wishes.
But you knew he'd be there. He'd go for Ellie, who would make sure she was there to see Dina.
And you'd go for Joel.
Even if just to see him, even if only for a moment.
The silence has stretched too long, an uneasy shifting next to you as he waits for an answer.
"There someone else?" The lilt of his voice has turned sharp, accusatory. Slicing through your thoughts, demanding your attention.
And again, you stumble. Still unable to form words, still too caught off guard - tongue twisted in knots.
“There is, isn’t there?” Another verbal nudge, and it’s here that you find your voice.
"There is... uh, someone." You manage - not ready to spill your guts, but there’s no chance you’ll agree to go with him.
"Yeah?" His eyebrow raises as he scoffs, "Who, Joel?"
He laughs at his own joke - and it's only now, as it's turned on you, that you notice how cruel it can sound.
Your own eyes drop, head turning back towards the wall.
And it’s here that your eyes snag on the cherry red gleam that peeks from the outside pocket of your rucksack.
The radio.
Forgotten entirely, in the long walk over.
Panic courses through you.
Can he hear you, from here? Is he listening now?
You send up a silent wish, hoping that perhaps he's stepped out. That if you're lucky, the radio doesn't quite reach this far.
The silence gives you away, before you can brush it off - too caught up in the fear that twists in your stomach. A look had crossed your features that William had caught, the laughter dying as he pushes to his feet.
"You can't be serious." There's the mocking curl of his lip, a look of incredulity, "Miller? Are you out of your mind?"
There had been a flicker of thought - thinking that you could go over, switch it off. Or change the subject, tell Will to just shut up - but there’s something in his tone that distracts you - igniting your dread and embarrassment into anger and irritation.
Making you slip up.
"So what if it is? It's none of your business-" You begin, but he cuts you off.
He’s fully turned your way now. The melting snow of his boots soaking into the hem of your jeans, with how he close he sits. Close enough that you can see the grit of his jaw, as he flings another barb at you.
"You think he's going to treat you right? Do you even know where he was last night?”
It feels like a slap in the face - the way you flinch, cheeks burning.
“He… he was on patrol.” You stammer, unsure where this is headed.
“Could be. It’s easy to change logs when you got a brother out at the same time.” He shrugs, as if it’s nothing. As if your world hasn’t tilted on it’s axis, leaving you off-kilter.
Your heartbeat thunders behind your ribs, in your ears, “What do you mean?”
“I mean… Fred said he saw him at Esther’s house. Last night and this morning.”
Rumors spread like wildfire in a town as close-knit as Jackson. It wasn’t hard to see where he was going, even if it pained you.
Esther, who tended the greenhouse.
Esther, who Joel had once been set up.
Esther, who split last month with her husband.
Esther, who kept the house.
You’re frozen. As if the cold has sunken into your skin, bonded with your bones. An aching weight settling over your heart, stealing your breath.
Because in this moment, you truly realize how much you’d been thinking about him as yours. Suddenly realizing the depth of you feelings for Joel - how much he’s come to mean to you.
It’s devastating, thinking about him being someone else’s.
It just can’t be true.
But…
But wouldn’t it explain his actions this morning?
Did you misread worry for guilt? Or secrecy?
“Look.” He says, after a pause. Giving you a pitying look, his hand reaching out to touch your shouler, “All I’m saying is that I’d never-”
It was all too much.
You’ve had enough.
"Can you just drop it?" You hiss, suddenly, "I'm not going with you."
The focus of his gaze still rests on you, as you push yourself to your feet. Grabbing for your bag - it's still a little early, but you're not about to stay stuck up in this tower with him.
"Where are you-" He's asking, as you shake your head - slipping past him, through the door.
"I'll see you back at Jackson."
Letting it slam shut behind you.
It's stupid, to wander off by yourself. Even if you weren’t too far from home, no more than a thirty minute walk.
The rifle left in William's possession, where it still rested against the railing. Joel's blade heavy and cold in your hand as you fish it from your jacket pocket.
Matching the stone-heavy weight of your heart, as you follow your footsteps back towards town. Your thoughts twisting, as you silently bargain with whoever might be listening.
Wishing foolishly that you could turn back time.
Content with even just not knowing.
Because that’s the worst part, right? That you know he knows. And that he knows you do. That surely - he heard it all.
If you were alone, if you hadn’t taken that radio, you’d still have your secret.
Maybe Joel wouldn’t have his, but you’d try to bear it. Find a way to put the pieces of your heart together, and try to move on.
Cherish those few more days, weeks, before he would have told you. Maybe by then, you could’ve acted happy.
But now, you’re certain he won’t want anything to do with you. Certain that you’ve ruined a good thing - not just the patrols, but your partnership, and friendship.
Because who would want to stick around with a girl with a stupid little crush?
It leaves you feeling flayed open. Grateful for the whip of the wind, giving you an excuse for the tears that spring to your eyes.
For a moment - in your embarrassment - it leaves you even thinking about running away.
You'd survived for this long. It would be harder, on the outside. But perhaps, you could start over.
With a sigh, you crumple the thought up, and toss it away. It's no more than wishful thinking. No different than hoping the world would crack beneath your feet, and swallow you whole.
No…
You would have to bear it.
You're less than a mile from the wooden border around town, when you pick up the crunch of boots on snow. Fear prickles down your spine as the blade clicks open in your grasp, your pulse leaping beneath your skin.
The waver of a shadow, moving between the trees in front of you. You go still, squinting, tucking yourself behind one of the thick trunks.
They're alone.
It could be someone from town, but you'd heard there was only one set of boots near the fire they found, the night before. A quick glance over your shoulder - wishing you hadn't split off.
Wishing you had taken the rifle.
They move closer, and your breath catches as they call out.
Not just a greeting, but your name.
A wave of relief washes over you, you know that voice. This figure. The cock of his hip as he stands, the shoulders that slope when he sees you - a hand raised in greeting.
"Heard you leave. Shouldn't be out here by yourself."
The warm glow in your belly chills, at his words.
The acknowledgement that he had been listening souring your mood. It has you bristling at his tone, misreading his worry.
"I'm fine." You wiggle his knife at him, the blade glinting in the afternoon sun, "Didn't have to come all this way."
In the path you take to skirt around him, you miss the pull of his brow - the frown that forms. The way he breaks into a jog to catch up behind you, staying a few steps back as he does a visual sweep of the woods behind you.
Your strides are long, focused on the crunch of grass beneath your feet. Eyes fixed ahead as he follows, until the tall wooden posts loom up ahead.
Above, and then through.
If you can just make it home, you think that would be enough. The little house is only a few streets away from the edge.
Something that he hated - how it wasn’t safe enough.
Something that used to please you.
He’s still following, your silent companion. Chivalrous, you suppose, to make sure you get home okay. Even after everything.
You’re nearly there - feet taking you up the rickety steps for your porch - when that silence is finally broken.
“You know it ain’t true, right?
For as quiet as his voice is, it still seems to cut through the air, halting your step. Your eyes still fixed on the door ahead of you, but you find yourself stopping - waiting.
“There ain’t anybody else.”
There’s a weight in the way he says it. A confession, layered in the low pitch of his voice.
It has you turning.
To where he stands, where your shadows meld together. And it’s only now that you see him - the intensity of his gaze. The mis-matched buttons on his coat, the cold that burns at his nose and cheeks until they’re pink.
He’d been outside for a while.
Searching for you - leaving hat and gloves behind.
“Where were you last night?” You ask - and he watches you like you’re about to bolt. Palms facing you where they hang at his sides, finger stretching out and then curling.
Reaching up now, to scrub through his hair in frustration - loosening dark, peppered-gray curls.
“I was there.” Joel admits, and there’s the acid ache of jealousy welling up in your chest. Picturing him with her instead of with you - like in your wishes, your dreams.
“But-” His hands raise, when he sees your expression, “But I just stopped by. I was on patrol with Tommy, you can ask him.”
You want to believe him. But you know you’re both thinking the same thing - thoughts flickering back to William’s suggestion.
“Or, you can ask Maria. You know she won’t cover for me.” He adds - and that softens you, just a little.
“Why did you trade?”
The moment hangs, where you’re left staring at each other. Your heart gallops in your chest, as he fights an internal battle - before his eyes slide across your cheek, over your shoulder.
But then there’s the smallest, rueful smile. His dark eyes flipping up to yours.
“Didn’t think it’d be like this.” Joel sighs, moving closer - to the bottom step. Enough to where you could reach out and touch him. Enough to where you see the weariness etched in his face, from where he stayed up all morning to keep watch over you.
“Got some roses for you. They’re at the house.” The words come slowly, “Was gonna give ‘em to you tonight. Wanted to do this right.”
Wanted to do this right.
The words echo in your mind. Pieces of a puzzle starting to fit into place, but you still feel like you’re behind - forever out of step and catching up.
“That’s why I was out last night. Esther is… rekindling things with her husband.” He manages, “Traded his shift last night for ‘em so they could be together. Went back to pick ‘em up this morning.”
“Roses.” You echo, “Why?”
“Why?” Joel frowns, as hands brace on his hips. Looking flustered, looking like he wishes you could just understand.
And suddenly, you do.
Your own words come slowly now, “For me? For Valentine’s Day?”
Relief crosses his features, those dark eyes going soft.
“Yeah, darlin’.” He smiles, “For you.”
Emotions swirl and surge through you. Relief yes, but also something stronger, something that flutters behind your ribs and threatens to burst free.
“I didn’t-” You begin, and then stop. A tightness in your throat, as you gaze at him, “I was so worried that you heard what he said, that it was real-”
“I heard.” A dark look crossed Joel’s features, a grit of his jaw, “Heard what you said too. Made me hope, ‘til he opened his mouth again.”
He’s on the top step now, no more than a few feet away. Irritation prickling at him from the memory of you in that tower, tucked away with someone who wasn’t him.
Until his hand is scratching at the scruff of his beard, his look changing.
“But if I misread this-” Joel starts - almost hesitant, if a man like Joel could be.
It makes you want to laugh, after everything. Because you get it, now.
Just how foolish you both had been.
“You didn’t.” You’re quick to cut him off, “You... you heard right.”
There ain’t anybody else…. but you.
It’s always been him.
He kisses you under the eaves of your little porch.
Stepping into you as your head tilts up - cold fingers tracing your chin, cupping your jaw just as his lips skim against yours.
The lightest brush, as something electric sparks - radiating from that point of contact, skittering down your spine. A soft moan that slips from your throat, before he’s pressing closer - before your hands are slipping, gripping onto his shoulders beneath the thick canvas of his coat.
Everything fades - growing hazy. He’s all you can feel, as your eyes close. Something finally clicking into place, as your lips part for the brush of his tongue. Another moan as he licks into your mouth - stumbling footsteps in both of your haste.
Until your back is bumping against wood, and his arm is wrapping around you. Surrounding you, leaving you breathless as the frame of the door digs into your hip.
Finally sated, in your need for him.
And yet more hungry, than you’ve ever been.
The grip of your fingers loosen, as you reach for the door knob. Fumbling for a second before it’s loosening, and you’re stepping back - bringing him with you, your other hand still fisted in the fabric of his coat.
He groans into your mouth, a hand wrapping around your waist so you don’t stumble, as he follows you inside.
Then there’s low husk of his voice, the barest curve of a smile, “What about your dance, sweetheart?”
Teasing, in the way he spins you around. In the way you’re caged in against the door again, tucked away safely from the other side.
No prying eyes except for his.
Your answer close to a whine, with the way his fingers find the zipper on your coat, drawing it down.
“I think…” You manage, distracted by the press of his lips against your neck. In the fingers that dip beneath your layers, seeking bare skin.
“I think we can be a little late.”