Chapter Text
Violent ringing assaults your eardrums. Muscle memory jolts you up, and every fiber in your system begs for the noise to stop as your head pulses achingly. You exclaim a slur of words, turning off the manual switch of the dinky clock that rests beside your bed and letting the stupid thing clatter to the floor. With a groan, you slump back into the warmth of your bed, the mattress squeaking in its usual spot. Your eyes squint open, focusing on a patch of yellow light against the wall, an objectively pleasant sight if it weren’t for the random bald spot where the wallpaper crumbled away years ago. All the walls could use some help—peeling corners, exposed plaster, and ugly brown spots on the ceiling weren’t exactly a pretty sight, but you’re grateful regardless.
It’s been seven months since you joined the community of Jackson Hole, Wyoming. You were lucky they took you in, half-dead and out of ammo. The couple who lead the town, Tommy and Maria, were more than happy to welcome you. They were kind people. Maria was proud of the community she built over the years, and with her husband by her side, they created a seemingly impenetrable haven in a cruel and desolate world. You were indebted to Maria for her generosity, helping you find new clothes and sturdy boots, providing as many meals as you needed, helping you adjust to your new way of life. She made you feel so cared for. You knew you could trust her. Tommy was equally giving, introducing you to several folks and showcasing a grand tour of all the amenities Jackson had to offer. You were overwhelmed by it all. The food, guns…people. This was far from the life you were accustomed to.
So many years of suffering. Surviving. Never staying in one place for too long. Watching as folks turned on one another. Killed. Abandoned. Life was misery. On rare occasions, times when you were lucky enough to befriend a small group of survivors, there were good people. But good people come and go. Good people die. Sickness, starvation, murder…it was all a matter of time. So many nights spent alone made you crave for eternal sleep. One bullet would do.
But you never had the courage to go through with it. You continued to survive, always on the move and wandering aimlessly through the country in hopes of finding something better. You were lost, afraid, hungry, and alone.
You were thankful to get a hot meal every night—a good meal at that—let alone an entire house to yourself. But the folks here were kind, they had the extra space, and you had happily agreed to make yourself a useful member of the community. You grew to truly love Jackson. The warmth, the people, the food, the soap. Bathing was a luxury in this life. You loved nothing more than curling in your bed after a good wash. And a bed was heavenly. You could sleep anywhere, and prior to Jackson, a sleeping bag and a thin pad (if you were lucky enough to have one) provided just the right amount of warmth and comfort. But nothing could beat the squeaky mattress, soft pillow, and layers of blankets you had the privilege of sleeping with each night for over half a year.
Still adjusting to a far less nomadic way of life, you quickly volunteered for the patrol team. Though you were beyond grateful to spend your nights behind the safety of massive walls, it was necessary for you to venture beyond the confines of the community for several hours each week. And maybe there were others out there, just like you were, hungry and alone and frightened. You wanted to help find survivors. And killing Infected was only doing the world a service, so you figured patrol would be up your alley. There were a few weeks of training, usually led by Jackson’s most experienced patrol members. Tracking, navigation, survival skills, marksmanship, combat, riding, and collaboration were all skills you quickly refreshed and perfected, thus earning your spot on the team. You liked the folks on patrol. Some were younger than you, some older, but everyone had a desire to protect their neighbor and a fierce loyalty to their home.
During your training, you became well-acquainted with Jesse, your patrol leader and navigation coach, wise beyond his years. In fact, many of the younger members had skills and experiences that far exceeded your own. You thought your life had been difficult, but it was nothing compared to what these kids had been through. And yet, they were still kind and welcoming. Dina, one of the younger patrol members, was especially outgoing, making sure to introduce you to everyone she could. Through her, you met Ellie, who was stuck to Dina like glue. She was funny, though reserved on most occasions, and skilled in combat and hunting.
You could hardly keep track of all the people you met during your first week, but one person stood out above the rest.
His name was Joel Miller. He was Tommy's brother and Ellie's guardian. You met him on your second day in Jackson, the day Maria showed you the stables. She had just shown you a newborn spotted foal when the brothers returned from their early morning patrol, guiding their horses into their respective stalls.
He was handsome. Incredibly handsome. When you first saw him, it was like a slap in the face. He was a noticeable height, but not too tall, with a sturdy build and broad shoulders. He wore a faded green flannel, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and dark jeans. Maria called Tommy to meet her, and she happily introduced you to the elder Miller brother. His peppered hair was windswept and messy from hours of riding, and creases framed his chestnut eyes as he smiled at you softly. Joel gave you his name in a smooth Texas drawl as he politely offered his hand in welcome. You took it with a firm shake, hardly able to speak your own name as the heat from his palm radiated through your skin.
Joel Miller...
A knock from downstairs wakes you for the second time. Your head hurts. Your eyes focus on the small clock that lay defeated on the floor. It’s well past 8 in the morning, and you’re a half-hour behind schedule.
Shit.
You have patrol today. You didn’t intend to sleep so late, let alone fall back asleep after your alarm went off. You planned to head to bed at a decent time last night, but Dina dragged you out to a party. Though you weren’t usually one for large gatherings, you couldn’t deny the length of time you had gone without having any fun. Jackson had a few large celebrations, and this one marked the yearly harvest before the onslaught of the long Winter, celebrating the abundance of livestock, vegetables, and community growth brought on by the hard-working individuals that kept Jackson thriving through the warmer months. So, you went out and took advantage of the abundance of liquor Jackson had to offer. To your surprise, you actually had a great time, laughing and dancing and almost completely forgetting all the terrible years of life from before. But maybe it was the alcohol. At some point late into the night, you lost track of time and your memory faded. You remember being with your patrol group, spinning and drinking and laughing. The guilty part of you remembers going up to Joel, or rather bumping into him. You better have apologized. Embarrassing. And you clearly managed to make it back to your own bed as well, but probably through the joint efforts of some of the younger members. You picture Ellie and Dina dragging you back to your house in the early hours of the morning.
Today, you have a list of people in need of apologies.
A series of loud knocks echo up the stairs from your front door. Jesse will be waiting for you to head out. He’s your current patrol partner, and you get along well. Your patrols together go smoothly, and he’s always got your back. He’s intelligent, charming, and an overall good time.
He’ll definitely make fun of you for sleeping in.
You rise out of bed, standing up a bit too fast. Gripping the railing, you pad down the steps, the wood floor cold underneath your feet. You flick the lock, turn the handle, and pry the door open with a loud creak.
“Sorry Jesse. Just give me a few—’’
Your eyes settle on a man dressed in layers of fleece and worn leather. A backpack is slung over broad shoulders. He's leaning against the wooden beam of the porch and gazing out onto the empty stretch of neighborhood road. The creak of the door sparks his attention, and he turns to you with dark eyes, his mouth cracking into a polite smile. He meets your gaze and takes a few steps toward you, his breath a cloud of warmth against the cold morning air. He’s not much taller than you, which you love. His hair neatly sits away from his face, with specks of grey that trickle down to his cropped beard. His eyes are kind, framed by the small creases from worry and joy and the passing of time. He has strong hands, calloused from a lifetime of work with veins creeping up the forearms beneath his coat. He holds them together, rubbing circles into his palm with his thumb, as if he was busying himself while he waited for you.
Standing in your doorway is Joel Miller.
You're taken aback that he of all people is standing on your porch, and you're beyond flustered in your current state of undress: last night’s clothes. Your hair was most definitely in a solid mass, eyes puffy, drool probably crusted on the side of your face. Your posture straightens as you quickly sweep the hair from your cheek. Prior to this point, you’ve never been alone with him, though you’ve often imagined it. You’ve exchanged pleasantries in passing, chimed in on a group discussion, or given a curt nod in the dining hall. Your meeting almost feels...unprofessional.
“Oh…good morning, Joel,” you flash him a smile. He clears his throat, his eyes darting to the side before meeting yours again.
"Mornin'.”
Joel pauses, like he’s forgotten what to say next. A missing sentence. It’s awkward as hell with you both just standing there, but God, he looks so good standing in front of you, rugged yet clean, with a soft expression that makes you forget about the frigid air crawling past your legs and into your home.
“Is everything… okay?” You question, prompting him.
He comes back to reality, as if he was lost in thought. Joel starts again, his voice low, with a soft Texas drawl that soothes your nerves despite his lack of words. “I–Jesse’s out today...sick and all. Says he's got a cold. I’ll be takin’ his place today for patrol.”
“Oh, alright," you say, attempting to conceal the sparks flying in your chest. Today, Joel is going to be your patrol partner. Your eyes wander to the floor, focusing on Joel's muddied boots—paradoxical in nature compared to the rest of his tidy appearance—then meeting his gaze again. "I’ll meet you at the stables in…let’s say ten minutes?”
Joel hums in approval, dropping his head into a small nod. “Sounds like a plan.” He backs away slowly, lingering words on his lips. But instead, he turns, wordlessly plodding down the steps and onto the street. You shut the door softly, unaware of the chilled skin on your arms and legs. Your cheeks are warm with flush.
Should’ve told him twenty minutes.