My Favorite Comedy Show Part 1

renting crisis, part one. richie jerimovich x reader.

summary: in a last ditch attempt to save you both from the rising cost of rent and the loneliness you feel following mikey’s death, richie asks you to move in with him. a complicated relationship between you ensues.

a/n. first post ever. hopefully more to come soon 💌

slow burn, but not that slow.

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the beef - may, 2022

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you’re sitting at a table, counting tips, looking exhausted. richie leans against the counter, watching you. he’s trying to play it cool, but it’s obvious he’s been thinking about something.

“yo.”

“what, rich?” you respond, without looking up.

he kisses his teeth. “you still getting fucked on rent?”

you scoff, rubbing your eyes. “what do you think?”

richie’s silent for a moment before he speaks up. “i think… i got a couch,” you finally look up at him, squinting, trying to figure out if he’s serious.

“yeah, so do i. what’s your point?”

shrugging, real casual, he continues. “i dunno. just saying. i got space. spare room. wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you, you know, crashed there for a while.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and why would i do that?”

richie mocks offence, hand over his heart like he’s just been shot. “jesus christ, i make one nice offer and you act like i just asked you to fucking marry me.”

“you’re not nice.”

“i can be.” he retorts, grinning.

you study him for a long beat. he won’t look at you and continues to pretend to wipe down the counter, like it’s no big deal. but it is. and you know it.

you nod softly. “okay.”

richie glances up, surprised you actually said yes. he covers it with a shrug.

“yeah?”

smiling back, you bite your bottom lip. “yeah. but if you piss me off, i’m keying your fuckin’ car.”

he grins, clapping his hands together. “ahhh, there she is!”

you both smirk at each other. it’s not sentimental, it’s not dramatic—it’s just two people who work in a shit hole finding a way to make it a little easier.

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richie’s apartment - a week later

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the apartment is small but decent. lived-in. you lean on the couch, folding laundry that definitely isn’t yours. richie walks in, stops, and frowns.

“uh, what the fuck is this?”

you don’t bother looking up. “your clean underwear. you’re welcome.”

he groans like you just kicked him in the balls. “i don’t need you touching my fucking boxers.”

“trust me, i don’t want to. but if i didn’t do it, you’d be freeballin’ at work in two days.” you deadpan.

grumbling, he sits next to you on the arm of the couch. “not the worst thing in the world.”

“you are disgusting.”

richie, now grinning, kicks his feet up. “yeah, yeah. you done hogging the tv? i wanna put the game on.”

quickly, you snatch up the remote, hugging it close to your chest. “i’m watching the vampire diaries.”

“are you fucking serious?” he groans.

“yup.”

the two of you bicker for another minute, but it’s easy, it’s comfortable. neither of you say it, but it’s nice not being alone.

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the apartment - june, 2022

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you walk into the kitchen, still half-asleep, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie that is definitely not yours—it’s one of richie’s old bulls hoodies. richie is at the counter, eating straight out of a cereal box. je does a double take when he sees you

“yo, is that my hoodie?”

you grab a mug, yawning. “might be.”

richie throws his arms in the air. “you can’t just steal my shit, dude.”

“i absolutely can.” you retort as you pour your coffee.

he snorts. “nah, see, this is why roommates don’t work out. this is how wars start.”

you take a sip of your beverage, then flip him off without looking. richie sighs, throwing a handful of cereal at you. you dodge it.

“you’re a fucking child.” your insult doesn’t land and the man in front of you just rolls his eyes.

“yeah, and?”

beat. you eye the cereal box in his hand.

“that better not be my fucking cocoa puffs.”

richie lets out a laugh, his mouth full. “it’s our cocoa puffs now.”

you glare at him, then lunge for the box. you wrestle for it like literal children until richie finally lets go, sending you stumbling back. you hold the box triumphantly, out of breath.

“that’s what i fucking thought.”

he shakes his head, shaking with laughter. “you’re the fuckin’ worst.”

you shake your head back, mockingly. “nah, you are.”

you share a grin. it’s dumb, but it’s fun.

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the apartment - july, 2022

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more comfortable in your new living situation, you sit at the kitchen table, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. richie walks in, downing a beer, eyebrows raised.

“oh no. what the fuck is this?”

once again, you don’t look up. “house rules.”

he snorts. “what is this, fuckin’ summer camp?”

ignoring him, you read out loud. “rule #1: if you leave dishes in the sink, i will kill you.”

dramatic.

“rule #2: no watching porn in the living room.”

richie furrows his eyebrows, the crease between them becoming more apparent by the second. “woah, woah. i don’t—,”

pointing at him, you avoid eye contact. “i don’t want to know.”

he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, raising his other hand in surrender.

fair.

you clear your throat, continuing.

“rule #3: If you eat my food, you replace my food.”

“you’re never gonna let the cocoa puffs thing go, huh?” he quips.

sneering, you tilt your head in a sarcastic manner. “not in this lifetime, asshole.”

richie snatches the paper from her, looking it over. you roll your eyes, snatching it back. he sits across from you, menacingly.

“you know, i kinda dig this.”

immediate confusion.

“the rules?”

shrugging, he picked at the label on his beer bottle. “nah, just… this. you here. dunno.”

you peer up at him through your lashes. it’s the closest thing to sincere richie’s ever been. you just nod, hiding a small smile.

“yeah.”

you don’t say anything else. he just sips his drink. you wring your hands together.

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the beef - august, 2022

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this time, you’re behind the counter, dealing with a customer who is very much testing your patience.

the horrible man grumbles, pointing at the menu behind you with a waggly finger.

“i don't get why you don't have more options.”

you force a smile, feeling yourself beginning to slowly die on the inside. “because it's a sandwich shop.”

the cunt across from you doesn’t miss a beat. “yeah, well, that’s stupid.”

dryly, you lean forward on your elbows. “i'll let corporate know.”

he scoffs at you. the nerve. “you got a real attitude problem, you know that?”

fuck you. you think, but you don’t have to say it because before you can, richie appears beside you. he grins, but there’s nothing friendly about it.

“you got a problem with her?”

the customer blinks, taken aback. “i didn't say that.”

"i-i didn't say that.” richie mocks. “shut the fuck up. you don't like the menu? go somewhere else.”

the man splutters. turning red.

“excuse me-,”

your coworker-turned-roommate drops his smile, eyes dangerous. “no, excuse me. get the fuck outta here.”

the customer glares, but ultimately backs off, mumbling something under his breath as he leaves. richie watches him go, then turns back to you, who's just staring at him.

you blink slowly. “jesus, rich.”

but he only shrugs, walking off. “what?”

“fuckin’ psycho.” you say to yourself, shaking your head. you turn back to the register, biting back a small smile as you move on to the next customer.

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the apartment - september, 2022

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the apartment is dimly lit, mostly by the glow of the tv. richie is on the couch, flipping through channels with another beer in hand. you’re is in the kitchen, rinsing out a glass, moving slower than usual. you’ve been quiet all night. though richie doesn’t think much of it—until he hears a quiet sniffle. he barely turns his head.

he’s casual, not even looking away from the screen. “yo, you sick or some shit?”

silence. then, another sniffle. he frowns, finally turning to look at you. you’re standing at the sink, hands gripping the edge of the counter, your shoulders tense. he sees the slight shake in your back.

fuck. she’s crying. he thinks.

richie sits up, his voice softer now. “hey.”

you quickly wipes her eyes and turn your back more, like you’re trying to hide. you let out a breath, trying to play it off.

“it’s nothing.”

he throws his arm down the side of the couch, searching for the remote. “yeah, alright. you’re just standing there crying ‘cause of nothing.”

you exhale through your nose, frustrated, but your voice betrays you, wobbling.

“i don’t fuckin’ cry.”

richie tilts his head, tone dry as he finally pauses the tv. “yeah? what’s that, then?”

you huff a laugh, but it’s weak. you shake your head, rubbing at your face aggressively like you’re trying to scrub the emotion off. he watches you for a second, then gets up, walking over.

leaning against the counter next to you, close but not too close, he breaks the silence again.

“it’s fine, y’know.”

you mutter out a small “no, it’s fuckin’ not.”

“yeah, it is. you live here, don’t you?”

you sniff again, looking down at the counter. richie reaches past you and grabs the roll of paper towels, tearing one off and handing it to you. you take it, still not looking at him, dabbing your face.

the man next to you clears his throat. “you wanna talk about it or what?”

you swallow, staring at the sink. your voice is small when you speak.

“…don’t know.”

richie nods, like that’s a perfectly fine answer. he doesn’t push. instead, he nudges your arm lightly, pulling a shitty little joke out of his pocket.

“just don’t go getting snot all over my counter, alright? i keep this place immaculate.”

an actual laugh escapes you—quiet, but real. you shake your head again, eyes still wet, but there’s something lighter in your face. he smirks, nudging you again. “that’s better.”

you both stand there in silence for a few seconds. then, richie pushes off the counter and grabs another beer from the fridge.

he holds it up toward you in question.

“beer?”

you exhales and nod.

“yeah.”

he tosses it to you. you catch it, finally looking at him. he just shrugs, like this never happened. you pop the cap and take a sip.

then you go back to the couch, richie flipping the channels like normal. like it’s just another night.

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the apartment - november, 2022

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it starts small. at first, it’s just convenience. you’re on your laptop in the living room, but richie’s watching something loud and stupid on tv. so you roll your eyes, pick up your laptop, and disappear into your room.

no big deal, right?

then, one night, richie’s door is open, and he’s lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone. you pass by, stop, and lean in the doorway.

“what are you doing?”

he doesn’t bother looking up. “bein’ fucking awesome, obviously.”

“mm. looks like you’re laying there like a loser.”

he scoffs, still not looking up. he scoots over slightly, making just enough space on the bed without actually saying anything. you don’t hesitate—you flop down next to him, on your stomach, scrolling through your own phone.

you don’t talk, just sit there in comfortable silence. blue light bouncing off your faves.

a few days later, richie’s walking past your room, and your door is cracked open. you’re lying on your side, curled up, watching something on your computer.

he stops. “what’s this?”

“a fucking movie, richard.”

he grumbles at your reaction. “no shit. what’s it about?”

“it’s french. you wouldn’t get it.”

richie pretends to be offended, letting his jaw drop. “‘scuse the fuck outta me?”

you smile, but then—you scoots over a little, thinking of when he did the same before. just a little. an unspoken offer. your roommate leans against the doorframe for a second, then shrugs and walks in, falling onto the bed next to you.

“alright, let’s see what kinda pretentious shit you’re into.”

then it just becomes a thing. you don’t say anything about it, but richie’s room stops being just richie’s room. yours stops being just yours. there’s no boundaries anymore—not in a weird way, just in a roommate way. in a ‘we live together and we’re comfortable way.’

you’ll be half-asleep in your bed, and richie’ll walk in and steal one of your hoodies off the chair like it belongs to him.

richie’ll be laying in his bed and you’ll wander in, sit on the floor, and scroll through your phone without saying anything.

neither of you question it anymore.

one night in particular, richie’s lying in bed, doing god knows what, and you walk in without knocking. you’ve got a beer in your hand and toss it to him without looking.

he catches it and cracks it open.

“you’re gettin’ real comfortable in my room, lady.”

not knowing what to say, you shrug, flopping down next to him. “yeah, well. It’s better than mine.”

he gives you a look, taking a sip of his beer. “your room is the exact same as this one.”

“yours has better vibes.”

he snorts. “oh, fuck off.”

you laugh, nudging him with your knee. richie rolls his eyes but smirks. you sit there, drinking in silence, the radio playing some dumb late-night talk-show in the background. and it’s fine.

neither of you say it, but—it’s kinda nice, not feeling alone all the time.

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the beef - february, 2023

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it’s a slow part of the day, that weird in-between where nothing really happens. you’re leaning against the lockers, sipping a coke, and richie’s bullshitting about something stupid.

sugar enters from the office, she had been around a lot lately because carmy was trying to convince her to renovate ‘the beef’ into… you didn’t even want to know.

her eyes eventually land on the two of you as she greets you both with a smile. “wow. you two are really attached at the hip these days, huh?”

you snorts, taking another sip of your coke.

richie just raises an eyebrow. “what the fuck does that mean?”

sugar sends you a knowing look.

“it means every time i come in here, you two are either flirting, arguing, or just—existing in the same place. it’s kinda strange.”

you angle your head away from richie to hide the growing blush on your cheeks. “thank you, natalie.

she eyes you both, unimpressed. then, she crosses her arms and tilts her head slightly.

“i’m just saying. it’s kinda funny. you guys live together, you work together—.”

richie interjects. “oh my god, is there a point to this?”

sugar only laughs.

i mean, it’s cute guys. like a little old married couple. mikey would prob—,”

you and richie both react at the same time.

“what the fuck—,”

“shut the fuck up.”

tina laughs from somewhere in the kitchen, obviously enjoying the show. sugar just smiles, like she’s oblivious to what she’s doing.

“i think it’s sweet, you guys! you take care of each other.”

richie scoffs, but he doesn’t have a real comeback. he just shifts on his feet and mutters “yeah, well, fuck off.”

she raises her hands in surrender, still smiling innocently, and walks off. you shake your head, downing the last of your drink before setting the can down with a clink. you look over at richie, who’s still scowling like he’s been personally insulted.

“you’re being so weird right now.”

“you’re being so weird right now.” he retorts, like a six-year old.

you roll your eyes, but there’s something in richie’s face—just for a second, something small and unspoken. neither of you acknowledge it.

instead, you nudge him with your elbow and walk off, and he watches you go for half a second longer than he should.

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the apartment - march, 2023

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the soft glow of the lamp lights the room, casting a warm, intimate glow. you’re lying on your back, the blankets scattered around you. richie is beside you, propped up on one arm, his other hand resting casually on the bed.

you two of you talk, but your words are light, almost nonsensical—just enjoying the simplicity of the conversation.

your faces are close, so close that it feels natural to hear each other’s breath and feel the warmth between them.

you laugh softly, pulling a drag from your cigarette and handing it back over.

“do you think… if we had an actual pet, we’d be good at taking care of it?”

richie chuckles, amused by the randomness of the question. “like a goldfish?”

“yeah, like a goldfish. what if we killed it by accident? i feel like we’d be those people who forget to feed it and then, like, find it floating in the tank.”

he laughs, his eyes sparkling with humour. “i dunno, i think we’d be fine. i mean, i could always blame you. you’re the one who’d forget.”

you playfully swat at him, but you’re smiling, your eyes soft and full of affection.

“right, blame me, huh? we both know i’m probably the responsible one between the two of us.”

richie pulls a very serious face, his lips fighting the urge to curve into a smile. “oh yeah? well, last time i checked, i was the one who made sure we had food last night.”

“pizza doesn’t count as ‘responsibility,’ rich.”

he smirks, and just then you realise how his face is only inches from yours.

“hey, that was a survival tactic. you’re welcome, sweetheart.”

you’re quiet for a moment, the air between you comfortable.

turning your head just slightly, you meet his eyes with a softness that says more than words ever could. richie’s face softens, too. there’s a brief beat of complete silence before he leans in, his nose brushing against yours lightly.

“is this the part where we get all deep and talk about our feelings or…?”

you laugh nervously at his words.

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💌

you know I had to do one for richie

the moments in between

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Summary: When Joel and Ellie arrive at the Jackson commune, his strong frame and intense gaze captivate you. But as the days pass, you lose hope that he might be drawn to you as well. That is, until the walls come crashing down and the truth finally reveals itself.

Word Count: 7.3k [slow burn]

A/N: I put a lot of love and time into this one. It's my longest fic so far but it didn't feel hard, which I like to believe is a good thing. Hope it resonates, hope you feel the feels and the yearning between these two—let me know! Hope you're well.

A breeze follows Tommy as he saunters in through the doors of the Tipsy Bison, the soft click of his boot heels echoing off the wood with each easy step. The cowboy hat on his head casts a shadow over his eyes until he takes it off, his dark hair cascading down over his ears. There’s a small smile playing on his lips that makes you narrow your eyes.

Cleaning the bartop suddenly loses its appeal, but you don’t stop, only slow down. The fresh, tangy scent of lemongrass continues to waft up from the motion.     

“We close early on Sunday’s, officer,” you tease as he climbs onto a stool. 

He frowns as he sets his hat aside. “I don’t look like a cop, do I?” You shrug, and he chuckles as his gaze roves over to the pool room. “Nate back there? Yo, Nate!” 

“Evening, Tom,” the older man calls back as he polishes a cue ball. 

“Joel’s made it into town.” There’s no overt emotion in the way he shares the news, but you can see that it’s all in his eyes as he waits for you to react.  

“Joel, Joel? As in your brother?” He nods, still in disbelief himself. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing, Tommy—right? What the heck.” He used to talk about him all the time. 

His exhale makes way for a shaky smile, “I know. Made it in not too long ago with a young girl he’s looking after,” he tells you, voice thick with a mix of emotions. “He’s outside. Wanted to come in and see if you’d let us grab a drink.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Know it’s late. Promise I’ll make up for the trouble.” He knows it’s no trouble. Not when it comes to him. 

He turns around, barstool squeaking, and waves Joel in through the window. 

You move to start working on their whiskies. “Make it up by letting me be the baby’s godmother?” The glasses clink as you set them onto the bar and begin pouring the caramel colored liquid, smirking when you meet his gaze.

Tommy isn’t completely opposed to the idea. You’d been in Jackson since the beginning, a friend to him and Maria in every sense of the word. Arguably family. “If you can manage not to tick me off until the little one gets here.” Despite his words, his eyes are fond. 

The door creaks open, and Joel strides in, scanning the room. There are pictures on the walls of American icons and landmarks, and old Polaroids of commune members. There’s a guarded confidence to the way he walks, an intensity. 

Tommy quickly leans in and whispers, “He means well. It’s been a long day.” 

Joel takes a seat beside his brother and acknowledges you with a curt nod, tugging on the collar of his shirt.  

“Welcome to Jackson,” you greet, introducing yourself afterwards.

“Joel,” he says, taking you in with a steady gaze. 

“Tommy’s told me a lot about you.” You push their glasses closer to them in an encouragement to start drinking.

Joel takes his first sip and fights back a reflexive grimace. It’s been a while, but it's good. Good enough to make him feel pleasantly warm as it glides down. Tommy drinks off his brother’s lead, and you realize just how alike they look. Joel’s hair is a little shorter and accented with streaks of gray, but they both have those same dark, telling eyes. 

They fall into light conversation, but it’s clearly not what they'd talk about if they were alone. That’s when you sense the distance. The slight edge to the space between them. It’s why Tommy resorts to drawing you in, the two of you ripping off each other as Joel listens, fine with not having to speak until this whole little ordeal was winding to an end. However, he does sit up a little straighter whenever you laugh. You pour them more whiskey when their glasses get empty.     

Eventually, the remaining light outside fades away. Tommy hisses at the sight, standing. “I gotta get home to Maria,” he says, stretching his back. Joel moves to get up too, until, “At least finish off this glass, man. You’ve earned it.” Tommy squeezes his brother’s shoulder. He means it genuinely, at least. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, Joel. Thanks again for this,” he tells you. 

“Bye, sheriff,” you call after him. Tommy scoffs.  

Joel realizes just how quiet it is when you move aside to tinker with a bison trinket sitting on the counter, unsure of what to say with Tommy gone. He knows you can see him looking at you. “So, are you here by yourself?” he finally asks. 

A playful smile tugs at your lips. “That’s not a creepy question at all,” you tease, quickly gathering that he doesn’t find the implication funny. “Uncle Nate?” you call. 

“Busy!”  

You raise your brows at Joel. “Not alone.”

Nate was chosen family. The man taught you everything you know about shooting, fishing, and survival even though you gave him a hard time for it when you were younger. He was also the founder of the Tipsy Bison. He only came into the bar on the weekends when he wasn't on patrol. His time in the military all those years ago made it hard to step away from a life of service. 

“We were cleaning when Tommy came in,” you tell Joel. He takes in that information wordlessly. 

“You aren’t much for talking, are you?” Joel takes a sip from his glass. “Nothing wrong with that. Must mean you don’t miss much. Really observant.” When he doesn’t respond, you smile shyly, realizing he probably just wanted to relax after a long day. “Guess I won’t stand here and talk your ears off.” 

The floor creaks as you disappear into the recreation room with Nate, rounding the corner. Joel exhales, shoulders dropping from being drawn up. He almost misses your company. 

Nate sits hunched over a word search puzzle, using the pool table as if it's a normal desk. He doesn’t look up at you, even when you give an affectionate tug to his curly gray ponytail. It was something you’d been doing since the days you both were out on your own and had to stay quiet all the time. Back when there was no safety, no security, no commune. 

“Ouch,” he drones, unphased. 

“Are you gonna come out and meet Tommy's brother?” you ask, low so Joel can’t hear. “I feel like you guys have a lot in common: brooding and grumpy.” Pride flutters in your chest when the man’s lips twitch. 

“I’ll meet him… eventually. Gotta finish this puzzle.” You realize there’s a small hourglasses going, the sand swiftly filling the bottom portion. “There ya are—serendipity.” He circles the letters. 

Word searches were something he recently started doing. When you have a past as extensive as his, it’s always chasing after you in one way or another. Especially in those quiet moments that sneak up on you. He claimed that seeking out words from amid an ordered chaos keeps the racing thoughts at bay whenever they come rushing in. 

Joel is finished by the time you join him again, and you realize he’d waited instead of calling out. Already standing, ready to go. 

“Anything else I can get you?” 

He shakes his head. “I appreciate your hospitality.” 

Joel turns to leave but you keep talking, “So I reckon Tommy already squared you away with a house and a tour of the town?” 

He stops. “I’m across the street from him. Gettin’ the tour tomorrow.”  

“That’s great, I’m really glad you found us.” You sound so genuine that there’s a flutter in his gut. “We’re a pretty crazy bunch, but I think you’re gonna like it here.” 

“Hope so.” Those are the words he leaves you with.

Your eyes stay trained on his back as he makes his way towards the door, stride the same as when he first arrived. Perhaps a little looser. Before he exits the bar, his eyes catch a glimpse of one of the decorative license plates secured to the wall: Austin, Texas. 

Shortly after he makes it outside, his heart rate ticks up in that impending way he wishes wasn’t so familiar, breath catching in his throat as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. There’s no escaping the panic as it sets in, surging through him. A few staggering steps allow him to brace a hand on a wooden directory board. 

You see it all from inside. At first, you think he’s trying to read the sign, but then he hunches over more and grips his chest. Without thinking, you jog towards the doors. 

“Joel?” You call once you’ve broken outside. 

It’s a cool spring night, a crescent moon shares its pale glow from above. Most of Jackson is already tucked away inside or at least halfway there. But in this sliver of time, it feels like it’s just the two of you outside. Joel doesn’t let on that he’d heard you, but the moment you’re close enough, you recognize what’s going on. You press your palm to his back to let him know you’re there. That he’s still here. 

“Concentrate on your breathing. In and out, just like that,” you encourage, settling on rubbing his back in measured passes. Then you go quiet on the off chance he needs that. 

In your newfound silence, Joel is forced to focus on the shaky breaths rising from his lungs. That’s when he accepts he’s not in control. Not in the grand scheme of things. There’s a whole big fallen world just outside the gates of this haven. A world that had taken people he loved and was cruel enough to let him be the one who lived to tell the tale. The heat that rises to his cheeks is made up of frustration more than distress, crackling like pop. Like coals. 

The ground takes on a vignette as he stares at it, his vision briefly closes in. You never withdraw your touch. 

When his breaths eventually begin to steady, you remember how to breathe yourself. With a tired exhale, he straightens back up to his full height, and you take a few small steps away. Maybe this wasn’t new, but a fact of life for the man who’d rode into Jackson in an air of mystery and a young girl by his side. Maybe he never wanted you to get a glimpse at this side of him. If he feels that way, he doesn’t make it obvious. He almost looks appreciative that you’d bothered enough to care. 

“Sorry to scare you,” he rasps, not meeting your gaze even though he can feel it. You want to tell him that there isn’t much that scares you anymore. At least that’s what you like to believe. “I’m usually alone.” 

Except, tonight, he wasn’t. And maybe that wasn’t such a terrible thing. 

•••

Howdy Stranger

This is Jackson Hole

The last of the Old West 

Joel reads the painted wooden sign as Tommy and Maria show him and Ellie around. There are people everywhere. Children playing outside, adults fluttering in and out of shops. All while the Teton mountains loom and watch over it all with their snow-capped peaks. He looks over at the girl when she nudges his arm, pointing to a Calico lounging on a porch. Despite her beaming smile, all he offers is a low hum. 

It was hard to be in the now when his thoughts were split between the past and future. Up until Jackson, there was no such thing as stability, and he couldn’t help but think about the day that the rug would be pulled from beneath the commune as well. Ellie’s smile fades when she notices the harsh squint of his face. He kicks himself for it.   

“Cat hater,” she mumbles under her breath.

Joel grunts and directs his attention back to his brother. 

When the tour comes to an inevitable end, Ellie sings Jackson’s praises after Tommy and Maria go their separate ways with a promise to reconnect later that day. He lets her talk as they make their way back to their new house, idly agreeing every once in a while. A few curious eyes fall on them as they walk, but Joel doesn’t pay them any mind. 

“Dude, are you even listening to me?” Ellie stops walking to give him a flat look. 

“I hear you,” he insists. “Been hearing you for the past ten minutes.”

There’s no snark in his tone, but Ellie still feels the slight sting of offense. “Well, sorry for being excited about having a nice place to live for once. It’s not like I was born into hell or anything—I mean the Boston QZ.” Sarcasm drips from her voice as she starts walking again, faster so it looks like they’re not together.

Joel swallows down guilt like it’s just another pill. His legs are long, so it doesn’t take much to catch back up with her.

“Hey…Kid…Ellie.” She keeps ignoring him. “This is new for me too, okay? Everybody’s got a different way of processing, can we agree on that?” It’s a fair enough proposal. He never had been forward when it came to sharing his thoughts. “Wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmurs, deciding to take a break from her rambling for his sake. The mutual silence isn’t so bad. 

Someone he isn’t expecting to see is you. You’re wearing a backpack and ushering a line of young kids into the community center. One of the little girls stops and stretches her arms up towards you, earning a playful eyeroll before being lifted onto your hip. Joel doesn’t miss the way the afternoon sunlight catches your face. 

•••

The next day, a faint thump against the door startles Ellie as she sketches in the dining room. Rather than getting up from the table, she remains still, pencil in hand and brows furrowed. Upstairs, the spray of the shower continues as Joel lets it drown out everything else. Three light knocks eventually sound, and she musters up the courage to scurry to the front. 

She peeks out the window first, spotting you. Someone she hadn’t seen around. An amused smile pulls at her lips at the way you’ve seemingly wrestled the big basket you’re holding into a better grip than before. 

When she opens the door, you let out a relieved sigh. “Special delivery,” you say before introducing yourself. 

“That’s a really pretty name,” she compliments, already warming up to you. “I’m Ellie—is all that stuff for us?” When you nod, she excitedly steps aside and ushers you in. 

“I’m not gonna say you shouldn’t have because that’d be a lie,” she shamelessly admits. “You can put it right over here.” You follow her into the living room and place the welcome basket on the coffee table. 

A few of the ladies you volunteer with helped you put it together after your shift counseling for the spring break camp. There were cookies, seeds, natural soaps, feminine hygiene products, and even a knit blanket that looked particularly soft and cozy. Ellie wastes no time reaching out to run her fingers over it. A laugh bubbles up your throat when her jaw drops. 

“This is literally what clouds feel like.” She haphazardly pulls the blanket out the basket, wrapping it around herself like a cape. “If Joel says anything, this was specifically included for me.” 

“I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to share if he asked nicely,” you reason, amused. Ellie’s nose wrinkles. “But to be fair, we did think you’d be the one to really appreciate it.”

She smiles at being considered. “Who made it? This is, like, next level.” 

“A woman named Emilia,” you tell her. “She actually made me one back when Jackson was first being built up that I still have,” you tell her, taking a seat on the couch and looking around. The evening sunlight pours in through the windows, casting golden streaks onto the floors. “Now she’s always got a few on standby.” 

Ellie sits beside you, reaching out to dig through the other contents in awe. “They told us the commune's only, like, seven years old on our tour yesterday,” she recounts. Think you’ll have your blanket forever?” 

“Forever’s an awful long time. It might hold up,” you think aloud. Ellie nods, contemplative. “I can take you by to meet her sometime, if you’d like. She’s the resident seamstress, so you’ll probably end up crossing paths anyways.” 

“What about you? What do you do?” she asks, giving you her full attention. 

“I mainly help coordinate community events. Been stepping in to assist with the youth spring break camp for the last couple days, though,” you say. “Also bartend on the nights that I feel like it. Just for fun, you know?” 

Ellie's face lights up. “I’ve had whiskey before.” She puffs out her chest when she says it, and you play into her pride by raising an impressed brow. The first and last time you had a sip was when you snuck it from Nate as a teen. “But that’s really cool, though. The community stuff and all that.” You can tell by her tone that she means it. In more ways than one, you’re reminded of your younger self. 

“Joel’s gonna join the patrol. He says I’m too young, but that’s just bullshit.” She says the last part lower as if he’s somewhere listening. “I’ll figure out a way to make him cave.” There’s an air of confidence to her voice that suggests she’s done it before. The thought warms a tiny portion of your chest.

“I’ve gone out with my uncle Nate a few times. It can be a lot,” you admit. “He just wants you safe, Nate’s the same way.” 

As Joel stops at the top of the staircase, freshly showered, he catches those last words. He’d know your voice even if it’d been forever. His footsteps are quiet as he descends the stairs, but you hear him coming nevertheless. Ellie’s too busy sniffing the pine soap as you straighten up and glance his way. Joel’s eyes are as observant as you remember when they land on you, seeing into you, it seems. His damp hair is combed back in a way that makes him look more distinguished. 

“There you are.” You stand up with a smile. You’d been wondering how he was doing since the panic attack.

He wishes your warmth wasn't so compelling.  

Ellie whips around to look at him. “I know you said not to open the door to strangers—which is practically everybody at this point—but she’s really nice and brought us gifts so you can’t be mad at me,” she rushes out. He clocks the blanket around her shoulders. 

He hmphs. “That’s how they get you.” He’s not being serious, but Ellie frowns, trying to read through his eternal poker face. “Treats and a friendly smile.” Your lips twitch in amusement as Ellie narrows her eyes. 

When Joel starts walking your way, she consoles herself with the fact that he would've already asked you to leave if he sensed your intentions were off. The commune wasn’t filled with questionable people like that anyways. The two of them didn’t have to be apprehensive of every soul they came across anymore. 

He’s close enough now that you can smell the cedar soap on his skin. “I’m not a stranger,” you lightly defend. “Not entirely.” You look from Ellie to Joel. 

A wall rises in real time, shutting you out right along with the night you met. It happens in his eyes just like everything does. He hadn’t mentioned you to her, and it was your mistake for believing he would’ve at least passed on a name. 

You swallow back a small lump in your throat that may not be entirely just. “Anyways, hopefully you guys will be able to put this stuff to use.” 

“Of course we will,” Ellie pipes up. “Are you leaving already?” She hadn’t missed the finality that had crept into your tone. 

You nod. “Don’t wanna take up too much of your evening. I actually meant to come by sooner.” 

“Well, are you going to the dining hall for dinner?” Her gaze flicks to Joel. “Maybe you can come with us.” 

Joel knows he’s in trouble when he hears the fondness in Ellie’s voice. It’s the same sentiment he was straining to tamper down within himself. Every time he opened his mouth or looked at you, it tried to claw its way to the forefront. The last thing he needed was another person getting close enough to see that he was a million tiny pieces being held together by the glue of whatever god was keeping him alive. 

You decline her invitation, expressing plans to go to your uncle’s place. But you give her a rain check. When you go to leave, Joel allows his eyes to flitter down the rest of your body. 

That wouldn’t be the last he saw of you. But it was always from afar, lingering on the outskirts. Wishing there was a seamless way he could fall into your orbit without sending everything spiraling out of control. 

You were always looking right back at him with hope in your eyes, holding space. Waiting for your world to be shaken. 

•••

Laughter, chatter, and music drown out the insects that usually take precedence at night. Weeks of planning had finally come into fruition. All of Main Street is lined with fairy lights that cast their warm glow down on the summer festival. There was no shortage of entertainment, games, and food. It was a time to let loose and relish the sweetness in the air along with that of life. 

Nate plays his harmonica for a group of children around the bonfire, all clapping and stomping along. A smile graces your face as you walk by, waving at him. The fullness of your heart almost overrides the ache that has settled in the arches of your feet. You’d barely sitten down since earlier that morning when preparation began. There was a sense of responsibility that came along with the orange vest you were dawned in. The pressure to assist, and guide, and answer questions wasn’t all on you, but the other volunteers were better at taking breaks. 

Tommy’s grainy voice breaks into the air through a megaphone, “Thirteen-and-up three-legged races starting in five minutes, this is your last call. Grab a partner and make your way over to the east lawn,” he says. “Again, this is the last call.”

Joel and Ellie already happen to be seated at a picnic table that gives them a perfect view of the race setup and Tommy facilitating in an orange vest of his own. Ellie had already worked through her first honey cake and was eyeing Joel’s. He pretends not to notice until she looks up at him all wide-eyed.  

“Can I—” he slides his plate over to her. “Thanks.” 

“Your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” he lightly accuses, shaking his head. 

“What does that even mean?” She takes a bite. “Weirdo.” 

Joel just grumbles and tosses a napkin her way. She wipes her mouth and keeps staring at him. Not because she’s waiting for an answer, but because there’s amusement sparkling in his eyes. Which happens more often now that they’d had a couple months to settle into Jackson. A laugh was coming, she could feel it. 

“Quit gawking at me and eat.” There’s a tell-tale waver in his voice. 

“No.” Ellie lightly kicks his shin beneath the table and that’s what sets him off. 

He tries to bite back a chuckle, but he gives in when it doesn’t work out, shoulders shaking. Ellie starts grinning at him from across the table, and he kicks her back with the tip of his boot. 

“Hey!” She breaks into giggles and retaliates. He lets her have the little victory. 

A small smile lingers on his face when he regains his composure. They sit in a comfortable silence as Ellie finishes the rest of her dessert, taking in the festivities around them. 

It isn’t long before a girl with dark hair approaches their table. She’s a ball of masked nerves. “Hi,” she greets. “Ellie, right?” She says it as if it’s possible for her to have forgotten. As if after they sat together at last week’s movie night, she hadn’t been thinking about her since. 

Ellie get’s uncharacteristically squirmy. “Oh. Hey, Dina.” 

Joel can’t believe it.

Dina tucks a flyaway behind her ear. “My old partner bailed, so I was wondering if you’d maybe wanna do the three-legged race with me. I think we’d make a better team anyways.” Then she glances at Joel. “If you wouldn’t mind me stealing her away for a bit.” 

“Take her,” Joel quips, making Dina laugh. 

Warmth rushes to Ellie’s cheeks as she stands. “Sure, let’s go.” 

The two of them jog over to get prepped for the race. Joel watches the whole while, warmth kindling in his chest at the fact that she was slowly finding her tribe. The race doesn’t start for another couple minutes, and when it does, Ellie and Dina burst off into first. It’s intense. The whole ordeal is a mess of laughter, stumbling, and flailing limbs. In the end, the duo end up placing second, crossing the finish line only to fall into a heap of giggles with their legs tied together. 

Joel stands from the picnic table with a grunt to throw away all the empty plates. He has every intention to sit back down, but notices a few frazzled volunteers carrying mops and towels. Then his eyes rove over to the long line standing at the drink stands. Adults check their watches, children fidget. A woman in an orange vest is talking to another woman managing the stand. He doesn’t realize is you until you turn away from her and beeline towards the community center, looking stressed. 

“Hey,” he calls out to a stout man wearing an apron. “Do you know what’s going on?” 

He’s surprised Joel caught on. Everyone else was carrying on as usual, carefree and unaware. “There was a spill at the community center. You know Mr. Robertson’s special Summer Fest punch?” he asks in a thick Brooklyn accent, Joel nods because he’d heard the rave. Apparently it was made especially for the festival. “Kitchen’s flooded with it. I didn’t have time to build an ark,” he jokes.  

Joel wrestles with himself. “I’ll go see if I can help.” 

By the time you exit the community center, gaze fixed over your shoulder, you crash into Joel. He instinctively reaches out to steady you, touch firm but gentle. “Whoa, easy there.” The low timbre of his drawl is enough to draw your mind away from all the noise. “You alright? Here, let’s get out of the way.” You let him pull you aside by your elbow. 

When you look into his eyes, there’s so many things you wish it was the appropriate time to say. It’s been cordial between the two of you, but it always seemed like he was in a constant state of backing away, like an animal scared of giving into a primal craving.  

There was always a reason why he couldn’t stay in your presence longer than he did. He had to get back to Ellie, or turn in early for his patrol shift the next day, or some other excuse. Even during the game nights you hosted, he would always leave before his belly was full and the real fun was about to begin. When everyone was finally free of the day’s worries and truly ready to talk, laugh, and let everything ride on the toss of a dice. 

He’d resigned himself to enjoying you in the little here and there, the moments in between. So much so that even Ellie had begun to notice. It was in the way he never allowed himself to lean in too close whenever you were at his side. Or never fully crawled out of his shell no matter how many times you smiled sweetly or let your fingertips brush his forearm. 

“Does anything hurt?” He asks more intently. As he scans you over, he notices your clothes. The lower portion of your vest and the thighs of your flared jeans are stained with a wet, dark substance. 

“I’m fine, Joel.” You pull away from him with more force than necessary, feeling guilty for the way he swallows and takes a step back. “Sorry.” You release a heavy exhale, tears welling in your eyes with a dull sting. “I’m ruining everyone’s night.” 

Joel frowns. “No you’re not. Tell me what happened.” 

“I was trying to transfer the extra beverage dispenser onto the wagon so I could wheel it out to the drink stand, but it slipped out of my grip,” you explain. “The lid came off and the punch spilled everywhere.” You wipe your tears away quickly, as if they’ll stain too. 

“Accidents happen,” Joel’s tone is steady like scripture, tenderness peeking through just enough to cling onto. “Everybody’s fine. The world's still turning.”

Nobody had reacted in an extreme manner. There were gasps and startled jumps, but assurances came rushing in as the janitorial volunteers insisted that they’d get everything cleaned up. Everyone in that kitchen knew that there were worse things in life than spilled juice. Sure, it was upsetting, considering the time Mr. Robertson spent and the people looking forward to drinking more, but it was a small mistake in the grand scheme of things. But when your heart is already heavy and your mind is tangled with other concerns, those little mishaps feel like the most devastating ones. 

There was a directness about Joel, though, that eased away the guilt crawling beneath your skin. It was like he understood what screwing up truly was and this was many light years from it. 

Dina spots Joel in the distance and points him out to Ellie. “There he is over there.” 

Their smiles fall from their faces when they get closer and realize you’re crying. “Holy shit, what happened?” Ellie looks between you and Joel, worry etched onto her face. 

“I just made a stupid mistake.” You sniffle, trying to regain your composure, not wanting to worry them.  There was always something unavoidably daunting about seeing adults cry. 

“You girls stay here with her for a second. I’ll be right back,” Joel instructs. 

A new song starts up by the live band that’s playing. It’s an instrumental rendition of Every Breath You Take. A decent crowd has gathered, nibbling on sourdough and nodding to the melody. Some people are wrapped in each other’s arms. Joel soaks it all in as he navigates back to the racing lawn. 

Tommy claps him on the back when he makes it and Joel returns the gesture. “You enjoying yourself, man?” Tommy asks. 

“Yeah,” he says distractedly. “There was a spill at the community center, so no more punch. You think you can get everybody on the same page?” 

“Copy that.” 

Tommy’s voice carries through the megaphone as Joel makes his way back to you, the announcement fading with each step. 

“Howdy, folks. Some of you may have already heard, but in case you haven’t, there’s been a little spill and we are unfortunately all out of Mr. Robertson’s world famous punch for the night. We apologize if you didn’t get the chance to try it, but I promise we’ll figure out a way to make it up to y'all. In the meantime, I heard the lemonade and ice tea ain’t half bad.” 

His words blur into the background as Joel makes it back to you. There are a few disappointed groans, but nobody is completely devastated by the news. They keep carrying on just as he knew they would. 

Tears no longer streak your face when Joel makes it back, Ellie and Dina seeming to have lifted your spirits a little more. 

“Do you wanna go get cleaned up?” Joel suggests. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, the feeling of your clothes sticking to your skin is beginning to grow uncomfortable. You take a deep breath at the thought of walking home, away from Summer Fest, all the energy, all the fun. Joel sees the disappointment on your face. 

“I can go with you,” he offers.

•••

The walk to your house is quiet, the sounds of the night's festivities now distant. The porch steps creak gently under your weight as the two of you ascend them. Joel watches as you unlock the door, but finds himself cemented as you step inside. Confusion, appreciation, frustration, and want are all amalgamated into one look directed at right his way. Without saying a word, you head further inside, leaving the door open. 

Joel’s hands twitch at his sides like he’s a live wire wrought with energy. Bugs would fly in if he didn’t do something—that’s the justification he creates. You’re halfway to the laundry room when you hear the front door shut behind him as he follows after you. 

The living room is illuminated by dim lamplight as he walks through. A quick glance into the kitchen gives him sight of one of Ellie’s more recent drawings stuck to the refrigerator door with a smiley face magnet. It's a portrait of your face that you agreed to sit for one lazy afternoon while Joel was away on patrol. 

The air smells like you. Understated and sweet, floral and earthen. Small plants line multiple windowsills despite how convinced you were that you couldn’t keep anything alive. The whole commune would be worse off without you and he’d be the first to wilter away. 

At the sound of a zipper and clothes brushing against skin, he stops his pursuit of you. Miles away even though you’re mere yards apart. All he has is your shadow, dancing in the dim light pooling out of the laundry room and into the hall with him. He backs himself into the cool wall and closes his eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Up and down and up again. An SOS in the middle of a sea when salvation was right within reach. It gets quiet after a while. No more running water, or cabinet doors, or shuffling around. 

“You can let me in, you know?” comes your voice, so light it’s almost nothing. Joel releases a shaky breath and opens his eyes to the sight of you, dawned in old shorts and a graphic tee. You wish he would say something, anything. Share a fraction of what’s going on in his mind. “I’m right here, Joel.” 

“I know. I see you.” There’s a defensive edge to his voice that’s wounded around the edges, as if he’s trying to accommodate the truth that burns within his ribcage, his stomach, beneath the entirety of his skin. 

“So now what?” You swallow your nerves, studying his face, his neck. “We’re just gonna keep seeing each other for the rest of our lives and that’s it? No knowing, no feeling, no experiencing?” You ask. “No loving?”  

One by one, the walls close in, until it feels like you’re standing toe to toe with nothing but words as weapons and honesty being the only way out. It’s not a fight he’s ready for. He can trek through the harshest winters, fight off monsters and all manner of men, but he’s defenseless in front of you.

There will be no victory, no rising from battle with a bloodied fist or blade, or immediate relief akin to the coming of spring. The only way out is to dig within, and he already knew what resided there. It was a matter of carving it out and laying it on an altar for you to see as you did the same. It’s not a fight at all, it's a sacrifice. All risk with probable reward. 

“I don’t want that to be all that we do.” You’ve never heard Joel speak so quietly. It’s as if there’s Infected lurking nearby and he doesn’t want to be devoured. “Think about you too much.” 

“I was starting to think you didn’t like me at all. Not like how I like you,” you say. 

Joel swallows thickly, warm all over. “How do you like me?” 

You push out of the laundry room doorway to step closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, the beating of his heart. You let it thrum against your palm until a shallow breath slips past his lips, then you move to cup his stubbled jaw, lightly brushing your thumb over his lower lip. The urge to touch you back grows so great that he finally gives in and lets both of his strong hands settle on your waist.  

Joel can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he leans in towards you, studying your face, searching for any sign that this might be some elaborate ruse. Instead, he finds something so poignant that he doesn’t have the words to define. It’s as terrifying as it is wonderful to, for once, be unable to size up what he’s up against. 

You close the space in between you with a softness that takes his breath away. Bared heart meeting bared heart. Joel’s lips are gentle and unhurried, every second savored and not a single one missed. You try to focus but it feels like you’re falling and flying all at once. Then his fingers dig into your waist a little harder, a silent plea to stay there with him, the warmth of his kiss, the firmness of his body as he pulls you closer. 

Your hands find their way to the back of his neck to play with the hair curled at his nape. The kiss deepens not in urgency but a shared understanding. A promise sealed in the way your bodies fit together. And then, slowly, deliberately, Joel eases back, lips lingering on yours for a heartbeat longer until there’s a slight space in between again. Your breaths mingle as he rests his forehead against yours, thumb stroking tender circles on your waist. 

When you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you, wondering if you can feel that two worlds having converged into one, buzzing with a newness that’s as beautiful as all the words you’d kept bottled inside. 

•••

It hadn’t taken much. Just a hug and a few soft kisses pressed to the underside of his jaw. When Joel’s grumbling finally subsided, it made way for the soothing ripple of the river. You’d settled along the bank and stretched out a few blankets when you first arrived. An hour seemed to pass in the matter of a few seconds, laughter, conversations and all. Now the sun creeps closer and closer to the horizon up in the ombre sky. 

It wasn’t any fault of your own that you’d asked Joel if the date could extend a little longer. It’d been a month of getting to see him in this light, open and unguarded, generous with giving those slow, easy smiles. Willing to lay down across your lap like this when you asked sweetly enough. 

The small mouth of a fish breaks the surface of the water as you trace along his hairline, disappearing by the time you run the pad of your finger down his nose. His lips twitch as he continues to ward off sleep. This time, there’s no stopping a soft laugh from rising up your throat. That’s all it takes for his eyes to flutter open, blinking until they’re able to focus on the soft upturn of your lips. No sooner do they avert to the sky, assessing the fleeting light. 

“We gotta head back now,” his voice is gruff. When he moves to sit up, you place a delicate hand on the center of his chest and he settles back down with a sigh. “C’mon, sweetheart, the sun’s setting. I don’t want you out here in the dark.” 

Packing up and riding back to the commune meant this moment would be resigned to a memory. “A few more minutes won’t hurt,” you insist. 

Before Jackson and before you, every second was about enduring to the next. Life was an endless onwards, onwards, onwards reverberating through his veins. Slowing down was always a risk until you showed him that sometimes life’s most worthwhile moments were in the stillness. Somedays that was easier to remember than others, but he sure did put in an effort. 

“I think you’re enjoying this more than I am anyways,” you tease. The corners of his lips quirk upwards before he can stop them. 

You continue on like that, tracing his face, occasionally glancing up at the snow-capped peaks of the mountains. Then an animal catches your attention across the way, lean and tall with short antlers protruding from its head. You suck in a breath of pleasant surprise, and Joel startles upright thinking the worst. His shoulders relax when he sees the creature. It bends its neck down to nibble at something in the grass until deciding to gallop away. 

“Just a mule deer.” He gives you a look. 

“I know, sorry. I get excited.” You offer an apologetic smile and he's reminded of how beautiful you look in the light of the setting sun, features aglow. He doesn’t say anything, just soaks you in here and now. An airiness fills your chest. 

He stands with a groan, extending a helping hand back down to you. When you’re steady on your feet, he takes your chin in one gentle hand and tilts your head back so he can align his lips with yours. The kiss is brief, and he follows it up with a soft peck.  

“Will you let me take you back home now?” he questions. “Ellie’s gonna have our heads if we’re late for game night. Especially when she’s choosing the line up.” 

•••

No heads roll that night. Plenty of dice do, while Uno cards are slapped onto the coffee table, and Jenga blocks fall. Tommy, Maria, Dina, and your uncle Nate, eventually file out of Joel’s house, leaving the three of you alone. Ellie feigns sleep on the couch as soon as it’s time for cleanup, and dozes off for real as you and Joel start taking care of everything yourselves. 

He steps up behind you as you’re standing at the kitchen sink, snaking his arms around your middle. A curious hum rises up your throat as you lean back into him. 

“I think somebody cheated during Jenga tonight,” he hushes against the shell of your ear, relishing the way you shiver at the warmth of his breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

Joel noses at the back of your head. “So you weren’t the one touchin’ me during that last round?” he asks. “Scratching my back, squeezing my thigh.” 

“It was innocent,” you insist. “It's a stressful game, I was just trying to ease your nerves. How was I supposed to know your hands would get all shaky?” 

A sudden chuckle shakes his chest, sending a ripple of warmth through you. “Ease my nerves? We weren’t even on the same team.” His fingers squeeze your hips in quick, gentle pulses, making you arch into him in a spell of helpless giggles. Joel evades your attempts to grab his wrists, but shows you mercy when you turn around, looking up at him through your lashes like you could do no wrong. 

“You’re lucky I happen to like you an awful lot.” He places both hands on the counter behind you, effectively caging you in. 

You smooth your hands up his chest, admiring the soft lines by his eyes, the handsome bump of his nose. “I know. I’m the luckiest person alive.” 

“No, that’s me,” Joel whispers. 

He’s certain of it. 

- 

Thank you so much for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts, it’s my favorite thing.

staring at the blank page before you open up the dirty window let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find reaching for something in the distance so close you can almost taste it release your inhibitions feel the rain on your skin no one else can feel it for you only you can let it in no one else no one else can speak the words on your lips drench yourself in words unspoken live your life with arms wide open today is where your book begins the rest is still unwritten

not to influence the poll but Richie Jerimovich if you read this I'm free on thursday night and would like to hang out please respond to this and then hang out with me on thursday night when I'm free

“HE GOT LIFE!”

“How ‘bout old Foggy? He get life?”

“Foggy… he was the kindest, purest soul I ever met”

“And guys like you and me, we can work a lifetime and never measure up to his decency”