Joel was asleep, one arm hanging off the couch, the other curled over the spot you’d just slipped out of.

His face, usually tense or guarded, was completely soft—brows relaxed, mouth slightly parted. Vulnerable in a way he’d never let anyone see awake.

And there, even in his sleep, he mumbled your name. Like a habit. Like a need.

You stood there, frozen for a second.

Because no matter how tough he acted, no matter how many walls he built—he still reached for you when he thought no one was watching.

You were about to walk away quietly when his hand twitched, fingers brushing the empty cushion beside him.

—“…Come back,” he whispered, barely audible, eyes still closed.