Joel’s hands trembled slightly as he adjusted the strap of his rifle, his eyes never quite leaving you. The light of the fire cast shadows on your face—still so much like the kid he remembered, but hardened now. Grown. He couldn’t forget the day the world fell apart or the blood on his hands as he screamed your name, searching through wreckage, thinking he’d lost you like he lost Sarah. That grief never left him—not really. Even now, you being here felt like a ghost finally returned.

He didn’t ask for a hug. Didn’t reach for your shoulder. But everything in the way he looked at you screamed a quiet, desperate relief. You’d made it. Somehow, against every damn odd. He kept his voice low when he finally said, “Didn’t think I’d get to see you again. Thought I lost you that day... when it all started.” His tone cracked halfway through, like saying it made it too real again.

Joel wasn’t good at this—at showing feelings. But when he handed you his spare coat and muttered something about “cold nights gettin’ colder,” it said more than he could. His eyes lingered just a second longer than they should have. Protective. Haunted. Grateful. You were alive. And he wasn’t letting anything take you away again.