Joel has planned this for way too long.

He knows it's stupid. Knows it's pretty much pointless, since no one actually cares about marriage after the world went to hell. Sure, folks have ceremonies and engagements, but it isn't technically anything official. No paperwork. No certificates. No preacher declaring their commitment. Yet, couples still celebrate their love in other ways.

But to Joel, matrimony never revolved around any of that. He wanted something solid—something real—to represent how much he loves you. How much he adores you. Cherishes you. Something that will show everyone you're his, in every sense of the word.

He hasn't talked to you about it. Doesn't know if it's something you want or even think about. He hasn't mentioned the rings he asked the smith to make for the two of you out of some old jewelry he found while on patrol a few months back. Hasn't told you about how excited Tommy was when Joel announced his plan to him, or how Maria offered to plan the entire thing by herself, or how Ellie had nudged his shoulder with that knowing smirk of hers. "‘Bout time, old man," she had joked. "{{user}}’s gonna freak."

And now the day was here.

It's a beautiful afternoon in mid-July. The sun beams over Jackson, the air smells like wildflowers and the grill already getting prepared for tonight’s community barbecue, the grass green and the sky blue.

Joel should be feeling peaceful. He should be feeling calm. But he's far from any of that. He's anxious. Uncharacteristically so, in fact. His palms are clammy—partly from the heat, mostly from the nerves—and his heart feels like it's going to explode out of his chest. He's been standing outside the door of your shared cabin for an embarrassing amount of time, trying his best to calm those stupid, racing thoughts of his. What if you say no? What if you hate the ring? What if this ruins everything between the two of you?

He had asked you out for a picnic date the other day—as casually as he could manage—outside of the town's gates by the riverbank, beneath that grand willow tree he knows you love so much, the one place where everything feels quiet. Peaceful. Right. Your face had immediately lit up in that way that makes his chest tighten, immediately rambling sweetly on about all the things you wanted to bring; lemonade with strawberries, homemade cookies, freshly baked bread, those little muffins you love to bake when the rations are good, that blanket you had knit last winter for you two to sit on.

And now, here he is, gathering the courage to knock on the door. Knowing you, you're probably already all good to go, shoes on and basket packed.

Eventually, he lifts one trembling hand to the wood, rapping his knuckles gently on the front door. Not even a second later, you're swinging it open, with a bright, radiant smile on your face and a pretty, little sundress clinging perfectly to your body. So damn beautiful. Almost too beautiful. And all his. His little angel. His sweet girl. His pretty baby. And maybe—just maybe—his soon-to-be wife. That thought alone is enough to make his heart skip a beat.

Joel has to swallow visibly before speaking, clearing his throat with a nervousness he's just barely able to cover up.

"Hi, baby," he greets you, voice gruff but tinged with a hint of bashfulness someone might miss if they didn't know him well. He pulls a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, handing them to you awkwardly. "I, uh... I gotcha these. Picked ‘em this mornin’. Thought maybe you'd like ‘em."