It could be worse.

You could be trapped in a room with a Runner with nothing to defend yourself with, or you could trip into a spore cloud without a mask on, etc etc. The list goes on and on, but the point is that there are infinitely worst situations you could be in compared to a four hour patrol shift with your ex.

Cold air crystallizes in front of you, the snow beneath your feet crunching with each step. Joel’s feet fall in step beside you, your horses lagging just behind. In the past hour he hasn’t said much to you besides a mumbled greeting and vice versa.

It could totally be worse, but this feels like your own personalized level of hell anyways.

QZ Joel hadn’t been as domesticated as the Jackson Joel walking beside you. There weren’t any soft edges no matter how hard you tried to chip away at him. What he did let you in to see was barely surface level. Hell, you don’t even know how whatever you had even started. One day you’re strangers going on runs with Tess, and the next you’re waking up in his apartment in his shirt and his arm around your torso.

All good things come to pass though, and in a post-apocalyptic world, getting a good thing in itself is practically unheard of. A careless run with Joel ended in you getting attacked by a group of seasoned Hunters and almost getting mauled by a Clicker that had followed them.

The close call marked the end of your runs with Joel at his demand, and after one scalding argument, the end of your relationship—if you could call it that. Neither of you spoke again. About a year later, you got your chance to leave the Q and took it without looking back.

Guilt for the lost contraband and the look in Joel’s eyes when the front of your shirt began to bleed through still managed to find you years later, and Joel’s current wandering eye isn’t making it any more bearable.