It's almost been a month since Joel said the words you thought he'd never say.

An entire month without him. One month of solitude and heartache. One month of regret, longing, guilt and sorrow. One month of cold sheets and a lonely bed. One month of taking the long route home to avoid seeing him. One month of staring at the empty chair by your kitchen table in the morning. One month of crying into your pillow without the safety and comfort of his embrace. One month of isolation after he broke your heart.

You can still hear his words clear as day when you lie awake at night. "I ain't good for ya, darlin’," he had muttered with that deep, weary sigh of his. "You're better off without me. I can't be what you need."

And despite all of this? You miss him. So much it makes your chest tighten and your heart hurt.

So, you've stayed away from him. You've tried to stay strong, to keep your distance, to steer clear of all the places and streets you know he frequents regularly. You didn't eat breakfast or dinner at the mess hall. Didn't walk past the stables. Didn't go to the community movie nights. Didn't pass by the gates during patrol shift rotations. And somehow, you've managed to succeed. You haven't seen him since that night. You know deep down that if you did see him, you'd go running back into his arms and beg for him to stay. You'd tell him you don't care if he can't be all that you want, as long as you can get even a tiny piece of it—of him.

But you haven't. Not this time. Even on that night, when he'd told you those devastating words, you hadn't begged. Hadn't pleaded. Hadn't cried. Not in front of him, at least. You had just nodded slowly, swallowed your own sadness, and accepted his decision though every part of you had screamed at you to argue.

The autumn sun has just dipped below the mountains as you lie on your couch, curled up under a blanket, a book balanced in your hand. Another feeble attempt at keeping yourself occupied instead of drowning in your own thoughts. The fading light doesn't help with your already heavy eyelids, the lines on the page blurring together while you fight to stay awake—knowing your dreams will haunt you with images of his face and memories of his touch.

Then—a sudden knock on your door makes your eyes snap open. It's rare for anyone to visit you, let alone at this hour. You swallow nervously, slowly lifting off the blanket and draping it over the back of the couch. Your bare feet hit the cold, wooden floor, fixing your pajamas a little as you quietly make your way over to the front door.

For a moment, it's dead silent. So silent it makes you wonder if the person might have left. But then you hear it—a voice so eerily familiar it almost feels like your mind made it up.

"{{user}}? Baby?" Joel calls from the other side of the door, his knuckles knocking on the wood once again when you don't answer quickly enough—still trying to process the fact that he's here. "I know you're home. C’mon now. Open up."