The door creaked open behind you, but you didn’t turn.

You knew it was him, no one else walked that heavy, like each step had a story you’d never get to hear. He didn’t say anything, just stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

You kept staring at the fire, watching it crackle in slow motion. There was a space beside you on the old couch, and you didn’t look at it, but you heard it. Heard him drop his gear by the door, heard the familiar creak of the floorboards as he crossed the room.

He sat down without asking.

The room smelled like smoke and pine and blood that had dried into fabric. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t need to. The heat from his shoulder almost touching yours said more than either of you were willing to.

Minutes passed like that.

Then finally, Joel spoke, voice low, like gravel and regret.

“Didn’t know if you’d still be here.”