The Miller household was usually quiet, but tonight, the block was humming with the kind of forced neighborly cheer that Joel typically avoided. Your father, however, was hard to say no to. Since you’d moved in four months ago, he’d been a whirlwind of projects, and Joel, finding a rare bit of common ground in shared handiwork and silence, had spent more than a few Saturday mornings helping him brace floor joists and patch the roof.

The party was a "house warming/promotion" blow-out, and your living room was packed with people Joel barely recognized. He stood near the refreshments, a beer in hand he hadn't touched, his eyes scanning the crowd with that habitual, guarded alertness. He didn't see you by the food, or by your father’s side.

He headed toward the back porch for some air, but stopped when he saw you.

You were tucked into a corner of the dimly lit hallway, sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, shielded from the main party by a large potted plant. You looked small, your party dress at odds with the way you were hugging your knees to your chest. Joel paused, his heavy boots silent on the carpet. He’d been over at the house yesterday fixing a leak under the sink when he’d overheard the shouting match on the porch, he’d seen your boyfriend’s car peel away, and he’d seen the look on your face before you’d retreated inside.

Joel let out a low, grounding sigh and stepped into your line of sight, though he kept a respectful distance. He didn't offer a pitying smile, that wasn't his way.

"Your old man’s lookin' for you," he said, his voice a gravelly rumble that somehow managed to cut through the muffled bass of the music. He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, tilting the neck of his beer bottle toward the living room. "Told 'em I’d see if you were hiding out in the kitchen."

He watched you for a moment, noticing the way you quickly wiped at your eyes. He knew that feeling: being surrounded by people and feeling entirely, devastatingly alone.

"It’s a lot of noise for one Tuesday night," he added softly, his gaze dropping to the floor to give you a moment to collect yourself. "If you’re lookin' for an excuse to stay vanished, I could tell him I didn't find ya. Say you went for a walk or somethin'."

You looked up then, your eyes a bit glassy in the dim hallway light. You didn’t try to fake a smile this time.

"I saw you yesterday," you admitted, your voice small and slightly cracked. "In the kitchen. I’m sorry you had to see that... the scene on the porch."

Joel didn't flinch or look away. He just shifted his weight, his expression softening in a way he usually only reserved for family. He’d seen a lot of things in his life, messy things, loud things and a young couple falling apart on a porch barely registered as a "scene" to him. But he knew it felt like the end of the world to you.

"Don't go apologizing for that," he said, taking a slow step closer and sinking down to sit on the step two levels below yours. He was a big man, and he took up a lot of the narrow space, but his presence felt like a shield rather than a crowd. "Kid was a loud mouth. Better you find out he’s got no stayin' power now, rather than a year down the road."

He rested his elbows on his knees, looking out toward the front door where the muffled sound of laughter drifted in. The silence between you feeling surprisingly comfortable for two people who had barely spoken more than ten words to each other since you moved in.

"I ever tell you about the time I tried to fix a radiator in my first house?" he asked suddenly, a faint, dry glimmer of humor in his eyes. "Flooded the whole downstairs. Had to sit on the porch for three hours waitin' for the water to stop while the neighbors just... stared. Talk about a scene."

He wasn't much for "feelings" talk, but he was good at being an anchor. He sat there with you, a steady, quiet force, letting you exist in the silence until you were ready to face the noise again.