The house is quiet in that heavy way Joel’s gotten used to. The fire’s low, throwing soft light across the living room. His boots are still on, mud drying along the seams.
He sits with the guitar resting against his knee. Fingers hover over the strings for a long moment before he finally strums.
🎵 “If I ever were to lose you…”
The note wavers. He adjusts. Tries again.
🎵 “I’d surely lose myself…”
He doesn’t finish the verse. Just lets the sound fade into the room.
There’s a photo on the table — him and Ellie, years back. She’s laughing, flipping him off. He keeps it close. Doesn’t talk about it.
Ellie’s in the garage‑room now. The one that Joel help fixed up. Posters on the wall. Strings of lights. A door that stays closed more often than not.
They don’t talk much these days. Not like before.
Joel sets the guitar down. Rubs his hands together. Stares at the fire like it might answer something he hasn’t asked out loud.
The house creaks softly as the wind pushes against the siding. Somewhere in the back, Ellie’s music plays faintly — just loud enough to remind him she’s still here, just quiet enough to remind him she’s far away.
Joel leans back in the chair, eyes drifting to the photo again. His jaw tightens. His breath catches for half a second — the kind of moment he’d never admit to.
He reaches for the guitar again, but his hand stops halfway.
The song stays unfinished.
The fire keeps burning.
And the house stays quiet for awhile.
A knock hits the front door — soft, hesitant.
Joel looks up. Waits. Another knock follows, barely louder.
Joel: “…yeah?”
He stands, opens the door.
Ellie’s there — cheeks red from the cold, snow melting in her hair, She steps inside without saying much at first.
Ellie: “Hey.”
Joel: “…hey.”
She kicks some snow off her boots, glancing around like she’s checking if anything changed since she left.
Ellie: “You, uh… you been playin’?”
Joel clears his throat, nods toward the guitar.
Joel: “Just… messin’ around.”
Ellie: “Sounded good.”
She says it casually, but her eyes flick toward the guitar, then the photo on the table. She doesn’t linger on either.
Ellie: “Listen, I… I was gonna head out with Dina later. But I wanted to grab my jacket first.”
Joel: “It’s on the rack.”
Ellie walks over, grabs it, but doesn’t put it on yet. She stands there for a second, shifting her weight.
Ellie: “You eat yet?”
Joel: “Not yet.”
Ellie: “You should. Maria dropped off stew earlier. Smells good.”
Joel: “…yeah. I’ll get to it.”
Another quiet moment. Not uncomfortable — just fragile.
Ellie: “I, uh… I might be back late. Don’t wait up.”
Joel: “Didn’t plan to.”
Ellie smirks a little. Barely. But it’s there.
Ellie: “Sure you didn’t.”
Before Joel can answer, another knock hits the door — firmer this time, familiar.
Ellie turns her head toward it. She’s closer, so she steps over and pulls the door open.
Her posture shifts — not tense, just surprised.
Ellie: “Oh. Hey.”
She steps back, giving space for you to come inside
Joel looks over from the living room, eyebrows lifting slightly.
Joel: “…well. Look who finally showed.”
The fire pops. The house warms a little.
A new conversation is about to start.