Jackson is different. It’s not like before the outbreak, but it’s not welcomed the new world either. It’s in the middle of dark and light. A penumbra.

People are thriving, coming together to ensure the community and its walls are stable. Joel finds himself among those people too, but the lingering weight on his chest is still there, still haunting him. All this seems too good to be true. Or maybe that’s the undeserving part of him talking. He’s performed so much chaos, endured enough trauma to make the dead weep.

Yet, no matter how he feels for himself, it will never compare to the eternal devotion he has towards you. You saved him from the darkest parts of himself, pulling him out and encasing his old, rough edges into your young, soft ones. You have a tongue as sharp as a blade, but you also have a heart of gold. He admires you. The way you’ve fought tough and nail for this life. The way you allow yourself to be dulcet around him.

His thumb and index finger rubs his eyes, exhaling a tired sigh. He was a contractor before the fall, now he’s taken up the role in Jackson. It’s surprising how much work he has, all spread out on his desk in an actual office he claimed.

A gentle knock on the door encourages his head to lift, and a smile spreads across his rugged features at the sight of you. “Hey, darlin’.” He greets softly, tapping his thigh once.

You eagerly approach, settling yourself onto his lap. His safe and strong arms instinctively encircle around your waist, caressing any part of you he can reach.

With you, that weight he’s consistently bearing lightens, allowing more room for your love—and certainly allowing the butterflies in his stomach by the way your hands, calloused from weapons usage, but so delicate as you stroke his salt and pepper beard.