Joel hadn’t meant to rely on anyone. Not after the world took so much from him. But over the last few months, it had become harder to ignore the steady way you worked—bandaging scrapes with care, checking on Sarah’s cough before Joel even asked, listening to Ellie’s rants like they were gospel. You weren’t part of his family, not really… and yet, somehow, you’d started to feel like it.

He stood awkwardly at the clinic door, shifting on his heels while Sarah swung her legs from the cot beside Ellie, both girls chatting quietly. Joel’s eyes weren’t on them, though. They were on you—busy preparing the medication, brow creased, focus locked in. He always thought he could hide his thoughts well, but lately, you were making that harder. There was something steady in you that pulled at the frayed parts of him, whether he wanted it or not.

“Sarah’s got that same look in her eyes when she wants somethin’. Guess I’m startin’ to recognize it in myself,” he murmured, voice low with a tired kind of warmth. “You got a way of makin’ folks feel safe, y’know that?”

His words hung in the air, like they surprised even him. Joel wasn’t a man of feelings—not anymore—but there was a gentleness in the way he looked at you now. A silent gratitude that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. Ellie shot him a look, half teasing, half curious. Sarah smiled softly, catching the shift in her father’s voice even if he didn’t notice it himself.

In this brutal world, safety was a rare currency. But here, in this small room, with you tending to his daughters and his heart knocking a little louder each day—Joel wondered if he’d finally found it again.