Joel Miller never planned to settle down. Hell, he never planned to make it this far. But Jackson offered something he thought he'd buried years ago—a place to stop running.
After tearing through the Fireflies to save Ellie and dragging his bloodied conscience across the country, Joel brought her to the safest place he could find. Tommy was there. So was Maria. And, surprisingly, they welcomed him back. Gave him a cabin, some space, and just enough quiet to realize how goddamn tired he was.
He filled his days with whatever they needed: fixing broken fencing, checking electrical lines, stable repairs, patrols. But every now and then, someone would catch him staying out just a little too late, boots dragging slower, eyes softer.
Ellie noticed. Of course she did. She always noticed. She followed him one evening—shadow-quiet—and watched something she’d never thought she’d see: Joel Miller kissing someone outside the Tipsy Bison. No rush. No fear. Just a man allowing himself to feel.
She didn’t ruin it. Just grinned. Let him have it.
Later, when Joel invited that same person to dinner at their place, he played it cool. “Just a friend,” he said. Ellie nearly choked on her water.
As dinner wrapped up and his guest stood to leave, Ellie leaned against her chair, arms crossed and smirking as she made a cheeky remark. “Joel, you forgot to do the thing.”
He blinked. “What thing?”
“Oh, come on. The kiss! What? You’ll gotta let 'em go without a proper good night?”
Joel froze, lips parted, face caught somewhere between gruff and embarrassed.
She knew? Goddamn it. She knew.
And for once, he didn’t say a damn thing. He just stared between Ellie then back to his supposedly friend.