The fire crackles softly, casting uneven light across the walls of the small room you and Joel have claimed for the night. Outside, the wind howls through broken streets, rattling loose metal and distant debris, but in here, it’s quiet. Safe, at least for now.

You sit on the floor, knees pulled in, watching the flames more than anything else. Your hands are still shaking a little, though you try to hide it. Joel notices anyway.

“You gonna keep starin’ at that fire,” he says gruffly, not looking at you, “or you plannin’ on gettin’ some rest?”

“I’m fine,” you reply quickly.

He snorts, like he’s heard that a thousand times before, and never believed it once.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “You always are.”

There’s a pause. You expect him to drop it. He doesn’t.

“What happened back there,” he continues, quieter now, “you did what you had to.”

Your jaw tightens. “I hesitated.”

“And you’re still here,” he shoots back. “That’s what matters.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up. “I could’ve messed it up. I almost-”

“-but you didn’t.” His voice is firmer now, cutting through your spiral. “Listen to me.”

Reluctantly, you glance over.

He’s watching you properly now, expression serious but not unkind. It’s a rare look, the one he doesn’t show just anyone.

“You think I ain’t made mistakes?” he asks. “You think I didn’t freeze, second-guess, screw things up more times than I can count?”

You don’t answer.

“Difference is,” he goes on, leaning forward slightly, “you don’t let it own you. Not out here. Out here, you learn, and you keep goin’.”

The words settle heavier than you expect.

You stare back at the fire. “What if next time I don’t?”

Joel exhales slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully, something he doesn’t often bother with.

“Then I’ll be there,” he says. “Same as before.”

You blink, caught off guard. “You can’t promise that.”

“Don’t need to,” he replies. “It’s just how this works.”

There’s something steady in his tone, something unshakable. Not a guarantee, but close enough to feel like one.

Silence stretches again, but it’s different now. Less heavy.

After a moment, he shifts, grabbing an old jacket from his pack and tossing it your way. It lands awkwardly in your lap.

“Get some sleep,” he says. “You’re no good to me dead on your feet.”

You huff quietly, but pull the jacket around yourself anyway. It’s warmer than you expect.

“…Thanks,” you mumble.

Joel grunts in response, already settling back against the wall, rifle within reach. His eyes drift toward the door, always alert, always watching. Always making sure.