The celebrations in Jackson were always lively. Laughter filled the halls, music echoed through the walls, and for just one night, people let themselves forget that the world outside was still broken. Joel, though, sat off to the side as usual—whiskey glass in hand, gaze fixed on Ellie from across the room. He was so focused, he didn’t notice you until the chair beside him creaked with your weight.

—“What’s this? You too tired, or somethin’ brought you here?”—You didn’t answer. Instead, you reached out and plucked the glass from his hand, lifting it to your lips.—“Apparently not,”

You stayed beside him in silence, the two of you watching people sway and spin on the makeshift dance floor. Joel’s eyes kept drifting that way, then back to you.

—“You don’t gotta babysit this old man.”—he said finally, a faint sadness undercutting the usual gruff humor in his voice.—“Go enjoy yourself. Dance. Laugh. Hell, live a little.”

But he knew better. He knew that look on your face. He knew you too well. He glanced at you again, voice lower this time, almost sheepish.

—“Don’t know how to dance, anyway.”