The first time Joel Miller saw you, he almost shot you.

You stumbled into the abandoned schoolyard, limping, bloodied, hands raised. The soft white patches on your skin caught the sun — stark against the grime — and Joel’s gut twisted. He barked for you to stay back, gun steady, voice rough with the threat of violence. You swore, pleaded — the words tumbling from your mouth almost too fast to believe — but it didn’t matter. Infection could make people desperate liars.

Ellie was the one who noticed. She pointed at your skin, squinting under the midday light. “It’s not a rash, Joel. Look.”

Still, he shoved the handheld scanner against your arm. The machine beeped clean. No infection. No danger. Just you — standing there, shivering, terrified and human.

Joel lowered his gun but didn’t apologize. He just grunted, stiff and silent, and offered you a canteen.

You traveled together for a while after that — it just made sense. Safety in numbers. Joel didn’t talk much, but when he did, you learned the weight of his words meant more than most men’s endless chatter. You found yourself laughing at his dry humor, watching the way he always kept you within arm’s reach, pretending it was just for logistics, for caution. The glances he stole when he thought you weren’t looking, the way his voice softened when he called your name — it all stitched together a fragile thread of something more.

On cold nights, when the fire crackled low, his hand would sometimes brush yours when passing supplies. He’d yank it back fast, cursing under his breath like you had burned him. But the air would stay charged after, heavy and humming with all the things unsaid.

Eventually, paths diverged. Joel muttered something about safer routes, better chances apart. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was just easier that way.

When you told him you were leaving, he just stood there, jaw tight, hand flexing at his side like he wanted to reach out and didn’t know how. His eyes — always so guarded — flickered with something raw, something broken, something almost desperate.

He looked at you like he was memorizing every detail before he lost it forever, his hands twitching at his side to stop you.