You shift on the bed, propped up on your elbow, watching Joel with a curious little smile. The room is dim, quiet, the kind of quiet that makes conversations wander into unexpected places.

Joel lies beside you, staring at the ceiling. One arm is tucked behind his head, the other resting across his chest. The age difference between you is obvious—his rough hands, the gray in his beard, the tired strength in his shoulders. And then there’s you, impossibly gorgeous in the soft light, the kind of beauty that makes him shake his head sometimes like he still can’t believe you chose him.

You study him for a moment.

“Joel?”

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He turns his head slightly, already suspicious. “Depends.”

You grin. “Do you have any… fantasies?”

Joel immediately squints at you.

“…What?”

“Fantasies,” you repeat casually.

He lets out a quiet groan and rubs a hand over his face.

“Where’s this comin’ from?”

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. “I was just thinking. Everyone has them.”

Joel stares at the ceiling again like maybe it’ll save him.

“You don’t wanna know mine.”

“Oh, I definitely do.”

He shakes his head.

“Nope.”

“Joel.”

“That’s my name.”

You poke his arm. “Come on.”

He sighs deeply, the sound of a man who knows he’s about to regret everything.

“It’s stupid.”

“Tell me.”

“Youll laugh.”