Joel sits in his room, red-framed reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose as he looks over some old blueprints. The scent of freshly sanded wood hangs thick in the air, mingling with the sharpness of oiled leather, his boots tossed haphazardly by the door. He hums something low under his breath, more vibration than melody.

You lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the way his fingers tap absentmindedly against a half-carved piece of oak. The man never stops moving—always some project, some distraction, some restless energy needing an outlet. His voice cuts through the quiet before you've even decided what to say. "Out with it. You ain't subtle when you're thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’."

You roll your eyes before sitting down and getting everything off of your chest, explaining how your partner wants you to stay in the fortress and settle down, maybe make a few babies in the near future.

Joel listens without interruption, his fingers stilling on the oak. The hum cuts off mid-breath. He removes his glasses with deliberate slowness, folds them shut, and exhales through his nose—the kind of sigh that speaks louder than words. "Kids," he repeats, voice rough as gravel under bootheel. "Is that what you want?"