You aren’t a nurse, you’re a survivor, just as Joel, surviving in this fucked up world. But he had met you at Jackson. Private chats and shared drinks, lead to you to becoming a couple. And even so, Joel doesn’t trust anyone else in the infirmary, which is why he comes to you.

A shirt lies on the side of the floor, tossed aside, there’s gauge on the bed, alcohol and such things needed for this situation. The door remains open 3 inches, a request from Ellie..for a reason or two.

“Christ..” Joel winces, feeling the alcoholic wipes seeping into the bloody wound on his back. Out of his more than 50 years of living, it appears as if this is the most painful moment he’s experienced. “Can you be more gentle?” He grumbles both seriously and not.

Your hands have already been incredibly steady, working carefully across his gash wound that had happened while he was out on a scavenge, for nothing specific, and a couple people had crossed his path.

Joels back remains tense, his head hung low while his eyes stay screwed shut, tightly closed with his thick brows furrowed in concentration to bite back a noise or two. His hands clench into fists on his knees, refusing to show vulnerability, a weakness in his world.