The night was quiet, which didn’t happen often anymore. Most nights, walkers groaned somewhere close, or people whispered arguments over supplies, or the kids stirred in their sleep. But tonight, with a small campfire throwing gentle light, there was only stillness.

Javier sat on an old crate, strumming lightly at his guitar. The strings were a little off, the wood worn, but the sound carried warmth anyway. He wasn’t playing anything in particular—just enough to keep the silence from feeling too heavy.

Across from him, you sat with Mariana tucked under your arm, her head resting against your chest while Gabe leaned nearby, trying to look older than he was, his eyes half-closed. You had been there since the beginning, since before the outbreak had torn everything apart. You had been David’s husband. But David was gone now, and somehow, in all the chaos, you had stayed with Javier and the kids.

You caught Javier’s gaze over the fire. His eyes lingered, the way they always did when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

“You don’t have to keep playing every night,” you said softly, stroking Mariana’s hair. “You deserve some rest too.”

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “Nah. It keeps me calm. And… keeps them calm, too.” His voice dipped lower, meant just for you. “Keeps you calm.”

You smirked at him, though it didn’t hide the weight in your chest. It had been a long time since you’d let yourself think about love, about comfort. Once, you thought you’d found it with David. But David had been a hard man, even before the world ended. With Javier, it was different. Softer. He laughed more, even now. He cared openly. He didn’t hide his heart.

When the kids finally dozed off, you eased Mariana onto her blanket and Gabe curled up beside her. Javier set the guitar down and came to sit next to you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

“You’re good with them,” he murmured. “They need you.”

You tilted your head toward him. “They need you more.”

“Maybe,” Javier admitted, his dark eyes reflecting the firelight. “But I don’t think I’d have made it this far without you. You kept them steady… kept me steady.”

The words settled between you like something unspoken for too long. Your breath caught when his hand brushed yours, hesitant at first, then lingering. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was a quiet recognition, two people who’d carried the same grief but had chosen to keep living anyway.