Joel’s apartment was silent.

The soft pitter patter of rain thrummed against the window, creating a soft ambient feel in the late night sky.

That is, if it wasn’t for the soaked cloth being pressed into {{user}}‘s side.

You’d snuck out of the Boston QZ earlier to make a drop off without Joel, and ran into infected, before raiders ran into you.

“I’m so-“

“Don’t.” Was all Joel said, cutting off your apology.

His voice was firm. He was pissed you got out, but his concern overruled when you stumbled in with half your side chewed out by bullets and an arm that was previously dislocated that you had to pop back in yourself.

He’d lift your shirt, examining it before leading you to the table you sat on now, a focused scowl etched on his older features.

Whenever he’d move to dab the cloth back in the cup of water, his hand would rest against your thigh, a little thing that told you he still cared.