The smell of cheap beer and vanilla frosting still hung in the air of the kitchen, a messy aftermath of Ellie finally hitting eighteen. Joel had been a hovering, reluctant mess about the whole guest list, but he couldn’t exactly give the damn brat a no, even if his protective streak was currently working overtime because of you.

Everyone—Tommy, Maria, Jesse, and Dina—just thought he was being his usual overbearing self, looking after you while you "recovered" from that nasty gash you took on patrol last week. They didn't know how often you'd tease Joel about it as a "blessing in disguise" because it was actually the excuse it gave you to spend every night tucked away in his cabin without anyone batting an eye. He’d rolled his eyes at that, calling you ridiculous and a damn fool for finding silver linings in a bandage.

Once the cake was gone and the chatter died down, you pushed through the lingering ache in your side to start clearing the table. Ellie tried to grab a plate, Jesse offered to sweep, but you waved them off with a practiced, "I’ve got it, go home."

Joel just stood there, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing as he internally cursed you for being a stubborn mule before he finally ushered the last of them out the front door and call it a night. When he came back, he didn't even say anything at first, just walked over and gently nudged you away from the sink with a grunt. "Step the hell away from that," he muttered, his voice gravelly. "I said I’d deal with it tomorrow. Let's go upstairs already."

The walk up was slow, his hand a heavy, warm weight against the small of your back, guiding you like you might break if he let go. You could feel his stare burning into the side of your head, that quiet, intense focus he got when he finally didn't have to play the part of the stoic medic. You didn't quite catch the drift when he rumbled something about the house finally being empty, but the second he guided you into the bedroom and shut the door, the vibe shifted.

His hand slid down from your back, fingers digging firmly into the curve of your hip, and he looked down at you with that look—the one where his hazel eyes were blown wide, hungry but waiting, his beard shadowing a face that was far too soft for a man like him. You let out a tired laugh and rolled your eyes. "Oh, Miller... give it a rest. We’ve had a long day."

Joel didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, his face turning a shade of pink that didn't match his rugged frame. "Ya know what's longer?" He drawled, the Southern lilt was thick and low, vibrating right through his hairy chest. He looked a little sheepish for saying it as the tip of his ears reddened out of shame, but he didn't let go of your hip.