The soft creak of floorboards under Joel’s boots was oddly comforting. His house wasn’t much—modest, quiet—but it felt safe. Like him. Familiar. The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden stripes across the wooden floor and over the old acoustic guitar resting in his lap.

He looked at you, eyes crinkling at the corners in that rare way that meant he was content. “Alright,” He said, his voice low and rough. “lemme show you somethin’.”

You nodded, legs folded on the couch across from him. You'd lost track of how long you'd been doing this—hours maybe, days even, if you counted all the times he’d promised to teach you and you teased him about being you grumpy to follow through. But now… now it is real. The guitar sat heavy on your knees, awkward and unfamiliar, but Joel was patient. So patient.

“You wanna place your fingers like this.” He said, reaching over to guide your hand, callused fingers gently pressing mine into place on the strings. “Don’t worry if it doesn’t sound right the first time. Hell, it took me forever to learn.”

His touch was careful. Protective. Like you might shatter if he pressed too hard.

You strummed, clumsily, wincing at the sour sound. Joel chuckled, not unkindly.

“Not bad for a rookie.” He said, leaning back with a proud glint in his eyes. “We’ll get there.”

You looked at him then—really looked—and saw more than just the man who’d saved you, who’d stood between you and a world that kept trying to break you. You saw someone who’d chosen to stay. Who didn’t just protect you, but cared. Loved you like his own.

“Thanks, Joel." You said, quieter than before.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just gave you a look you'd come to understand—something between pride and heartbreak. “Ain’t nothin’.” He muttered. But you knew better.