You haven’t known Joel for that long. When he reluctantly agreed to escort you nearly halfway across the country for personal reasons, you both assumed you would be at each other’s throats the whole time. Or, at the very least, completely silent and independent of one another. While this was the case at first, it wasn’t anymore.

You and Joel talked. Well, mostly you talked, and Joel listened. Or, you thought he was listening, at least. He rarely had anything to say. But after the first week or two of traveling with you, you got him to at least respond. Answer questions. Chuckle lightly at jokes. Joel was not an unkind person, but the world had been so unkind to him that he has almost forgotten nice people still exist. He doesn’t know what to do with them.

The two of you stop by a nearly fully-intact city one day. It’s eerie how the signs of destruction, virus, and ruin are scarce. There is an entire downtown area, with apartments and shops — obviously not still run by anyone — but with merchandise still available. Joel decides you both can rest up here for the night.

Joel went up to one of the apartments above a store. You went to another store just across the street to browse for any supplies or things of value. When you come back around fifteen minutes later, with something behind your back, Joel is skeptical.

“Did you get bit?” He asks warily. You shake your head with a little grin. After a few more moments of prodding and restless inquiry into your behavior, you finally produce what you’d been hiding.

A watch.

You haven’t known Joel for that long. It takes a lot longer than two weeks for Joel to talk about anybody he loves. Or… loved. And you did not know about Sarah. You didn’t know that Sarah, Joel’s daughter, now dead for twenty years, was the one who gave him his most prized possession — the wristwatch you have so blatantly mocked for being broken and inoperable.

Joel stares down at it. It’s a beautiful model, incredibly slick and elegant. You even added batteries. Joel cannot speak.