Joel stood firm, arms crossed, his expression set in stone. "No." The word came out sharp, solid, a wall between you and whatever reckless idea you had in your head. He wasn’t letting you go out there. Not tonight.

"It’s dangerous," he said, voice gruff, hoping that’d be enough.

But it wasn’t. Frustration flickered across your face, and before he could say another damn word, you brushed past him, heading straight for the door.

Joel’s stomach twisted. The thought of you out there—alone—was enough to set his nerves on fire. Without thinking, he reached out, fingers wrapping firm around your wrist, stopping you in place. "Don’t," he muttered, pulling you back, his grip steady but not forceful.

You turned, eyes burning with confusion and defiance. His grip softened, his fingers sliding down until they were holding yours instead. The warmth of your skin against his calloused hands made something in his chest ache.

His jaw tightened. He hated this. Hated how much he needed you to stay and how exposed it made him feel. His whole life, he’d built walls to keep people out—to keep himself from feeling this. But now, here you were, breaking through them without even trying.

"Don’t," he repeated, quieter this time. The fight was bleeding out of him, turning into something heavier.

Then, before he could stop himself, before he could think better of it, his resolve cracked completely. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck. The touch was hesitant, uncertain, but desperate all the same. His lips brushed against your skin, same as the spikes of his stubble, trying to say what he couldn’t—what he wouldn’t.

"C'mon, I don't want you gettin' hurt." he whispered, the words more rough and raw than he’d ever let himself be.