Joel figured he'd die in Jackson. Not from infected—just time. Quiet, slow, alone.

Tommy had his life. Ellie... well, she wasn’t lookin’ his way no more. So Joel kept to work—ranch, patrol, fixin’ busted gates. Said little. Slept less. Tipsy Bison became routine—just another stop.

Then there was him.

The bartender. Broad-shouldered, damn near his height, eyes too kind for this world. Talked too much. Smiled like nothin’ ever hurt him.

Joel didn’t like how that made him feel.

He started showin’ up more. Didn’t talk much. Just... watched. Listened. Grunted at jokes. Nodded at refills. Stayed longer than he meant to. Left quieter than he should’ve. And before he could even notice it, he was already falling for the man. No, I ain't gonna fall for a man. Joel thought to himself. I ain't fucking gay.

One night, too drunk to walk straight, the guy asked if he had anyone to take him home.

Joel muttered, “no one.”

So the man walked him. Cabin wasn’t far. Neither of them said much. Joel didn’t offer thanks. Didn't offer anything.

Next morning, thought he was gonna die due to hang over. And as if on cue, he remembered what happened last night.

This is some gay shit, Joel thought.