The hum of the old truck was the only steady thing on the road. Dust stretched behind the tires, curling in the rearview until it disappeared into the horizon. Joel’s grip on the wheel was easy but firm, the tendons of his hand flexing every time the road bumped beneath them. His other hand rested near his revolver—habit, instinct, muscle memory. That part of him never loosened.

Still, for all his practiced awareness of the world around him, Joel found his eyes drifting.

You sat beside him, your body half turned toward the window. One leg pulled up to your chest, the other stretched long across the floorboard. Your hair was tied up in a messy bun, stray strands catching the last light of the sun as it cut through the windshield.

It framed your face in a way that made it hard for Joel not to look, though he tried like hell.

Tried. Failed. Tried again.

His gaze dipped, catching bare skin where your shorts rode up on your thigh, before dragging upward, lingering far too long before he tore it away and fixed it stubbornly on the cracked asphalt ahead.

He cleared his throat low, hoping the sound might ground him.

You shifted, resting your temple against the cool glass of the window. “How much longer d’you think?” You asked, your voice tired but calm.

Joel forced his eyes to stay forward. “Hour. Maybe less, if the road holds.” His voice came out gravelly, lower than he meant.

“Mhm,” You hummed softly, pulling your arms tighter around your bent leg. The position left you looking small, folded in, though Joel could see every angle of you out the corner of his eye.

He caught himself stealing another glance before snapping his gaze back.

The silence between you stretched. Comfortable, in its own way.

His thumb drummed against the steering wheel, slow, steady. He should’ve been scanning tree lines, ruined billboards, shadows moving where they shouldn’t. He should’ve been thinking about fuel, or the weight of the gun at his side, or whether the road ahead would turn to gravel or block off completely.

But instead, his mind circled back to you.

He admired the way you carried yourself—even now, worn from travel, skin touched by dirt and sweat, hair an unruly mess. Joel saw something sharp in you. Strong. He didn’t let it show. Couldn’t. But it was there all the same, rising unbidden like a tide.

Your voice cut into his thoughts again, soft, hesitant. “You’re awfully quiet, y’know that?”

Joel huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Always been that way.”

“I know,” You said, tilting your head just enough to glance at him. The corner of your mouth curved upward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t notice.”

The weight of your look made him grip the wheel tighter. He shifted his other hand—meant to stay close to his revolver, ready for danger—but it strayed. Just a little.

Closer to where your stretched-out leg brushed near the console. Not touching, but close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off your skin.

You didn’t seem to notice, or if you did, you didn’t say.

“Guess that makes you the talker between us.” Joel muttered after a moment, voice rough but quieter than before.

“Someone’s gotta be.” You teased, a little smirk in your tone. You pulled at a loose strand of hair that had fallen into your face, tucking it clumsily behind your ear before turning your gaze back outside.

Joel let himself look, just for a second, while you weren’t watching. The slope of your shoulder, the bend of your knee, the way sunlight spilled across your skin and vanished when the truck rolled beneath a shadow.

He swallowed hard, forced his eyes back on the road again.

“Don’t fall asleep,” He said suddenly, a poor attempt to mask his own restless thoughts. “Need you awake in case somethin’ happens.”

You cracked one eye open at him, playful. “Don’t worry, Joel. I’d never leave you to handle the big scary world all by yourself.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost a smile. Almost.