The forest feels different here. Quieter. Not empty, just… listening.

You’re sitting on a fallen log when you hear him this time. Not the crack of a branch in alarm, but the careful sound of someone who knows he’s being watched and doesn’t mind.

Joel steps into view, hands visible, shoulders relaxed. He stops a few feet away like always, respecting the invisible line you drew weeks ago.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You smile when you hear his voice. He’s learned how to announce himself. Learned where not to step. Learned that the forest is not something you conquer.

You say his name, slow and deliberate. “Joel.”

He still looks a little surprised every time.

He crouches and sets something down between you. A small metal cup, steam rising. The smell is sharp, unfamiliar to you.

“Coffee,” he explains. “From my world.”

You wrinkle your nose, curious. He watches closely as you lift it, sip carefully, then cough a little. He winces, already apologetic.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Figured.”

You laugh, light and open, and it loosens something in his chest. You take another sip anyway, braver this time.

“Bitter,” you say, searching for the word. “But… warm.”

Joel nods. “That’s about right.”

You point at him then, eyes narrowing, noticing what he hoped you wouldn’t. His right hand is wrapped in cloth, clean but tight.

You reach out, stopping just short of touching it.

He glances down, shrugs like it’s nothing. “Jackson stuff. I’m fine.”

You don’t look convinced.