do not forget the patron saint of these weeks that we celebrate ourselves proudly and openly in the streets
her name was Marsha P Johnson, and we have her to thank for so much.
remember, the first Pride was a riot, and she was one of the brave souls who endured it to help carve the path which so many of us walk today. she helped found several activist groups regarding LGBT safety and wellbeing. and she was absolutely radiant, too.
We really need to stop the discourse on whether Marvel is "dead" or "back" a movie that you might think is trash might be someone's favourite movie from the new phase of the MCU
Your least favourite character might be getting a TV show, and someone out there is ecstatic that they get to see their favourite character is being played in live action form
You might hate a movie or show, but someone's favourite actor is playing a character that they never even considered before and now love
Seriously, guys, Marvel isn't dead or back. It just is, and you need to accept that you aren't going to like everything they produce. Because someone out there does
Just like what you like, consume the media you like, talk about your favourite characters and move on. Leave the stuff you don't like to the people you do. It's not that hard
Jackson!Joel Miller x Reader x Jackson!Tommy Miller (Jesse x reader if you squint this chapter)
Short n' Sweet Description: It’s the morning of the New Year’s Eve Dance and tensions are beginning to run high- Joel and Tommy are starting to do slightly ridiculous things to get your attention
Previous Chapter
word count: 4.5k
warnings: flirtiness, angst, jackson has a suspicious amount of resources so just ignore that, hardly proofread
The morning of the dance arrived on a hush of snowfall. Jackson had become a snow globe- everything slowed, swirling, suspended in a kind of soft anticipation. People passed each other in the streets with soft smiles, cheeks pink from the cold. Anyone who walked by the recreation center could hear someone rehearsing with a fiddle indoors, faint notes slipping out every time the door swung open.
People were actually smiling. Kids skated clumsily on the frozen patch behind the schoolhouse. Grown men who usually grunted their greetings stopped to talk about what time things started and whether the cider at the dance would be hot. It almost didn’t feel real. But inside your house, nestled into the calm just before the rush of the day, you already had your own chaos brewing.
Joel had shown up first.
Earlier than ever.
He hadn’t meant to wake up before his alarm- but he had. Just laid there in the dark, the ceiling a dim blur above him, the kind of still silence that made your own breath feel loud. The cold crept in through the cracks, but he didn’t move. Not for a long time.
Eventually, he rose, slow and quiet. The snow outside was falling in slow spirals, lazy and endless, like the whole world had been shaken into a hush. Jackson looked like something out of a dream- still and pale and glowing faintly under the weight of winter.
But his mind’s somewhere else.
You.
The first time. The first moment he saw you- really saw you.
It was months back. He couldn’t even remember what the occasion was- some town thing, nothing special. People talking too loud, kids running through open doors, someone playing guitar off-key in the background.
And then there you were.
He didn’t know your name. Didn’t know anything about you. Just noticed the way you stood- like you weren’t trying to take up space, but still couldn’t help drawing his eye. Quiet. Still. Not nervous, just... observant. Like you were letting the whole world talk while you listened for something softer underneath it.
And you smiled- just once, to yourself, at something no one else noticed. It wasn’t big. Wasn’t for show. But it hit him like a warm wind through cracked drywall.
He hadn’t felt that in a long time.
He’d looked away before you caught him staring, shoved his hands in his pockets, told himself it didn’t mean anything.
But later, lying in bed with the silence crawling up the walls, he remembered. The way you looked. The way something in him settled just from standing near you.
And after that, he started noticing everything. The way your voice dipped when you were tired. The way your hands moved when you were thinking. The way you were always a little more generous than you needed to be.
Joel let out a breath, slow and steady. Stood up. Tied his boots. Shrugged on his jacket.
He doesn’t know what’s waiting for him today. Doesn’t know if anything will change.
But he remembers the moment everything started.
And he’s walking straight toward it now.
Each step crunched against the frostbitten ground, his breath spilling out in white clouds that curled and faded behind him. The only sound was the rhythm of his boots and the occasional groan of the trees under snow. In his gloved hand, a thermos that was warm, almost too warm- but he held it tight anyway.
He told himself he was just trying to beat the morning bustle. That he didn’t want to share this moment with anyone else. Not the chatter, not the noise, not-
Not Tommy.
Hanging around. Leaning against things like he wasn’t trying. Tossing out comments like fishing lines, waiting to see which one would make you laugh. Joel wasn’t a fool. He saw it. Heard it.
So yeah, maybe that’s why he left earlier than usual. Earlier than sane, even.
So early the sun hadn’t even touched the edge of the trees.
So early it felt like cheating.
He knocked- three soft raps against the wood. Familiar. Careful. Not loud enough to wake the neighbors. Just you. Hopefully.
The door opened a sliver, and there you were.
Half-awake. One sock. Hair mussed. Your face warm with sleep, eyes blinking against the pale light of dawn.
And God help him, he smiled.
“Didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked, his voice low and rough around the edges. He already knew the answer. Saw it in the way you squinted at him. The way you stepped back anyway, without hesitation.
Inside, the warmth of your house wrapped around him like something sacred. Joel moved through your kitchen like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t thought about this exact morning a dozen times in the quiet stretches of night.
He didn’t ask before pouring you coffee from the thermos. Didn’t need to. The cream and sugar were already mixed in- how you liked it. How he remembered. How he always would.
You didn’t thank him.
He didn’t need you to.
You took the mug from his hand with a sleepy little hum, curling your fingers around the warmth. Joel didn’t say anything about the way your knuckles brushed his as you took it, but he felt it. His fingers stayed outstretched half a second too long, like maybe they didn’t want to let go.
You padded over to the counter and leaned your hip against it, blowing lightly at the steam. Joel stayed where he was, pretending not to watch you over the rim of his cup.
You took a sip and grimaced a little. “Still too hot.”
“Shoulda waited,” he said, amused.
“I’m impatient,” you said simply, eyes flicking up to his.
Joel huffed a breath, mostly through his nose. He could already feel himself slipping into that version of himself he only seemed to be around you- quieter, less guarded, a little stupid if he was being honest. He didn’t know what you did to him, but whatever it was, it was working.
You nodded toward him. “You fix up that generator?”
He blinked, caught off guard by how easily you shifted into conversation. “Oh. Yeah. Damn thing’s on its last leg. Cut out on us in the middle of patrol last night.”
You raised an eyebrow. “In this weather?”
He gave a dry smile. “Told Tommy to breathe near it- figured the hot air might help.”
That got a laugh out of you- quiet, but real- and Joel felt it sink somewhere deep in his chest.
You tilted your head. “And did it?”
Joel smirked into his coffee. “Didn’t hurt.”
There was a pause, easy and familiar. The kind he’d never quite had with anyone else. You sipped again, made a soft approving sound now that the heat had mellowed.
“Can’t believe you’re up this early,” you said, narrowing your eyes a little, like you were trying to solve him.
Joel shrugged, hoping the motion looked easy. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d stop by before the whole town starts buzzin’.”
He didn’t say it, but the real reason was walking over now- the way the snow had muffled everything, the peace of those early footsteps, knowing you’d be here, barefoot and warm-lit and quiet. It was the kind of peace he didn’t get much of anymore. And if Tommy was gonna come sniffing around later, Joel was damn sure he’d at least get this first.
“You gonna be at the dance?” you asked after a beat.
Joel gave a noncommittal hum. “Suppose so. S’all anyone’s talkin’ about.”
You hummed. “It’s cute. Everyone acting like it’s the event of the decade.”
He looked at you then. “Ain’t it?”
Your gaze flicked toward him, soft and amused, but he was already looking away- pretending to fiddle with the mug in his hand. Pretending he hadn’t meant it quite the way it sounded.
You leaned against the counter, and Joel mirrored you before he could stop himself- drawn like tide to shore.
You yawned, rubbed at your eyes, and for one suspended second, he almost reached for you. Almost brushed his knuckles against your cheek. Tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Just to feel you.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he leaned in slowly, and pressed a kiss to your temple. Barely there. Barely brave enough to call it anything at all.
He was already stepping back.
“I should go,” he murmured, voice barely audible above the hum of your quiet kitchen. He didn’t meet your eyes.
And you let him.
He pulled the door closed behind him with a quiet click. The kind that echoed.
Joel didn’t look back when he shut the door behind him.
The cold met him like a slap- sharp, immediate- but it was nothing compared to the heat crawling up his neck. He shoved his hands into his pockets, head down, boots crunching through the snow in a slow, steady rhythm. Like if he walked calm enough, the regret wouldn’t catch up.
But it already had.
What the hell was that?
A kiss to the temple. Hardly even there. But it hadn’t been his place. Not really. Not yet.
It was the same thing he’d snapped at Tommy for- when he’d pressed a kiss to your head right in front of him. Joel had called him out for it. Said he should’ve asked. Said that kind of thing meant something.
And now here he was. Doing the exact same thing. He’d acted like his fucking brother. And he hated himself for it.
He didn’t ask you. He didn't earn it. Just gave in to that quiet, selfish part of himself that wanted to feel close to you. Like maybe if he did it gently enough, it wouldn’t count. Wouldn’t cost anything.
But it did. It always did.
The snow swirled slowly around him as he walked, and he thought maybe he’d ruined it. Whatever it was that had been building between you, whatever careful balance you’d both been keeping-it tilted the moment his lips brushed your skin.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go back and take it back, or do it again and say what he meant.
Either way, it was too late.
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From across the yard, hidden in the thin strip of shadow between the trees and the side of the house, Tommy watched.
He’d been there for what felt like hours. His arms were folded tight against his chest, hands tucked deep under his armpits for warmth. Breath curled in front of his face in slow, misty spirals. His boots were half-buried in the snow, and he hadn't moved for at least ten minutes- eyes locked on your front door like it owed him something.
He’d seen the lights flick on in the kitchen.
He’d seen your silhouette move around inside.
He’d seen Joel arrive.
Tommy’s jaw tightened when he did.
He watched his brother step into your house like he’d done it a hundred times before. Tommy couldn’t hear what was said inside, but he didn’t need to. The quiet click of the door closing, the shadow of movement through the window- shoulders close together, that easy rhythm between two people who knew each other too well. Joel didn’t stay long. He never did. But in Tommy’s eyes, it was long enough.
His eyes narrowed as Joel finally stepped back out onto the porch, shoulders drawn. He looked...tense. Guilty, even. Like a man walking away from something he wanted to hold onto. Tommy tracked every step, every shift of Joel’s posture, until his brother disappeared down the path and out of sight.
Then he counted.
One... two... three...
He gave it to ten. Just to be sure.
Then he moved.
He slipped from the trees and crouched low along the side of the house, boots crunching softly in the packed snow. The cold bit at his face, and his fingers stung where they gripped the side of the windowsill.
He liked to think he was being subtle. Quiet. Clever.
What he didn’t know was Joel had already seen the boot tracks in the snow. Had clocked the slightly uneven line of them trailing around back. Joel knew someone else had come creeping around the same way before- and he had a strong suspicion who. That kind of instinct ran deep in his blood, and when it came to you, he was paying closer attention than he let on.
Still, Tommy didn’t know that.
He just figured he was pulling one over on his older brother. Again.
He crouched low at the window and gave it a gentle push. It creaked open with barely a sound. The inside of your house smelled like coffee and something soft- something warm. It made his chest ache a little, how badly he wanted to be part of that world.
He hoisted himself up, foot wedging onto the narrow outer ledge. His fingers gripped the frame, and he tried to angle his body just right- one foot in, a knee, then a hand-
His boot caught.
The seam of his jeans snagged awkwardly on the lip of the windowsill, and for a split second he hung there, one leg in, the other dangling, his balance nowhere to be found.
Then gravity won.
With a loud, graceless thud, he toppled forward onto your floor, shoulder hitting first, followed by a dull whump of denim and fleece.
“Shit,” he hissed, breath knocked right out of him. He lay sprawled like a ragdoll, arms out, hat tilted over one ear, jacket bunched up under his ribs.
He groaned and rolled, not so much from pain, but from the embarrassment that immediately began to settle in his chest.
Somewhere above him, there was the sound of a door creaking open. Bare feet padding softly across the floorboards.
You appeared at the hallway entrance, blinking down at him.
You sighed.
He looked up from the floor, gave a sheepish smile, still flat on his back.
“...Mornin’.”
“Why,” you asked flatly, arms crossed, “did you come in through the back window?”
Tommy blinked up at you, as if surprised by the question. “I wanted to surprise you.”
Your brow arched.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Joel, would it?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then pointed suddenly over your shoulder. “What’s that?”
You didn’t move. “Really?”
“No, seriously,” he said, getting up off the floor, “Right there. Just- look.”
You stared at him.
“I’m not falling for that,” you said.
He leaned a little closer, pointing with more urgency. “No, no, for real. Just- real quick. It moved.”
You rolled your eyes, but you looked.
The second you did, his arms looped around you in a sudden, warm rush, lifting you clean off your feet.
“Gotcha,” he grinned, spinning you once before you yelped.
“Tommy- !”
He laughed and carried you the three steps to the couch, dropping you into the cushions with theatrical flair. You bounced slightly as he sat down on the coffee table directly across from you.
Your breath was still catching up when he reached into his jacket and pulled something out.
A small object, wrapped in a folded scrap of worn cloth.
“Here,” he said, suddenly more subdued. “Wanted to give you this.”
You sat up a little straighter.
He set it carefully on your lap. The cloth was soft, faded- maybe from an old shirt- and tied with a bit of string.
You looked at him.
“What is it?”
Tommy shrugged, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Nothing fancy. Just… been working on it for a while. For you.”
You undid the knot and peeled the cloth back. Inside was a small, hand-carved pendant. Not polished, not perfect- but smooth from handling. A little circular piece of wood on a simple leather cord. The edges were etched with tiny, imperfect designs- something between stars and snowflakes. One side had your initials. The other had his.
Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly nervous. “Figured you could hang it up. Or hang it off your bag. Or toss it in a drawer. Or y’know… burn it, if it’s awful.”
You didn’t speak for a second.
Then: “You made this?”
He nodded. “Not as good as, uh, Joel… with the carving, but… I tried.”
You looked back down at the pendant, tracing the edge of it with your thumb.
“You got up this early to bring me this?” you asked quietly.
Tommy smiled weakly.
“Yeah,” he said. “You seem to like early visitors.”
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It took Joel a full five minutes of pacing before he turned around.
He’d made it halfway down the street, boots crunching slow in the fresh snow, hands deep in his coat pockets. But then he’d seen them again- those damn tracks near the back of your house. Not his. Not yours. The ones he’d noticed earlier but hadn’t let himself linger on.
He knew those prints. Knew how Tommy walked with his weight too far forward, knew how careless he could be when he thought no one was watching. And worse, Joel knew exactly what time he would’ve had to be there to make those tracks.
Before him.
That thought settled in his chest like ice water. Slow. Heavy. Freezing cold and stupidly sharp.
He clenched his jaw, ran a hand down his face, and turned around.
He didn’t bother knocking. Just pushed the door open like he belonged there- which, he thought bitterly, he didn’t. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.
“Tommy!!” Joel’s voice rang out, bright and fake. “There you are! Been lookin’ all over for you, little brother!”
The warmth in his tone was the kind people used in public arguments when other people were watching. It was all show. No substance.
Inside, you sat frozen on the couch, your mouth parted in a quiet "what the hell?" as Joel’s boots thudded across the floor.
Tommy, half-seated on the coffee table in front of you, tensed. His hand dropped from whatever he'd just been about to point out to you, and his expression shifted- surprise first, then guilt, then something like frustration.
Joel didn’t give him a chance to speak.
“You’re supposed to be helpin’ me with that generator, remember?” Joel said as he clapped a heavy hand on Tommy’s shoulder. It wasn’t affectionate. It was a command.
Tommy blinked. “Thought you said it was fixed yesterday.”
“Nope,” Joel answered sharply, guiding him up and toward the door with a forced laugh. “Turns out it’s busted again. Real bad. Let’s go.”
Tommy opened his mouth to object- maybe to explain, maybe to defend- but Joel’s grip on his arm tightened just enough to say: not here.
So Tommy didn’t fight it. He let Joel march him out the door and onto the porch, the cold air biting the moment it hit.
The door shut behind them with a hard click.
Joel released him.
Let go like he couldn’t bear to touch him a second longer. His whole body pulled back, retreating in every way. And then, he walked away.
He didn’t say a word to Tommy.
Didn’t even look at him.
Just turned and started walking. Each step heavy, boots biting into the snow like he was trying to crush the ground beneath him.
“Joel,” Tommy called, breath catching in the cold. “Joel, come on.”
Joel didn’t stop.
“You’re really gonna walk away like that?”
Still nothing. Just that locked back, those tense shoulders, the quiet rage simmering off him in waves.
Tommy’s voice rose- frustrated, cracking. “She’s not yours either, y’know!”
Joel stopped.
The silence that followed hit harder than a fist. A beat passed. Then two. Joel turned just enough for Tommy to see the sharp line of his jaw, the edge of his mouth twisted tight, eyes hard as ice beneath his eyebrows.
He didn’t yell.
He didn’t spit.
He just said, flat and cold-
“Fuck you, Tommy.”
And kept walking.
Didn’t look back. Didn’t hesitate. Just disappeared into the quiet of the snow, leaving his brother behind.
Tommy stood there, chest heaving, heart pounding behind his ribs.
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You couldn’t help yourself.
You had to go listen.
Something about the look on Tommy’s face when Joel showed up. That edge of surprise, like the floor had just dropped out from under him. And Joel- his voice too cheery, like a mask stretched too tight. You knew it wasn’t real. You knew something was about to snap.
So you moved quietly. Slowly. Stepping toe to heel, avoiding the loud board near the vent, like you’d done a dozen times before when you didn’t want to wake anyone. But this time it wasn’t about silence. It was about bracing yourself.
You reached the window just in time to hear it.
“She’s not yours either, y’know!”
“Fuck you, Tommy.”
The air in your lungs stalled. Then turned to ice.
You didn’t know what you’d expected. A fight? Maybe. But not that. Not the way Joel’s voice cut clean through the cold air, like it cost him something to say it. Like he meant it too much.
Your throat clenched. The first tear slipped down your cheek before you could even blink it away. Then another. And then it all came loose. Like the dam had been waiting for just that crack.
You pressed your hand to your mouth, desperate to muffle the sob that broke free. It didn’t help. It only made it worse. That trembling, hiccuping gasp that came from someplace deep. A place you didn’t even know hurt.
With your other hand, you gripped the pendant Tommy had given you. That carved bit of cedar he’d shaped with his own hands. You held it so tightly the edge bit into your skin. Left the shape of it burned in your palm, red and unforgiving.
Through blurred vision, you looked out the window again.
Joel was already gone, coat disappearing into the trees, shoulders stiff with something too heavy to name. But Tommy-
Tommy hadn’t followed.
He was walking the other way.
Back stiff. Head low. Hands shoved into his jacket like he didn’t know what else to do with them. He didn’t even glance back. Just kept going. Past the porch, down the walkway, like he had nowhere left to be.
You began to walk backwards, away from the window, away from the two men, and your elbow bumped something. The thermos Joel brought toppled over with a loud clang, metal striking wood and skittering across the floorboards like gunfire.
The noise made you jump.
You flinched so hard your back hit the wall. And that did it.
You broke. Full and loud and aching. The kind of crying that hollowed you out, that made you feel like there was no air in the room, no warmth left in your bones. Just loss. Just that echo of a moment that had been close to something good, and then shattered in slow motion.
You buried your face in your hands. The sobs came harder now- full-bodied, shaking you to your core.
Because somewhere beneath the grief, beneath the echo of Joel’s words and the image of Tommy walking away, something colder began to settle in your chest.
Guilt.
You’d watched it happen. Let it happen.
Two men who loved you- maybe too much, maybe in the wrong ways- standing on opposite ends of a line you never meant to draw.
And you? You stood still. Right in the middle.
You hadn’t asked for this. Not in words. But hadn’t there been a part of you- some quiet, shameful part- that liked it?
The warmth of Joel’s voice in the morning. The way Tommy always made you laugh, even when you didn’t want to. How they looked at you like you were something sacred. Something worth losing sleep over. Fighting for.
You’d never asked them to. But you hadn’t stopped them either.
You rubbed at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, chest still heaving. God, what was wrong with you?
Why hadn’t you set a boundary?
Why did you keep answering the door?
Why did you let yourself want both?
You gritted your teeth, chest burning. Maybe you were selfish. Maybe you didn’t deserve either of them. But one thing was suddenly, painfully clear:
You couldn’t keep doing this. Not to them. Not to yourself.
Whatever this was- whatever hope had been flickering in the space between coffee cups and small gifts and quiet touches- it had to stop.
You swallowed the next sob, and made a promise- to no one but yourself, but it still counted.
No more.
You would end this.
Before it destroyed both of them.
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After only a few hours which had felt like days, it was lunchtime.
The dining hall buzzed with the usual midday noise- forks scraping plates, chairs dragging across the floor, someone laughing too loud in the corner. Outside, the snow hadn’t let up, but in here the fire crackled in the stone hearth and the air smelled like roasted vegetables and fresh bread.
Joel and Tommy were already at their usual spot near the far wall, a worn bench tucked close to the heat. They sat like they always did- with a space between them left open. Just wide enough for one more.
That space was yours.
They hadn’t officially made up. Not really. No apologies, no real conversation. But they were here, seated shoulder to shoulder, putting on the performance of normalcy for the room. And for you.
Because this wasn’t about lunch. Not for either of them.
It was about being close. About the chance- however slim- that you might sit down between them like nothing had happened. That you might still choose them.
Joel had set out the little glass jar of cream you liked. Not the powdered stuff. Real cream, cool and pale, already sweating lightly in the warmth of the hall.
Tommy, a beat behind, had slid two packets of sugar into place beside it. Casual. Careful. Like muscle memory.
It was a peace offering neither of them dared name. Just quiet hope, laid out in front of the only seat they wanted you in.
When you stepped through the doors, tray in hand, they both looked up.
Not obviously. Not together. But you felt it all the same- the slight shift in Joel’s shoulders, the way Tommy paused with his hand halfway to his fork. That instant of stillness when they saw you.
You hesitated.
The space between them waited. Cream and sugar. Warmth and want. All of it aching with silence.
Your throat felt tight.
You wanted to go. Wanted to fill that space, pretend none of this had happened, take their small, silent offerings and give something soft in return.
But your feet turned left instead.
Toward Jesse.
He looked surprised when you slid in beside him- but not confused. Not judgmental. Just kind.
“Hey,” he said, scooting over without hesitation. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be in for lunch.”
You nodded and set your tray down carefully. “Me either.”
He picked up a plastic cup from beside him and held it out. “They’ve got iced tea, if you want some. Not sweet, but still pretty good.”
You took it. “Thanks.”
You took a slow sip, holding the cup with both hands. It was cold, the iciness catching in your throat. You didn’t even like iced tea all that much. But you drank it anyway- maybe just to keep from looking back.
Across the room, Joel and Tommy watched.
Tommy’s jaw flexed the second you sat beside Jesse. His grip on his fork tightened until his knuckles turned white, and he stabbed a piece of potato without really seeing it. He didn’t say anything, but his knee bounced under the table, restless and sharp.
He was mad. At Jesse for letting you sit there. At you for not coming over. But mostly at himself- for thinking you would. For thinking you would sit by him for a second after this morning’s fiasco.
Joel’s reaction was quieter. It always was.
He didn’t touch his food. Just sat there, one hand around his coffee like it might anchor him. He kept his eyes low, but every few seconds they flicked your way, as if hoping you’d change your mind and look back. As if hope alone could reverse your course.
When you didn’t, he pulled in a slow breath and let it go just as slowly, eyes down. All that care- the cream, the early arrival, the quiet space saved- it felt suddenly foolish. Too much. Too little. He wasn’t sure.
Because Jesse was easy. Jesse wasn’t complicated or cracked in all the places Joel was.
There were parts of Joel Miller that were.. rough. The callused hands, the iron shoulders, the voice rough as gravel and twice as heavy. The man was made of edges and endurance. Years had chiseled him into something lean and unshakable.
But you... you had a knack for finding the softness he swore he didn’t have.
Especially in his face.
You were lying on his chest on a rare quiet morning, the kind that stretched like honey- thick, slow, golden. The window was cracked, and spring air filtered in, smelling faintly of damp earth and lilac. Joel’s arms were slung around your frame, his breath warm and steady against your brow. He’d fallen half asleep after breakfast, eyes closed, lips parted just enough to let the world think he didn’t care.
But you were watching him too closely to believe it.
There, in the slant of light across his face, you saw it again: the curve of his cheek, still full beneath the bristle of stubble. Not sharp like the rest of him, not built for defense. Just soft. Touchable. Real.
You didn’t think, only acted.
A slow shift forward. A smile blooming against your lips like you could hardly keep a secret. And then you leaned in-
Alerted by your slight movement, Joel opened one eye.
"And what is it you think you're doin?"
You smiled.
"Just lookin' at you"
Joel sighed. He wasn't exactly satisfied with your answer, but he didn't have any evidence to prove that you were lying, so he tilted his head slightly so he could kiss you on the nose, and settled back to sleep.
That's when you attacked. In one swift movement, you pushed yourself up and bit him gently, right on the cheek.
Not hard. Just enough to make him startle.
“The fuck-” he grunted, jerking back a fraction, eyes flying open.
You were already laughing, forehead pressed against his. “Sorry,” you said, though you weren’t sorry at all. “You just… you make that face when you sleep. And your cheeks-”
“My cheeks?” he repeated, scandalized. “Ain’t nothin’ special about my goddamn-”
“They’re soft,” you said, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world. “And warm. And cute.”
Joel squinted at you, like maybe the sun had made you feral. “Cute,” he echoed, deadpan.
“Adorably chewable,” you added, grinning as you kissed the spot you’d bitten.
“Lord help me," Joel groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You’re gonna be the death of me.”
You leaned closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “If I am, you’ll go smiling.”
He didn’t answer at first. Just let the quiet stretch again, the two of you wrapped in it like a blanket.
Then, softer: “You keep doin’ shit like that… I just might.”
You felt the warmth behind his words before you heard it- that low, secret laugh he only gave you. You pressed one more kiss to his cheek, feather-light this time, no teeth. He turned toward you, arms folding you tighter.
And in that quiet morning glow, cheek to cheek, you both stayed.
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