summary: after stumbling home bruised and bleeding, Joel lets you patch him up in the bathroom. Under the cracked mirror’s light, but through quiet care and a few raw words, you show him what he can’t see himself – that he’s still human, still worth loving.
You hear the door before you see him. The old wood groans like it’s complaining, and the sound makes something inside you tense. It’s late, too late for the world outside to be anything but trouble. When you step into the hallway, Joel’s there—half in shadow, one shoulder pressed to the doorframe as though it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
His shirt’s torn open at the seam, dirt smudged across the fabric, a line of dried blood tracing his side. He’s breathing hard, not quite panting but close, and the sight of him like that – hurt again, worn thin – makes your stomach turn over.
“Hey,” you say, voice soft but steady.
He doesn’t answer. He just pushes past you, letting the door fall shut with a hollow thud that echoes through the quiet. The lamplight in the kitchen is dim and golden, and it hits him as he moves, a bruise blooming purple along his jaw, a cut darkening beneath his eye. You watch him sink into one of the old chairs, the kind that creaks like it’s seen too much.
You reach for the first-aid kit automatically. “Come on,” you murmur. “Bathroom.”.
He grumbles something low, half protest, but you don’t give him a choice. You flick on the small light above the sink, and the mirror flashes briefly before steadying, its surface cracked through the middle like a lightning scar.
The bathroom smells faintly of soap and the ghost of steam from earlier. Joel leans against the sink, one hand gripping the edge. The tile reflects the faint hum of the bulb, washing everything in soft amber.
“Thought you said you’d take it easy today,” you murmur, half scolding, half teasing.
He snorts, a sound without any real humor. “Things got messy,” he says, which is Joel-speak for I nearly didn’t make it back.
You could press him, ask what happened, but you don’t. You’ve learned that sometimes silence does more good than words. You unbutton what’s left of his torn flannel, peeling the fabric gently away from his shoulder. He winces but doesn’t stop you. The cut along his arm has already started to scab, but the skin around it is raw. You wet a cloth with warm water, wring it out, and start cleaning the blood away in slow, steady circles.
“Hold still,” you mutter.
When you glance up, you catch him staring, not at you, not at the wall, but at the cracked mirror propped against the far side of the room. You’ve seen it there for months, a forgotten thing that no one’s bothered to move. Now, under the lamplight, its fractured surface scatters his reflection into broken fragments.
Joel’s gaze lingers on it for a moment before skittering away. It’s subtle, the avoidance, but you see it.
“Seriously?” you ask, half smiling, hoping to coax something out of him. “You’re glaring at that mirror like it did somethin’ wrong.”
He huffs, almost a laugh but not quite. “Don’t like lookin’ at it,” he mutters, low and uneven.
He hesitates, fingers curling against the edge of the table. “Don’t recognize the guy anymore,” he says finally. “Look at him, don’t even know who the hell that is.”
There’s no drama in the way he says it. Just quiet shame. That makes it worse somehow.
You set the cloth down, take his wrist gently in your hand. “Joel,” you start, but the words come slow, cautious. “You’re still you.”
He shakes his head, not looking up. “You don’t see it.”
You squeeze his hand, steady but firm. “No, you don’t see it. You’re too close to it. Too busy countin’ every scar like it’s proof of somethin’ ugly.”
He exhales through his nose, a sound like disbelief. “And what do you see then?” he asks, voice tight. “Some hero?”
You smile faintly, shaking your head. “Not a hero. But not a monster, either. I see someone who’s still here, even when it would’ve been easier not to be. Someone who keeps tryin’.”
He doesn’t respond. The lamp hums quietly; the floor creaks as the night settles deeper. His eyes flick back toward the mirror again, and this time he doesn’t look away so fast.
“You make it sound simple,” he mutters, though there’s no bite to it.
“It’s not simple,” you say, leaning forward, voice softer. “But it’s true. The bruises, the scars, they don’t erase who you are. They just… mark the places you’ve been.”
For a while, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches, but it isn’t heavy. You can hear the faint rasp of his breathing, the distant whistle of wind outside. His hand, still caught in yours, warms slowly under your touch.
“I don’t know if I deserve that,” he says at last, barely audible.
“You don’t have to deserve it,” you answer. “You just take it. That’s enough.”
He lets out a low laugh, almost self-mocking. “Ain’t that easy.”
“I didn’t say it was easy,” you whisper, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Just that it’s yours.”
He flinches at the touch, but only for a heartbeat. Then he relaxes, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. The exhaustion that’s been clinging to him seems to spill out in the quiet.
You rest your forehead lightly against his. “You see that man in the mirror, Joel? The one you think’s beyond saving? That’s not the man I see.”
He breathes out, long and shaky. His eyes close. “I see him sometimes,” he says. “The one in the glass. And I hate him for what he’s done. For what he couldn’t stop.”
You close your hand around his. “You won’t see it alone,” you say. “You never do. I’ll be here. I’ll tell you what I see every time, until you believe it.”
He smiles faintly, a ghost of something real. “You’re damn stubborn.”
“Always,” you grin, pressing a light kiss against his temple. “Guess you rubbed off on me.”
That earns a small sound from him half laugh, half sigh. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, hesitant, like he’s afraid the moment might break if he moves too much.
“You really think there’s somethin’ left worth lookin’ at?” he asks, still not meeting your eyes.
“I know there is,” you say. “You’re just too used to the cracks to notice the reflection.”
He doesn’t answer right away. When he finally looks at you, there’s something fragile in his gaze, something that wasn’t there before.
“You make it sound like I can just… forget,” he murmurs.
You shake your head. “No. Not forget. Just remember that you’re more than the worst thing you’ve done.”
Joel sits back a little, eyes flicking to the mirror again. The lamplight catches the web of cracks running through it, splitting his reflection into a dozen uneven pieces. You can tell he hates it, the reminder of how fractured everything feels, but this time, he doesn’t look away.
You reach up, let your fingertips trace the edge of his jaw. “You’re still you,” you say quietly. “Bruised, tired, human. But you.”
He snorts softly, shaking his head. “You got a real bad habit of sayin’ the nicest things when I don’t deserve ‘em.”
“Maybe that’s when you need ‘em most.”
That earns you another one of those almost laughs, the kind that barely makes a sound but shifts something inside him. Then he sighs, leaning forward, resting his forehead against yours again.
“Never thought anyone’d see that,” he admits. “Not really.”
“I always have,” you say. “Even when you couldn’t.”
The words sit there between you, quiet and unshakable.
His hand finds your cheek then, thumb brushing gently along your skin. His palm is rough, warm every callus a story. “You make it easier,” he says, and there’s a tremor in it, an honesty that cracks something open. “Don’t know if I’d still be here without that.”
“You don’t have to find out,” you tell him. “You’re stuck with me.”
He lets out a small breath, something close to relief, and his lips curve into a faint, private smile. The kind of smile you only ever see when he’s too tired to hide it.
You let your hand drift down to his, fingers threading together. The air between you feels lighter now, though neither of you says much. The lamp hums. The night stretches on.
After a while, you pull back just enough to look at him properly. “Come on,” you murmur. “Let’s get you cleaned up right. Can’t have you wanderin’ around Jackson lookin’ like a bear took a swipe at you.”
He chuckles under his breath, the sound soft, almost shy. “Yeah. Alright.”
You fetch clean bandages, new cloths, fresh water. He watches you move around the kitchen, the rhythm familiar, comforting. When you return to him, the tension in his face has eased.
Neither of you speaks much while you work. There’s no need. The quiet feels different now, not heavy, not strained, just *there.* A shared kind of peace that doesn’t demand to be named.
When you finish, you step back, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. Joel’s still watching you, eyes softer than they’ve been all night. Something about that look makes your chest ache in the best possible way.
“What?” you ask, smiling.
He shakes his head slowly, voice rough when he answers. “Nothin’. Just… didn’t think I’d ever feel like this again.”
He hesitates, then shrugs one shoulder. “Like maybe I ain’t past fixin’.”
You reach out, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You were never broken,” you tell him gently. “Just a little cracked. Like that mirror.”
He follows your gaze toward it, and this time, he doesn’t flinch. He looks, really looks and in the fractured glass, the light catches both of you, standing close.
There’s no perfection in the reflection. Just two people, tired and scarred, holding on anyway.
Joel’s hand finds yours again. “Guess the cracks don’t look so bad from here,” he says quietly.
You smile, squeezing his fingers. “They never did.”
For a long moment, the world holds still. The lamp hums softly. The wind outside sighs against the walls. He leans in, presses his forehead to yours once more, and the simple weight of that gesture says everything neither of you needs to put into words.
You stay there like that, in the quiet, breathing the same air, hearts steady and sure.
When he finally opens his eyes, there’s something different in them. Not peace exactly, but something close. Something that might grow into it.
And in the cracked mirror behind him, for the first time in a long time, Joel doesn’t look away.
He looks. And maybe, just maybe, he starts to see what you’ve seen all along
