Chapter Text
Jackson glowed.
It had been the first order of business, actually. Once there was electricity and everyone had taken the first hot showers anyone had taken in a long while, it seemed like the whole town made it a mission to make Jackson as bright as the noon day sun. Strings of light had been hung everywhere. People would bring back Christmas lights from runs. A whole team of former electricians worked to restore every street lamp in town.
Most of the time, from the safety of the little house you’d lived in for almost two years now, you didn’t notice. Enjoying the swathes of light were usually something that happened from the wall while you were on late night guard duty, or from a distant hill as you jogged back from a run that had gone just a little later than usual.
Parties were different though.
You shift on your feet and lean backward, feeling the dig of the makeshift bar’s corner into your lower back before squinting your eyes ever so slightly, just to enjoy the way it makes the lights above shimmer and the people glow, like fireflies, dancing to music all their own.
You bask in it for a minute—the warmth and safety of lights and music and even just the people. People who were enjoying life because they were alive and that in and of itself was something to celebrate nowadays.
You drain your glass and turn around to set it on the bar, picking up the jug of some sort of home brewed alcohol that could probably be used to strip paint off the side of a barn. Another glass would probably get you drunk enough to earn a lecture from Tommy in the morning.
Not worth it.
You set the jug down and glance back out across the dying down dance floor. It’s late—most of the families with children are gone by now, and Tommy or Maria will likely send everyone to their homes soon.
You catch a glimpse of Ellie—bouncing around in a corner of the dance floor with a few of her school friends.
It means Joel’s probably still around, somewhere. You try not to think too much about why it’s so important to you that he is.
You’d seen him a few times throughout the party—always on the edges of the group, always with a white knuckle grip on his drink, as if it was his lifeline for getting through in one piece.
Part of you had wanted to dance with him.
You thought maybe you were the closest thing to a friend that he had here. You thought maybe that meant he’d ask.
You were wrong.
Maybe you’d just misread it. You were just guard shift partners. Sometimes patrol partners. Maybe that’s all you were to each other.
The thought makes your stomach twist sharply.
You whip around and without thinking too much about the inevitable lecture, pour yourself another drink.
You lift it to take a sip—to feel the burn that will hopefully ease the butterflies in your stomach and ache in your chest—when someone taps your shoulder.
It shouldn’t scare you as bad as it does—but habits from outside die hard. You nearly drop your drink as you spin around, fully in fight mode and—
It’s just Joel.
He takes the tiniest step back, pulls his hand away from your shoulder. Clears his throat awkwardly.
“Shit, Joel,” you breathe, setting your glass down before you’re shaking hands break it. “Scared the fuckin’ shit out of me.”
He clears his throat again and runs a hand through his hair before playing with his watch. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and then clears his throat again. “I—uh—said your name but...guess you didn’t hear me. I just—I um—well, I wondered if you’d wanna dance.” He pauses. “With me, I mean.”
The butterflies in your stomach soar, but at least the knot in your chest loosens. “Sure,” you say, with a nod, and the nervous furrowing of his brow disappears, replaced by the slightest smile.
He offers you his hand.
You take it.
He leads you out to the dance floor—dying down, now, with what is surely the last slow song of the night.
He slides his hands down to your waist, and you try to ignore just how much you like being this close to him.
He gives a nervous huff that he attempts to turn into a laugh as you slide your hands onto his shoulders. “I’m uh—sorry if I step on your feet. Was never much of a dancer.”
You laugh softly, glancing up at him, mesmerized by the way the light catches in his eyes and makes them look almost golden. “I promise I’ll forgive you,” you say, and he gives another nervous huff of a laugh. “So how was your first town party?” You ask, trying to write off the surge of affection in your heart as tipsiness from a little too much of whatever that drink was.
“Ellie’s havin’ fun,” he says, glancing over to where she’s retreated from the dance floor with Dina.
“Not exactly what I asked,” you say, giving him a grin, and when he looks down at you, he smiles back.
“Ah, well, didn’t do much partyin’ before, either.” He pauses, staring at you for just a moment. “Y’all do this a lot, then?”
“Parties? I guess so. Not always like this, though. Sometimes it’s more...I dunno. Like a town barbecue or somethin’. Why? You thinkin’ about how to get out of the next one?” It’s a joke—but only partly. You saw how uncomfortable he was—he can’t want to come to more parties. You hope he does comes anyway, though.
He laughs, and after a pause shakes his head. “Nah. Think I could do a barbecue. ‘N I might even be able to get used to dancin’.”
The music ends, and slowly, reluctantly, your swaying with him comes to a halt. His hands linger on your waist though, and you find yourself unwilling to take your hands off his shoulders.
He clears his throat, pulling away slowly. “Guess that’s it,” he says, and his voice sounds hoarse and strained. “Lemme walk you home.”
You laugh, gently, feeling suddenly like a teenager on prom night, walking to the door with your date, hoping he kisses you on your doorstep. “I don’t live far.”
“I know,” he says. “‘s just dark.”
It’s not, but you don’t tell him that.
Instead, you slowly wind your way down streets, taking the long way back, just to walk a little farther with him—just to bump shoulders occasionally and pretend it was an accident.
You stop on the front steps. Waiting for...something. Waiting for him.
He shifts awkwardly, stares at his hand, where it’s intertwined with yours, before looking at you.
“Um—I—uh,” he pauses. Releases your hand. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” you say softly.
He pulls back a few steps. Awkwardly shifts, before nodding gently at you. “Goodnight,” he says, and then turns to start down the walk.
As you watch him go, you can’t help but wish he had kissed you.