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honey, it's cold outside.
The snow had started to come down sometime in the afternoon. Soft and light at first, barely sticking to the ground, too warm for it to settle. However, by the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, the darkness of the evening closing in, down with it came the temperature, dropping considerably. That was when it had started to come down thick and heavy. It now blanketed Jackson in a still, quiet kind of peace. The kind that made the world feel a little smaller, like it was just you, the house, the storm beyond the frosty windows and that the world, maybe, hadn’t fallen apart.
Joel had come over earlier that afternoon, mumbling something about fixing the creaky hinge on your front door. You knew better though. Lately he’d been even more restless than usual since Ellie had moved into the converted garage at the back of their house—claiming she needed her own space from ‘the old man’. Despite the fact that being still so close it was almost debatable if it truly was independence. Especially considering she raided the fridge still on a daily basis. She was acclimating to life in Jackson at such a fast pace. He missed her, but he’d never say it outright, not unless you pressed. Even then, if so, it would be a grumbled confession, his voice low, rough as gravel.
By the time Ellie and Dina had left for the Christmas Eve gathering at the main hall, stopping by briefly to see if either of you wanted anything, Joel was still at your home. Shoulders stiff under the weight of a now damp jacket, boots tracking melting snow across your entranceway. You didn’t mind. He’d made himself useful, fixing the creaky hinge on your front door, tightening the screws on the loose leg of your kitchen table, fixing the shelf underneath the bathroom mirror and finally putting the stubborn kitchen drawer back on its track. But now he seemed to linger, standing awkwardly in the living room like he wasn’t sure whether to stay and find something else to fix or leave.
“Joel,” you called, soft but insistent, from the couch where a fire Joel had insisted on starting earlier, crackled low in the hearth, “Sit down. You’re making the place look untidy.”
His face flushed as he hesitated, always cautious, always trying to gauge whether he was overstepping. The once urge to account for threats in a life before Jackson, replaced by a lingering uncertainty in a world that had begun to feel like home again. Eventually, he relented, shrugging off his coat and hanging it by the door, his boots followed next—slipped off and placed near the fire to dry. Before he could choose the old worn leather armchair across from you, you tapped the space on the couch beside you. The cushions dipped under his weight, drawing you closer to him than you’d planned, not that you minded. His warmth radiated, a welcome contrast to the cold pressing against the windows trying to find its way in.
For a while, you both sat in companionable silence, watching the flames flicker and dance, listening to the occasional groan of the wind against the house. You could see through him like an open book, you didn’t miss the way his hands flexed now and then, restless even in the stillness.
“You could’ve gone to the main hall with Ellie,” you said, breaking the quiet.
Joel shook his head, his lips twitching like he was attempting to fight a smile, “Crowds ain’t my thing.”
You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, a wry smile on your lips that you made no attempt to hide, “Could’ve fooled me. You’re the most popular guy in Jackson.”
That earned a soft huff of laughter, his shoulders relaxing just a little. “Not sure that’s somethin’ to be proud of.”
“You don’t fool me either, you know,” your voice was gentle, more teasing than serious. “I know you don’t want to be alone tonight.”
He didn’t answer, at least not right away, but you knew Joel well enough to let the silence stretch out before you. Eventually, he sighed, long and slow, and dropped his head against the back of the couch.
“Guess not,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual.
You reached out, resting your hand over his, his fingers twitched under yours but didn’t pull away.
“Stay,” you said. It wasn’t a question.
With his head still resting on the back of the couch he turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. So very much Joel. His hand, still underneath yours, flexed as his calloused fingers turned and intertwined with yours, before giving your hand a gentle squeeze.
The dishes clinked softly as you carried them into the kitchen, balancing a stack of plates, cutlery and glasses while Joel trailed behind, muttering something under his breath about how you didn’t have to fuss. He had said he didn’t want dinner—he’d come by to fix the hinge, nothing more, already overstaying his welcome at your insistence—but you’d caught the way his eyes had lingered on the roast chicken and vegetables as you’d prepared what you’d said was your own plate, knowing exactly how this conversation was going to go. And when you had insisted, placing the plate down at the table, he’d sat down and eaten without protest.
Then he’d had seconds.
“You know, for someone who wasn’t hungry, you sure made a dent in that chicken,” you called over your shoulder, setting the plates in the sink.
Joel grunted, the kind of sound that wasn’t quite an agreement but wasn’t denial either, “Didn’t want it to go to waste.”
You glanced at him, standing there in the doorway, arms folded across his chest as if he were trying to take up less space. His face betrayed him though—a flicker of something softer in his eyes, like maybe he wasn’t used to being fed because someone simply wanted to.
“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” you said, rinsing the plates under warm water. “Not hungry actually means two servings.”
His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk breaking through his normally guarded expression, as he pushed himself off of the doorframe and headed over to the sink where you stood. Gently, he nudged you away with his hip as he took the dish from your hand and continued washing them. “You’re funny,” he said with a pointed look telling you to sit down when you attempted to dry the plates.
You rolled your eyes as you took a seat at the now steady kitchen table, “Just calling it as I see it.”
The conversation between the two of you was light, easy in a way that felt rare. Joel had a way of being in the room without really letting himself be in it, like he always had one foot out of the door. But tonight, something was different. Maybe it was the snowstorm hemming him in or the warmth of the fire lulling him into a sense of ease, he certainly didn’t look like he was in a hurry to leave.
You watched as he finished with the dishes, drying his hands on a towel before he put everything away, needing no direction from you—now familiar with where everything was kept.
“You want to sit back by the fire for a bit?” you asked, “or are you still pretending you’re here for that hinge?”
He didn’t answer right away, his gaze drifting to the window where the snow continued to fall, thick and relentless. Finally, he nodded, the motion small but enough.
Joel had stayed, as you knew he would, his body sinking deeper into the couch with every passing hour. His arm slowly found your shoulder, pulling you close until you were nestled against him, the warmth of his body a comfort alongside the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your ear. You talked about nothing and everything—the state of the roads, how quiet Jackson felt with most people at the Christmas Eve gathering, and Ellie’s recent streak of stubborn independence. Joel had smiled at that, a wry, tired kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“She’s doin’ alright,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Better than I was at her age,” he paused, “all things considered.”
You didn’t press him. Joel didn’t like to linger on the past, even if it was woven into every line on his face, every guarded word. You cherished any piece of it he shared, keeping space for it and letting the silence fill the gaps in between. You offered him what you could in return: a soft place to land, a steady presence so he didn’t have to put as much effort into maintaining the solid defences he had built up.
When you had suggested heading to bed soon, he had hesitated, his hand holding the arm of the couch like it was an anchor, “I should probably head back—”
“To an empty house?” You tilted your head, your voice gentle but firm, “Did you say Ellie wanted to spend the night at Dina’s place? Plus there’s the small issue of the blizzard outside. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
He sighed, long and slow, but didn’t argue. There was something in his eyes—a weariness you’d only seen on him when he thought no one was looking. It wasn’t just the snow keeping him here, he could have made the short walk home easily, and you both knew it.
The fire had burned to embers, casting the room in flickering shadows. The snowfall outside had softened, but the cold still crept through the walls with the dying heat unable to stave it off. Upstairs, your bed waited, the sheets warm and heavy.
Joel followed you without question, quiet as ever, but you caught the softness in his gaze as he took your outstretched hand. He seemed lighter, like the weight he carried every day had been set down, if only for a little while.
The bedroom was dimly lit, the curtains drawn against the storm outside, but thin enough that the glow from the strings of lights that adorned Jackson could still be seen. You returned from the bathroom, face clean and clothes changed, to find Joel stood by the edge of the bed. You weren’t sure if he was waiting for you or if he was testing if the familiar fragile thread of tension had truly been left behind.
You climbed under the blankets first, patting the spot beside you with a quiet smile.
“C’mon, Miller. Bed’s not gonna bite, can’t promise about me though.”
He snorted softly at that, unbuttoning the plaid shirt he wore, leaving him in a soft tee and worn jeans. He climbed into the bed, it wasn’t the first time, but it still felt new, tender. Joel shifted hesitantly, his body stiff as he lay on his side, his back to you. It wasn't a matter of ignoring you, but rather a well-ingrained means of survival—facing the exit and keeping his good ear alert for any potential danger. You didn’t need an invitation. Sliding closer, you wrapped an arm around his waist, your forehead pressing lightly between his shoulder blades. He stilled for a moment, then let out a breath that sounded almost like relief, his hand moving tentatively to rest over yours where it lay against his stomach.
“Alright?” you murmured, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m alright.”
The moment stretched, the sound of the wind outside fading into the background as your breathing fell into rhythm with his. His body feeling solid against yours, bringing warmth that chased the lingering chill away.
After a beat, you broke the silence, “Don’t think about slipping out—everything will still be there tomorrow if you stay the night. Sleep, if just for tonight.”
“You always this bossy?” he asked after a while, as if this was a new revelation, his voice a quiet rumble.
“Only when you’re being stubborn,” you shot back, your tone light. “Which is… most of the time.”
He huffed out a laugh, the sound low and genuine. “Fair enough.”
You smiled against his back, the curve of your lips just brushing the bare skin above the collar of his shirt. This wasn’t perfect—nothing with Joel ever was—but it felt right in a way you couldn’t quite explain, nor felt the need to solve. Holding him like that, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, it was easy to forget it all. Just focus on the quiet, the warmth of your bed, that there was only you and Joel. And for that night? That was enough.
The rhythm of Joe’s breathing slowed and evened out, his body melting against yours as if he’d been waiting for this—someone, you, to hold him steady. To remind him it was okay to let go, even for a little while, so you held him a little tighter, your legs tangling under the blankets.
The smokey scent of the put-out fire from downstairs lingered, and the house creaked again as the wind pushed against it, only making the space between you and Joel feel cozier. You closed your eyes and listened to Joel’s faint snores, the ones that he would swear he didn’t make, as you fell into sleep—there in the quiet glow of the night, everything felt whole.