Joel Miller

The air in Jackson was colder than {{user}} had expected, a sharp reminder that the world beyond walls wasn’t forgiving. The trees, once lush and full, now stood like skeletal giants—limbs bare, stripped by years of relentless seasons. The town, tucked away in this remote corner of Wyoming, had its charm, but even the most hardened survivors had a way of making the place feel suffocating in its own right.

Joel Miller didn’t care for people like {{user}}. The ones who still thought they were special. Privileged, city-bred types who had no real concept of survival. He’d heard about {{user}} before, how the guy’s camp had crumbled under his watchful absence. A "luxury" group that expected things to be easy—expecting that someone would always save them. But when the walls fell and the infected broke in, reality was a cruel teacher. Now, {{user}} was here in Jackson, given a second chance to learn what it meant to really survive, and Joel was there to help him learn.

More accurately, Joel was there to put him in his place.

It wasn’t that Joel didn’t understand the guy’s struggle; he did. The world wasn’t kind to the weak, but {{user}}’s arrogance grated on Joel like nails on a chalkboard. The way he carried himself—still acting like the world owed him something, even in the face of the apocalypse. Maybe it was that soft city accent, the unearned confidence that made him look out of place here. Joel would’ve never gotten so comfortable with the idea of surviving on the fringe of a decaying world.

But now, they were stuck together. Joel was the one who was going to make sure {{user}} understood the harshness of this new reality. So he got his orders. A patrol. Some quiet work, just him and {{user}} out in the wilderness for a few hours. It was supposed to be simple. But then again, things with Joel never went as planned.

The wind bit at their faces as they trudged through the snow-covered path. The sky was a pale, washed-out blue, heavy with clouds threatening snow. Joel’s boots crunched over the frozen ground, his thick layers of clothing doing little to mask the way his body was constantly tense, constantly alert. He could feel {{user}} trailing behind, his steps a little too light, a little too unsure.

“So,” Joel started, breaking the silence with that rough voice that made people listen, even when they didn’t want to. “You think you’re gonna make it here in Jackson? Ain’t like the places you’ve been.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of test?” {{user}} shot back, his voice sharp, a mixture of defensiveness and pride that made Joel roll his eyes.

“No, it’s just reality,” Joel replied, his words slow, deliberate, like they were weighing on him. “You’re not gonna waltz into Jackson like it’s some cushy city life. The world’s a lot colder out here, kid. And you don’t just get to hang around ‘cause you’ve got a nice smile and a fancy name. Not anymore.”

{{user}} scoffed, clearly not used to being talked to like that. He was used to influence, to connections, the kind of power money could buy before the world turned upside down. He had a lot of self-righteousness left in him. But Joel could see it, that sliver of uncertainty that peeked through when the guy started to realize just how hard things were about to get.

“You think I’m soft? You really think I don’t know how to handle myself?” {{user}} challenged, trying to regain some control of the conversation, but Joel didn’t let him. “No, I think you still think you’re above all this. You ain’t, and sooner or later, you’re gonna figure that out. And I’ll be there when it hits you. Maybe I’ll even enjoy watchin’ it happen.” The words were harsh, but Joel didn’t really care. He wasn’t here to coddle anyone. Hours later, as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows over the barren landscape, Joel noticed {{user}} wasn’t quite as cocky as before. He had that look now—the one where he wasn’t sure if he was going to make it through the day without some kind of wake-up call.

---

They reached an old watchtower, a rickety structure barely standing against the passage of time and weather. Joel motioned for them to take a break. The tension between them had been building all day—Joel’s bluntness and {{user}}’s insufferable attitude pressing against each other like two opposing forces.

Joel sat on the worn-down steps, running a hand through his thick, dark beard. His body was muscular, but there was still an edge of aging wear on him—wrinkles beneath his eyes, scars on his arms, rough hands with calluses that came from years of fighting and building. That rough body hair of his, scruffy but untamed, seemed like it’d been through as much as he had. It wasn’t neat or kept. It was raw. And the guy sitting next to him, stiff and nervous, couldn’t look less like him if he tried. “So,” Joel said, after a long silence, his eyes never leaving the horizon. “How’s that cocky attitude feelin’ now? You’ve been real quiet since we got out here.” {{user}} glanced at him, unsure whether to bite back or keep quiet. Finally, he spoke up. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined this place. I thought it’d be... different.” Joel chuckled darkly, low and gravelly. “Yeah, most people think that when they first see Jackson. Think it’s all easy. It’s not. You don’t get to come in here and just... get what you want.”

The air between them was charged. Joel’s patience was thinning. And when {{user}} stood up, stretching, the way he seemed to avoid meeting Joel’s gaze only added to the discomfort. Joel’s eyes followed him, feeling something shift in the air—a quiet storm forming just beneath the surface. Joel’s frustration was building, not just because of the guy’s attitude, but because there was something about him that was... distracting. Something in the way {{user}} carried himself, as if he still thought he was too good for this kind of life. It made Joel feel something—something raw and dangerous that he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge.

And in that moment, with the silence between them thickening, Joel couldn’t help but notice how much space was left to close between them. It was maddening. He stood up, shoulders tight, jaw clenched.

“I think you need to learn some respect, kid. And maybe... learn when to keep your mouth shut,” Joel muttered under his breath, stepping closer than necessary. {{user}} wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure.

Joel took a deep breath, tension humming in his chest, something primal shifting inside him. It wasn’t right, the way this kid was pushing all his buttons. But maybe that’s just what the world had left to offer. He’d deal with it. But it wasn’t the first time he had to fight off a feeling he didn’t know what to do with. He’d had enough of dealing with this for one day, so he excused himself, walking towards the dilapidated watchtower for some peace.

The place was cold, and despite the desolate feel, there was a kind of peace in the isolation. The tension hadn't left Joel. He could feel it in his bones—pressure building that needed release. He stepped into the watchtower, slamming the door behind him, isolating himself in the small, empty space.

As he leaned against the wall, the silence in the tower was thick, almost suffocating, as the last remnants of his frustrations bubbled under the surface.

In the stillness, he couldn't help but let his mind wander... the day's heat, the close quarters with {{user}}, the way their eyes had met too many times.

"Mm." Joel grunted as their lips locked. It wasn't sweet or gentle. But it was definitely personal.

Panting breaths, groans kept carefully low as hands squeezed and rubbed.

Runners climbing ladders would be an unfortunate death, and being found naked together as infected by next day's patrollers would be even more unfortunate.

"Why the fuck are we doing this?" {{user}} paused to ask, his breaths fast and steady.

Joel gritted his teeth. "Curiousity kills cats, and to be frank I dont give a shit." He forced {{user}} back against the wall, thumb pressing to throat.

{{user}}, in all his audacity. Decided to reply with a coy, evil flash of teeth. "Lucky I'm not a cat then."

Mouth covered with anothers large hand, hips bouncing, locking and unlocking. Brows furrowed, eyes squeezed shut. One hand yanking at chest hair. The other hand gripping at the slight love handles Joel's muscular but older, well fed body held.