#Anthropology Test Series 2024 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

forthelorewick · 4 days ago

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Blessed with Beauty and Rage

ch. 4 - “Beauties and feelings, such as would have been most sweet to my remembrance”

“This Lime-tree Bower my Prison” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Series summary:

The very core of who you are is hypocritical. Every day is a reminder of what you've lost, of who you've allowed yourself to become. Your walls are built around your heart like the fortress of Jackson, until… a certain man tries to pry his way through. How long can you withstand such intrusion? Will your heart ever open, will your soul ever heal, the way you have helped so many others do? Will you ever learn that you're worth saving too?

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Chapter contents: grief, guilt, kinda fluffy tbh, some cursing.

WC: 8k

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Late March 2024:

The undeniable ache of guilt has become a constant companion. A reminder of those you've lost and those whom you had taken for granted. The unceasing push and pull within your ribcage reminding you that you were alive and they weren't.

So many of your family members remained in the place you detested. You had moved across the country in an attempt to live as far away from your family as you could. The town seemed too small, everyone crammed into one place. Grandparents, siblings, cousins, extended family… the city’s population may have been hundreds of thousands, but to you it was just too small. Stuffy, southern, conservative. It felt as though anywhere you went there was a chance of seeing someone who knew you, or more likely… knew your family.

Your grandparents— the deacon, the choir director, the missionaries, the evangelist… How had you fallen so far from the tree? The only inklings of similarity was your involvement with the choir as a child. Melting into the harmonies and orchestra within the church walls, the blend of hope and repentance echoing from mournful souls. There was an odd allure to it. The hope bleeding from people's vocal cords and lungs, the beautiful symphony of a hope in something bigger than them. The hope something or someone would some day save them from the eternal cruelty of this world.

If only they had known at the time that God had abandoned the human race a long time ago. But you could talk the talk of hope, love, joy and the importance of these things. As if there still was or ever had been an all-powerful, all-knowing creator who had tested the human race so grandiosely for some greater purpose.

You understood the purpose of individual faith, of community, of believing in a higher power… but understanding was as far as it went.

Your understanding and fascination with religion went beyond the music and the compositions. You found yourself drawn to the human condition— which objectively fascinated you with religion as a mere facet of it. That's what led you to studying psychology, which turned to anthropology… which propelled you into psychiatry.

To Jackson, you were practically a psychiatrist although you had never gone to med school. You had finished your bachelor’s at 20, completed a master’s in therapy and counseling, and had been taking a year off before you were to be off to med-school. You were a rare breed in the new world— someone willing to listen to whoever wanted to speak of the horrors brought by the end of the world as you knew it. To see individuality in the midst of widespread destruction.

You were a shrink, that's what they called you in Jackson. You know if you didn't exist they could easily go without. You weren't a necessity, but you knew you could help and so you did in the ways you knew how. Even in this abnormal reality your skills serve a purpose. Yet, you suppose, this is the closest to normal society as this world knows it. There is a familiarity here. Hope, love, and faith remain inextinguishable. Community and support finding their roots as people get reaccustomed to humanity.

This is your primary position in this odd society you've found for yourself. You liked to keep busy otherwise and a shrink wasn't needed all the time. You were mostly upon request, and to evaluate people for patrol and children in school. Your office was made to be cozy and welcoming to your patients.

You are one of Jackson’s youngest founding members. You had learned that you were very fortunate to never encounter a QZ or quarantine zone like so many others you had encountered throughout the years. You had survived out in the vast wilderness for so long and had minimal encounters with FEDRA or the Fireflies. Sure you had encountered brutal groups of raiders and those who would harm you without second thought, but you were careful and you knew the world was “us or them.” You knew that after having to kill that first person or rather infected who had lunged at you on that fateful day of September 26, 2003.

According to those who had encountered these bigger groups, they expressed that it was practically a war for power and leverage— tale as old as time. It wrought destruction wherever society had tried to establish itself and enforce itself amongst its inhabitants. And you knew, because you studied these patterns in textbooks. It was repetitive throughout history. Living through it has been much different than reading about it in your textbooks. Who would've thought. You can hear a familiar voice quip in the back of your mind. You're grateful you've never allowed yourself to forget that voice.

You sit behind your desk across from a particularly wily teen, she is restless and won't look you in the eye. Her eyes wandered throughout your room, scanning the posters you had made, the art you had decorated the walls with.

“You do those?” She finally speaks, her leg nervously bouncing and her fingers gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

You tilt your head and nod. “Mhmm” you hum, watching her as she realizes how intently you are studying her.

“What the fuck are you lookin’ at me like that for?” She snaps, clearly not appreciative of the attention.

“Just asked your name,” you wait for an answer if she's willing to. You're not startled by her harsh language, and you can tell by her sly grin that she's used to people correcting her language.

“If I give you it will you quit lookin’ at me like you're tryin’ to figure me out,” she quips back, her eyes still refusing to meet yours.

“That's my job.” You state, letting out a deep breath and you stop staring, looking down at some papers on your desk.

“Ellie,” her fingers loosen to push a strand of hair out of her face. The movement of warm air through the room makes her baby hairs tickle her nose and she sniffles— trying not to sneeze.

You grin and you look back up at her after you feel her trying to study you right back.

“Ellie, nice to meet you.” You give her your name and tell her the purpose of this meeting.

She slowly nods her head and rolls her eyes.

“You were in Boston QZ before this, correct?” You ask.

She just nods and huffs as she slinks back into the chair.

You try to hide a smirk as the typical teenage mannerisms withstand all tests of time and circumstance.

You schedule her for an evaluation test for children her age, she'd be a sophomore in highschool, fifteen… from what you knew about QZ it would be the equivalent of 8th grade. But you can't expect the same focus on education when everyone is just trying to make it to the next day. You're grateful for any formal education at all for these kids.

You still can't comprehend that it's been two decades since the outbreak, that even twenty year olds don’t remember before. I mean hell, thirty year olds were only ten… you had only been twenty-three. Now you're, fuck… forty-three, nearly forty-four as you inch towards Spring.

“Are we done here?” She huffs again, her arms tight across her body as she watches you jott her information down.

“Yes,” you close your notebook and slot the pen into the binding. “Make sure you're here tomorrow at 10am, and after that we can talk about what you can expect from school here in Jackson. And make sure to tell your dad so he can hold you accountable to be here. I promise… this is a good thing.” You offer her a smile, and she finally looks into your eyes.

“Not my dad,” she mutters under her breath as she grips the arms of the chair and lifts herself up, making her way towards the door. She turns towards you again and pauses.

“So… what are you?” She asks, tilting her head as she studies you. Your desk, your outfit, your hair… A chill runs down your spine as you're being observationally interrogated by this kid. You should be more used to this by now, but you're not. Being seen makes you want to run away and hide, but it's part of the job. Can't just people watch, you have to interact. At least you've learned how to keep your cool under prodding eyes.

“I'm a guidance counselor as of this moment.” You set aside your notebook and sit back in your chair.

She hums in response, pursing her lips in consideration, “So… what, you just guide kids and decide what they have to do in school?”

You nod your head in a ‘you’re half-way there’ kinda way.

“So what else do you do when you're not ‘as of this moment’,” she mocks your verbiage and you fight back a grin. Curiosity is one of your favorite qualities in kids, every topic under the sun you were ecstatic to dive into and satiate some curiosity… well, most everything.

“I'm what they call a shrink, people come to me when they want to talk.”

“About what?” She quickly quips back in, you can see her gears turning. Clearly she had never encountered someone of this occupation before in the QZ, not surprising.

“Anything they want to talk about or want to work through. Troubles they're having, bad dreams, trouble focusing, mental and emotional stuff.” You hope to encourage her curiosity as best as you can, yet grandly simplifying the prospects of what you do.

“So… you just listen to people's problems?” She tilts her head again, leaning against the chair she had been sitting on as she looks at you intently.

You nod your head and smile sweetly. “That's the idea. Doesn't have to be all problems.”

“So if you listen to everyone else's problems, who is left to listen to yours?” She is insatiably curious it seems.

You open your mouth to reply— but you never really pondered that before, you were unsure what might be your reply. Miraculously, knuckles rapt against the open door frame interrupting whatever train of thought either you or Ellie were on.

You both turn towards the door as a brooding figure breaches the room. He just huffs as he looks at you, quickly turning towards Ellie.

“‘M I interruptin’?” He looks between the two of you. His eyes linger on you and his brows furrowed for a split second before he looks back at Ellie. “Tommy told me I'd find y' here.” His stocky form not moving as he waits for a reply.

“We were just finishing up.” You nod your head towards Ellie and she nods back, you hate the look of someone trying to figure you out but you shake it off. You wonder how people deal with you doing that to them. Looking at you and trying to see your bare bones, your spiritual bruises. You wonder what people might see. But your curiosity for the human condition never wandered towards yourself. It was always people watching or observing, listening and being attentive to those around you. It was a one-way street, not for someone to come waltzing in to do the same to you. “You can take a Tootsie pop if you’d like,” you motion towards a glass jar on your desk, a usual favorite for those who visit your office.

“Can’t be the real thing though, can it?” The older man asks.

“Specially made. You’re free to have one as well if you’d like.” Being friends with a baker who enjoyed making candy was definitely a blessing.

He stares at the jar and his jaw ticks, a slight amusement spread on his lips. “Always was a favorite of mine, but not this time ‘round.” He turns back to Ellie.

“C’mon kiddo, dinner.” Is all he says. He offers you a polite nod, but nothing beyond that. A familiar interaction, reminiscent of a time before — when interacting with school officials used to be a normal requirement for parents. Consistent tracking of their child’s progress and social skills— things that seem so foreign now, but Jackson was intent on bringing that focus back to the children.

You can see his back straighten and tense as they turn and leave your office and head towards the exit of the school. A wave of memory passed through you at the oddly out of place familiarity which you had to shake out of your body to move past. Not allowing it to linger.

You tilt your head as the footsteps disappear down the hall. Dad. You saw him and that's what you saw in him, a dad from before. And you already knew that. You’ve known Tommy for nearly a decade, but seeing the man you'd heard so much about was a different side of this knowledge. You suck in a deep breath.

Over-analysing everything and everyone was your specialty, but it was also a fucking curse. You wish it was only offered information, that your brain didn't try to fill in-between, the non-verbal, the body language, the reactions… It was exhausting. You weren't always right, but unfortunately for you, it was very rare that you weren't.

People trusted you professionally, but were wary of you elsewhere. Didn't like that you could read them, and you didn't blame them. You completely understood that, you were lucky that you were the only cursed one in those regards.

But Ellie seemed awfully curious, now that you're thinking back to the conversation— Like she was trying to read you. You shake your head and get up from your desk. She's just a kid, she’s just curious. That's nothing new.

You grab your winter coat, flip off the light switch, and close the door of your office behind you. As if right on queue a familiar voice calls for you from down the street, towards the mess hall.

“Hey, M.C.” you shiver as you adjust to the cold winter air.

“Maria’s been looking for you,” she falls into step beside you as you make your way back to your house.

You merely continue walking, knowing she'll fill you in on whatever the hell she’s on about.

“Says it's a family meeting thing,” she continues, she's got a bright smile on her face and looks up towards the sky, a brand new snowfall is beginning yet again. “Says dinner tomorrow at 7pm if you can make it, that new man and girl will be there.”

You nod again, it makes sense, he is Tommy’s brother after all. Tommy and Maria were family at this point, you'd known Maria and her father for a year or so as they formulated the plan to build this fortress which was now Jackson. Nearly a decade ago now.

You were there when they planned the defenses, outlined the borders, harvested the trees, fixed up the houses. You had a hand in most projects, always wanting to stay busy. You would help cook and prepare the meals for the men who did most of the work. Thankfully, someone else took that role as the town became more established. Lucy and her sisters showing up would be considered heaven-sent if you believed in that.

You helped build the greenhouse which Kristina or Kris took over, she had been a farmer and had the greenest thumb you'd ever known.

The Tipsy Bison was part of an old bar so it already had the right set up, but it quickly became Sean and Leslie’s passion project. A functioning moonshine distillery out back, aged barrels of whiskey being cultivated, and the start of a vineyard about a mile outside of town.

Starting off with a mere forty people, you were now part of a community of around three hundred. By occupation, you knew each and every one by name. And as wary as people were around you initially, they trusted you. You were, what could be considered as, a pillar in the community.

People wanted purpose, they wanted connection, they wanted to make a difference and put their skills to use. No different than you, and at least your purpose continued to be fruitful for those in the community. Not everyone wanted to talk, you never made them. Couldn't stop you from understanding and sometimes that made people uneasy. So, you stayed away unless sought after. The best you could anyways, especially around new people.

It's why the only interaction you had with Tommy’s dark and brooding brother Joel thus far had been those few brief encounters.

You’d admit to yourself at some point that it was merely an excuse which allowed those professional boundaries to continue shielding you, and to keep your own walls up. You were simply better off alone, you preferred the company of the dogs at the kennels or the horses at the stables.

“I think that girl is a real piece of work,” M.C. says as you walk side by side, kicking a chunk of snow which had begun to melt.

You look over at her and raise an eyebrow at her. She always was opinionated. Again, you didn't have to ask, she'd tell you anyway. The air always suspends as she goes on a ramble.

“Asked if I could join her at lunch and she almost launched herself over the table at me with a knife in hand.”

You scoff at the scene in your head, then nod understandably. “She's been through a lot.” You look over at M.C. and sigh, “glad she didn't hurt you.” Satisfying M.C.’s need for that reassurance from you, it's her hook, line, and sinker to get you to admit you care for her, at least verbally. There should be no doubt to be had for how much you cared for her, however, she needed some verbal reminders along with everything else. You could do that.

“Thanks,” she huffs, “reminds me of J.R.”

You turn towards her and wrap your arms around her shoulder, “about that age…” you pull her close as you feel her head hang low for a moment before she pops back up.

“Kinda reminds me of you too, you know.” She smiles up at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Oh, is that right?” you chuckle, watching the younger woman bend down to scoop a bit of snow into her glove covered hand. She molds it into a ball and pulls her arm back and up, you could tell she was aiming it right for your head. And she's got a hell of an arm on her.

You sigh deeply as she launches the snowball and you manage to easily dodge it. You see M.C.’s eyes widen as she looks behind you in embarrassment, her face already pink from the frigid winter air turning even more red.

“I'm so sorry, I wasn't aiming for you, I didn't know you were behind us, I'm so sorry…” she's stammering an apology and you have to stifle a laugh as you turn to see who's approached from behind you.

It was Joel, holding up his hand, gesturing for her to stop her apologies as he wipes the snow from the collar of his jacket. “Good aim, kid,” is all he says, barely a grumble, but audible from where you were standing.

“Had a great teacher,” she looks at you, indicating who her teacher was. You roll your eyes briefly.

“What can I do for you?” you ask as politely as you can knowing this isn’t a social call.

“Jus’ walkin to my house,” he motions his head towards Ellie who was waiting for him on the porch and giggling, having watched the whole debacle.

You look at M.C. who has quickly shaken off her embarrassment. Never lasts long. “You've finally got a neighbor!” She tries to break the quiet tension.

“Suppose so,” your shoulders draw closer to your head as a winter breeze stings your face.

You had lived on this empty street for nearly two years now. It only had yours and three other remodeled houses, but no one had occupied them. They were bigger houses for those who may come in with larger groups who wanted to stay together, or if someday someone grew a larger family and wanted to relocate.

Maria and Tommy had insisted you stay closer to them, but you had grown particularly attached to this house once you began its repairs. They knew once you had your heart set on something, they would not be the ones to stand between you and it. It was a four bedroom, two bathroom house with a large back deck and a fenced in backyard that you had spent countless hours tearing down and replacing broken boards of the picket fence and deck, repairing windows, deep cleaning the entirety of it and ensuring no dust bunnies remained. Even at the end of the world, your allergy to dust taunts you with its impracticality. You scrubbed the house head to toe, and used the paint Tommy had found on a patrol to paint the master bedroom a soothing light blue. You had painted the door the same color. This was your sanctuary.

“Joel, c’mon it's fucking cold!” You hear Ellie half-yell as the wind whips at us.

You see Joel mumble ‘language’ grumpily under his breath as he walks towards the front porch of the house. Now you know where that look from before in your office had come from, when you hadn't scolded her for her language.

Don't look, don't look. Your brain screams to you as you tear your eyes from the brief, unintentional glance at Joel. You knew if you looked at him you'd see more than you wanted to, more than his broad shoulders… his long, thick legs. The tanned skin beneath greying curls at the nape of his neck. The black toque he wore covered his usual brown hair with streaks of grey which you had caught glimpses of when he wasn't wearing a hat. Just so— him. Everything about him just makes sense to you.

You peel your eyes away again, and turn away from his house to your own. Trudging through the snow of the walkway to get to your front steps. You mentally note to shovel it tomorrow morning so any snowfall overnight will be fresh and easier to move.

“Your type,” you hear M.C. murmur behind you. You elbow her ribs harshly, holding back a chuckle as she huffs in pain but doesn't say anything. It was a common enough occurrence.

“No,” you don't acknowledge her words any further as you step into the warmth of your home. You shed your jacket and take M.C.’s to hang on the coat tree.

“You need to get out and live a little,” she begins shaking the snow out of her hat.

“Not him,” you state, a stern look on your face as she rolls her eyes and kicks off her boots. “Now stop shaking snow all over the place.”

“You're a boring hag,” she grumbles, shivering and collapsing dramatically onto the couch in your living room.

“I'm not,” it’s barely audible as you walk up the stairs to your bedroom to get changed into more suitable clothing for your next shift.

“You are, how long has it been since you've gotten laid again?” She calls, you can hear her footsteps echoing as she walks into the kitchen, brewing coffee as she waits.

“M.C. that's still none of your business,” you peek your head out of the bedroom door so your voice can travel down the stairs.

“I'm thirty now, you know. I'm not an innocent kid anymore, I'm not a vir-”

You cut her off promptly, you've already heard it before. You're the one she talks to about it, after all. “You always will be to me, kid.”

You hear an exasperated sigh as she putts around while you get changed. A few minutes later you're back downstairs, grabbing your own cup of coffee in your most reliable jeans, layered with your soft pajama pants beneath them and thick wool socks you were so grateful for in this weather. Your jeans still had paint stains from when you painted the stables a few months ago.

“So what's on the task-list for today?” M.C. can tell you're not in the mood for further discussion on that matter. Knowing when you're in an antisocial “mood”, that the only thing you'll talk about is work or… no, that's about it.

“Today is Horseshoe day, I'll try to get around to two or three of the horses,” you set your coffee on an end table and pull your boots back on and tie the laces tight.

“And I'm bringing Apollo back home with me today since his paw is still healing from stepping on that nail. Poor little guy.” You bloom when you talk about work, you can't really talk about your other job— what with patient-therapist confidentiality and all.

“Are you ready for winter to be over?” She is trying to keep the conversation light as you finish your coffee, holding the mug tightly against your hands. They always take the longest to warm up.

You hum quietly as you set the mug aside. “What are we doing this year, do you have any plans?” You can see the gears turning in her head as you approach this topic. The beginning of spring always marks another year and another birthday celebration for M.C.’s sister who will forever remain fifteen. It's tradition and the way you commemorate the people you’ve lost. It was healthy, it had been your idea a few years ago. She had just one sibling, whereas you had three, so this time of year seemed the most appropriate to celebrate the lives of those you had lost. The fade into a new season, flowers blooming, the air slowly warming. It was the mark of a new beginning, and you hoped that someday… it could be that for you too.

Your birthday was only six days after J.R.’s, but you had forgone celebrating it since the outbreak and you were stern on that matter.

Over time, the sting of loss and grief morphed its way into a semblance of guilt. Then, it became the one thing that brought you meaning through your survival. The reason you kept going, kept helping others, kept listening. It seemed that M.C. was healthily dealing with those losses, with your guidance, listening ear, and support— she had made strides. It helped that you shared a lot of the same lost loved ones. She was able to mourn and grieve and be at peace. You knew you could never do the same.

You were always a hypocrite, you knew that most of all.

Talk the talk yet never walk the walk. Another curse of yours, regardless of how hard you had tried.

The difference was that you never had any faith. Not in yourself, not in any higher power, not in any other person… your soul was lonely and restless. You were okay with that, you weren't here for you. You were here for M.C. and Maria and Tommy and the town who had come to rely on you to just listen. To just be. You could do that.

“I was thinking of talking to Kris and getting some rose bushes put outside my house,” she says, smiling sweetly.

You smile in return, a sweet sentiment towards both her sister and one of your own. As well as your grandmother. Rose. Jenny Rose. Brittany Rose. And even your own whom you had named directly after your grandmother. Rosemonde. Fittingly so, your grandmother also loved to keep rose bushes.

“I think that would be perfect, just like grandma used to have.” You grab your coat from the coat tree and pull it on. You replace your toque to your head and wrap your plaid scarf around your neck, tucking the ends into your coat.

M.C. nods her head and gives you a shy smile. “Lots of Roses in our family, seems fitting.”

“I love it,” you reassure her again, knowing that she appreciates your thoughts on the matter, even if they’re brief.

“I’m glad I got to meet and know her, you know.”

Your jaw tenses and you take a deep breath, pausing as you reach your hand towards the doorknob. “Yeah,” it’s just a whisper under your breath.

“Normal time?” M.C. stands up from your couch and follows you to the front door, she has her own shift to get to.

“Yep, see ya bright and early,” the two of you leave the house, you hold the door and let her out before closing it behind you.

Going your separate ways, you turn to wave to each other and then head in opposite directions.

At the same time, Ellie emerged from the house across the street with her hands shoved in her pockets, grumbling to herself. She sees you and raises an eyebrow as she sees you walking towards the stables and kennels.

“Where are you headed?” She approaches you— ever curious, this one.

“Stables,” you continue on your way and give her a warm smile. The wind is howling around you as the sun begins disappearing over the horizon.

“You start a shift outside this late at night?” She kicks a clump of snow and giggles as the fresh layer of powder flies everywhere.

“Mhmm, just a few things tonight.” your gloves hands are buried in your pockets as you keep your shoulders hunched to block out as much of the wind as you can.

“Like what?”

“Horseshoes are due for replacin’.” You grin as she walks with you. You oblige her curiosity and guide her to the stables. You grab the new horseshoes and all the materials you will need to complete this task, Ellie is happily following you around asking slews of questions which you oblige as she observes the ease of everything with your practiced expertise.

The stable smells of hay and leather, the rhythmic swish of tails filling the quiet morning air. She watches your every move, absorbing your words like sunlight.

“Why do you talk like a Southerner? You're not Texan like Joel, are you?”

“I'm from the South, but no, I'm not from Texas,” and you leave it at that.

She sighs in disapproval to your brief reply and refusal to give anything else about you away as she watches you closely.

You kneel beside the horse, gently running your hand down its leg. You lift the hoof with a firm yet gentle grip, resting it on your knees and showing her how to cradle it in your hand. “Look here,” you point to the old shoe, “You need to check for any cracks, debris, or signs of infection in the hoof before you start.” She crouches beside you, eyes wide as she studies the sole. “See that?” you gesture to a small stone lodged in the frog. “That’s why we clean them out regularly.”

“Now for the old shoe,” you explain, picking up the pull-offs. “These are what you’ll use to loosen and remove the nails.” You demonstrate, gripping the edge of the shoe and working each nail out carefully. “It’s important to be patient here. Don’t rush it, or you could hurt the hoof.”

She mimics your movements on the next hoof, her hands a little unsure. You guide her, placing your hand over hers to adjust her grip. “Good,” you encourage. “See how it starts to loosen?” She nods, a small smile forming as the shoe comes free.

With the shoe off, you grab the hoof pick. “Now, we clean it thoroughly,” scraping away dirt and debris with one hand, you pick up the nippers with the other, their polished blades glinting in the light, “and then we trim.”

“Here’s the tricky part,” you eye her carefully to ensure she's paying attention. “You only want to trim enough to balance the hoof. Too much, and the horse will be sore.” You take small, deliberate cuts. Then, you hand the nippers to her. She hesitates but follows your lead, trimming carefully under your watchful eye.

“Good,” you nod your head in approval, showing her how to smooth the edges with the rasp. “Feel that? It should be even, not rough.” She runs her hand over the hoof and grins. “I got it!”

You watch her bright smile, her eyes lit up in excitement.

You grab a new shoe from the rack, holding it up for her to see. “Next, we fit the new shoe. Every hoof is unique, so sometimes you’ll need to shape the shoe a bit.” You place it against the hoof, checking the fit. “See? This one’s a perfect fit. Justin and Michael operate the forge and fit the shoes for the horses with my instructions. Then, they bring them back and I replace ‘em.”

“Now comes the nailing,” you pick up a hammer and nails. “This part can be intimidating, but as long as you aim for the white line, you’ll be fine.” You position the first nail and drive it in with a few firm taps.

Handing her the hammer, you guide her through the process, “Keep your hand steady.” She bites her lip in concentration, driving the nail home. “Got it!” she exclaims, her face lighting up again.

You finish the job together, bending and clipping the nails, then rasping the edges smooth. “See how secure it is?” you ask, tapping the shoe. She nods, pride shining in her eyes.

“And you just shoed your first horse,” you beam as she giggles in excitement.

“Last step, though” you lower the hoof to the ground. “Always check the horse’s gait after re-shoeing. Make sure they’re moving comfortably.” You lead the horse in a slow circle, watching closely.

The horse’s steps are steady and even. “Looks good. You did great for your first time.”

She blushes at the compliment and digs her toe in the dirt, brushing her hands off on her jeans, “Thanks for showing me.”

You smile, resting a hand on her shoulder, “Had to get done anyway, happy to show you.”

You take her to the next horse and let her instruct you with what to do, what comes next, what tools to use. You fill in the holes of anything she wasn't sure about or even basic things to remember when doing it. She watches you excitedly and requests to nail the shoe on. You let her and watch her closely. You nod in satisfaction and she bursts with excitement. “I did it!”

“Ellie, there you are. Been lookin’ f’you.” you both turn to face the man who had just entered the stables.

“See, you both are so Southern.”

“Gotta tell me next time you run off like that,” she rolls her eyes at his scolding.

“Just wanted to see what Shrink was up to is all, she taught me how to shoe horses!” Great, now she's calling you that too. You don't correct her.

She leans against one of the swinging gates, rocking back and forth.

“Stop that, damagin’ the hinge…” he glances at you for a moment and nods in acknowledgement to what she had said.

“So bossy,” she groans as she complies, turning back towards you with a wide grin. “This was awesome, I really like being around the horses.”

“Kid’s a natural,” you shrug your shoulders as you go over what you showed Ellie and how she was handling the horses pretty well even though it was her first time working with them.

Ellie runs off for a moment to go talk to the horse you had just reshoed together, gently patting his neck and petting his head.

Joel merely listens, a smile briefly spreading on his lips as he glances at Ellie with the horse as you talk fondly of Ellie's natural skills with animals.

“Thanks for showin’ her, I know she can be a lot with all her questions,” his hands were buried in his pockets. The night was beginning to settle in. Although it was warmer in the stables, the winter breeze at night was enough to chill you deep in your bones.

“No worries at all, it was nice to have the company.” You shiver and do the same with your hands. You were surprised you actually meant that, you usually preferred the solitary work of working with animals. But you always enjoyed fulfilling some curiosity with kids. Especially since you knew Ellie had been having some trouble interacting with others since she got back from wherever she and Joel had gone.

“Gonna need some gloves,” you look over to Ellie who seemed perfectly content since she was in a stall and hidden from the breezy alley of the stables.

He hums in agreement and beckons Ellie over. “Bedtime, kiddo, gettin’ late.”

She huffs, a resting smile on her face and turns with that glint in her eyes that means she's got more questions to ask, always does. “Can I help with the next ones?”

“I'll be back out every night to reshoe until I'm done, you're always welcome as long as it's okay with him.” He nods in your direction, appreciating including him in that decision.

“I don't think we ever formally met,” you extend your hand out to Joel and introduce yourself. You knew of each other previously, of course. You were close with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy's wife, Maria.

You’ve met him before—briefly, in passing. That one night by the stables… then merely a nod here, a wave there. Nothing substantial, just fragments of acknowledgment that barely hinted at what it might feel like to stand face to face with him again. Now, here in the stables, the air is heavy with the smell of hay and leather, and he’s looking at you as though he’s noticing you for the first time. Maybe he is.

He takes your hand and you have to resist the urge to memorize every tiny sensation of him touching you. His grip is firm, his palm calloused, and for a moment, neither of you let go. It’s not awkward—not quite—but it’s long enough for something unspoken to pass between you

He’s not the sort of man who makes introductions easy. There’s a quiet steadiness and intensity to him, the kind of presence that fills the space without trying. His brown hair greys at the temples, and the lines at the corners of his eyes seem earned rather than given. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with hands that look like they’ve known hard work and brutality in equal measure. You catch yourself staring too long at them before shifting your gaze to his face.

“Joel,” the moment seems suspended, at least from your perspective. Your hands finally let go and find their ways back at your sides and then slip back into your pockets.

The deep, chocolate brown of his eyes were mesmerizing in the dim lighting of the stables. Ellie is nearby, fussing with the brushes on the stable wall, completely oblivious—or perhaps pretending to be. She’s good at that, you’ve noticed. Clever and calculating. She’s humming under her breath, an unspoken permission for the two of you to take this moment for what it is. She wants you two to get along, likely to be able to gain his favor in returning to the stables.

It's odd, it should be awkward just standing there even for a brief moment, but it's comfortable. You finally address Ellie after a few moments, clearing your throat gently, “Guess I'll be seeing you around. And don't forget, 10am.”

Ellie nods and smiles at the two of you, but rolls her eyes. “Don’t you want to walk with us? We’re basically going to the same place.”

You glance at Joel, who’s still looking at Ellie, his jaw tight with some unspoken thought.

You shake your head, denying her request to walk back with them, “Headed to the kennels before I head back,” you explain. “One of the pups is healing from an injury and needs some extra T.L.C.”

Ellie scoffs at the phrase. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Tender lovin’ care,” Joel answers before you can, his tone flat but quiet, like the words cost him just enough to make you notice. Ellie’s face scrunches with exaggerated disapproval, shaking her head.

“Weirdos.”

“Takes one to know one,” you retort without thinking, earning a sharp laugh from Ellie. She tries to stifle it, but it spills out, raw and unfiltered. You grin, the sound unexpectedly lifting something heavy in the air.

Joel shakes his head at her, his lips twitching like he’s trying to contain a grin of his own. For a moment, he looks younger, less burdened, though the edges of his warmth feel guarded, like something he’s forgotten how to share freely.

Ellie looks between the two of you, an amused glint in her eye. “Well, thanks again, you can catch up with me, Joel.” She nods her head sternly as if letting you know she’s intentionally leaving you two for a moment. She spins on her heel and heads toward the path leading out of the stables. Joel watches her go, his gaze lingering with a softness that seems at odds with the hard lines of his expression.

“I should get going too,” you say, breaking the silence. The words feel stilted, out of place, like they don’t belong in the charged air between you.

Joel shifts his weight, looking at you now. His gaze is steady, unreadable, yet it carries a weight that makes you want to look away and hold it all at once. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he says, his voice low, his drawl stretching the syllables just enough to make the simple phrase feel layered.

“Right,” you tuck your hands into your pockets as if to ground yourself. “We’re just across the way, so… yeah.”

He nods, his eyes flicking to the space between your boots and back up. “S’how neighbors typically work.” He repeats that sentiment M.C. had mentioned earlier.

It feels like a statement and a question all at once.

“Yep,” a faint smile begins tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Joel doesn’t smile back, not fully, but there’s a shadow of it in his expression, in the slight tilt of his head. He takes a step toward the path Ellie disappeared down, then hesitates, but continues down the path after Ellie.

You stand there for a moment longer, watching his broad shoulders disappear into the moonlight.

Somehow, the space he leaves behind feels different than it should. Like he was always meant to be there.

As you walk with Apollo in your arms the moon rises high in the sky. You approach your front porch and see movement in your peripheral coming from Joel’s house.

Soon, the door swings open and Ellie is pulling on her boots, you can nearly hear Joel scoldingly asking where’s she going and she gives a brief answer you can’t quite hear. “Do you mind if I say hi?” She bounds down the stairs of their house and approaches you.

You raise a brow until you feel the wag of a tail against you from Apollo. “Oh- sure, this is Apollo.”

He sniffs her hand experimentally before happily accepting her hand on the top of his head as she pats him.

Joel watches, the light seeping around him from behind his broadness in the doorway.

His ankles crossed as his shoulder leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed. Not wearing the coat and flannel layers you were used to seeing him in. Just a long sleeve shirt rolled up his forearms revealing the thickness of his wrists and the bulge of his muscles in the tight shirt. His chest stretching the fabric… Your eyes found their way down to his jeans which stretched tight around his muscular thighs…your gaze travels back to his eyes which immediately bore into yours. His head tilted more than it had been just a moment ago.

You have to peel your eyes away, blinking rapidly and steadying your breath from its momentary lapse of judgement.

Get a grip. You have to demand in your head, focusing back on the wriggly dog in your hands. Ellie fussed over him while his tail continued its rhythmic whack against you as you held him firmly.

You feel your face burn but you refuse to make eye contact with him again. You can feel the sheer heat of his gaze on your face which you have to fight with all your willpower to not meet. You swallow harshly, then a few moments later hear his heavy booted steps coming down the stairs from his house.

Despite the temperature being near freezing, you suddenly feel hot, burning actually. And his lack of jacket with his exposed forearm as he reaches over to greet the puppy definitely doesn’t help.

He hasn’t looked at you since his eyes focused on the dog, you nearly sigh deeply in relief. You could bring yourself to believe he hadn’t really been looking at you, you had just fooled yourself because he had caught you staring and blatantly looking him up and down…

As soon as your heart begins to return to normal his eyes drag up to your face and a smirk is fixed on his face.

“Cute fella,” he addresses the dog as he looks back down at him. The dog is living for the extra attention. “What breed s’he?”

“Australian Cattle Dog,” you reply as smoothly as you can, but a bit of coarseness to your voice betrays you.

What the fuck is going on with you?

Joel’s eyes flick back up to yours, lingering on your lips for a moment before the slyest smile spreads on his own. He swallows harshly in return and steps back from the dog.

“Alright, let’s turn in for the night, kiddo,” he motions his head back to the house and she reluctantly stomps up the stairs.

You stand face to face with him once more and Apollo reaches his head towards Joel for more pats which Joel happily obliges and gives him a scratch behind his ear. Apollo really likes that, his tail thumps harder against you.

“I meant to thank you again for that one night. Turns out you’re right about Valerian root. Couldn’t get my hands on any Chamomile at the dispensary.”

You nod, rooted to the spot you were standing until you hear yourself mentioning that you had some chamomile leaves if he ever decides to give it a try. Your eyes go wide in surprise for a moment as you glance down to the snow, avoiding his eye contact.

Your eyes return to him to notice the nodding of his head and his chest rising and falling in a deep exhale and release of breath.

“You better get out of this cold,” you motion your head towards where Ellie was rolling her eyes from the doorway, waiting for him in the warmth of their house.

He merely nods again and turns to return to his house, before he takes any steps he hesitates and makes a half-turn to make eye contact with you again. “G’night.”

You shiver as the wind whips at you, you hold Apollo a little closer to your chest.

“G’night” you reply, but he’s already disappeared into his house.

You quickly turn to enter your own house, your face feels warm. You walk over to the couch and set Apollo down gently, offering him a blanket from the back of the couch. He curls into your side as you sit beside him and you exhale a shaky laugh of disbelief. Your heart is beating at a quickened pace.

No fucking way- you’ve got a crush.

You lie awake through the night, restless as usual, but this time your thoughts are consumed by the man across the street. You don’t have much to go off of yet, you’d think there wasn’t much to overthink… Yet you’re proven wrong as you replay every glance, every word, every encounter— dissecting each one in search of meaning. You try to convince yourself it was all just harmless neighborly kindness, dismissing any moment that might have alluded to anything more.

It surprised you, though. That he would even spare a glance your way… let alone be neighborly.

You’ve never been so surprised by someone before. He makes so much sense yet none all at once.