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prolix-yuy · 11 months ago

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The Reason for the Season

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: What does Christmas mean after the world falls apart? Ellie sure doesn't know, but Joel knows who might.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: T, some suggestive thoughts, one steamy kiss, teen angst and a whole lot of yearning! Our reader is given the following attributes: a history of Christmas celebrations, a father, and while not stated in the fic, she was old enough to be a teacher when the outbreak happened. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Hello to my sweet Sil @psychedelic-ink! I'm your not-so-secret Santa and I'm here to deliver your holiday fic! And doubly, your birthday present! I’m so glad we got to meet on this wild app, and may your holidays and your birthday be as amazing as you!

You asked for something very Christmas-y with some friends to lovers romance, and boy did this get out of hand! I hope you enjoy Joel finding a little Christmas spirit.

Cross-posted on AO3

There’s little sacred in the world anymore, but making the morning cup of coffee might be as close as Joel gets. The early rising, his bedtime vestments crumpled and stretched across tired muscles. The soothing routine: the mug, the pour over coffee dripper, and the Holy Beans. Every movement is seamless, practiced and almost sightless for those mornings when he can’t peel his eyes open. All in service to the first sip, and the glorious awakening it will bring.

Though with the clattering of Doc Martens and teen angst coming down the stairs, it’s not necessarily needed.

“Mornin’,” Joel rumbles over the mug, eyebrows raised at Ellie’s earlier-than-usual scowl. She opens the fridge, every movement thrown to the extremes of her small frame. Bowl clattering, spoon chiming against stoneware, a worrisome glug of milk, and she returns to flop into her seat across from Joel. He takes another sip, maybe a little louder than usual.

“Sounds the same going in as coming out,” she grumbles, but the half smile she allows is a triumph.

“Told you not to listen in on a man’s morning movements.” Ellie scrunches her nose up at that, jabbing her spoon into some granola. She’s only moving it around, not partaking, and Joel sets his cup down on the table. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looks down his nose at her.

“Something on your mind?”

Joel was never much for beating around the bush with Sarah’s moods, and he certainly hasn’t changed much with Ellie. She sighs and lets the spoon clatter back into the bowl.

“What the hell is up with Christmas?”

The question works better than the coffee, brain scrambling into overdrive in much the same way as when he caught Ellie holding a beat-up Bearskin magazine.

“Well…” he starts pensively, but Ellie bowls right through his low hum.

“Like some of the kids celebrate it and others don’t, but neither of them know why. Everyone’s arguing about something called Santa. And they’re bringing trees inside!” She tosses her hands, giving him a weird am I right look that butts against his confused expression.

“FEDRA didn’t teach you kids about Christmas?”

Ellie shrugs, folding her legs up into the kitchen chair.

“I’ve heard of it, but y’know…not exactly high on their list of priorities.” She starts worrying at a small rip in her jeans until Joel snaps a warning look. He just bartered for those, he won’t have her hurrying them back to scrap.

“I’ve kinda been…pretending I get it.” She trails off, face closing back up and Joel recognizes the outburst for what it is. Embarrassment.

“Well, Christmas is something that, uh…that lots of families celebrated before. It’s, uh…it’s a time at the end of the year to be…you know, to be together and thankful. That sort of thing.”

He can practically hear her eyes roll.

“But what the hell’s a Santa, and trees, and all the baking?” Her finger shoots up, angled directly at Joel. “I know there are presents!”

Joel scoffs, taking another sip and ruminating on how to tackle a tradition he’s barely paid attention to since the outbreak. It all felt so insignificant in the winters following, only a counter for how long he’s suffered so far. Then, when things calmed a fraction, the idea of opening his heart to anything remotely like thankfulness made him want to bloody every knuckle.

So he tucked his chin and paid no attention to parents trying their best to give their children something bright in the darkest days of winter. Tess never mentioned it, the shine in her eyes at candles lit in windows hard to distinguish from tears. And now, twenty-odd years later, he can barely fathom where to start.

“There’s a lot of traditions, variations. I don’t remember half of ‘em, but…” A sudden spark of an idea, a way to cheat out of this conversation and not get sulked to death over it, catches the corner of his mouth. “But I think that teacher you like might have some books about it.”

Ellie’s face lights up, abandoning her bowl to go galloping back up the stairs to her room. “Eat something first, then we’ll go,” trails up behind her. Joel savors the last bit of coffee before rising to rinse the cup, his own smile tugging at his lips. Shouldering his heavy winter jacket, Ellie wolfs down four bites of her granola while still in motion. Wiping her chin with the cuff of her jacket, she shoots a shit-eating grin at Joel as she heads to the door.

“Don’t think I didn’t catch that, old man,” she sing-songs as they move into the bracing Wyoming air. “Always looking for an excuse.”

“Whaddya mean?” he asks with as much nonchalance as he can muster, but Ellie’s raised brown and carefree shrug clearly don’t buy it.

“You’re a lousy liar, Joel.”

Not as bad as you think.

The schoolhouse is not much more than a converted home, the ground floor filled with bookshelves and improvised desks and controlled chaos. By the time Joel and Ellie came to Jackson it was well established, but Maria explained how it changed hands and struggled for years before the current teacher.

“It’s hard to prioritize learning over survival, but it’s the only way we move on as a community,” she said as she led the pair through their Jackson orientation. Ellie had been sighing heavily and dragging her feet - “school is boring, Joel, why can’t I go on patrol?” - before Maria led them into the kitchen.

“And here’s who we have to thank for dealing with our wild ones,” Maria said, and you looked up from your work.

The first thing Joel noticed was your smile. It spread so easily across your face, unselfconscious and radiant. You extended a hand to Ellie first, who suppressed enough of her ennui to act pleasant. Joel was next, enveloping her cool fingers with his large palm. He blanked on your name that time, needing to ask Maria privately for it, but the warmth and lightness of your presence could be blamed for that.

Joel didn’t believe in love at first sight, but that meeting sure as hell paved the way for the private and closely guarded crush he had on you now.

Ellie took a liking to you almost as quickly, and Joel could see why you were successful when others might have failed. You assessed her mood with ease, redirecting her dread to a section of the schoolhouse that held instruments. She moved immediately to an old guitar, cross-legged on the floor with the too-large instrument in her lap.

“Can you teach me how to play this?” she asked, and you admitted to only knowing a few chords.

“I can,” Joel piped up, his own voice surprising him. “I know how to play.”

Twin bright eyes danced on his face, and he struggled to keep the flush from creeping past his collar.

“If you have some time, I have other students who would love to learn.”

And that’s how on some afternoons Joel found himself showing a handful of teens on the cusp of adulthood how to strum chord progressions. He viewed it as a duty to the community…or at least that’s what he said when Maria and Tommy asked. It was also the perfect excuse to stop by early and chat with you, or scrutinize a leaky window or dripping faucet. Anything to keep him in the same room as you taught simple math or reading comprehension.

“Any time you want to bring that handiness by my place you’re welcome,” Tommy teased when he caught Joel waving you goodbye on the well-trodden path home.

“You take better care of your place, you won’t need help,” he spat back with no fire. Tommy shrugged, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.

“Just sayin’, that schoolhouse might withstand another apocalypse with all the work you’ve done on it. I hope its proprietor is…appreciative.” The cheeky wink eggs on a shoulder punch that almost becomes a wrestling match between two men who should know better. Instead Joel calls Tommy a name and Tommy laughs and Joel stares at the ceiling that night wondering if you would be…appreciative of what he’d like to give you.

Only some of those thoughts are pure in nature.

But the years, even the kind ones, have choked up his tongue and made him a coward. You’re clearly eligible, no other men sniffing around much to Joel’s surprise. He doesn’t think it’s completely one-sided either. You smile at him and put your hand on his shoulder and stand close enough that he can smell your soap and gentle musk. And what’s worse is you’re something rare to him, something miraculously unsullied by twenty years of hell. He didn’t think it was possible for someone to survive without hardening, without breaking and mending over and over until the repair is the whole self. But you are still kind, and understanding, and gentle, and open. There’s only one reason Joel can attribute to this rarity.

Someone loved you.

Someone loved you so very much that they protected you, let you be open-hearted and trusting even with the world crashing down. And if that someone is no longer here, that’s a hole he can never fill. But every day he spends in Jackson shedding years of plate armor and barbed wire, he contemplates if he might be getting closer to someone who could at least try.

In the meantime he makes his excuses, much like now, and suppresses the little smiles and giddy feeling in his stomach.

“Been meaning to check on that plumbing issue she had last week,” he says breezily, snow crunching underfoot and the chill air nipping at his nose.

“Suuuure, I bet you’d love to see her plumbing,” Ellie snarks, sprinting away as Joel’s face heats up.

“Watch your fucking language, kid,” he growls, the irony not lost on him, as the schoolhouse comes into view.

You can always tell when Ellie arrives. The kids born after the outbreak have a peculiar set of social norms and rules. You’re not sure if she even knows that she should knock before entering, or take her boots off. Then again, it’s an exercise in contemplation when you consider why those societal norms would return when their framework’s been shattered.

Keep your boots on in case you have to run.

Don’t announce your entrance in case something’s lurking.

A whole other etiquette you watch like a zookeeper behind glass.

“Good morning Ellie,” you call from the kitchen. Your heart flutters briefly wondering if…

“Morning, ma’am.”

Joel ambles into the kitchen, massaging heat back into his palms. His cheeks are ruddy with windburn, and you bite the inside of your lip considering how your own hot palms could warm them.

“Good morning Joel, didn’t expect you in so early.” Dusting your hands off, you round the counter to step into his space. A little game you like to play: how much more obvious must you be before he’ll notice you’re flirting with him? Another brushed shoulder, squeeze of the forearm, eyes connecting a second too long. Thrilling yes - it’s been a long time since you’ve had a crush - but at this rate you’ll both be ninety before either of you admit it.

“Ellie has something to ask you,” he says, turning to look for his ward. The strange wording patters your heartbeat into an uneasy rhythm.

“Should I be worried?” you laugh, Joel’s deep brown eyes coming back to your face with a sheepish smile. Oh god, when he smiles your knees can barely handle it.

“I might have passed the buck on a conversation.”

Before you can ask Ellie slips into the kitchen, weaving around Joel’s wider frame and hopping up on one of the barstools surrounding the kitchen island. The ones Joel made with those strong hands and thick fingers.

“What’s the deal with Christmas?”

The question catches you off guard no matter the preamble.

“Um. Huh. Well, I guess…what do you want to know?” you ask, sidling around to lean across the counter from her. Joel is still in your peripheral, practically filling the door frame.

“Everybody’s talking about it,” she bemoans, taking a dried apple slice you’d laid out and turning it on the countertop. “And I keep pretending it’s like, so awesome, but I just don’t…get it.” Her thumbnails pick at the leathery edge of the fruit, and the child you’ve watched pressure girls twice her age into shenanigans softens around the edges.

“It’s all, ‘my family does this, my family does that,’ and it’s like…I never had anyone to celebrate with before. FEDRA did some stuff with us, but it was…” A shrug, accepted without comment. “And they all seem to love it, and I maybe want to…feel that.” The hedging makes you lean further over, grabbing your own apple slice and turning it between your fingers.

“Well, Joel must have told you there are a lot of ways people celebrate the holidays.” Looking up to Joel he grimaces slightly, raising one shoulder in apology. “And there are lots of different traditions. I’m not surprised you’re confused.”

“Yes! Is Jesus like, Santa’s kid or something?”

The stifled laugh comes straight out of your nose and you have to clear your throat to keep from snorting further.

“Okay, there’s a lot to unpack here but tell you what, I’ve got a plan.” Ellie looks up at you with a guarded sparkle in her eyes, and it only widens your smile. “Let me do some research first. There are things I don’t know either. So how about you come back next week and I’ll tell you what I’ve learned during the tree decorating.”

Ellie raises an eyebrow. “Tree decorating?”

You must be glowing by now. “Oh, you are in for a treat.”

Leaning against the doorway, Joel takes in the scene. Ellie’s moment of vulnerability, buried back under her feigned indifference. The excitement bubbling under the surface of your smile.

The way you lean over the counter, the curve of your back only accentuating your shapely ass as you sway slightly.

Fuck, maybe he should just come out and confess his crush so he can at least feel awkward when he sees you instead of embarrassingly horny.

He’s relieved Ellie suggested coming to you. Your solution to his problem is simple and brilliant, a weight lifting off his chest. Sometimes Ellie is no different than his child, and other times Sarah’s memory makes the smallest endearing unbearable.

Sarah’s mom had taken care of the holiday explanation, navigating the unique customs of their little household. She explained why they had a tree and a menorah, and who’s Santa and the Festival of Lights. When Sarah got older and started asking more pointed questions, they both sat down and explained all their traditions and why they were important. Joel had, admittedly, been more of a supporting role, but for their family it worked.

Then Ellie had to pitch that question at him, looking up like Sarah had, though so much smaller, and his throat closed up. He knew she needed it. Hell, maybe even he could use some holiday cheer, but Ellie was too no-nonsense and Joel was too out of practice, ripe for bungling it up.

He’ll have to thank you in some way. Though there’s not much to fix nowadays, and if he spends much more time here volunteering he might get roped into actually being a teacher.

“...and since it’s your first time, you get to add your own ornament to the tree. It can be anything you want, and at the end of the holidays we pack it up with the others for next year.”

That’s it, he thinks. A small way to repay your kindness. He has some scrap wood in the communal woodshop, and most evenings are quiet there. There must be a coping saw in some toolbox, a few rasps and awls.

“That does sound pretty cool,” Ellie says, and where you might have thought it to be begrudging, Joel can clearly hear her excitement.

“I think you’ll love it.”

That week was one of the busiest - and sneakiest - that Joel could recall in recent years. It seemed to be the same for you, watching you flit around town with a battered notebook and chewed-up pencil. You were talking to people, smiling, laughing. Whatever the conversation was made everyone else smile too, throwing fond looks at each other. Sometimes playful bickering, or conspiratorial whispers followed, and you gathered up all those words into that well-worn notepad.

Joel, on the other hand, was making himself more scarce than usual. He kept up appearances, not slacking on patrols and showing up when he’s expected, but every free moment is spent in the woodshop.

He could have gone the simple route, cutting slices out of some nice quality wood, something with a live edge, but it was too simple. He wanted something that would make you light up, your mouth drop open and your eyes sparkle.

Further back than he’s willing to count, he remembered a fellow contractor showing him gifts he made for his daughters each year. Beautiful wooden snowflakes, carved in geometric shapes that would reveal tessellations and patterns when glued together.

The idea seemed simple enough, but it had been a long time since his hands had done anything delicate. The pattern was easy to make, but as he dragged the coping saw along the curves and points his hand would cramp, or the blade would zig when he wanted it to zag. He’d get up and walk around the shop to shake out the frustration, telling himself it’s only four more pieces…for this ornament.

When he feels like giving up and tossing the whole project in the trash, he thinks of the feeling he’ll get when you hang them on the branches, the way you might touch his arm or look into his eyes when you thank him.

And then he thinks that forget the mistletoe, he’ll kiss you whenever and wherever you’ll let him.

On the fourth day of hiding in the woodshop Ellie bursts in, halfway through a sentence before she even gets in the door.

“...and I haven’t gotten her anything and I know she’ll get me something so like, what should I…” Her entrance startles him, yanking a rag over a freshly glued ornament.

Too slow, old man, he thinks as her eyes snap to his attempt at deception.

“What’cha got there, Joel?” she asks, sly smile matching her embellished cadence.

“Just workin’ on things, what were you talking about?” he deflects, leaning on one elbow to hide the mess behind his shoulder. Ellie nods, understanding stark on her face as she ambles up.

“Oh sure, since when have you ever cared what I’m talking about?”

Joel can’t stop the hurt look dashing across his face, leaning forward. “I care…”

Tricked! Ellie’s hands dart under his arm and yank the cloth away, exposing the half-assembled ornaments and lengths of twine.

“You’re so fucking easy…” she starts to say, but the words stop when she sees the mess underneath.

“What are those?” she asks, and for a moment Joel wants to snark something back at her - none of your goddamn business or don’t make fun of me - but then he realizes she probably doesn’t have any idea what they are. What would she have seen adorning a tree? Maybe dried fruit, popcorn, little trinkets that people saved hoping one day they could have Christmas again?

So he clears his throat and makes himself vulnerable. To a teenager. Easily one of the scariest things on this earth, cordyceps included.

“They’re for the tree lighting. Had a buddy who used to make ‘em, and I thought it’d be a nice gift for…to the schoolhouse. For being so helpful and all that.” He can feel his ears reddening but Ellie hasn’t taken her eyes off the snowflakes. She traces one of the finished ones, pointer finger running along the edge he dulled with an ancient rust-filled rasp. “You hang them on the tree.”

Ellie’s quiet for a moment, inspecting and nudging the pieces around, before she finally speaks.

“They’re cool. I didn’t know contractors could make pretty things too.”

Joel snorts, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll let you know I’m a man of multitudes.”

She snorts, the tension breaking, as Joel moves pieces around to show how they fit together to form the abstract snowflake shape. As he’s explaining the process she’s shockingly quiet, but everything is open - eyes, ears, half-parted mouth. If he’d known this was something they shared he would have built things with her ages ago.

“Is one of these mine? The one I can bring?”

Joel mulls for a moment, tapping fingers on the workbench, before he hauls himself up to stand.

“Nah, I’ve got something better for you.”

It takes a few minutes of searching for a suitable wood piece not being used for something important. Then a few more to saw off a round, sweat beading on the edge of his hairline and biceps tensing. Ellie’s eyes widen when he hands her the wood circle, ushering her back to the workbench.

“I think somethin’ more personal would be good to bring. How about you write your name on it?”

Ellie’s eyes narrow, playfully mistrusting.

“Just my name?”

“You’ll see.”

As she writes and erases about six times, Joel hunts through the workshop for the little woodburning kit he spied weeks ago. It’s janky, but it doesn’t electrocute him when he plugs it in. He waves Ellie over and takes the wood, admiring her no-nonsense script.

“They ever teach you woodburning at school?” Ellie shakes her head, and Joel’s smile turns lopsided. “Then you’re gonna love this.”

Using the hot metal tip of the fat pencil-like tool, he meticulously traces her lettering, burning it permanently into the wood.

“Holy shit, that’s so cool!” she exclaims, getting close enough that he has to shoo her back so she doesn’t get wisps of woodsmoke right up her nose. He lets her finish the last E, warning her to go slow so the line doesn’t chatter. It’s not perfect, but she’s so excited he can’t find fault.

“Now for a little holiday decoration,” he mumbles, and with stiff joints and too-big hands he burns in a border of holly leaves and berries, even dotting the I in her name with one.

“All finished,” he says, and before he can even blow on the final product it’s in her hands, tracing the lines and practically thrumming with excitement.

“Can I keep it?” she asks, spinning it in her palm.

“Just until this weekend, but I can show you how to make…” His sentence trails off as she’s already heading for the door.

“Awesome, thanks Joel!” she calls over her shoulder. He chuckles to himself, ambling back to his own little project. Ellie turns in the doorway, silhouetted by the sun dipping low.

“She’ll love those too,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows and disappearing before he can retort. Sighing, he turns back to the last few pieces he needs to assemble.

He hopes she does.

Joel finishes the ornaments just in time for the tree decorating, timed perfectly with Jackson’s town square lighting. Joel saw Tommy drag the tree into your schoolhouse, conversing with you and Maria as he brushed stray needles from your front porch. The way you smiled when someone did kind things for you warmed Joel even from afar.

“Planning on helping out with the festivities tonight?” Tommy asked as the day wound down, putting boxes on the bar as Joel enjoyed a whiskey.

“Ellie wants to go to the tree decoratin’, figured I’d make myself useful.”

Tommy’s half smile hovers in his periphery. He tries to ignore it.

“You got something to hang on that nice teacher’s tree?” Joel rolls his eyes and throws back the drink. He’s not going to sit by and tolerate romance advice from his baby brother. “C’mon, you know she’s into you, right? Looks at you like you hung the moon.” Tommy leans on the bar, turning something small between his fingers. “See you looking at her like that too. Practically Hallmark shit by now.”

“See ya, Tommy,” Joel sighs, getting up from his chair while rolling his eyes.

“Well, at least you can bring this too,” he says, and holds out what he’s been fiddling with.

Joel looks down, and his heart stops.

“...Where did you…”

Tommy’s face softens, placing the item between them on the bar.

“Went home before I ended up in Jackson. Not a lot left there, but I found the Christmas box in the basement. It was one of the few things I could carry with me.” Tommy’s face fights an emotion welling up, forcing a smile even as his eyes shine. “Thought she could be part of a new tradition too.”

A small wooden ornament fashioned to look like a Christmas ball, the name “Sarah” painted in the center and surrounded by red and green patterns. She brought it home from school and it had a prominent place on their tree, even as she got older and complained about how ugly it was.

Joel’s throat is so tight his breath whistles out, chest pounding and eyes stinging, but he picks up the ornament and cradles it in his work-worn hands. Then, a lightness eases his breathing, and a soft smile plays across his face. He clears his throat preemptively, pocketing the treasure.

“Yeah, I will. I’ll put it next to Ellie’s. Thank…thank you,” he stumbles, and the brothers share a moment of memory.

“And you know, everyone’s gonna be out looking at the lights tonight in case you need some privacy,” Tommy suggests, breaking the tension with all the finesse of a sledgehammer.

“Bye, Tommy,” Joel calls over his shoulder, Tommy’s chuckle ushering him out.

You must have done this many times before, because when Joel and Ellie walk into the schoolhouse it’s like something off a holiday card. The school supplies are tucked away in favor of soft seating areas. The tree Tommy brought in is tucked in a corner, lights already wound around the thick boughs. Something apple and spiced wafts through the air, and the chatter of children and adults alike is at the comfortable level that it blankets everything in a festive glow.

Ellie’s face is glowing too, taking in the drastic shift in decor. She hangs back a little, eyes roaming and waving to friends but shyly tucked behind Joel’s elbow. Her hand is in her pocket, and Joel would put money on her ornament being in the palm of her hand. Joel’s not much better, Sarah’s in his own and a paper packet tucked under his arm.

Before either of them can feel too out of place, you weave through the growing crowd with a wave.

“I’m so glad you could come!” you call out, squeezing Joel’s arm and beaming down at Ellie. She shifts on her feet, a small smile appearing at a familiar face.

“This is wild, is like the whole town here?” she asks, and you shrug with your hands on your hips. Some of your hair is out of place, and perspiration clings to your throat. Joel swallows, eyes darting away.

“Well I did say I had a special surprise for tonight, and you inspired it!” you say, motioning to a series of little dioramas tucked into an empty bookshelf. Ellie weaves around Joel to get a closer look as you point out one of the shelves.

“You asked me about Christmas and I didn’t know what to tell you because I don’t know all that much about how it came to be, or the traditions around it. But then I realized we’re all building a new world together, and the holidays are what we bring with us.” You slide a piece of paper out and hand it to Ellie, and she reads it with a growing smile. Joel leans over to catch a glimpse at your prim handwriting.

Christmas was very traditional in my house. Santa was supposed to come by and bring us presents for being good girls and boys. We would write letters to him about things we wanted, and our parents were supposed to deliver them to him. On Christmas Eve we baked cookies and left them out for Santa because he had a lot of houses to deliver to and needed snacks. I left out carrots for the reindeer too, because they were doing all the work. And then on Christmas morning dad made pancakes and we weren’t allowed to open anything until mom was up. I believed in Santa until I was about 12, when I asked how he could get into houses without chimneys. My parents told me that Santa was an idea, not a real person, and the spirit of the season was to show people you appreciate them and give back to the community around you. I was more worried that I would get less presents if Santa wasn’t giving them to me anymore.

“I gathered up all these stories from everyone in Jackson, of all faiths and beliefs, and you can read through them and see how everyone celebrates.” You lean down now, speaking quieter. “There’s no right way, and no one person celebrates the same as everyone else. The one thing that does stay the same is that it’s a time to show love to the people around you.”

Joel’s eyes roam the shelves, spotting a Hanukkah-themed scene and something with bright colors he doesn’t recognize. Pages of script torn from your notepad tuck behind Santa figurines and menorahs and little wooden shoes. Ellie picks up another slip of paper.

“Wait, there are elves?”

You shrug, straightening up and catching Joel’s eye. He gives a lopsided smile as you’re pulled away by someone else entering, a twinkling light in the night surrounding Jackson.

A time to show love to the people around you? Maybe he can finally pluck up the courage to do that.

“Okay, everyone with an ornament please come up to the tree! Not too many at one time!” you call out, and Joel’s heart jumps into his throat. He pulls the packet from under his arm, hoping that maybe a bunch of kids would rush to the front, but everyone is reluctant to be the first. You stand by the tree, a shimmer of trepidation on your face, and Joel takes the first step.

“Brought these for…for the tree,” he says, handing the rough package to her. He should have put a bow on it, but he already wrestled with the packaging too long, he didn’t think he had the nerve to make it look any more like a gift. All eyes are on you as you unfold the wrapping, eyes darting up to Joel like he’s playing a trick, but when six delicate snowflakes are revealed a murmur of chatter fills the room. Your eyebrows lift, eyes lighting up and he wishes he’d given it to you alone. He wants your appreciation and surprise and happiness all for himself, even as the whispers, “oh wows,” and “good job, Joels,” waft to his ears.

“Joel, these are amazing,” you breathe, lifting one of the snowflakes out to dangle on your fingers. A smattering of applause he doesn’t deserve deepens his blush, but he takes the praises as graciously as possible. “I’m…thank you so much. I’m going to put them on, please everyone! Bring your ornaments up!” The snap into something much cheerier and brighter flutters Joel’s heart, catching a brief shine in your eye as you busy yourself adding his ornaments to the tree.

Could he go to you in the hubbub of people now approaching, lay a hand on your shoulder and envelope you in his arms? The ache to do so is close to a real animal in his chest begging to be touched. Instead he hangs back as kids hang dried apples and garland, painted baubles and all varieties of crafts. Wooden birds with real plumage, tiny knitted mittens, worn pictures encased in resin. His eyes draw to Ellie, sidling up next to you to hang her name ornament. You help her pick a spot, and Joel can see how you praise the design, and add some reassuring words. Standing back from the tree Ellie leans against you, and you wrap an arm around her shoulders.

The world slows around them, frozen in time under Joel’s watchful eye. He blinks, capturing a mental photo of this moment. He’ll look back on it often, the way Ellie both looks so much like a child but also so grown. How you give her kindness and support in as quiet of a way as she’ll accept, rewarded with her ease. And the feeling in his own chest, expanding and swelling like his heart could never fit his body again.

“Look outside!” calls one of the younger children, and the crush of people move from the tree to the windows at the front of the schoolhouse. Craning his neck, Joel catches the lights strung around town starting to click on, brilliant bubbles of amber light dissipating the darkness. A murmur kicks up, and the tree sparkles to life with colorful pops illuminating every memory adorning its branches. There’s cheering and clapping again, this time well deserved, and Ellie’s face brightens as her name sways gently with all of the others.

“There’s more!” someone cheers, and the front door opens to guide the group out and onto the frigid streets. Ellie’s head whips around, eyes pleading, and Joel can only nod with feigned annoyance as she rushes out.

“Put on your hat…” he calls after her, but if she hears she gives no indication. In a moment the schoolhouse is empty of all but you and him. Joel glimpses more lights leading the people of Jackson through the town center, noise dulling to a comforting hum.

You’re still in front of the tree, admiring the final product. Joel takes a deep breath and slowly approaches, standing beside you in comfortable silence. You take in a big breath of your own and blow it out, satisfaction painting your features.

“Every year it seems like it’ll never get done, and yet it always comes together,” you say, bumping shoulders with Joel. He snorts and smiles, taking in all of the chaotic beauty of the decorations.

“Meant a lot to Ellie that you did all this,” he says, tossing his head back at the written history you compiled. You cock your head at him thoughtfully.

“It got me thinking, you know. What’s important to everyone, now that we’re here after everything?” Your eyes search the tree, Joel’s following. “For me, it was my dad. We called him Father Christmas. Loved the holidays, was excited for them every year.” Your fingers find a red plastic boot nestled in the boughs. “When we got to Jackson he was so excited to be around people again, to feel that community. He brought Christmas back for lots of people.” A watery sigh signals Joel to lean closer, fitting his arm snugly around your waist. It’s never felt more right to hold someone. “The years since he’s passed have been hard to keep this all up, but it’s also the closest I feel to him.”

Joel reaches into his pocket, Sarah’s ornament in the palm of his hand. Ellie’s has a perfect spot next to it, and he tucks them together amongst the lights. Fresh spruce tickles his nostrils as he arranges them just so.

“My daughter,” Joel says, and it may be the first time he’s offered this part of himself up willingly. “Lost her on the day it all went to hell. She loved the holidays too, always wanted to see real snow. You know, like something out of a Norman Rockwell.” The rest of the words he wants to say stick in his throat, but it’s enough. You turn to him, sliding a hand up his arm to squeeze it gently. A knowing smile curves your lips, tempting as hot cocoa after a cold day.

“Thank you, Joel. For the ornaments, for being here. For everything.”

His body steps into yours, pulling you close. Your eyes widen briefly, then your expression becomes hopeful.

“Thought maybe I was being obvious, around all the time looking for a reason to be where you are,” Joel muses, finally bold enough to cup your cheek. Leaning into it, you fit your body into his.

“Maybe I thought it was too good to be true,” you say, a tiny brush of his thumb over your lips startling a breath out.

“Pretty sure it’s me who’s been feelin’ that way, darlin’,” Joel teases, but the yearning in your eyes tells him he’s got to say it now. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for…so goddamn long.”

Then your hand winds into his nape, and your lips meet.

You’re as soft as he hoped, yielding to his firmer press but bold when he parts his lips and your tongue begs entrance. A choked moan dies in his throat as cinnamon and apple dances on his palate, cradling your head so he can deepen the kiss. The grip on his hair tightens, your other hand fisted in his flannel. He wraps around you, protector, devotee, your body and soul safe with him.

Your lips part regretfully, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath. Beating him to composure, you tilt your chin to press a kiss to a spot on his jaw where his beard is a little thin.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you here for so long,” you repeat, breathy giggles rippling through you both. Joel dips in to claim your lips again, softer, slower. Your arms wind around his neck, and if he wasn’t keenly aware that at any moment someone could wander back in he would have laid you out to explore with his lips and teeth and tongue. His calmer head prevailed.

“Darlin’, I wouldn’t ask you for a single other thing, Christmas or not, if you’d say you’ll be mine,” he asks, heart on the line as he hopes you feel the magic of this moment just as much. Your eyes crinkle, fingers stroking through his hair.

“Joel Miller, nothing would make me happier,” you answer, earning another sweetly spicy kiss. When you part again, you say, “Well, except…”

Joel’s heart hammers, eyebrows knitting up in concern.

“...I could use help putting the star on my tree tonight. The one in my bedroom?”

A mischievous smile darts onto Joel’s face, playfully squeezing your ass.

“And how tall is this tree? Should I bring my ladder?”

You tap your chin thoughtfully.

“Maybe two, three feet?”

Joel nods with understanding.

“Of course, we should take care of that immediately.”

“Immediately.”

Hand in hand, you exit the schoolhouse, leaving it unlocked in case anyone wants to come bask in the holiday cheer later in the evening. Looking down the main street, Jackson is lit like a beacon of hope. Children toss snowballs at each other while parents watch on and laugh. Ellie is talking to a girl her age, shyly extending a paper-wrapped gift. A beautiful, kind woman is holding his hand and if his back were better he’d throw her over his shoulder in his haste to get her alone.

And in the darkest of times, when the days are short and cold and hope runs thin, there is still so much love to share.

END

A/N: the ornaments Joel makes were inspired by a gift I got a few years back. These handmade ornaments are some of my favorites every year!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #prolix fics

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