• Summary: Joel visits the bar that you work at often and admires you from afar. He promises himself that he won't cross that line with you, but then someone touches you.
• Tags/Warnings: Touch her and die. Protective & caring Joel. Caretaker Joel. Tending to a wound. Post outbreak. Living in the QZ. Sexual assault by stranger, touching readers ass and grabbing her arm.
• Word count: 1.2k
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The bar is filled with loud conversations and bottles clinking. You've grown used to the chaos over the years. Being a bartender wasn't your dream job, but in the world you live in now, no one is living their dreams. You stay focused on your job in the hope to make enough to afford your next meal. Not many things distract you while working, you keep your head down and get the job done, but Joel Miller was definitely a distraction.
Joel came in often after his shift, worn down by the day and needing something to take the edge off. But eventually, it wasn't just the drinks that kept him coming back. He longed for the short conversations he'd have with you during your shift. He felt something from your subtle glances and soft voice. Sometimes he'd watch you from the end of the bar as he slowly sipped on his beer. He found you to be the first beautiful and interesting woman he's met in years. But he never attempted to see you outside these four walls. His heart was still guarded, at least the pieces that remain.
Last call, you'd shout as the night started coming to an end. Joel finishes his beer, leaves a large tip as he always does, and gives you a small nod on his way out. He didn't make his presence known to others, but you always noticed.
"Goodnight, Joel," you'd say as he walks out. And he would push through the doors and into the night with warmth in his chest from the sound of his name on your lips.
The thing you didn't know is that Joel wouldn't go home. He'd wait around as you locked up the bar, just to make sure you were safe. He didn't trust the world to be kind to you. Especially the world you all live in. Once he knew you were okay to get home he would breathe a little easier and rest a little better.
It's become a routine if he wants to admit it or not. He'd work a long day, stop by the bar, make sure you leave safely, and then go home alone. He found solace in this, a way to feel close to you without getting too close.
But it didn't last long. He crosses the line that he drew from the beginning with you, and it wasn't his intention but when someone hurts you he can't help but intervene.
The stranger's hand grabs your ass in passing as you try to serve drinks to customers at the back tables. You shout something as you stumble back and drop the tray of drinks in your hand. The bottles break on the ground as you curse.
Joel clenches his hand around his beer bottle and holds himself back. He sees you standing up for yourself. It's taking everything in him to not step in, but he doesn't take his eyes off you. The anger builds within him and he plants his foot on the ground, ready to protect.
You lean down and try to pick up the glass, but the guy grabs your arm to bring you back up to him. "Come on, sweetheart," The guy says,
Joel jumps up and rips his hand off your arm. "Don't fucking touch her,"
The guy steps back and throws his hands in the air. He laughs, "Whoa, man." He looks down at you and then back at Joel. "I didn't know she was your bitch."
There it was. The line. And he crosses it with one punch to the offender's face. The guy drops and Joel pulls him up by his shirt and swings again. People around are gasping and others are shouting at Joel and the stranger, pushing in on them and getting involved. The commotion of it all has you pushing yourself away and your hand slides over the broken glass, cutting your palm.
Joel immediately hears your cry of pain and stops. He looks around taking in the scene. He should be embarrassed or ashamed of how he's acted, but he doesn't. This is the QZ, things like this happen all the time and it's not unusual.
"Get him out of here," Joel says, rubbing his sore hands.
The stranger is hauled out of the bar and the other bartender on staff takes over your shift as Joel helps you to the back room.
"Sit here," He pulls up a chair for you while he grabs the first aid kit.
"Joel, I'm —"
He holds a hand up and shakes his head, refusing your need to tell him that you're fine. You're not fine and it's making him feel sick. Sick with the need to help you. Sick with the feeling of someone making you uncomfortable. Sick with the image of the guy looking at you in that way.
He stands close and holds out his hand for yours. You hesitate, but he nods. He's not going anywhere. He's determined to fix you up. Your hand lifts and he takes it in his. He's gentle as he inspects it.
"This might...hurt." He looks at you with concern as he holds tweezers in his hand. Your eyes go wide and you tense up. "Don't worry, I got you."
And he does. You trust that. He goes slow as he plucks out two small pieces of glass. Looking up at you often to make sure you're doing okay. You wince in pain and he brushes his thumb over your hand in comfort. Once he's done he walks you over to the sink and cleans your hand. Making sure the water is at the right temperature and watching your reaction as you place your hand under the water. He's careful not to touch with too much pressure.
It's a wonderful feeling to be taken care of and looked after like this. This rugged man touches you so tenderly as if you might break.
The warm water turns off. Joel and you stay standing over the sink, unmoving. He holds your hand and traces his thumb over the lines on your palm, careful to not touch your cuts. "I'm sorry that happened." He says softly.
You look up at his face and he doesn't meet your eyes. He stares at your hand. "It's not your fault, Joel. It happens. It comes with the job, unfortunately."
"Well, it shouldn't." He mutters. He brings your hand up to his mouth. "You don't belong here," then he gently kisses your hand, looking up at you. It causes your stomach to flutter.
"And where do I belong?"
"With me," Joel says without hesitation. "If you were with me, I'd take care of you."
He looks at you with complete truth in his eyes. The fact is, he would take care of you. He wants to. There isn't anything he wouldn't do for the girl that he loves from afar. His heart that's been broken into a million little pieces is slowly being repaired. It won't be the same as before, but it will beat for a new purpose. So, as he wraps your wounded hand he places his wounded heart on the table in hopes you'll care for it as he cares for you.
