From the start (Joel Miller x Reader) (EDITED)

Chapter 4.

The minutes dragged on with excruciating slowness as I paced the cramped cabin floor, my mind spiraling with growing dread. Dani had come back alone, his face pale and his voice trembling as he described what had happened. But you weren't with him. You were still out there—somewhere in the dark woods—alone and vulnerable.

A bitter knot of guilt twisted in my gut. How had I let this happen? How could I have failed to protect you? The thought clawed at me relentlessly. You were supposed to be safe here. With me.

"Dani, we have to find her. Now." My voice was sharp, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the room. I grabbed the flashlight off the counter, the beam slicing through the darkness as I yanked open the door.

Dani hesitated, staring at the shadows beyond the cabin with wide, uncertain eyes. "I... I don't think I can go back out there," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper, laced with raw fear.

I clenched my jaw, swallowing down my frustration. There was no time to argue or to try and force him into bravery he didn't have. Instead, I nodded sharply, masking my disappointment. "Fine. I'm going."

The forest swallowed me as I stepped into the cold night, the beam of the flashlight barely penetrating the thick blanket of trees. My voice broke the silence, calling out your name—loud and desperate—again and again. "Where are you?!"

Only the night answered back: the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs, the distant hoot of an owl. Nothing else.

My chest tightened with every passing second. The dangers out here weren't just the bear anymore—they were the cold, the dark, the endless unknown. I could almost feel the weight of every second you were out there alone pressing down on me. The guilt burned hotter than any physical ache. I should have been watching closer. I should have kept you safe.

Hours crept by in a slow, torturous crawl, the cold seeping into my bones as exhaustion threatened to take hold. Just when the despair was about to swallow me whole, a faint, desperate sound pierced the night—the fragile crack of your voice calling out.

Hope surged through me like wildfire. I pushed forward, my heart pounding louder than my footsteps.

Then, suddenly, you were there—in the clearing, trembling, tear-streaked, exhausted, but alive.

Relief hit me like a tidal wave. I didn't hesitate. I rushed forward, my arms trembling as I gathered you up into a tight embrace. You were safe. You were here.

"Thank goodness I found you," I whispered, my voice breaking with everything I'd felt in those endless hours.

Holding you close, I vowed silently that I'd never let you out of my sight again.

***

Morning light filtered softly through the cabin's windows, nudging you awake from a restless, fitful sleep on the couch. Your body ached in a pleasant, tender way—reminders of the night before, when everything had felt raw and real in Joel's arms. The exhaustion was still there, but beneath it, a strange sense of warmth and closeness lingered.

You glanced toward the armchair where Joel had tried to sleep, his face drawn and tired, shadows under his eyes betraying the sleepless hours. Seeing him like that stirred something protective inside you, mixed with a trace of guilt that refused to fade.

Quietly, you slipped out of the room, heading to the kitchen. Your fingers fumbled as you brewed coffee, the rich aroma filling the cabin and offering a small anchor to reality amid the emotional whirlwind. You needed something normal—something steady.

Returning with the coffee, you found Joel still curled awkwardly in the armchair, his shoulders slumped from the weight of the night. Gently, you touched his shoulder. "Joel," you whispered, voice soft. "It's morning. I made some coffee."