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summary: there is nothing to fear in a world with no one left to lose. A stubborn old man would like to prove otherwise.
post-outbreak!Joel x reader
There were few things left in the world that could serve as an indulgence. Hot water and food that didn't come from a can? That was a fever dream, and those who were lucky enough to have it, didn't exactly like to share. Unless you were willing to break a couple bones or perhaps get yourself killed in the process; most people grew to welcome the scraps. Once upon a time, people would take food for granted- now, you were lucky if you could find a can of dog food.
But with no cars, no power and definitely no stores- everything was up for grabs. Everyone in Boston was on their own.
The only solstice often came in the form of a bottle. Contraband hidden far beneath the floorboards of her apartment. Where wood had started to rot over the years. Expertly hidden underneath a rug and the corner of a large wardrobe, sat a small bottle of Bourbon. The glass amber in colour, reflecting the golden liquid inside.
She liked bourbon because it made things go numb. Not because it made them better. Years as a hardened survivor had taught her that. No amount of drugs or alcohol would solve her problems. But on nights when things felt a little too heavy and the survivors guilt split her mind in two; Bourbon was a welcomed lover, distracting her for just a night.
In a world like today, nothing was ever easy and it definitely didn't come free. To think otherwise would get you killed. But after twenty years, a routine had been set in place. One that was manageable. Work, Sleep, Survive. It didn't matter who you were before the infected started to roam. Before mushrooms were suddenly the largest apex predator. What mattered now was being able to Make it through the night.
Y/N had learned early that there were ways to survive. Sure, you could find a group and hope for the best. But that didn't provide any sense of longevity. Someone's ego always got the better of them and brought everything down in shambles. It was better to stay away from others, to keep your head down and mouth shut. In Boston, nobody was forgiving, and best believe there was always someone waiting to take advantage. There may have been talks of allies and revolutions, but it was all horse-shit.
If there was ever going to be a salvation, surely it would've happened already. So for now, until there was so miraculous declaration of a higher power, Y/N would stick to herself. She was the only one she could truly rely on. Over the years she had attempted to find her way amongst the masses, but it never ended on a positive note.
Maybe that's why she and Joel got along so well. The older man in her building lived an apartment over. He was quiet, never said more than a couple words in passing. And if he did, it always had to do with a job. He was cold and disciplined which Y/N admired.
Even on nights where he would pin her against his mattress, he never said more than he had to.
But as their relationship changed, Joel did too. Quick and aggressive fucks were becoming a thing of the past. The more time Y/N spent around Joel, the more he seemed to open up to her. She didn't know much about his life before Boston, only that he had lost people. As did she. What she did know, was that he felt safe around her- and that terrified the both of them. For years he had fought to survive, he had become good at it. Now here he was falling into some woman's bed at the end of the night like a lost puppy.
