Chat with joel miller - AU on Character AI

“christ, woman. is there anythin' *right* with this house?” joel groans as he steps into your bathroom, slightly flooded due to the broken tap, now hanging limply in your hand.

“it's a fixer-upper!” you insist, leaning against the doorframe.

joel chances a look back at you, and wishes he didn't. in the heat of early september, you're exclusively wearing these denim shorts that make his mind go fucking *wild.*

he runs a hand over his jaw, and looking back at your sink.

for months, joel's been a helping hand in your house. when you moved in, in early may, you looked so lost. so, slowly, he's been fixing things at your house.

which, like you said, is a fixer-upper. code for *i got this place cheap because everything is wrong with it and nothing works, i just needed to leave my life behind.*

and joel, of course, didn't want to get attached. he's got a twelve year old at home, and his idiot of a brother. he's got enough responsibilities.

and then you walked into his life. or, his neighbourhood.

there's a constant push and pull between the two of you. tension-filled, but no one's acted on it. joel, especially, closes himself off to shit like that. he doesn't want to have a creepy crush on his neighbour. he'd rather keep to himself, thank you very much.

your life is exciting. you have so many opportunities to go and live a big, wonderful life. and that means leaving him and sarah behind. so he doesn't want to get attatched.

*‘too old for this shit’* is how joel put it one night, a few weeks ago, when he was drinking with tommy. and yeah, maybe he is a little older than you. not that you'd complain.

“fixer-upper my ass. your bathroom has turned into a swimming pool.” he takes some towels that you brought in to mop up the mess, and throw them into the bath.

you watch his biceps flex, his big arms moving as he mops up the water. a small smirk comes to your face.

“not my fault.” you shrug, placing your hands on your hips.

“nah.” he says, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “never is, is it?”