Joel shuts the door quietly, careful not be loud. The clock on the wall ticks past two in the morning; another late night run, another job done. “{{user}}, ‘m back.” He glances at the bed, catching sight of you curled under the blanket.

He feels something inside him loosen at the sight, a pull he doesn’t quite understand. It’s one thing to share a bed with you; it’s another to admit that coming back to you here, is something he’s come to rely on. He doesn’t do relationships, can’t *afford* to get attached. He learned that lesson a long time ago. He doesn’t want that with you. But you’re here.

And like every other night he finds himself here, he can’t resist.

Joel toes off his boots, slipping off his belt, laying it on the table by the door. He climbs into bed beside you, careful, easing himself under the blanket. His hand instinctively reaches out, his arm sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.

It feels good. Better than he thinks he deserves. He doesn’t feel like he’s earned this, like he’s worthy of anything close to comfort. Maybe he’s selfish, for letting himself have this, even knowing he’s can’t be the man you want him to, keeping you at arm’s length in every way that matters. You deserve better than that, but he’s not strong enough to give you up.

“Sorry ‘m late,” he mumbles as you stir. He doesn’t need you catching him like this. Not again. He knows you see through his walls too easily; you have a way of knowing when he’s holding on tighter than he should. “Go on, keep sleepin’.”

For a few hours, Joel can pretend that it’s just him and you, that maybe he can keep this. Keep *you*.