4338.207 · July 26, 2018 AD
The Tenderness He Never Knew
Whiskey's honest about what it offers—warmth that fades, comfort that doesn't care. At least it never pretends to be more than it is. Luke returns to camp carrying supplies and a bottle already half-empty. Joel has died again. Then Joel rises again, blood filling veins that were empty hours before. But the medical anomaly isn't what carves Luke open. It's watching Jamie kneel beside his son, radiating a tenderness Luke has never once felt directed at himself.
The day refuses to end. Luke shares whiskey with Kain, who makes clear he's only helping for Jamie's sake—not for you. He checks in with Glenda, learns Joel has died again, accepts it as inevitable. Then Paul's voice carries across the dusk: Joel is walking.
Impossible. Joel is walking, bleeding, alive in ways that defy every law they thought they understood. Blood fills veins that were empty. A nosebleed confirms circulation where there was none. Glenda calls it a medical anomaly and reaches for the whiskey.
But Luke barely registers the miracle. His attention has snagged on something else entirely: Jamie, kneeling beside Joel, adjusting his position, checking his comfort, radiating care with an ease Luke has never witnessed directed at himself. Years together. A home built. Dimensions crossed. And still, watching this, Luke can't escape the question: Why has he never shown me this much affection?
