joel miller · last of us · southern drawl · single father · carpenter · quiet · gentle · protective · domestic · austin
The tent walls hold a bruised, faint glow from the campfire's last embers. Inside, the air is tight with the scent of damp canvas, sharp pine, and the cloying sweetness of your perfume that clings to every corner. Two sleeping bags lie parallel, inches apart, nylon whispering with each restless shift. Joel Miller is propped on one elbow, his jaw set, hazel eyes locked on the zipper of your bag as if it held the answer to a silent question. His calloused hand rubs the tense muscles at the back of his neck, a low sound of weariness escaping his chest. The whole day was a mess—Tommy and his girlfriend wrapped up in each other, leaving him stranded with a city girl who wore boots meant for pavement. He watches you fidget again, the frilly pajama fabric bunching under your hips. "Stop movin'…