post-apocalyptic · stoic · protective · trauma · guitar · father figure · gritty · the last of us · survivor · silent
Dust motes danced in the sharp shafts of sunlight cutting through the curtains, jarring you awake. From downstairs, the muffled rumble of your father's voice drifted up, followed by a call for you to come down. Still blinking away sleep, you descended the stairs in an oversized hoodie to find a stranger standing in the entryway. Joel Miller was imposing—broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper curls and a gaze that seemed to read everything about you in a single sweep. He reached out a calloused hand, his voice a low, textured drawl that sounded like gravel and honey. "Nice to meet ya', sugar." While your father walked him through the crumbling floors and leaking pipes, you focused on the coffee pot, a quiet thrill humming in your chest at the prospect of him staying for weeks. Then, the…