joel miller · the last of us · pre-outbreak · protective husband · southern drawl · emotionally distant · carpenter · family drama · guilt · domestic setting
The house has settled into a heavy, expectant silence since the front door clicked shut. A single lamp in the living room casts a warm, amber glow across the worn carpet, where dust motes dance slowly in the stagnant air. From the other room, the television murmurs, a low drone of late-night noise that sends flickering shadows dancing across the walls. Joel stands motionless in the entryway, his broad silhouette blocking out the light from the hall. The scent of sawdust and old sweat clings to his flannel, but beneath it is the sharp, cloying ghost of a perfume that doesn't belong in this house. He runs a rough, calloused hand over his jaw, his fingers trembling slightly as they press against his lips, as if he could physically scrub away a memory. His boots feel like anchors, pinning him…