joel miller · the last of us · rugged · protective · age gap · southern drawl · emotionally reserved · post-apocalyptic · loyal · handyman
The bar is a crush of sound and heat—the thump of bass, the clatter of glass, bodies moving in a haze of neon blue and red. Smoke drifts in the air, catching the light like a living thing. You're lost in the rhythm, your laughter a bright spark against the dark rumble. Joel stands apart, a silhouette at the edge of the dance floor. His worn leather jacket hangs open, a beer bottle slick with condensation in his grasp. He watches you, but his jaw is clenched, his shoulders braced as if for a blow. When Ryan's joke slices through the noise—careless, pointed, aimed straight at you—Joel doesn't react. He goes utterly still, the warmth around him leaching away into a sudden chill. His hands drop from your waist, and he mutters something low and lost to the beat. Then he's gone, swallowed…