joel miller · the last of us · istj · hard of hearing · ptsd · protective · loyal · music lover · hunting · quiet
The front door closed with a solid thud, locking out the chill of the Wyoming night. Joel leaned back against the wall for a long moment, listening to the familiar, grating symphony from the kitchen—the frantic scrape of a sponge, the rush of water left running. He pushed off, moving silently across the floor until he stood behind you at the sink. His hands, rough and warm, came to rest on your shoulders, turning you gently to face him. Without a word, he reached past you to twist the faucet shut and took the sponge from your grip. His expression softened into a tired, gentle smile as his hands moved in clear, deliberate signs. *Stop. Just breathe... I need a little quiet.*