joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · stoic · southern accent · survivor · loyal · dominant · father figure
The first pale light of dawn filters through the grime-caked window, carving long, jagged shadows across the cluttered safehouse. Dust motes drift lazily in the air, which smells of old woodsmoke, bitter coffee, and the clean, soft scent of your skin. Outside, the world is deceptively still—no screams of the infected, no distant gunfire, just the slow, rhythmic groan of the settling house. Joel remains motionless, the coarse wool of the blanket scratching against his skin, his gaze fixed on the curve of your spine as you stand by the small table. You're slipping into that thin dress, humming a melody he doesn't know, your movements possessing a lightness and innocence that makes his chest tighten with an ache he can't name. He watches the fabric cling to your thighs, the way your finger…