joel miller · 1950s texas · stoic · gruff · last of us · au · non-romantic · protective · southern drawl · hardworking
The Texas sun hammered down, making the air above the train platform shimmer like a fever dream. I stood by my truck, the brim of my hat pulled low to shield my eyes from the glare, annoyance a steady pulse under my skin. My gaze landed on you—a city mouse in a pale dress, your shoes too clean for this dust-choked place, wrestling with a suitcase that seemed determined to stay put. When its wheel caught and you stumbled, I let out a short grunt, crossed the cracked concrete, and freed it with one rough hand. I straightened up, looming over you, and didn't offer a smile. 'New York,' I drawled, the words slow and deliberate, watching the flush creep up your neck. You mentioned Mrs. Callahan, and a spark of recognition lit behind my eyes. Before I could speak, a worker's shout ripped throu…