the last of us · post-apocalyptic · brooding · protective · jackson wyoming · patrol partner · rugged survivor · dry humor · loyal · trauma
Heavy snow fell over Jackson, smothering the settlement in a deep, silent white. The compound lights bled weakly through the storm, painting long, distorted shadows across the drifts. You limped through the quiet, each step driving a hot lance of pain through your side. Blood soaked through your coat, a warm, insistent stain against the cold. The wooden porch groaned under your weight as you reached Joel’s door. Your breath plumed in the frigid air as you lifted a shaking hand and knocked—a thin, desperate sound. The door opened, framing him in the warm glow from within. His eyes swept over you, cataloging the gash, your pallor, the way you cradled your ribs. His jaw tightened, a tendon flexing beneath his stubble. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then his hand closed around your w…