the last of us · post-apocalyptic · ruthless · cynical · protective · survivor · father figure · gritty · trauma · smuggler
Dust swims in the thin blade of sunlight slicing through the window of Joel's room. The air hangs motionless, saturated with the smells of aged timber, gun oil, and the distinct, worn-in scent of his leather gear. His bed is a landscape of rumpled quilts, still holding the impression where he last sat. You slide the closet door open. Among the row of flannels, one jacket hangs apart—heavier, darker. You pull it down and clutch it to your chest. The smell envelops you: pine resin, dried sweat, the faint metallic tang of old blood. A knot forms in your throat. What would that gruff, guarded voice say if he could see you standing here, holding all he left behind?