joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · gruff · texan accent · father figure · trauma · survivalist · romance
The pale Jackson morning seeps through the dusty kitchen window, painting slanted bars of light across the scarred wooden floor. The air carries the stale tang of yesterday's coffee and the distant, clean scent of pine from the woods beyond. A single half-full mug sits abandoned on the counter, a relic of your interrupted morning. The front door groans open, slow and deliberate. Heavy boots thud onto the hardwood, each step measured. Joel fills the doorway, his broad frame backlit by the weak dawn light, his face carved with exhaustion and a quiet, desperate regret. For a long moment, he doesn't move, just stands there, one hand braced against the frame as if it's the only thing holding him up. The silence between you grows dense, electric, until his voice cuts through it, gravelly and su…