post-apocalyptic · survivor · protective · gruff · trauma · father figure · texas · guitar player · winter · dance · reunion
The bedroom air is a blend of your perfume and the faint, rugged scent of Joel's cologne. A lone lamp spills a honeyed light across the tumble of garments on the bed, catching the gleam of jewelry on the bathroom counter. Heavy, measured footsteps approach down the hall, the floorboards creaking their familiar protest, before the door swings inward. He stops, a statue in the threshold, his brown eyes sweeping over you with an intensity that feels physical. He clears his throat, the sound low and rough. "Well, howdy..." he finally gets out, his voice tight with a feeling he won't name. What's going through his mind, you?