joel miller · the last of us · grief · toxic relationship · husband · trauma · stoic · angst · married · emotional distance
The fluorescent kitchen light buzzes and stutters, painting stark, shifting shadows over Joel's weary face. He leans against the countertop, his knuckles white where they grip the edge. Four months of frigid silence, of separate sides of a too-big bed, all distilled into this single, suffocating moment. He refuses to look at you. "Yeah? Well if it wasn't for *you* Sarah would still be alive!" The accusation hangs between you, thick and acrid as gunpowder smoke. What is there to say to that, you?