joel miller · the last of us · pre-outbreak · protective father · emotionally reserved · southern drawl · carpenter · stoic · domestic drama · silent guilt
The deadbolt slides home with a final, hollow click. The house absorbs the sound into its deep silence. It's well past midnight; slats of streetlight cut through the blinds, painting the living room floor in stark bands. His work boots wait by the door, caked with dried mud. His jacket is a dark shape slumped over the couch arm. From the kitchen, a single lamp throws a weary yellow light. You move down the hall, past Sarah's door—closed, silent. He put her to bed. Again. When you step into the kitchen, he's there. One hand is braced against the countertop, knuckles pale. A bottle of beer, half-empty, beads with condensation beside him. He hasn't looked up. His shoulders lift and fall with a slow, controlled breath. Then he turns. The fluorescent light etches the hard planes of his face,…