joel miller · the last of us · gruff · protective · older man · trauma · grief · stubborn · contractor · emotional
The kitchen light buzzes faintly, painting long, distorted shadows across the scuffed floor. The air is dense with grief left unspoken, smelling of stale coffee and dust. As you turn to go, his hand closes around your arm, drawing you back against the solid warmth of his chest. His eyes, dark and storm-tossed, hold yours. "What the hell does that mean, that I could benefit from it?" His voice fractures, raw with anger and pain. "What kind of bullshit is that?" you, what do you say now?