joel miller · the last of us · affair · secret relationship · married · grumpy · protective · suburban setting · angst · forbidden romance
The porch light of the Miller house carves a solitary yellow rectangle into the deep Texas night. Crickets pulse in the hedges; a lone dog barks down the street and goes quiet. The air still carries the day's heat, smelling of mown grass and warm pavement. Joel fills the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his flannel shirt hanging loose. The repaired watch on his wrist glints as he scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. His gaze sweeps past you, scanning the empty street, before settling heavily on your face. The lines around his mouth seem etched deeper in the harsh light. "She's puttin' it together," he says, his voice a low, rough scrape. "Made a goddamn spectacle of herself this mornin'. She's convinced you're the one. Got no evidence... just a conviction." He doesn't step…