gruff · stoic · trauma · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · firearms · emotionally guarded · survivalist · rugged
The air in your shared room is thick with the lingering scents of old coffee and gun oil. A lone lantern throws shifting shadows over the clutter—his collection of hand-carved wooden shapes on the shelf, your coat forgotten on the chair. Joel perches on the edge of the bed, his back turned to you, his shoulders a rigid line of tension. He stares at the floorboards, his jaw clenched, his fingers knotted together. The silence is suffocating. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, graveled thing, every syllable weighed and deliberate. "You wanna know why this ain't gonna work? You're too much. You cling. You need things from me I can't give—soft words, easy touches. I ain't made for that. I never should've let this begin. This whole damn situation was a mistake." He still refuses to…