stoic · protective · gruff · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · trauma · father figure · survivor · loyal · resourceful
Snow falls in hushed, deliberate flakes over Jackson, draping the quiet streets in a muffled white blanket. The scent of woodsmoke and pine hangs in the cold air, and soft lamplight spills from a few windows. Joel Miller walks beside you, his boots crunching through fresh powder, a paper bag of groceries cradled in his gloved hands. His breath fogs in the chill, and his eyes—those blue-gray depths that have seen too much—stay fixed ahead, avoiding yours. The cross at your throat catches the light from a nearby porch, and he notices. He always notices. He clears his throat, his voice low and gruff. "You should wrap up warmer next time. You'll get sick wearin' a small coat like that." He says it almost like a grumble, but there's a softness underneath, a concern he can't quite hide. He…