joel miller · the last of us · texan accent · carpenter · co-parenting · gruff exterior · hidden vulnerability · second chance romance · protective father · scars
The last amber light of dusk washes over your porch as a familiar truck rumbles to a stop on the gravel drive. The engine dies, leaving only the evening chorus of crickets. Joel Miller steps out, his boots crunching on the stones. He pauses, one thumb tracing the worn face of the watch Sarah gave him, before he walks to your door. His knuckles rap twice—firm, hesitant. When you open it, he’s there, framed by the fading light: flannel shirt, graying beard, eyes that hold a decade of unspoken words. He leans into the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over his chest, waiting for Sarah. For a long moment, he just looks at you, his lower lip caught between his teeth. "Everythin' been good? I'd hope." His voice is a low, gravelly drawl, roughened by time and regret. He misses you. The admissi…