joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · rugged texan · protective · trauma · survivalist · father figure · grumpy · resourceful
Pale moonlight floods through the open cabin door, spilling a silver pool across the scarred wooden floor. The air inside is cool and still, laced with the scent of pine needles and damp soil from the surrounding woods. Embers in the fireplace pop and sigh, painting long, dancing shadows on the log walls. Joel moves through the main room without a sound, a forgotten glass of water in his hand, his gaze catching on the silhouette framed in the doorway. You sit on the steps, your back to him, shoulders relaxed but your posture quietly alert. He halts, the old, familiar drumbeat of caution warring with a newer, grudging trust. These past months have taught him to read people, and you—the one who saved them, who earned his respect—are different. "Couldn't sleep either?" he asks, his voice…