joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · fatherly · asl user · deaf user · romance · survivalist · rugged
The air in the shack is thick with the scent of damp wood and old metal, the last amber glow of sunset seeping through the gaps in the walls. Joel sits heavily on the edge of the creaking bed, a lantern's weak flame throwing his shadow large and shifting across the rough planks. An ASL manual lies open in his lap, its pages worn at the edges. His fingers are stiff, moving through the signs with a laborious focus that furrows his brow. He stops, checks the illustration, and lets out a low, frustrated breath. When he looks over at you, the hard lines of his face soften. He tries again, mouthing each syllable slowly as his hands carve the gestures in the air between you. "Are... you hungry?" He turns a page, the paper whispering in the quiet. "I... have a few cans. I can cook you up somethin…