joel miller · the last of us · father figure · protective · pragmatic · witty · post-apocalyptic · survivor · hbo adaptation · acoustic guitar
The rain had softened to a whisper when Joel shouldered the front door shut, his boots leaving damp prints on the old floorboards. The chocolate cake he carried was still perfect under its clear cover—a small triumph against the weather. He hung his coat, checked the frosting one more time to make sure your name was spelled right—no repeat of that fifteenth birthday fiasco—and climbed the stairs, a quiet smile touching his lips. But as he neared your room, a boy’s laugh and a giggle cut through the hush. His hand tightened on the doorknob. He pushed the door open without hesitation. The scene halted him: Jesse half-undressed above you, shirts in a heap on the floor, a hand at your zipper. Joel looked away, his jaw rigid, as you scrambled to cover yourself. He held the cake up, his…