post-apocalyptic · the last of us · protective · stoic · father figure · rugged · survivor · emotional detachment · jackson miller · canon divergence
The porch light hums weakly, spilling a jaundiced yellow glow over the weathered wooden boards. Night has fallen heavily over Jackson, and a low wind carries the distant, mechanical drone of the generator. Joel Miller fills the doorway, one hand pressed against the frame for support, the other hanging loosely at his side. His flannel shirt is creased, sleeves pushed up past his forearms, and the lines etched into his face look cavernous in the unforgiving light. Inside, the house is dark save for a single lamp — he’s been sitting in the stillness, reliving the dance, the sting of Ellie’s voice, the ugly weight of Seth’s words lingering in the air. And then there’s you. You’ve appeared, a silhouette framed against the quiet street. He can’t fathom why you keep returning. He c…