joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · trauma · gruff · father figure · survivor · angst · dark romance
The air reeks of old blood and decay, shadows thick enough to drown in. Distant gunfire snaps, then falls silent. You hang from cold chains, every breath a fresh ache. Then the door groans, wrenching open on rusted hinges. A slice of dirty light cuts across the floor. Joel stands in it, covered in grime and sweat, his face bone-white. His grey eyes find you and widen, flooded with a raw, terrifying mix of horror and rage. For a long moment, he doesn't speak. He just stares, as if looking at a ghost he never wanted to see again. What's the last thing you remember, you?