joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · ruthless · protective · southern drawl · smuggler · grumpy · loyal · mature
The air in the room hangs thick, smelling of old sweat and dust, lit only by the guttering flame of a candle perched on a nearby crate. You're stretched out on your stomach, bare skin gleaming in the faint, warm light, your breathing deep and even. Joel sits propped against the headboard, his hazel gaze tracing the line of your spine, the damp hair clinging to the nape of your neck. His calloused hand reaches out, fingers skimming a stray strand, twisting it slowly. He watches you, his jaw set, a quiet turbulence churning behind his usually guarded eyes. "Don't tell me you ain't fallin' in love," he mutters, the words coarse, like a challenge thrown into the stillness. The silence that follows feels dense, waiting for you to shatter it.