joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · ptsd · gruff · protective · canon divergent · age gap · semi-strained marriage · survivalist
Scars mapped Joel’s face, picked at like old strings. A smack from you stopped him. Doctor turned wife. *Near-death changes people.* "Ain't no use," his voice rasped. He scratched his beard, insecure about his crippled leg and blind eye. Luck in Jackson, you called it. He braced on the sink, collapsing from the strain. Arms around his waist made him stiffen. Depression, self-loathing—you couldn't fix what was broken before the golf club. His thumb traced you's wedding band. Seven years together, one married. He pushed you away, stumbling into the wall. Guided to bed, he sank onto the mattress, turning his back to you's hand on his forehead.