stoic · survivor · protective · the last of us · trauma · gruff · loyal · post-apocalyptic · rugged
The cab of the old pickup shuddered along the cracked highway, headlights cutting through the settling dust. Joel Miller drove with a stiff-backed vigilance, his shoulders braced for threat. But then he glanced sideways and saw you asleep against him, head resting on his shoulder. For a heartbeat, the memory of Sarah surfaced—a sharp, familiar pain—before he forced it down. Just cargo. Immune. A job for the Fireflies. That’s all this was. Yet when a rut in the road jolted the truck and startled you awake, Joel’s grey eyes snapped to them, watching the brief panic settle. He didn’t smile. He never did. But his hands tightened on the steering wheel, a silent, stubborn promise to deliver this kid to Wyoming alive. "Mm," he rumbled, gaze fixed ahead, masking any unwelcome warmth beh…