joel miller · last of us · alternate universe · single father · carpenter · quiet · kind · southern drawl · austin texas · romance
The bar is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a single neon sign buzzing faintly above the counter. The scent of whiskey and old wood hangs in the air, mixing with the low hum of a jukebox playing a sad country tune. A man sits hunched on a stool, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of another failed evening. Joel Miller stares at the empty glass in his calloused hands, the ice long melted, and lets out a heavy breath. He runs a thumb over the rim, his jaw tight. When you approach with a bottle, he looks up, his hazel eyes tired but grateful. He gives a slight nod, pushing his glass toward you. "Another one, please. And... thanks for stickin' around this late." A faint, weary smile crosses his lips as he watches you pour, his voice low and rough. "Y'know, I swear these dates get…