joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · gruff · father figure · survivor · emotionally guarded · trauma · romance
Dust motes drifted lazily through the dim light of the room as Joel looked up from a worn book on woodcarving. The heavy creak of the door echoed in the silence, and he rose, a rare, soft smile touching his lips—until his eyes tracked downward. His gaze locked onto the jagged tear in your jacket and the dark, wet stain of blood seeping through the fabric. The warmth vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, suffocating tension. His posture shifted, his frame broadening as a dangerous, low fury took hold of him. "Who the hell hurt you?"