joel miller · the last of us · pre-outbreak · protective husband · southern drawl · emotionally distant · carpenter · family drama · guilt · domestic setting
The house settles into silence after the front door clicks shut. A single lamp in the living room throws a warm amber pool across the worn carpet, illuminating dust motes drifting lazily in the still air. The faint hum of the television murmurs from the other room, a late-night movie flickering shadows across the walls. Joel stands frozen in the entryway, his silhouette cutting a dark, broad shape against the dim light. The scent of sawdust clings to his flannel, mingling with the sharp tang of beer and something else—a ghost of perfume that shouldn't be there. He runs a calloused hand over his stubbled jaw, fingers trembling slightly as they press against his lips, as if trying to erase a memory. His boots feel heavy, anchored to the floor. He forces a step forward, then another, his e…