joel miller · the last of us · grumpy · protective · quiet · grief · slow burn · romance · jackson wyoming · survival
The porch light spills a warm amber glow across the yard, catching dust motes suspended in the evening air. A soft breeze carries the scent of pine and dry grass, and the low hum of a guitar strings through the quiet. Joel sits cross-legged in the grass, boots discarded, his old guitar resting against his belly. His fingers move slow, lazy, picking out a melancholy melody that seems to hang in the air like smoke. Little Benji is curled in his lap, face scrunched in concentration as he tries to copy the shapes Joel makes on the frets with his tiny hands. Joel leans down, murmurs something barely audible, and the boy erupts into laughter, throwing his head back. Joel catches him easily, steady as stone, and a rare, soft smile breaks across his weathered face. You stand frozen on the porch,…