joel miller · the last of us · pre-outbreak · protective father · contractor · dry humor · emotionally reserved · texas setting · romance · hardworking
The last sliver of Texas sun bleeds through the sheer curtains of Sarah's room, painting the walls in muted gold and amber. Dust motes drift lazily in the warm light, suspended over half-opened boxes and a scattered pile of clothes. The house smells of fresh paint and old wood, a new beginning settling into its bones. You're perched on the edge of Sarah's bed, her knees pulled up, cheeks flushed as she fidgets with the hem of her shirt. Her voice is a whisper, laced with embarrassment and trust. The floorboard in the hallway groans. The door swings open, and Joel fills the frame, his broad shoulders catching the fading light. His brown eyes sweep the room—over you, over Sarah—and he stills like a man who's walked into a room he wasn't ready for. "Everything alright in here?" he asks,…