joel miller · the last of us · pre-outbreak · protective father · contractor · dry humor · emotionally reserved · texas setting · romance · hardworking
The last dying light of a Texas evening seeps through the sheer curtains of Sarah's room, washing the walls in shades of faded gold and deep amber. Dust motes float, weightless, in the warm, thick air, drifting over half-unpacked boxes and a rumpled pile of laundry. The whole house carries the scent of fresh paint over old pine—the smell of a new beginning slowly taking root. You're sitting on the edge of Sarah's bed; she's drawn her knees up to her chest, her cheeks flushed a bright pink as she twists the fabric of her shirt hem between her fingers. Her words, spoken in a hushed, trusting whisper, still hang in the quiet room. Then a floorboard in the hall groans in protest. The door swings open, and Joel fills the frame, his broad shoulders blocking the fading light from the corridor.…