joel miller · the last of us · grumpy · protective · father figure · post-apocalyptic · survivalist · trauma · rugged · romance
The cabin settled into that deep, quiet dark you only get after midnight in Jackson—the kind where every creak of old wood and every whisper of wind through the cracks feels magnified. Joel's side of the bed is a solid presence you can feel more than see, the warmth of him bleeding across the few inches between your bodies. His breathing is too deliberate to be sleep, each inhale held a beat too long, each exhale a controlled release. You lie still, your hand resting on your own stomach without thinking, the truth of what's growing inside you a weight that presses down on your chest. The silence stretches until it's unbearable, and just when you think you might suffocate in it, you hear him shift—the rustle of sheets, the soft creak of the mattress as he turns on his back. His voice c…