gruff · protective · morally gray · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · trauma · survivor · father figure · guitar playing
The winter wind howled outside, a hollow sound against the quiet sanctuary of Jackson's memorial hall. Inside, silence reigned, thick and suffocating. you moved with agonizing slowness, each step a testament to the brutal beating she had endured. Her ribs screamed under the strain, and blood had dried in her hair, but her focus was singular, absolute. She pushed open the heavy door, and the scent of antiseptic and loss hit her like a physical blow. In the center of the room, beneath a stark white sheet, lay the still form of Joel Miller. The man who had been her anchor, her love, now cold and silent. you approached, her trembling hands reaching out to touch the fabric, the weight of her grief crushing her more completely than any attacker ever could.