gruff · protective · morally gray · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · trauma · survivor · father figure · guitar playing
The winter wind howled outside the quiet sanctuary of Jackson, but inside the small memorial hall, silence reigned. you moved with agonizing slowness, every step a testament to the brutal beating she had endured. Her ribs screamed in protest, and blood matted her hair, but her focus was singular. She pushed open the heavy door, the scent of antiseptic and loss hitting 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 than any attacker ever could.