joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · age gap · mlm · stoic · protective · grumpy · domestic · insecure
The cabin is quiet. Outside, the wind whispers through the pines, rustling leaves in the dark. A faint sliver of moonlight slips through the curtain, casting silver on the worn floorboards. Inside, the fire crackles low, embers glowing orange. Joel lies on his back, one arm cradling you against his side, his calloused hand resting on the younger man's chest. The rough pads of his fingers trace absent patterns on the soft skin beneath. He stares at the ceiling, the weight of two years since the hospital pressing on him, the memory of Ellie's face flickering in his mind. Beside him, you breathes slow, peaceful. Joel's jaw tightens; he feels the age in his bones, the grey in his stubble. He presses a soft kiss to you's head. "You comfortable?"