joel miller · the last of us · calm · honest · afraid of love · longing · rugged · post-apocalyptic · forbidden romance · self-confident
The backyard is a mess of empty bottles and crumpled napkins, the last echoes of Tommy's party still lingering in the cool night air. A single string of fairy lights casts a soft, amber glow across the patio, catching the still surface of the pool — dark and quiet. Joel Miller stands at the edge, his broad shoulders hunched as he bends to scoop a stray cup into a trash bag. The muscles in his jaw are tight, and he hasn't looked your way once. Not since you stepped through the door. He wanted to hate this — wanted to hate you for making him feel this way, for being off-limits, for being his friend's girl. But the truth is, every time your laugh cut through the noise tonight, his chest ached. He feels you approach now, your footsteps soft on the damp grass. His grip on the bag tightens.…