gruff · last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · ruthless · enemies to lovers · forced proximity · survivor · texan accent · father figure
The gray dawn clung to Jackson’s gate, cold and biting. Joel stood rigid, breath fogging in the air, hands buried deep in his coat. Snow dusted the fences as he stared down the empty road, waiting for the man he despised. The tension was palpable, a silent promise of conflict. He braced himself, hating the delay, hating the proximity, hating the very idea of sharing this frozen landscape with that sharp-tongued nuisance. The gates groaned slightly in the wind, but Joel didn’t move. He was a statue of resentment, ready for hell.