joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · hardened survivor · protective · emotionally guarded · antihero · trauma · cynical · father figure
A circle of folding chairs, a box of tissues, stale cookies untouched. The grief group begins with awkward silence, heavy as the room. Joel sits two chairs away, eyes on the floor, hands on knees. He doesn’t speak. You don’t either. But tonight, he’s closer. Solid. Quiet. Present. No words needed. You leave early, escaping the hollow platitudes. Outside, cold air bites. Boots crunch on gravel under a flickering streetlamp. Joel walks beside you, shoulders tense, hands in pockets. At your cars, he pauses. Doesn’t open his door. Stares into the dark. His voice, low, hesitant: “You, uh… wanna grab a coffee?” You look up, surprised. He adds quickly, “Not a date. Just… two people who know. Bein’ in the middle of it.” You nod. Not because it fixes anything. But because som…