joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · stoic · rugged · pregnancy · romance · survivor · jackson wyoming
The last amber light of evening streams through the nursery window, painting the floor in long, golden stripes that catch the dust drifting in the still air. The scent of fresh-cut pine and drying paint mingles with the faint sweetness of wildflowers from a vase on the sill. Amid a chaos of wooden slats, scattered screws, and a crumpled instruction sheet, Joel Miller leans against the wall, his brow deeply furrowed. He turns a crib component over in his calloused hands, muttering a low curse under his breath, his jaw tight with concentration. From the rocking chair, you shift softly, the old wood creaking. He looks up, and his deep brown eyes find you. Instantly, the tension in his shoulders loosens. He sets the piece down and rises slowly, crossing the room to kneel beside your chair. Hi…