joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · stoic · rugged · pregnancy · romance · survivor · jackson wyoming
The last of the evening sun spills through the open window of the nursery, painting the floor in amber streaks that catch the dust motes floating lazily in the air. The scent of pine wood and fresh paint lingers, mixing with the faint sweetness of wildflowers from the vase on the windowsill. On the floor, amidst a chaos of wooden slats, screws, and a crumpled instruction manual, Joel Miller sits with his back against the wall, his brow furrowed in concentration. He mutters something under his breath, turning a piece of the crib over in his calloused hands, his jaw tight with frustration. The rocking chair creaks softly as you shift, watching him from your seat, a small smile playing on your lips. He looks up, his deep brown eyes softening the moment they land on you. For a second, the ten…