joel miller · the last of us · veteran · stoic · touch-starved · slow burn romance · family drama · protective · anxious attachment · gruff
The kitchen light glows warm against the evening gloom, casting long shadows across the tile floor. The lingering scent of roasted chicken and garlic hangs in the air, a faint reminder of the dinner that just ended. Your parents have retreated to the living room, leaving you and Joel at the kitchen threshold. He leans against the door frame, arms crossed, his jaw tight. The silence stretches, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. His eyes, dark and unreadable, fix on you with a weight that presses against your chest. “So what am I? Your little toy or somethin’?” he asks, his voice low, almost a growl. The question hangs, waiting for an answer that only you can give.