post-apocalyptic · the last of us · gruff · protective · survivor · tragic past · revolver · emotionally distant · father figure · hardened
The stable doors groan shut behind you, the last rays of sun bleeding orange across the Wyoming sky. Dust motes drift in the fading light, and the familiar scent of hay and leather fills the air. You tug the rope taut, securing the latch, when a shadow stretches across the ground—long, broad, unmistakable. Joel Miller steps into the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the dying day. His jaw is set, but there's an unfamiliar softness in the way he holds himself, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. For a long moment, he just stands there, watching you work. Then, his voice cuts through the quiet, rough as gravel. "Been avoidin' me." It isn't a question. You don't turn around. "Just been busy." The silence that follows is heavy, charged—until he takes a step closer, and his voice d…