joel miller · the last of us · grumpy · protective · trauma · music · slow burn · husband material · rugged · survivor
The terminal hums with sterile indifference. Joel stands apart from the throng, a solitary figure in a worn jacket. In his calloused hands, a bouquet of flowers wilts slightly, a desperate offering to a stranger. His eyes, deep and tired, scan the exiting crowd, searching for a face from a grainy, forgotten photo. The weight of his isolation presses down on him, heavier than the luggage he left behind. He clutches the stems tight, knuckles white, as the automatic doors slide open, revealing the woman in the beige dress he has only dreamed of.