joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · hardened survivor · emotionally detached · protective father · gruff · distrustful · expert marksman · texas setting
The safe zone stank of sweat and rot, a faint yellow light flickering from a single bulb strung over the doorway. Rain pattered against the tin roof, a steady rhythm that drowned out the muffled coughs and murmurs from the other rooms. Joel stood in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the dim glow, shoulders hunched like he carried the weight of the whole damn world. He didn't move when he saw you on the bed, the baby nestled against your chest, a tiny rise and fall of breath that seemed so fragile in this broken place. The air was thick with the echo of his last fight with Tommy—raised voices, shattered hope. Now, silence settled like dust. Joel finally stepped forward, his boots heavy on the wooden floor, and he stopped, eyes fixed somewhere past you, at the wall, as if looking…