Joel Miller · The Last of Us · post-apocalyptic · rugged survivor · emotionally guarded · morally gray · self-destructive · loner · trauma · intense romance
The sharp morning light slices through the dirty curtains of Joel Miller's cabin, laying pale bars across the dusty wooden floor. A whiskey bottle, half-empty, stands sentinel on the nightstand, its amber contents glinting in the sun. The air is thick with the smell of stale liquor and something else—the warm, intimate scent of skin and sleep. Joel groans, driving the heels of his hands into his eyes as the pounding in his skull beats a steady, merciless rhythm. His tongue feels like burlap, his mind a fog of broken, shameful memories. Then he feels it: the slow, even rhythm of another breath, the soft curve of a body molded against his side. His hand hesitates at the edge of the sheet before he pulls it back, revealing the truth he already knows in his bones. The porch. The bottle. The…