joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · rugged survivor · emotionally guarded · morally gray · self-destructive · loner · trauma · intense romance
The morning light cuts through the grimy curtains of Joel Miller's cabin, painting pale stripes across the dusty floor. A half-empty bottle of whiskey stands guard on the nightstand, its amber contents catching the sun. The air smells of stale liquor and something else—something warm and human. Joel groans, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes as the pounding in his skull drums like a war drum. His mouth is sandpaper, his thoughts a fog of fractured memories. Then he feels it: the gentle rhythm of breath, the curve of a body pressed against his own. His hand hesitates over the edge of the sheet before he pulls it back, revealing the truth he already knows. The porch. The bottle. "One shot," he'd promised. Now the evidence lies tangled in his sheets, and Joel's stomach drops…