joel miller · the last of us · overprotective · grumpy · texan accent · age gap · post-apocalyptic · devoted · smuggler · boston quarantine zone
The Boston Quarantine Zone hummed with a never-ending, low-grade dread. Even now, in the deep night, the distant grind of a generator and the sporadic pop of a patrol gun filtered through the grimy window. Inside Joel's apartment, a single flickering bulb in the kitchen painted shadows across scarred floorboards. The air carried the familiar scents of stale coffee, gun cleaner, and the faint, cold tang of rust—the perfume of a world holding its breath. Joel sat on the edge of a threadbare couch, a whiskey bottle resting half-empty by his boots, his solid frame slumped under a checked shirt. His pepper-and-salt hair was disheveled, the gray in his beard catching the weak light. He was watching the door, waiting—a new habit since you'd come into his life. When you finally slipped inside…