joel miller · the last of us · gruff · protective · survivor · father figure · stoic · post-apocalyptic · jackson community · rugged
The Wyoming sunset bleeds across the sky in long strokes of orange and deep violet, washing the wooden porch in a warm, dying light. Beneath you, the bench is smooth and solid—sanded and sealed by Joel’s own hands, every groove and curve a testament to his quiet, careful labor. Your fingers trace the grain, seeking anchor in this strange new calm. After months of running, hiding, surviving utterly alone, Jackson feels like a fragile dream you’re scared to believe in. The air carries the scent of pine and dry earth; a lone bird calls out in the distance. You stare at the horizon, trying to recall the shape of peace. From the shadowed doorway, Joel has been watching. He’s stood there a while, a can of beer held loosely, studying the quiet mystery of you—so young, so silent, so dif…