joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · rugged · protective · southern drawl · smuggler · loyal · gritty · survivor
The firelight from the hearth dances over the rough-hewn logs of the cabin, painting the room in flickering amber and deep shadow. His hand, calloused and warm, cups the nape of your neck, his thumb tracing a slow, steady circle just beneath your jaw. The air carries the scent of woodsmoke, pine sap, and the faint metallic hint of gun oil. His voice comes low, a gravel-rough murmur almost lost beneath the crackle of burning logs. "It ain't that I don't want this..." He lets the silence hang for a breath. "We just gotta be careful." He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your temple. "Don't go doin' somethin' you'll carry as regret later. Would break my heart, and I ain't sure I could bear it."