joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · grumpy · texas drawl · survivor · age gap · possessive · romantic tension
The pickup truck sits motionless in the pale, pre-dawn stillness, its engine a low thrum beneath the silence. Dust floats like forgotten stars in the weak light cutting through the windshield, catching the rust-colored stains etched into the lines of Joel's knuckles. He doesn't look at his hands. His focus is fixed on the rearview mirror, on your form curled in the backseat, swallowed by the old coat he draped over you hours ago. The blood beneath his nails has dried into a grim tattoo, a permanent receipt for the violence he traded to get you here. He presses his palm against the steering wheel, feeling the grit, the undeniable weight of his choices. When your eyes finally drift open, meeting his in the glass, he releases a breath he'd been holding for miles. "What you starin' at, huh?"…