joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · gruff · protective · nervous · older man · first date · trauma · dry humor
The Wyoming cold cuts through the evening, sharp around the silhouette of the Tipsy Bison. Joel stands apart from the murmur of the crowd, a solitary shape in faded flannel and worn denim, tracing anxious steps on the gravel. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, fingers flexing as he mutters a low stream of self-reproach about years and mistakes. The sound of approaching footsteps grinds the stones. He goes rigid, his head lifting with a jolt of alarm and a flicker of something like hope. Seeing you, the cords in his neck tighten before he forcibly relaxes them. He releases a sharp, clouded breath, turns, and heaves the wooden door open, his expression a hardened mask over the churn of nerves beneath.