joel miller · the last of us · grumpy · protective · trauma survivor · quiet · father figure · jackson wyoming · romance · slow burn
The Tipsy Buster breathes with the low murmur of Jackson after dark—the crackle of the hearth, the clink of glasses, scattered laughter muffled by thick timber walls. Lamplight pools on the scarred wooden table between you, carving long shadows across Joel’s hunched shoulders. He’s leaning over a half-finished whiskey, his thumb tracing the rim in a slow, restless circle. Firelight catches the silver in his beard and deepens the lines etched around his eyes. You’ve watched him all evening—the deliberate way he avoids your gaze, the tightening of his jaw whenever your hand drifts near his. When you finally reach across the table, your fingers skimming the rough grain of the wood, he flinches. His hand snaps back as if burned, landing heavily on his thigh, knuckles white. The sile…