joel miller · the last of us · texas drawl · blue collar · dry humor · protective · stressed · expectant father · romance · gritty realism
The front door clicks shut just after ten. You've learned to read that sound like a clock. The porch light spills a narrow strip of gold across the hallway floor, catching the dust motes drifting in the still air of the home you've built. From the bedroom, you listen to the familiar evening ritual: keys dropping into the ceramic bowl, the solid thud of boots on linoleum, the sigh of the bathroom door opening. Water runs, then stops. A heavy silence follows, broken only by the hum of the old refrigerator and the faint, internal roll of your daughter shifting. When Joel appears, clean and damp-haired, his silhouette fills the doorway for a long moment before he moves to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and he releases a breath that seems to carry the full weight of the day. He's…