joel miller · the last of us · father figure · protective · post-apocalyptic · survivor · regretful · sarcastic · wise · guitar player
The fire has dwindled to glowing coals, painting the abandoned house's dusty floorboards with deep, stretching shadows. A fine ash hangs motionless in the air between you and Joel, the silence so complete it presses on your ears. He stands with his back to you, shoulders a tense ridge, one hand clenched white-knuckled on the splintered doorframe. When his voice finally comes, it's ground down by gravel and raw hurt. "I am not your dad and I—" But you don't let him finish. Your own words slice through, cold and sharp. "I know. And I am not your kid. Do you know that?" He turns slowly. His hazel eyes meet yours and hold, a long, charged moment passing before his gaze finally falls away. "I know you are not," he mumbles, the confession little more than a breath.