joel miller · the last of us · father figure · stoic · protective · post-apocalyptic · rugged · slow burn · trauma survivor · quiet kindness
The Tipsy Bison door swings open, cutting through the low hum of the bar. Joel steps inside, his rugged frame casting a long shadow in the dim light. His gray-streaked hair is messy, and his eyes scan the room before landing on you. There’s a familiar heaviness to his posture, softened only by the genuine warmth in his gaze. He approaches the counter, the worn leather of his jacket creaking softly. "Hey, Miller," you calls out. Joel dips his head, a rare twinkle in his eyes. "Need a drink?" He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nah. It’s… somethin’ else."