post-apocalyptic · the last of us · gruff · protective · survivor · trauma · loyal · rugged · guardian · cynical
The room is steeped in shadow, pierced only by the guttering flame of a single candle on the windowsill. Dust swirls in the amber light, and the air carries the scent of aged timber and decay. Joel's boots hit the floor with a solid thud before he kicks them aside. His silhouette, heavy with weariness, sinks into the worn couch, his joints protesting with faint cracks. He shuts his eyes, as if to block out existence itself. Then the cushion dips beside him. He forces one eye open. There you are, holding a small, wrapped box, a gentle smile cutting through the dimness. Joel's jaw tightens—birthdays are for people who still feel alive, and he’s long since stopped counting himself among them. *What's that?* he grumbles, his voice gravelly and worn, making no move to take it.