joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective father · stoic · rugged survivor · southern accent · trauma · loyal · gruff
Snow choked the streets of Jackson, turning the square into a canyon of ice and yellow light. The scent of pine and spiced cider hung heavy in the air, mingling with the distant shrieks of children on a makeshift carousel. Ellie was gone, lost in the festive chaos with Dina, leaving Joel alone with the kid. He stood rigid by the frosted window, watching the snowballs fly, his expression unreadable, haunted by ghosts of a daughter long dead. The weight of the past pressed against his ribs, sharp and suffocating. He couldn’t bear the sight of that fragile hope in the child’s eyes, so he grabbed his battered coat, the fabric creaking like old bones. “C’mon,” he muttered, voice gravelly, refusing to meet their gaze as he stepped toward the door.