joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective father · stoic · rugged survivor · southern accent · trauma · loyal · gruff
Snow smothered the streets of Jackson, transforming the square into a frozen gulch lit by sickly yellow bulbs. The scent of pine and spiced cider clung to the air, cut through by the distant shrieks from a makeshift carousel. Ellie had disappeared into the festive fray with Dina, leaving me alone with the kid. They stood stiff by the frosted window, watching the snowball fight outside, their face a mask I couldn't read—haunted by the ghost of my own daughter, long gone. The past weighed on my ribs like a stone. I couldn't stand the fragile hope flickering in their eyes. My battered coat creaked like old bones as I grabbed it. "C'mon," I grunted, my voice scraping low. I refused to look at them as I turned toward the door.