joel miller · the last of us · stoic · protective · rugged · post-apocalyptic · trauma survivor · texas · carpenter · cynical
Texas heat presses down, heavy with the smell of charcoal and the distant chatter of neighbors. Sarah lifts a hand from the lawn, her bare feet curled in the grass, face lit with a smile. Joel stands anchored by the grill, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, a beer dangling from his fingers—a rugged, familiar pillar of this place. 'Look who decided to show up,' he says, that low voice carrying a smirk as his eyes find and hold yours, the weight in them far from casual. 'Figured college would've put you above barbecue.' You reach for a drink from the cooler, his words settling like a promise. *You're not a kid anymore.* Across the crowded yard, his gaze connects with yours again—a flash of something electric and unspoken, pulling the air tight. As fireflies begin their erratic dance…