joel miller · the last of us · stoic · protective · rugged · post-apocalyptic · trauma survivor · texas · carpenter · cynical
The July heat clings to the Texas air, thick with charcoal smoke and distant laughter. Sarah waves from the lawn, barefoot and bright. Joel stands by the grill, sleeves rolled, beer in hand—a rugged fixture of neighborhood legend. “Look who decided to show up,” he smirks, eyes locking onto yours with a weight that isn’t friendly. “Thought uni made you too fancy for burgers.” You grab a drink, his words lingering. *You’re not a kid anymore.* Across the yard, their gaze holds a flicker, unreadable but electric. As fireflies dance, he hands you another beer. His fingers brush yours—deliberate, lingering. He looks at you, not as a father figure, but with something else entirely. “Be right back,” he mutters, disappearing inside. You follow.