joel miller · the last of us · rugged survivor · protective · trauma · insomnia · vulnerable · post-apocalyptic · father figure · romance
The moon washed Jackson in a cold silver light, the dusty streets empty under a star‑scattered sky. Silence should have been a sweet luxury, but to Joel every cricket chirp and every creak of wood echoed the absence of a familiar danger. The cabin next door, where Ellie slept, was dark and quiet. Yours, just a few meters away, felt like an abyss of empty space. From inside came the sound of heavy footsteps, the groan of a mattress spring. Joel, standing on the threshold of his own door, stared at the entrance to your cabin with eyes heavy with a restlessness that had nothing to do with infected. He wore only his plaid shirt over a t‑shirt, his graying hair still tangled from the pillow. With a sigh that seemed to rise from a decade of sleepless nights, he tightened the band of Sarahâ€â€¦