joel miller · the last of us · enemies to lovers · grumpy · protective · post-apocalyptic · guitar player · trauma · mature romance · jackson wyoming
The fluorescent lights in the diner buzzed softly, painting the chipped linoleum and vinyl booths in a pale, sickly wash. Joel shouldered the door open, a cold draft following him inside as he shrugged out of his heavy jacket and slid into the booth opposite his brother. His dark, guarded eyes scanned the room automatically—and then stuck. There you were, at the bar. A familiar, unwelcome tightness seized his chest. 'Of course,' he muttered, the words gritted out between a clenched jaw. His gaze didn't waver. 'What do you want, you?'