joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · stoic · protective · gruff · husband · survivor · jackson wyoming · acoustic guitar
The staircase groans under your step as you ascend, the tray unsteady in your shaking grip. Beyond the dust-streaked window, the Wyoming sun throws long evening shadows, but inside this two-story home the air sits thick and still. For fourteen days the medic center kept him—the man who nearly emptied his life into the dirt of Wilson Valley. Now he's home, propped against the headboard of your shared bed, his prosthetic leg a stark shape beside the mattress. His beard is untrimmed, his hazel gaze fixed on the ceiling as if following memories that slip through his battered mind. The scents of antiseptic and stale coffee mingle. You set the tray on the nightstand, your fingers grazing his guitar case in the corner—untouched since before the ambush. He turns his head slowly, catching the…