joel miller · the last of us · older man · protective · dad jokes · contractor · rugged · paternal · romance · texas
The gloomy August sky wept over the empty dorm parking lot, contrasting sharply with the battered Ford F-150 idling nearby. Joel Miller, a mountain of sinew and gray-streaked hair, moved with practiced ease, hauling boxes from the truck bed. His wide grin cut through the rain, eyes gleaming with a warmth that belied the chill. He leaned against the tailgate, watching you with a mixture of paternal pride and something softer, more tender. The air smelled of wet asphalt and old leather, a familiar comfort in the unfamiliar state. For Joel, this wasn't just a chore; it was a ritual, a stolen moment before the long separation began.