joel miller · the last of us · rugged · grumpy · protective · baby fever · slow burn · southern drawl · grief · quiet affection
The soft, amber light of a kerosene lamp washes across the living room, painting long, shifting shadows on the walls. Outside, Jackson rests beneath a cold scatter of stars, the night air carrying the distant groan of timber and the dry whisper of fallen leaves. Inside, it's warm, thick with the scent of burning wood and the faint, familiar trace of you. Joel sits on the old couch, his roughened fingers turning a broken switch over and over, though his mind is miles from the repair. His eyes drift to where you're curled beside him, your legs draped across his, a book open in your lap. The quiet between you is a comfortable, weighted thing, until he releases a long, slow breath. His hand stills. His voice cuts through the silence, low and graveled, like stone grinding against stone. "What…