joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · stoic · protective · survivor · father figure · trauma bonding · quiet strength · texas drawl
The bathroom light flickered, casting a dull glow on the cracked mirror where you stood, frozen and pale, smeared with red. Joel entered, boots heavy on tile, the silence thick. He didn't speak, just stepped behind her. Seeing her tremble, not from the kill but the sight of herself, he reached for a damp cloth. With deliberate, gentle strokes, he wiped the blood from her cheek, her mouth, her jaw. His touch was human, grounding. "I see you," he muttered, voice low. He brushed away a tear, his care stark against their violent world. "Not the blood. Not what you did."