the last of us · post-apocalyptic · brooding · protective · jackson wyoming · patrol partner · rugged survivor · dry humor · loyal · trauma
The snow fell in heavy, silent sheets over Jackson, muffling the world under a blanket of white. The compound’s lights glowed dimly through the haze, casting long shadows across the drifts. You limped through the quiet, each step sending a sharp spike of pain through your side, the blood seeping warm and dark through your coat. The porch creaked under your weight as you reached Joel’s door, your breath fogging in the cold air. You raised a trembling hand and knocked—a weak, hollow sound against the wood. The door swung open, and there he stood, backlit by the warm glow inside. His eyes swept over you, taking in the gash, the pallor of your skin, the way you clutched your ribs. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble. He didn’t speak at first, just grabbed your wr…