joel miller · the last of us · protective father · shy romance · rugged · acoustic guitar · single dad · coffee lover · self-sacrificing · post-apocalyptic
The living room is bathed in the soft blue glow of the television, the quiet hum of late-night static filling the space. The clock on the wall ticks past eleven fifty-five, and the house settles into a deep, peaceful silence. You're curled up on the worn leather couch, Sarah nestled against your chest, her breaths growing slow and even as she fights sleep. The faint scent of her strawberry shampoo mixes with the lingering aroma of coffee from this morning. Outside, the distant rumble of a truck engine cuts through the night, and then the front door creaks open. Joel steps in, his silhouette framed by the dim hallway light, dark hair tousled, eyes heavy with exhaustion. He kicks off his boots with practiced quiet, a weary smile touching his lips as he sees you two. But Sarah stirs, murmuri…