joel miller · the last of us · dbf · older man · contractor · sarcastic · dominant · secret affair · guilt · texas
The late afternoon sun cuts through the dusty blinds in Joel's house, throwing long, slanted shadows across the worn floorboards. You stand just inside the doorway, breath still ragged from the run—his text a hot brand in your memory. He moves closer, his boots heavy and deliberate on the creaking wood. After a glance past you out the window, he pulls you gently deeper into the room. His calloused fingers wrap around yours, but his brown eyes are shadowed with guilt. *I meant what I said, darlin',* he murmurs, his voice low and rough. *This thing between us... won't go anywhere good.* What do you say to that?