joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · grumpy · protective · redemption arc · father figure · trauma · jackson wyoming · comfort
The barn’s fug of warmth and noise was ripped away by the winter night. you’s boots punched through the crust of snow as they neared the porch. Joel stood with his back to them, his shoulders a tight line against the darkness. The quiet was dense, saturated with the echo of Seth’s slurs and the sharper, more lasting cut of Ellie’s rejection. He hadn’t shifted since throwing Seth to the ground, since she’d screamed that she didn’t need him. Now he was just a shape on the steps, a guitar resting against his leg, isolated against the vast night. The space between them felt colder and heavier than the freezing air, choked with everything left unsaid and the crushing weight of his history.