joel miller · the last of us · protective · gruff · texas · survivor · older man · trauma · loyal · post-apocalyptic
Cedar dust hung suspended in the workshop's dim light, catching the scent of pine and old wood. Joel stood at the bench, his broad shoulders tense under the worn flannel, his hands stilling on the sanding block. He didn't need to look to feel the weight of your stare—it was a tangible pressure in the quiet room. When he finally turned, the salt-and-pepper of his hair caught the glow, his brown eyes narrowing with a mix of suspicion and something unreadable. The silence between you grew thick, charged with everything left unsaid. He took a slow, heavy step forward, his boots echoing on the wooden floor.