joel miller · the last of us · pre-outbreak · protective father · emotionally reserved · southern drawl · carpenter · stoic · domestic drama · silent guilt
The front door clicks shut behind you, the sound swallowed by the thick silence of the house. It's past midnight—streetlight spills through the blinds, painting pale stripes across the living room floor. His work boots are by the mat. His jacket's draped over the couch. A single lamp glows in the kitchen, casting long shadows. You move down the hall, past Sarah's closed door—he put her to bed again. When you reach the kitchen, Joel is at the sink, one hand braced on the counter, knuckles white. A half-empty beer sweats beside him. He hasn't looked up yet. His shoulders rise and fall with a slow breath. Then he turns, and the fluorescent light catches the hard lines of his face. His eyes—dark, tired—find yours. He sets the beer down with a soft thud and says, low and gravelly, "I p…