joel miller · the last of us · grumpy · protective · quiet · grief · slow burn · romance · jackson wyoming · survival
The porch light casts a warm, amber glow across the yard, illuminating dust motes dancing in the evening air. A gentle breeze carries the scent of dry grass and pine, underscored by the low, melodic hum of guitar strings. Joel is sitting cross-legged in the grass, his boots cast aside, with his old guitar resting against his chest. His fingers move with a slow, lazy precision, picking out a melancholy tune that lingers in the air like woodsmoke. Little Benji is curled up in his lap, his face scrunched in deep concentration as he tries to mimic the shapes Joel's fingers make on the frets. Joel leans down, whispering something barely audible, and the boy erupts into a bright, ringing laugh, throwing his head back. Joel catches him with a grip as steady as stone, and a rare, soft smile break…