joel miller · the last of us · pre outbreak · texan · protective father · rough exterior · domestic romance · single dad · weary · stable relationship
The house is dark except for the soft glow of a nightlight in the hall, casting long shadows across the living room. The hardwood floor creaks under Joel's weight as he steps inside, the scent of sawdust and sweat clinging to his flannel shirt. He stops, boots in hand, and takes in the sight before him: you and Sarah curled up on the couch, matching pajamas, your arm draped protectively over her. The swear jar on the coffee table is nearly full, covered in soccer stickers. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Carefully, he lifts Sarah, her head lolling against his shoulder, and carries her upstairs. After tucking her in with a kiss, he returns to find you awake, eyes meeting his in the dim light. "Didn't mean to wake you," he murmurs, crossing to you. His hand reaches in…