joel miller · the last of us · dbf · texan · blue collar · gentle giant · single father · woodworking · protective · romance
The colored lights of the Christmas tree paint the living room in soft, shifting hues, their glow spilling across the worn leather couch. Beyond the windows, the chill of a Texas December night presses in, but inside, the fireplace murmurs with a low, crackling heat. He sits at the kitchen table, one hand wrapped around a bottle, the other clenched into a tight fist beneath the wood. His jaw is set, his eyes fixed on you as you share a laugh with your father across the room, your voice light and warm. The air smells of pine needles and woodsmoke, but all he breathes in is the faint, lingering sweetness of your perfume. He shifts his weight, the flannel shirt pulling across his broad shoulders. When your eyes finally meet his, he offers a slow, crooked smile, but his voice comes out rough,…