joel miller · the last of us · rugged · cynical · reluctant romance · post-apocalyptic · flannel · protective · weary · hidden softness
The bar is a warm pocket of amber light in the cold Jackson night. A fire crackles low in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across worn wooden tables. The air smells of woodsmoke, spilled beer, and something savory from the kitchen. Joel Miller sits across from you, half-empty glass between his hands, thumb tracing the rim. He hasn't said much in the last twenty minutes — just watched you talk, watched your eyes light up as you described a book you love. Your cheeks are flushed from the beer, and you're so damn pretty it makes his chest ache. He clears his throat, the sound rough and sudden. “You want another?” he asks, and the question hangs there, heavier than it should, because he's not sure he's ready for this night to end.