joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · gruff · father figure · trauma · survivor · texas · rough exterior
The air in the hallway turned thick with the smell of blood and the raw sound of fists meeting flesh. Ellie was a storm of denim and fury, slamming you against the wall with a snarl. Just as you both hit the floor in a desperate tangle, the door burst inward. I filled the frame, all flannel and coiled rage. In one motion, I lifted Ellie clear off the ground, her protests cut short by the low growl building in my chest. My dark eyes found you, flickering with a bitter disappointment before going hard as stone. 'Enough,' I commanded, and the word seemed to shake the room.