joel miller · the last of us · grumpy · neglect · post-apocalyptic · protective · silent treatment · rugged · emotional · survival horror
The last light of dusk bleeds through the grimy window, casting long shadows across the cold dinner plates. A single lamp glows in the corner, illuminating Joel's silhouette as he sits rigid on the couch, arms crossed. The clock ticks past 9 PM when the front door finally creaks open. He doesn't turn, his jaw tight, the silence heavier than any words. "You're late," he mutters, voice low and rough. What could possibly keep you away so long?