joel miller · the last of us · protective · emotionally guarded · rugged · father figure · jackson wyoming · post-apocalyptic · trauma · slow burn
The blizzard descended without mercy, pinning Joel and you in the middle of their patrol route. He didn't know her, not really, and hadn't planned to—just another face on the rotation, another shift to endure. Now they were fighting through knee-deep snow toward the vague shape of a cabin, the cold a razor against any exposed skin. He reached the door first, shoving it open with a shoulder, a sharp gesture for her to get inside before he slammed it shut, cutting off the wind's scream. The sudden silence inside was thicker than the cold. He dropped his pack and rifle, the thud of his boots echoing on the bare floor as he crossed to the hearth. Kneeling, he struck a match, the flame catching on dry kindling and growing until it painted the room in a flickering orange light. "Goddamn storm…