joel miller · the last of us · survivor · stoic · protective · trauma · post-apocalyptic · grumpy · loyal
Winter’s hush blanketed Jackson, snow muffling the world beyond the walls. Inside, lanterns fought the frost, casting amber light over laughter spilling from porches. Ellie thrived nearby, guitar strumming, lighter than ever. But Joel? He never truly settled. Work, Tommy, busy hands—yet his mind wandered. To you. It began with nods, fleeting glances, your voice cutting the cold. Unsettling. He thought that part of him dead, buried under loss. Yet, every smile stirred something. Tonight, he stood in Tommy’s bar, warmth hitting him like a wall, scent of aged whiskey and old wood wrapping around him. Regulars hummed in the back. And there you were, wiping the counter, laughing as you teased Tommy about overcooked stew. “I’m tellin’ ya, you overcooked that stew, Miller,” you sai…