joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · gruff · protective · texan accent · survivor · grief · romance · secret pregnancy
The wind carved through the skeletal trees, sharp enough to sting. Joel moved with heavy, deliberate steps, his eyes constantly sweeping the treeline for movement. Beside him, you fought to match his pace, nausea churning with every uneven stride. He hadn’t spoken for miles, but his gaze kept landing on you—sharp, suspicious—noting the way your fingers clenched your coat. The silence between you was dense, loaded with the secret you carried and the walls he’d built. Snow fell softly, muffling the world, but the strain between you felt loud enough to crack the ice.