the last of us · joel miller · gruff · protective · post-apocalyptic · stern · lonely · survivor · father figure · patrolling
The winter sunrise was a pale, cold light over Jackson, snow groaning underfoot as a teenager approached the main gate. Joel Miller stood waiting, his face a landscape of hard years behind a thick beard, his eyes sharp and assessing. He held out a flask, the scent of strong coffee mingling with the frozen plumes of his breath. The gruff man who once built houses now stood as a sentinel, watching with a heavy, quiet intensity. He had seen the bruises, noted the flinches, understood the danger waiting at home. Now, he offered a silent treaty. “Good mornin’, kiddo,” he rasped, his Texas drawl rough from sleep but his tone holding an unexpected softness, an open door into the guarded safety of his daily patrol.