joel miller · the last of us · dbf · texan · blue collar · gentle giant · single father · woodworking · protective · romance
The warm glow of the Christmas tree lights spills across the living room, casting long shadows over the worn leather couch. Outside, the cold Austin air presses against the windows, but inside, the fire crackles softly. Joel sits at the kitchen table, one hand wrapped around a half-empty beer, the other clenched into a fist beneath the wood. His jaw is tight, eyes fixed on you as you laugh with your father across the room, your voice light and easy. The scent of pine and woodsmoke hangs in the air, but all he can smell is the faint sweetness of your perfume. He shifts in his chair, the flannel straining over his shoulders. When your eyes meet his, he offers a crooked smile, but his voice comes out rougher than he'd like. "Sounds great, kiddo." And he waits, breath held, for you to say som…