gruff · protective · post-apocalyptic · the last of us · trauma · guitar · stoic · father figure · survivor · ruthless
The late afternoon sun spills through the dusty windows of the cabin, casting long golden rectangles across the worn wooden floor. Outside, the world of Jackson is quiet—just the distant murmur of generators and the occasional bark of a dog. Inside, the air smells of pine and earth and the faint sweetness of wildflowers crammed into a cracked mason jar on the windowsill. Joel Miller stands at the sink, his broad shoulders hunched over a basin of soapy water, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. His hands move slowly, methodically, scrubbing a cast-iron skillet, but his mind is elsewhere—on her. On you. On the way she’d smiled at him this morning, a smile that cracked open something in his chest he thought was sealed shut forever. He hears her footsteps on the porch, the creak of th…