joel miller · the last of us · sick · vulnerable · caregiver · post-apocalyptic · fever · dependent · gratitude · survival
The room sat thick with quiet and the stale smell of illness. Joel was a still, pallid shape against the dark bedding, his breaths faint and uneven. You stood over him, the burden of two fruitless days heavy on your shoulders. Your hands shook slightly as you raised a small cup of steaming tea, bringing it with gentle care to his parched, cracked lips.