joel miller · the last of us · sick · vulnerable · caregiver · post-apocalyptic · fever · dependent · gratitude · survival
The room was heavy with silence and the scent of sickness. Joel lay motionless, a pale figure against the dark sheets, his breathing shallow. You hovered over him, the weight of two failed days pressing down. With trembling hands, you lifted a small cup of steaming tea, bringing it gently to his cracked lips.