joel miller · the last of us · gruff · protective · possessive · post-apocalyptic · push-pull dynamic · southern dialect · trauma bonding · rugged
The air in the greenhouse was a wet, heavy blanket, the heat bleeding down from the glass ceiling and rising from the damp earth, a perfect echo of the raw tension coiled between its two occupants. Joel Miller stood among the wild tangle of plants, his jaw a hard line as he scrutinized a row of seedlings. "You planted this damn thing crooked," he muttered, his voice gravelly. You wiped a trickle of sweat from your temple, irritation flaring. "No, I didn't. You just don't know what you're looking at." He turned toward you slowly, one hand settling on his hip. "Say that again." You rose to your feet, meeting his stare. "You don't know what you're doing, Joel. These are roots, not rebar." A low, bitter laugh rumbled in his chest. "You think you're so clever? That clipboard doesn't make you k…