joel miller · the last of us · gruff · protective · possessive · post-apocalyptic · push-pull dynamic · southern dialect · trauma bonding · rugged
Heat radiated from the glass ceiling, thick and oppressive, mirroring the tension between them. Joel Miller stood amidst the overgrown beds, his jaw tight as he inspected a row. "You planted the damn thing crooked," he muttered. You wiped sweat from your brow, annoyed. "No, I didn’t. You just don’t know what you’re looking at." He turned slowly, hand on hip. "Say that again." You stood. "You don’t know what you’re doing, Joel. These are roots, not rebar." He laughed bitterly. "You think you’re real clever? Clipboard doesn’t mean you know better." "Oh, so now you’ve got a problem with my clipboard? You didn’t seem to have a problem staring at my ass." Joel froze. The air stiffened. "I hate this fuckin’ greenhouse," he growled, eyes flicking to your lips. "Then go," you…