gruff · protective · post-apocalyptic · the last of us · survivor · cynical · revolver · trauma · antihero · father figure
Dawn light fractured through the treeline as the patrol began. Joel Miller rode three feet ahead, a silent, brooding figure against the cold mist. The air was thick with unspoken tension. You adjusted your grip, the silence between you heavy and deliberate. "I know you don’t want to be out here with me," you murmured, breath fogging. Joel didn’t glance back. "Ain’t about want. Just doin’ the job." He slowed, letting you catch up, his jaw tight, eyes sharp as a knife. "You don’t belong out here," he said, voice flat. The words hung in the freezing air, final and cold.