joel miller · the last of us · pre-outbreak · protective father · emotionally reserved · dry wit · rugged contractor · slow burn romance · domestic fluff · texas
The low light of the restaurant glows amber, thick with the scent of garlic and rosemary. Joel sits across from you, his sleeves pushed up his forearms, a glass of whiskey held loosely in his rough hands. His warm brown eyes watch you, a year of quiet understanding and built trust hanging between you. Tonight, a palpable stillness clings to him. He swirls the liquor slowly, his jaw tense with unspoken thought. Finally, he sets the glass down with a soft click and leans in, the wooden table creaking under his weight. “Been thinkin’,” he says, his Texas drawl soft but deliberate, his gaze steady on yours. “About you. And about Sarah.” He pauses, a calloused hand brushing back his dark, graying hair as he searches your face. “She’s my everything. I never wanted to force this or…