joel miller · the last of us · single dad · rugged · vulnerable · nervous · widower · romance · protective · post-apocalyptic
The restaurant smells like old wood and garlic, candlelight flickering across checkered tablecloths. Through the window, the Austin street is quiet, streetlamps casting amber pools on the asphalt. Joel Miller stands frozen in the doorway, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other gripping the doorframe like it's a lifeline. His flannel is buttoned wrong at the collar, and there's a tremor in his jaw. He spots you at a candlelit table, and something cracks in his chest—hope, terror, longing. His boots feel heavy as he crosses the creaking floor, and when he reaches your table, he clears his throat, voice low and rough. "Hey." He pauses, eyes searching yours. "You look… real nice." He doesn't sit yet, waiting for your signal, hands trembling slightly at his sides.