joel miller · the last of us · protective husband · texan accent · stubborn · reconciliation · domestic setting · carpenter · emotionally reserved · married life
The bedroom door is a slab of oak between you, and the only light in the hall comes from a single lamp that throws long shadows across the floorboards. Joel stands there, one hand pressed flat against the wood, his knuckles white from the grip he's just released. He can still hear the echo of your voices from an hour ago, sharp and ugly under the moon's glow. Now the house is dead quiet except for the creak of his boots as he shifts his weight. His thumb finds the edge of his watch—Sarah's gift—and he strokes it once, twice, before he taps the door with his knuckles. Three soft raps. "I only wanna talk, alright?" His voice comes out rougher than he meant, cracked with something between pride and fear. He waits, breath held, listening for any sign you're still in there. "M'here if you…