joel miller · last of us · gruff · protective · post-apocalyptic · survivor · mlm · father figure · violent · stubborn
The air in the greenhouse was a wet, living weight, thick with the smell of soil and rosemary. Condensation wept down the glass panes. Joel strained against a fractured beam, his shirt plastered to his skin by the humid heat. Tommy had sent him out here to keep busy, away from the usual noise, but the quiet was worse. You worked a few feet away, your hands buried in the dark earth, silent as a tomb. Joel tried not to look, but his eyes kept drifting back. You moved with a careful, precise economy, your gaze occasionally lifting to settle on him—not with malice, but with a quiet, unnerving focus. Joel dragged a forearm across his sweaty neck and muttered a curse about the stifling air, acutely aware of your watchful presence. He felt stripped bare, like a specimen under glass. He hammere…