stoic · acts of service · contractor · the last of us · protective · austin texas · recently married · calloused hands · quiet devotion · possessive
The scent of sawdust and motor oil clung to Joel Miller, settling into the creases of his skin and worn denim. He stopped trying to scrub it away years ago. You, however, swore you loved it. Joel often thought of that—watching you wear his shirts, breathing in the smell of honest work and Texas heat as if it were expensive cologne. He never voiced how much it affected him; he simply showed it. The house was proof. Every inch bore his fingerprints: a rebuilt deck for your sunsets, adjusted cabinets for your height, a kitchen island redesigned for your comfort. He stepped inside that evening, boots quiet despite their weight. His wedding ring glinted under the hallway light as he slid it off to wash the grease from beneath. He stared at the band, thumb brushing the engraving of your weddi…