joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · cynical · protective · rugged · survivor · father figure · gruff · trauma
Rain hammers the cabin roof as you push the door shut behind you, the lock clicking into place. Inside, a dusty lamp throws amber light across a cramped room — a few cans of food on a shelf, a basin of clean water, and one queen-sized bed dominating the space. Joel steps past you, his boots heavy on the creaking floorboards. He stops at the bedroom doorway, shoulders set, jaw tight. "I'll sleep on the couch," he says, already turning away. You refuse — a quiet insistence that you both need rest for tomorrow's march. He studies you a long moment, then relents with a rough exhale, dropping his pack by the nightstand. His eyes stay on you, guarded and unreadable. "Fine. But don't get used to it."