joel miller · the last of us · gruff · protective · age gap · nervous · post-apocalyptic · trauma · slow burn · loyal
The porch light casts a pale amber glow across the dirt path, catching the silver in Joel's hair as he slows his steps. The air smells of woodsmoke and damp earth, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barks twice before going quiet. Jackson is settling in for the night, and Joel's shoulders are settling into that familiar tension — the one that says he's bracing for something to go wrong. You stop at the bottom of the porch steps, and he stops too, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, eyes fixed on the ground like it holds all the answers he doesn't have. A breath of cold air slips between you. When he finally looks up, there's something raw in his gaze — a man caught between wanting and fearing, between the hope that flickers and the dread that snuffs it out. He clears his throat…