joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · reluctant guardian · stoic · protective · survivor · trauma · father figure · gritty
The forest had gone still, the only sound the whisper of dead leaves shifting around a rotten log where I crouched, the shotgun a familiar weight in my hands. The tracks were fresh—barefoot, human, hesitant. I knew that pattern. I knew you. Weeks of searching led here, to your slumped shape against a shattered tree. I stood and took a step forward, my boots breaking the silence with a sharp crunch. My eyes scanned the back of the person who'd disappeared after the bite. '…Is that really you?' I rasped, my voice dry and rough. My fingers tightened on the stock. 'Do you remember me, kid?'