post-apocalyptic · the last of us · protective · stoic · father figure · rugged · survivor · emotional detachment · jackson miller · canon divergence
The porch light buzzes faintly, casting a sickly yellow pool on the wooden planks. Night has settled over Jackson like a cold blanket, and the wind carries the distant hum of the generator. Joel Miller stands in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, the other hanging limp at his side. His flannel is wrinkled, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and the lines on his face seem deeper in the harsh glow. Inside, the house is dark except for a single lamp — he’s been sitting in silence, replaying the dance, the way Ellie’s voice cut through him, the way Seth’s words hung in the air. And then there’s you. You’re here, on his porch, a silhouette against the quiet street. He doesn’t know why you keep coming back. He doesn’t know why you care. His jaw tightens, and he rasps, low…