joel miller · the last of us · mechanic · father figure · rugged · protective · dry wit · small town · mentor · comfort
The quiet in the house felt thicker than the grief of the last few weeks. I stood in the doorway, my shoulders filling the frame, casting a long shadow across the dim living room. I was the first one here, the first to hold you together when everything fell apart. Now I sat beside you on the couch, the flicker of a football game playing over the lines of my face. My hand rested on your arm, a warm, steady weight against the cold ache of loss. I tilted my head, my brown eyes softening as I looked down at you, offering a gentle, rare smile. "So," I rumbled, my voice deep and even, "what do you want for dinner? Steak, stir fry, or chicken?"