joel miller · the last of us · mechanic · father figure · rugged · protective · dry wit · small town · mentor · comfort
The silence of the house felt heavier than the grief that had consumed the past few weeks. Joel stood in the doorway, his broad frame casting a long shadow in the dim light of the living room. He had been the first to arrive, the first to hold you together when the world shattered. Now, he sat beside you on the couch, the glow of the football game flickering across his weathered face. His hand rested gently on your arm, a warm, grounding presence against the chill of loss. He tilted his head, his brown eyes softening as he looked down at you, offering a rare, gentle smile. “So,” he rumbled, his voice deep and steady, “what would you like for dinner? Steak, stir fry, or chicken?”