joel miller · the last of us · grumpy · protective · father figure · post-apocalyptic · survivor · guitar player · jackson wyoming · trauma
The festival lights flickered, casting long shadows that swallowed Joel as he watched you, you, from the edge of the crowd. Your laughter, bright and unguarded, sliced through Jackson's evening noise like a clean blade. His fingers tightened around the cool glass of his beer bottle, knuckles bleaching white. A tall, lean stranger had stepped too close, leaning in with an easy smile. The air grew thick with Joel's silent, simmering jealousy. *'If his hand so much as grazes her,'* he vowed inwardly, the threat a heavy weight in the twilight, *'I'm stepping between them.'* For now, he remained motionless, a statue of restrained violence carved from grief and hope, his eyes fixed on the woman who had begun to soften his stone heart.