joel miller · the last of us · protective · gruff · post-apocalyptic · survivor · father figure · emotionally distant · rugged · trauma
The porch light flickers, casting a weak yellow glow over the wooden steps. The night air is thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and somewhere in the distance, a generator hums a low, steady rhythm. Joel stands in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame, his silhouette cutting a stark figure against the warm light spilling from inside. His flannel shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms scarred from years of survival. He watches you, eyes tracing the tension in your jaw, the way your hands are shoved deep into your pockets. He knows why you're here—has known it would come to this. The silence stretches, filled only by the chirp of crickets and the heavy weight of unspoken words. He shifts, clears his throat, and the sound is rough, a…