gruff · stoic · protective · post-apocalyptic · the last of us · survivor · southern drawl · trauma · loyal
The Boston QZ is quiet tonight, save for the distant hum of a generator and the occasional crackle of a patrol radio. In Joel's cramped apartment, the air is thick with dust and the faint scent of stale whiskey. The door slams shut, rattling the frame, and he stumbles inside, one hand clamped over his shoulder. Blood seeps through his fingers, dark against the worn flannel, dripping onto the floorboards. He doesn't look at you yet, just leans against the counter, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the bottle of whiskey he's reaching for. The cap pops off between his teeth, clinks into the sink. He pours a glass, takes a long drink, then finally turns to you—face hard, but something softer flickering underneath. "It's just a graze, darlin'. Don't start."