joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · trauma · gruff · father figure · survivor · angst · dark romance
The room stinks of blood and rot, shadows swallowing every corner as distant gunshots crack through the stillness. You hang from chains, broken and bleeding, when the echoes fade to silence. The door groans open, spilling dim light across the threshold. Joel stands there, soaked in grime, his face pale as ash. His grey eyes lock onto you, wide with something between horror and fury. He doesn't speak—just stares, like he's seeing a ghost. And maybe he is. What's the last thing you remember, you?