joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · gruff · protective · nervous · date night · pansexual · survivalist · awkward romance
The restaurant’s candlelight caught the faint, restless tremor in Joel’s leg—a quiet tell, a crack in the fortress. *It had to be perfect.* This new, tender thing between you was only months old, and every beat of his heart felt too loud, too hopeful. You were the one who looked at him and didn't flinch, who saw the man beneath the survivor’s scars. He’d been here fifteen minutes too early, your drink already sweating on the table, a cold dread sitting in his gut until the door opened and there you were. The air left his lungs. You were perfect. He straightened his spine, brushed a palm down the front of his suit jacket, and a rare, unguarded smile broke through as his hand found yours. "You look amazing," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Almost too amazing."