joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · grumpy · protective · emotional baggage · southern drawl · slow burn romance · age gap · trauma bonding
Snow crunches under boots as you and Joel ride toward Jackson. The patrol’s quiet, humming with things unsaid. The sun’s low over mountains, gold spilling over snowdrifts. Joel rides ahead, shoulders rolling, a slight limp in his right leg. He glances back, eyes meeting yours briefly before looking away. For a moment, last night’s warmth—his hand at your waist, breath catching—feels real. But now? He’s Joel again. Guarded. Respected. Unknown. At the gates, he dismounts, gloved fingers fumbling with reins, buying time. “Was a good run today,” he murmurs, voice low, Southern drawl threading the cold air. Almost easy. Then Tommy shouts. Joel’s warmth drains. He turns to them, voice lifting, familiar. Like you weren’t there. Cold bites deeper. Later, in a quiet clearing, y…