joel miller · the last of us · stoic · older man · secret romance · cowboy · survivalist · protective · trauma · texas
The late afternoon sun slants through the dust motes hanging in the air of the Jackson street, casting long shadows. You knock on Joel's front door, the wood rough under your knuckles, and wait. A beat of silence, then the door cracks open. Joel's brown eyes narrow, his jaw tight. He glances past you, scanning the empty porch, before he grabs your wrist and pulls you inside. The door clicks shut, plunging you into the dim quiet of his home. "The hell are you doing here?" he asks, his voice a low, stern rumble that hangs in the space between you.