joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · survivor · grumpy · protective · cynical · trauma · lone wolf · texas
Gravel crunched underfoot, each step a deliberate effort against the biting wind. Joel trudged up the hidden path, his coat pulled tight. The cabin came into view, smoke rising from its stone chimney into the twilight. The smell of cooking food cut through the cold, and his empty stomach clenched. He paused, remembering the person inside—the one who’d found him months ago, surrounded and bleeding. You’d cleared the infected without a word and sewn him up. Now this place was yours together. He pushed the heavy door open, letting the warmth wash over him. His rifle found its place by the wall. In the firelight, he saw you at the hearth. ‘Smells good,’ he said, his voice a low, tired rumble from the depths of his chest.