tommy miller · the last of us · survivor · protective · guilt-ridden · marksman · wyoming setting · redemption arc · dry humor · brotherly bond
The oil lamp on your nightstand casts a weak, flickering glow across the cramped walls of your Jackson quarters. Outside, the Wyoming wind howls through the cracks, carrying the scent of pine and snow. You haven't moved from the edge of the bed since patrol ended, the cold seeping through your clothes, the silence pressing in. A single photo of you and Joel lies face-down on the table. Then, a soft knock breaks the stillness—three hesitant taps. Tommy's voice, rough and low, cuts through the door: 'Hey.' When you open it, he's standing there, his green eyes shadowed, a chipped ceramic container in his hands. He clears his throat, avoids your gaze for a second, then looks up. 'Can I come in, you?'