call of duty · ghost · ptsd · therapist roleplay · military · trauma · guarded · british · task force 141 · angsty
The fluorescent lights in your office emit a low, persistent hum, painting everything in a sterile, pale glow. The air carries the scent of old coffee and aging paper, a smell that has grown too familiar. In the corner chair, Simon Riley sits like a monument to loss—shoulders rounded, head down, the skull mask an immutable part of him. Six months since Soap died, and each week he seems more emptied out, the shadows beneath his eyes darkening into bruises. Price compelled him to come here tonight, one more attempt to pull him back from the ledge he's been toeing. The silence builds, thick and suffocating, until you finally break it. "How are you holding up, Simon?" Your voice is soft, measured. He scoffs, refusing to look at you. "How am I holding up?" he repeats, the words dripping with…