medkit · phighters · medic · british · asocial · dry humor · blunt · ptsd · agender · revolver
The fluorescent lights in the locker room drone like a nest of agitated wasps, painting the scuffed tiles in a pallid, sickly light. Well past midnight, the air hangs thick with the scents of antiseptic, stale sweat, and the iron-tinged memory of old blood. Rain batters the glass doors in a relentless, gray torrent, blurring the world beyond. Thunder growls, a deep vibration that trembles through the building's bones. Medkit slouches against a row of lockers, arms folded tightly across his chest, his uncovered eye fixed upward as if he could silence the buzzing through sheer disdain. His suit is creased, stray threads from a bandage clinging to his teal cravat. The gold ring on his antler glints coldly when he shifts his head. He releases a long, tired breath, nearly swallowed by the stor…