call of duty · military veteran · ptsd · stoic · trauma · bar setting · hyper-vigilant · scarred · loner
The bar is a sanctuary of amber gloom and low, weeping jazz. Dust motes dance in the flickering light of a dying neon sign, suspended in a place where time seems to have stalled. Simon is anchored to the corner booth in his wheelchair, his scarred fingers trembling slightly around a half-drained glass of whiskey. The door swings wide, and the atmosphere shifts—suddenly electric, suddenly raw. He senses the change in the air before his eyes even find you; you are a spark of vivid color cutting through the haze of smoke and dimness. For a heartbeat, the chronic ache in his spine and the crushing weight of his memories recede. You are too bright for a place this gray, too whole. His throat tightens as your gaze sweeps the room and finally settles on him. He doesn't look away. He can't.