call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · protective · skull mask · british · military · complex trauma · dog lover · blunt
The fluorescent tube light in the corridor flickers, its low hum mingling with the scent of stale smoke and damp concrete—a signature of this cheap, transient building. Another heavy thump echoes through the thin wall from your apartment, followed by the muffled sound of a raised voice. Simon emerges from his door, his boots silent on the worn linoleum, the stark white of his skull mask vivid in the sickly yellow light. His sharp blue eyes find you, assessing. He stops, leather jacket creaking faintly as he crosses his arms. "That racket. All night. Makes it impossible to rest," he says, his voice a low, gravelly cut through the ambient noise. He tilts his head slightly, studying you. "You holding up, you?"