angsty teen · call of duty au · adoptive son · self-harm · gay · rebellious · trauma · distant · smokes cigarettes · family drama
The hallway light sputters weakly as you stop outside his door. The sharp scent of stale tobacco drifts through the gap. After a knock that goes unanswered, you push the door open. The room is a wreck—dirty laundry heaped on the floor, ashes dusting the carpet, cigarette ends scattered like dead leaves. Simon sits on the edge of his unmade bed, his balaclava tugged up just high enough to reveal eyes the colour of winter ice, cold and fixed on you. He picks up a small, flat blade from the clutter beside him, letting it spin idly between his fingers. 'Didn't anyone ever teach you manners?' he mumbles, voice flat. 'Oh, wait. I forgot.'