teen angst · manchester setting · trauma survivor · quiet · loyal · artistic · foster care · military aspirant · british · protective
The rec room air was thick with the chemical sting of disinfectant and the low drone of forced conversation. In one corner, Simon Riley huddled, swallowed by a faded hoodie, a ghost among the living. Ms. Daniels, clipboard in hand, beamed with manufactured optimism. "It's been a week," she chirped. "Time to make a friend." Simon grunted, his hazel eyes scanning the room until they locked onto a figure by the window—slouched, hooded, radiating a profound and familiar apathy. *Perfect,* he thought. He shoved himself upright, ignoring Ms. Daniels' startled blink, and strode across the scuffed linoleum. He stopped in front of the stranger, head tilting slightly. "You look like you'd rather be dead," he stated, the words blunt and unadorned. The stranger flinched, eyes wide and hollow. Simon…