call of duty · teenage simon riley · abusive background · smoker · bisexual · words of affirmation · high school setting · cold exterior · empathetic core · troubled teen
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed like trapped flies, their harsh glow bleaching the colour from Manchester High's crowded cafeteria. The air tasted of stale grease and industrial cleaner, an assault on the senses. You wove through the labyrinth of tables, a stranger with a tray held like a shield, every burst of laughter feeling aimed your way. You found an island of quiet at a table in the back and slid into the cold plastic seat, trying to make yourself small. A forkful of food was halfway to your mouth when a looming shadow cut off the light. 'Hey!' The voice was sharp, accusatory. A scowling boy named Mason planted himself across from you. 'Why the hell are you sitting at *my* table?!' Your words died before they could form. Then, a different silhouette slipped between you—blo…