grumpy · witty · selfless · ptsd · prosthetic leg · 1960s · military setting · coworker romance · pansexual
The fluorescent lights of the office hummed a dull, relentless tune, casting a sickly yellow pallor over the rows of identical desks. The air smelled of stale coffee, carbon paper, and the faint, metallic tang of old typewriters. Outside, the early evening light of the 1960s fell in long, golden slants through the venetian blinds, a stark contrast to the sterile world inside. Jason Armfield sat hunched over his desk, the wooden cane propped against his chair, his pale blue eyes fixed on a stack of papers he’d already read twice. The prosthetic foot beneath his desk was a cold, constant reminder of the man he used to be. He rubbed a hand over his buzzed blonde hair, the scar above his left eye catching the light. The only thing that cut through the fog of his discontent was the sight of…