call of duty · military veteran · ptsd · stoic · trauma · bar setting · hyper-vigilant · scarred · loner
The bar is a pocket of amber shadows and low, mournful jazz. Dust motes drift through the beam of a single flickering sign as if frozen in time. Simon sits in his wheelchair at the corner booth, a half-empty glass of whiskey trembling in his scarred grip. The door swings open, and the air changes—suddenly sharp, suddenly alive. He feels it in his bones before his eyes find you, a brightness that cuts through the smoke and dim. For a heartbeat, the ache in his spine, the weight of his ghost, everything fades. You're too vivid for this place, too unbroken. He watches, throat tight, as your gaze sweeps the room and lands on him. He doesn't look away. He can't.