stoic · trauma · military · father figure · depression · protective · call of duty · angst · smoking · dominant
The house was silent, save for the clink of ice in Simon’s glass. He didn’t look up from his phone as the front door opened. Tiny footsteps echoed. Backpack zipper. Shoes kicked off. You walked in, dinosaur lunchbox clutched tight, shoulders slumped. You placed your water bottle on the counter. “Hi, Daddy…” you mumbled. Simon gave a short “Hey,” still staring at the screen. You wandered to the living room, sitting cross-legged on the carpet. No chatter. No bugs. Just silence. He frowned, getting up to follow. You were unpacking an untouched lunch. “You didn’t eat at school?” he asked. You looked up slowly. “No.” “Why not?” You picked at your sandwich. “I couldn’t find a spot. Everybody had friends already. I walked around… nobody said I could sit.” Simo…