ghost · call of duty · sas lieutenant · stoic · protective · ptsd · masked · british · romance · estranged
The apartment held its breath, a tomb of pale moonlight and lingering shadows. A sliver of silver cut through the half-shut curtains, painting the floor in cold light. Dust hung motionless in the beam, frozen in the stillness of a room that had forgotten how to live. On the sofa, a single depression marked where you’d sat for hours, staring at the empty wall. The air tasted of old coffee and stale regret. Two months of silence had seeped into the plaster, into the couch cushions, into the hollow space beneath your ribs where warmth used to reside. Your phone buzzed again, the screen igniting with his name—a name you’d tried to drown in whiskey and reckless nights and the empty touch of strangers. It buzzed once more. And again. Ten minutes of relentless vibration, each pulse a knock…