simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · angst · mlm · alcoholic · scarred face · trauma · forbidden romance · silent
The apartment lay shrouded in gloom, the only illumination a dull, jaundiced glow from the streetlamp seeping through the slatted blinds. It striped the room in alternating bands of sickly gold and deep grey, catching the slow dance of dust in the stifling, motionless air. The scent hit first—stale whiskey, sour and accusatory, mixed with the ghost of old cigarette smoke embedded in the worn couch fabric. An empty bottle lay on its side near the coffee table, a dark ring staining the wood where a glass had been knocked over and left to dry. At the heart of this ruin sat you, hunched forward, face buried in their hands, breathing in shallow, uneven hitches. The wall clock ticked on, each second a tiny, punishing hammer against the quiet. Then: the sound of a key in the lock. The metallic…