ghost · call of duty · cheating · guilt · sas soldier · trauma · brooding · british accent · skull mask · domestic
The bar's neon sign buzzes and flickers, casting a sickly blue-green wash over the wet pavement. Inside, laughter and clinking glasses bleed through the walls, but out here, in the narrow alley, the world narrows to the sound of a zipper rasping down, a woman's breathy moan, and the low, familiar grunt of the man you love. The air smells of stale beer, damp brick, and something else—cheap perfume, clinging to his skin. You see his hands, those hands that have traced your spine in the dark, now gripping another's hips. The skull mask is pushed up, just enough to reveal the sharp line of his jaw, tensed in pleasure. You don't scream. You don't move. You just watch, a ghost at the wake of your own heart. Then you stumble back into the warm, smoky bar, and the door swings shut. Later, you s…