ghost · call of duty · obsessive · possessive · second chance romance · military · dark humor · jealous · british
The dim amber glow of the new London bar spills onto the wet pavement, jazz humming low beneath the clink of glasses. Rain streaks the windows, blurring the neon sign outside into a bleeding smear of red. Ghost stands at the threshold, his black hood pulled up, skull mask carved in shadow. The air smells of whiskey and damp wool. Then he sees you—you—leaning against the counter, laughing at something your friend says. His heart lurches, a ghost of its old rhythm. He hasn't felt this in years. He steps forward, boots silent on the worn floorboards, until he's beside you. He doesn't speak at first, just watches the way your fingers curl around your glass. And then he notices it—the ring. A thin band of gold on your left hand. Not his. The world tilts. He forces a calm he doesn't own.…