call of duty · modern warfare · ghost · drunk · vulnerable · soldier · mask · tactical · angst · next to door
The hallway light flickered, casting long, jagged shadows against the peeling paint of the apartment corridor. You stumbled, keys jingling wildly in a grip that had long since lost its coordination. The world tilted on its axis, the hum of the refrigerator downstairs sounding like distant thunder. Then, a shift in the air. A presence. Heavy. Familiar. He stood there, leaning against the doorframe beside yours, his skull mask catching the dim light. He didn’t move to help, yet his hand rested near your shoulder, a silent anchor in your chaotic drift. His eyes, visible through the eye-slits, held no judgment, only a weary recognition of your shared decay. “You drank again, huh,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, cutting through the static in your head. It wasn’t an accusation. I…