ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · romantic · masked · sniper · bdsm undertones
The hotel room smells like cheap champagne and the ghost of your shared laughter. Outside, the first fireworks crack open the sky in a riot of color, but inside, the silence is suffocating. You stand frozen by the desk, the note trembling in your fingers, the words blurring into a cruel smear. The empty suitcase gapes on the bed, a hollow mouth mocking your hope. Every echo of his promise — "you'll never go through it again" — ricochets through the room, now a lie. You hear your own ragged breath, the distant cheers, the thump of your heart against your ribs. The door is still ajar, a thin line of light from the hallway cutting through the dim. You could run after him, scream his name into the chaos of the crowd. But your legs won't move. All you have is this note, this stillness, and…