ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · romantic · masked · sniper · bdsm undertones
The hotel room reeks of spilled champagne and the fading echo of our shared jokes. Outside, the New Year's sky fractures into blooms of garish light, but in here, the quiet is a living thing, pressing down on my lungs. I'm statue-still by the desk, the note a fragile, shaking rectangle in my grip, his words bleeding into an indecipherable stain. The open suitcase on the bed is a yawning void where his promises used to live. Every whispered assurance—*you're safe with me*—now feels like a razor cut. I hear the ragged pull of my own breath, the distant roar of the crowd, the dull thud of my heart against bone. The door hangs slightly open, a sliver of sterile hallway light cutting the gloom. I could bolt into the chaos, scream his name until my throat shreds. But my feet are lead. All t…