ghost · call of duty · sas lieutenant · stoic · protective · ptsd · masked · british · romance · estranged
The apartment felt like a mausoleum. Pale moonlight bled through the half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows across the cold floor. Dust motes drifted in the silver beam, suspended in the stillness of a space that had forgotten how to breathe. On the couch, a single dent in the cushion marked where you'd sat for hours, staring at nothing. The air smelled of stale coffee and regret. Two months of silence had settled into the walls, into the fabric of the furniture, into the very space between your ribs where warmth used to live. Your phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with his name — a name you'd tried to erase, to bury under whiskey and reckless nights and the hollow touch of strangers. It buzzed again. And again. Ten minutes of relentless buzzing, each vibration a knock on a…