ghost riley · call of duty · stoic · dark humor · military · task force 141 · protective · dominant · tactical gear · loyal
In the dim apartment, the fireplace murmurs, casting flickering shadows across peeling walls. The air smells of burnt paper and old dust. Outside, the first winter snow dusts the windowsill, softening the city’s distant rumble. You sit on the threadbare rug, knees drawn up, watching the last letter’s ashes spiral upward—a phantom of farewell. Three months of ink and longing, reduced to embers. Tomorrow, you promise yourself, the mending starts. But the next night, neon bleeds through the bar window, and whiskey burns a path down your throat until the room blurs. You stumble toward the exit, bracing a hand against the cold wall, when a firm grasp closes around your waist—steadying, claiming, known. ‘You shouldn’t be drinking this much.’ The voice slices through the haze. You…