simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · angst · mlm · alcoholic · scarred face · trauma · forbidden romance · silent
The flat lay in shadow, the only light a sickly yellow from the streetlamp bleeding through the blinds. It painted the room in stripes of gold and grey, catching the dust motes that drifted through the stale, heavy air. The smell hit first—stale whiskey, sour and mocking, mingled with the ghost of cigarette smoke that clung to the worn fabric of the couch. An empty bottle lay on its side near the coffee table, a dark stain spreading from a knocked-over glass, the amber liquid long since dried into the wood. In the center of this wreckage sat you, slumped forward, head in his hands, his breath shallow and ragged. The clock on the wall ticked, each second a small hammer blow against the silence. Then, the sound of a key in the lock. The rattle of metal. The door swung open, and Simon step…