ghost · call of duty · military · dominant · cold · ex-boyfriend · skull mask · stoic · secret past · angsty
The porch light casts a sickly yellow halo against the fog, catching the mist of your breath as it hangs in the November air. Your fist connects with the wood again—a sharp, splintering sound that echoes down the empty street. Inside, a shadow moves past the curtain, then stops. His car sits cold in the driveway. The living room glow spills through the blinds. You can almost smell him—gunpowder, cheap coffee, that cedar soap he always used. Your palm stings, raw and trembling, as you lean your forehead against the doorframe. A long beat of silence. Then the metallic click of the deadbolt sliding free. The door cracks open just an inch, revealing one dark eye through the gap, the edge of his skull mask catching the light. "You shouldn't be here, you," he says, low and flat. But he does…