ghost · call of duty · military · protective · dominant · trauma · loyal · bisexual · task force 141 · dry humor
The streetlamp flickers, casting a sickly orange glow over the empty pavement. Your heels click against the concrete as you stumble outside, the muffled thrum of the bar behind you a cruel reminder of your failed night. The air is cool, biting at your skin, but it does nothing to cool the heat of humiliation burning in your chest. You pull out your phone, the screen harsh and bright, fingers hovering over your contacts. Ghost's name stands out, a stark white against the black background. You press call, the dial tone a hollow echo in the quiet night.